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merakiui · 8 months

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eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rollo flamm #yandere rollo flamm x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: period sex

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manjiroscum · 1 year

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LILY OF THE VALLEY

Character/s: snow leopard hybrid!Rindou Haitani

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, dark content, canon typical violence, blood, murder, dub-con, marking, mentions of mating, hybrid au, kidnapping, yandere!rindou, dom!rindou, sub!reader, cockdrunk reader, implied multiple rounds, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding, blackmailing/threats, pet play, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by @httn 💜 thank you love for trusting me with this! i hope you like it 🫶

Synopsis: Only fools come out to play with a feral cat.

WC: 6.1k

Crimson specks marred the freshly fallen snow akin to wine spilled all over a white linen cloth. The bullet wound on his thigh was slowing him down. Nevertheless, Rindou trudged up the small hill to reach the other side of the forest hoping he would escape his pursuers that were looking through his busted car for any signs of life. With his teeth gritted, the lost man was sure he might die today. After getting separated from Ran and the others, a car chase occurred as he fled from the warehouse when a bomb about to blow up the building was shouted out. In all his years of doing the same song and dance, one could say Rindou got used to the chaos that has intertwined into his life since the day he was born with the need to experience thrills.

But, fuck, he could never get used to getting shot or bleeding out. The first time hurt like a bitch and the second time it happened made him want to pass out. It was more irritating to face than shoot those who dare touch his tail. Now, Haitani Rindou was sure he will die. Whatever plan those bastards cooked up that would confirm his demise, he had to give them props because they might succeed. Car dead, his phone without any signal, the temperature dropping fast, and a forest that may span a thousand hectares was just the starter pack he needed to die in these woods.

Rindou can’t die here. It would just be pathetic. So pathetic that they might make jokes out of it. His death would only make people say he deserved it or it is the consequence of having an unpleasant lifestyle. And honestly, fuck them. He has to live. He has to get out of here and seek shelter before the frost bites his fingers, ears, and toes off. What would his enemies think? What would Bonten do? What would Ran do?

What should he do?

A million thoughts raced through his mind as his knees finally gave away. His eyes fluttered close for a moment, inhaling the cold air sharply that he was quite sure it could cut his nostrils like blades made out of ice. A trail of blood followed him from where he started all the way to the top of the hill. In contrast to the icy atmosphere around him, his lungs burned. During these times, delusions would enter his mind to distract him from the impending doom that was looming above his head. Death was now breathing down his neck as if they were old friends. Its voice called out to him through the chilly breeze that brushed past him and the strong trees that appeared like shadows of those whom he wronged and killed to survive. If he had to guess what hell looked like, this was possibly the closest description minus the flames. Why would such a cold environment bother him in such a way? This has never happened before. He could think of countless reasons why a hybrid such as he who was meant to thrive in such an environment was slowing down.

Ah, that’s right… He never had to be out much to do his dirty deeds. It was always his underlings. Pawns who would readily obey him for various goals. He and Ran, without fail, get away from taxing jobs. After all, meaningless fights never appeased their appetite for violence. Something always had to interest the brothers for them to act. Looking back on those memories of merely partying and finding someone to toy with, Rindou couldn’t help but exhale deeply. His lips were chapped due to the lack of moisture in the air.

If my life is flashing before my eyes, perhaps I am indeed dying…

And yet, amidst the snow and harsh winds, a merciful angel came into view. Rindou thought he was already a goner for his eyes to conjure such a beautiful sight. Vivid colors murked into a blur as his vision steadily failed him due to exhaustion finally catching up to him. However, the second that angel spoke, voice soothing despite the panicked tone evident in it, he realized this was reality.

“Sir? Oh my god, w-wait. I need to call an ambulance—”

“N…o.” It took all of his strength to move his lips and tongue. The woman before him met his dazed stare, shifting her attention between Rindou and something behind her. “No am…bulance…”

“W-what? Why? No, you need immediate attention…”

Haitani Rindou, one of the infamous criminals Bonten has in their arsenal and the fearsome younger brother of Ran was still vulnerable to things that exude innocence. Perhaps it was just in his nature to be drawn toward something he can never be and so he tried to push away the person who came out on a snowy night to help him. This earned him a surprised expression and more questions he couldn't answer. Rindou’s efforts were in vain as his eyelids finally shut, and the last of his energy left him unconscious in the hands of a stranger.

I’m sorry, Ran…

There was a sea of trees you had to drive by to reach your parents’ house. The road was slippery due to the snow but you had to go after promising to drive carefully. After a hearty dinner and entertaining their inquiries about whether you will get married or not, you were set on heading back to your apartment. Tomorrow is Monday and you had to wake up early for your nine-to-five job at the cafe your cousin owned. Normally, your schedule ranged from mundane to the occasional unexpected events that usually revolved around your job or your parents. Yet they were never anything spontaneous or something that will make the hairs on the back of your hair stand until you had to rescue this man now sleeping on a makeshift bed in a veterinarian’s clinic.

Ignorance could sometimes save a person’s life. The second you saw the hanafuda tattoo on his neck, you knew the shit you were about to get into could get messy. Never had you ever thought of bringing an infamous person, let alone one of Bonten’s henchmen, into your home. The veterinarian you called for help swore his secrecy after he commended you for doing first aid, but commented that men like him shouldn’t be saved. Yet, your conscience wouldn’t let you sleep soundly at night if you left him there on a cold winter’s night to bleed to death or get feasted on by bears.

“Are you… his girlfriend or somethin’?”

“No, I’m not,” you responded while cleaning up the bloody clothing and gauze after Rindou’s wound was stitched up. “However, as a human being, I couldn’t just leave him there. I’m… not capable of such cruelty.” The man shifted his attention back to the dangerous person fast asleep and then squinted hard as if his patient was just pretending. Grunting, the veterinarian gathered the last of his tools into his bag and made his way to the door, but not before leaving you some sound advice.

“Be careful because this choice you made might just bite you back. I’ll be back as soon as possible when I find a doctor in the area. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this secret doesn’t reach the authorities.”

Thinking back to what happened earlier, you were sure your blood ran cold at the sight of a broken car by the road. Initially, you thought the vehicle broke down and that the owner must be somewhere nearby since it would take around twenty minutes to get to the nearest town. Unless they had to hitch a ride because it was freezing and decided to leave the car. But the second you saw what seemed to be bullet holes in its body, uneasiness coated your nerves like thick molasses. The dread of finding a dead body doubled upon seeing blood on the snow, leading up to where you found the dying unknown man.

Damn it all. He wouldn’t harm someone who rescued him, right?

No, scratch that, this man wasn’t a stranger to you. You were the stranger—not him. Everybody who worked in Tokyo and heard the news was all aware of Bonten, the most dangerous gang in the country to date, enough to rival the yakuza. Those hanafuda tattoos they branded on their flesh bear the symbol of their loyalty to the man who founded the group, Sano Manjiro. The Haitani brothers were as famous all by themselves. It didn’t have to take you long to know everything they committed under the sun or the veil of night. Rumors of the brothers and Bonten always circulate on the internet. In short, they were individuals you had to avoid to live long.

Eyes glancing at your phone sitting by the couch, you debated whether to call the cops and turn him in. Maybe getting Rindou off your hands will be the first step to having your normal life back… Or will just cement the death sentence he shall bestow upon your unfortunate soul once he recovers.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” you groaned into your hands. Sleep was out of the question. You had to monitor Haitani Rindou for two obvious reasons—one because he might wake up and two because he might silence you the second he does. Gruesome pictures of your death flashed on the television screen ran across your imaginative mind and honestly, you were scaring yourself. Clearly, you didn’t think this through. But, what’s done is done. There was no way you could throw him out now. “Let’s… just make sure he’s fine enough to walk out of here on his own. Y-yeah…”

Exhaling a defeated sigh, you sat down on the floor and stared at Rindou’s unconscious form. For a man as big and bad as him, you bet he would snore loudly. Yet, he looked almost like a corpse—unmoving and quite fragile. The biggest shirt you had at your disposal appeared tiny in his huge frame. The veterinarian even gave up on giving him something to wear on the lower part, muttering how he shouldn’t even be bothered to clothe the criminal. The thought of Rindou being naked down there was slightly distracting, making your eyes wander down from the hanafuda tattoo on his neck to the intricate design on his torso until you slapped your cheeks to make you stop eyeing the muscular hybrid.

What the—don’t do this to yourself. He is a criminal, for fuck’s sake!

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone to check for any messages. There was only one from your mother, checking up on whether you arrived home. A humorless laugh escaped your lips as you lied to her. Besides, she will definitely panic if she knew you were looking after a criminal in a vet’s clinic. You hoped to distract your mind from spiraling into endless regret by watching adorable videos of dogs. A good turn deserves another… You just wished Haitani Rindou was a person who would reward good deeds.

The morning was rough on you. With a stretch or two, you cursed your aching back while you proceeded to order breakfast for three. Your cousin was kind enough to give you a day off after phoning in with a fake cold. The minute you finished offering him apologetic words after lying through your teeth, you then grabbed the takeout and sped off to the clinic Rindou was moved to. Caffeine and sweets were the things keeping you sane save for the veterinarian and a doctor, whom he roped into the situation, present in the room. Dr. Hinohara was silently observing Rindou’s body while giving a blood transfusion to the still-sleeping hybrid. Compared to last night, the younger Haitani looked slightly better. He still appeared like he crawled out of hell and survived, though.

“I guess we don’t have to bring this man to the hospital,” the doctor spoke after some time. “There doesn’t seem to be a bullet stuck to his thigh. He did lose a lot of blood. I’ll just make sure to monitor him in case he needs more blood transfusions and if there could be any infections on the wound. If he does turn for the worst, I will have to bring him to the hospital—”

You were quick to object, leaving your cup of coffee to stand up. “H-he told me he shouldn’t go to a hospital. I’ll pay you, Sir. I’ll make sure to pay you for treating him. J-just don’t bring him there. Please…”

Dr. Hinohara sighed at your statement, sharing a glance with the veterinarian. Just as you were ready to shoot down their suggestions of you putting an end to your good samaritan role, the doctor then nodded solemnly in resignation. Appeased, you backed away before sitting yourself down once again. Seeing that there wasn’t anything left for him to do, the veterinarian excused himself and left the establishment. A few minutes later, Dr. Hinohara did the same to attend to his outpatients. It wasn’t until lunchtime when he came back that you decided to head back home to catch some sleep after a long warm bath. To be in a room alone with Haitani Rindou, awake or not, was making you anxious. Your eyes were often fluttering close, trying to stay conscious and alert in the presence of an infamous gang member. To let your guard down would be serenading death.

“You can come back tomorrow afternoon,” Dr. Hinohara said with a gentle smile upon seeing you out. “I don’t think Mr. Haitani would wake up today anyways. Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you if anything changes about his current condition.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hinohara.”

If you knew that the day you saved Haitani Rindou would be the last time you could ever experience a normal life, perhaps the future wouldn’t turn out like this—with you almost sticking to a corner whereas Rindou glared at your quivering form. Dr. Hinohara was nowhere to be found on the second floor and your mind concocted various scenarios at the sight of the trashed room. How could the man be up and ready to threaten you with his sharp claws when he was just barely conscious days ago? You even recall Dr. Hinohara remarking about Rindou being too weak to open his eyelids. So just how?

Irises sharp as his claws remained on you, hues of ultra violet hoping to unmask your intentions by staring right into your soul. Behind his predatory gaze were promises filled with violence and a whole world of pain if you so much as make a single move that he will deem a crime towards him.

Haitani Rindou was not a man to be trifled with.

“You… Didn’t I tell you not to bring me to a hospital?” he questioned in a demanding tone, taking a step closer to you which prompted your weak legs to fall back. This is the very thing you hoped to avoid. Maybe if you were given the foresight that Haitai Rindou would recuperate enough to stand today, you would have come prepared to negotiate. Negotiate with him not to kill you and to leave you alone because you did what he asked. However, he didn’t seem happy at the idea of recovering in a clinic, afraid his location would be alerted to the police. “What’s the matter? Suddenly can’t use that tongue of yours? From what I remember you weren’t mute—”

“This isn’t a hospital. Y-you’re in a clinic, can’t you see?”

The hand you used to gesture at the area shuddered upon seeing him move. Rindou was obviously confused as he surveyed the room, unsure whether to take your word or not. You couldn't blame him, though. Blood rolling down his thigh akin to raindrops on a glass window captured your attention, taking away the assertive statements off of your lips. Your fear for him was outweighed by your concern for his wound that might have reopened due to his carelessness.

Rindou was quick to create distance between you two. Your eagerness was mistaken as an act to lunge and subdue him which was something you couldn't do. He realized this the moment he winced in pain, hand applying pressure on his bleeding thigh. You clicked your tongue and hurriedly helped him back onto his bed. His hostility towards you disappeared with each pang of pain that erupted around his injury. Of course, he just had to be slowed down by this and for you, this was a blessing in disguise.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll go see if Dr. Hinohara has returned.”

Any deity above must have heard your silent prayer for the doctor announced himself inside Rindou’s room, eyes wide at the condition of his patient and the messy room. Minutes passed, and the hybrid was now waiting for the pain to subside once his wound was attended to. Lips in a tight line, you sat by the side, waiting for the doctor to say something—anything that will get rid of the awkward air that settled in the room. Instead of something positive, Dr. Hinohara approached you with a dejected expression that caused your heart to momentarily stop beating. His next words almost had you wishing you were sitting down due to the implications of it.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t do this since I am a practitioner of medicine and should have empathy for my patients no matter who they are… But I can’t have Mr. Haitani stay here any longer. You must understand. My other patients have caught a whiff of his presence here and are too scared to come over. I-it’s bad for me.” Dr. Hinohara then added to soften the blow, “If he stays over at your place, I-I promise to visit and check on him from time to time. Although, I doubt I could do much since he’s close to full recovery.”

Bullshit.

It was utter bullshit. There was no way his other patients knew about Rindou being treated in the clinic. Based on the days you visited the hybrid when he was still unconscious, everyone who visited the doctor didn’t display any signs of uneasiness. Yet, you couldn’t do anything to appeal for Rindou anymore since the doctor was more than eager to kick him out. For all you know, the hybrid trashing the room was his last straw.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, you turned the stove off and poured the hot soup into two bowls. The Bonten executive sat on the living room couch, watching a daytime show. He was unbothered by the small space of your apartment, thankfully. Rindou barely fussed upon arriving, probably because he did not have any other choice. Even with his infamous reputation, throwing him out was inhumane.

You wanted to help him, but it has been years since you took care of someone sick or injured. Plus, your mother’s temperament was far different from Rindou's.

“You okay with miso soup?”

Rindou merely grunted in response, avoiding your gaze while he took his bowl from you. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his moodiness, you took the seat across from him prior to drinking the soup you made. For the hybrid to keep sulking like this, you figured it was because his wound hasn't fully healed, and limped every time he walked. Men like Rindou hated weakness. To display his vulnerability to you like this must be torture to the mighty snow leopard hybrid—someone who isn't used to being on the other side of the spectrum.

Yet, he never dismissed your acts of assistance. No matter how much you teased him in an attempt to lighten the mood or receive his narrowed gaze, Haitani Rindou never made a move to hurt you during his stay here. Or at least that is what he's trying to do—to lure you into a sense of comfort before he strikes like an apex predator. Nevertheless, you continued to meet his needs.

“You okay?” you asked him when his spoon fell to the floor. Your legs were up and running to get a towel once you saw what happened. He dropped his spoonful of miso soup on his bandages because his limpid eyes couldn’t be torn from the show he claimed was too boring. “Mr. Haitani, you shouldn't pay attention elsewhere while eating.”

“Can’t help it,” he answered with a scoff. A ghost of a laugh slipped past your mouth at the thought of him acting almost like he was a big cat distracted by the pretty colors that led to this situation. Shaking your head, you wiped off the droplets of miso soup from his thigh. After you tossed the towel to the side, you stood up straight and placed your hands on your thighs. Rindou’s tail went stiff at your stare which was accompanied by a smile. “What?”

“Are you… enjoying the show? I thought you found it boring?” The giggle that followed your inquiry did not go unnoticed by the hybrid. The tips of his ears turning red were proof of that. Hearing no reply, you continued to tease him. Your hands are busy fixing up the couch before taking your bowl once more. “I mean, it’s alright to admit you like these soap operas. My mom enjoys them too, you know. Well, not enough to be—”

“I wasn't distracted,” he huffed and averted his gaze at your silly smile. “I was just… surprised.” Rindou never elaborated further on whatever stunned him. You merely shrugged and slurped your soup, content with sitting next to him on a Thursday morning. This has been your life lately—taking care of breakfast and Rindou in the morning, going to work afterward, and then coming back during lunchtime. Despite the reasons you came up with, your cousin never questioned you as to why you requested to come in later than your usual hour. He did, however, tasked you to stay until closing time. A small price to pay. After all, this isn't going to be the norm forever. Rindou will have to go back home and disappear from your life as soon as his wound heal.

Somehow, the reality had sorrow creeping up your heart. Rindou staying in the apartment and seeing him every day made you think he has always been there. His sulky expression softens up whenever his guard is down. He wasn't even aware the corner of his lips was curling up once. The way he dismisses you the second he realized he was showing happiness was cute in its own way. You were used to stifling your laughter at his displeased face that did not match well with his tail swishing side to side. His silhouette blended into your little space, making himself at home. And unbeknownst to you, Rindou felt the same way.

“Don’t act like such a big baby. It’s good for you!” You pushed the plate of rice with natto on top. His irked expression eased down while he took his chopsticks. The smell of the fermented soybeans did not sit well with his nose as he ate to appease you. Yet, he willingly ate, especially with you grinning in front of him. “There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it? Can’t believe a gangster like you dislikes natto.”

Innocent things like you were bad for his health. You were poison to his system—having him think of stuff he never gave a second thought on. Rindou lost count of how many ideas of him whisking you away where no one else can see you crossed his mind. Everything about you exuded a normal and peaceful life—a luxury for him who couldn’t afford it anymore. He should’ve turned you away and let himself die that night because now he didn’t want to leave. His wound was almost closed up and he didn’t have to limp around or ask for your help whenever he bathed. Rindou has grown far too fond of you to merely go back and forget about your kindness. For your sake, he held himself back and enjoyed you doting on him despite the numerous teasing you’ve thrown his way. Pretty but lethal flowers were only meant to be admired from a safe distance. Preferring to keep his claws hidden and the space between you wide, Haitani Rindou liked it this way.

Until he didn’t—until he got greedy.

Dr. Hinohara just had to burst the bubble Rindou protectively held with a single statement that the hybrid was free to go. You couldn’t describe the emotion that swirled within you, ignorant to the deathly stare Rindou gave the doctor. Dr. Hinohara swallowed thickly at the heat of his gaze, slowly taking a step back in case the hybrid decided to kill him on the spot. The younger Haitani wished he could turn back time and stop the old bastard from revealing his secret. Despite sabotaging the stitches for so long to keep it from healing too fast, Rindou’s game was up. And yet, not all of his cards were played.

His trump card has yet to fall onto the table.

Ran came over to your apartment the second Rindou rang him up after a month of no contact. The reunion happened under the stillness of the night where not a soul could be found on the streets. The chloroform his older brother brought was put to use to make sure you wouldn't scream or do any trouble as he placed you in Ran’s car. Rindou then discarded the baton hidden at the back of the trunk, already cleaned off of Dr. Hinohara’s blood, into the nearest waste bin before letting Ran drive down the road heading south.

The moment you woke up from what you thought was a terrible nightmare, you were chained to a bedpost in an unfamiliar room in someone else’s bed. The collar on your neck was a bit tight and the chain attached to it wasn't long enough for you to reach the door. A little bell was hanging on the collar and it jingled with every movement you made. You thanked your lucky stars that you were still fully clothed but that feeling of relief waned away too fast. Your head pounded while your eyes frantically searched for signs of where you are. Rindou entered the room with a tray of food. His eyes slightly went wide at the discovery of you greeting the conscious world then his lips broke out into a grin.

“I see you’re awake.”

“R-Rindou? W-what… Where am I? What’s going on?”

Your inquiries fell from your mouth like the teardrops on your cheeks at the realization. Rindou hushed you multiple times while he set your meal down on the nightstand but you never took heed, fearing for your life. It wasn't until he took out his phone to show you a picture of your parent’s house that your tongue felt like it was made out of metal. Your hands balled up into fists at the image.

“Don’t hurt them. P-please…”

“Looks like you're smart enough to guess what I’m implying here, huh?” Rindou chuckles at your horrified tear stricken face. “I guess calling you a big baby right now won’t be satisfying.” Hand underneath his chin, the hybrid let out a contented sigh. “I knew I was right. Other girls I’ve met before weren't as intelligent as you. Saves me from explaining what will happen to your family if you try to escape.”

“What do you want from me?” you demanded, nerves and voice shaky. His irises shone brighter than amethysts as he observed you on his bed. After a month of nursing him back to health, Rindou was intent on returning the favor—just without outside interference, of course. There was no way your parents would allow him to date you and to see you with a faceless nobody would be the icing on top of his cake meant to insult him. He can't have that. “Rindou, what do you want? I-I’ll do anything! Just please leave me and my parents alone. If you want an apology for all those days I’ve teased you or said something wrong, I’m w-will to do so!”

“Nothin’ much, angel. I’ve passed the need for anything.” He then pulled you up by the collar of your shirt. Leaning down to whisper into your ear, Rindou’s lips curled up. “I’ve already got you.” The second he spoke those words, a shiver ran down your spine. Not giving you any time to collect your thoughts or to wipe the tears from your cheeks, the Bonten executive took a step back and gestured at your clothes. “Strip.”

Hands trembling, you did as he said. More tears exited from your glossy eyes which Rindou couldn't wait to lick away. As soon as you got rid of your pajamas, you covered your exposed stomach and breasts until he clicked his tongue. You winced at the sound of it.

“All of it, angel.”

You heaved a deep breath. Your panties slid down your legs agonizingly slow. The rest of your body burned in shame under his piercing gaze. It was as if Rindou would be struck by lightning if he dared to look away from your gorgeous form. You steeled yourself once he took away your clothes.

“Go and eat your meal. I’ll be back.”

Rindou shut the door behind him. You couldn't stop crying even while you ate the meal he prepared. It was hard to know where you were as the window was bolted shut and barely let natural light in. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest whereas you stiffened at the sight of him returning. His violet irises landed on the empty plate before nodding approvingly.

“Good. I’m going to give you a drink now.” He took off the chain from the bedpost and pulled it for you to follow him. But not before commanding you to do it on all fours. His sharp canines peeked out when he smiled at your obedience. The fear strumming its chaotic cords to have you obeying the hybrid. “That’s it, angel. Make sure not to bump into anything on the way to the kitchen.”

Even with Rindou as your sole audience, your soul was close to dying out of shame. Your pussy folds were out in the open, clit throbbing uncontrollably for the wrong reasons as you followed him from behind. It didn't take you long to figure out this was Rindou’s house—or his temporary home. You were too busy making sure you were keeping up with his huge steps and not falling behind to scan your surroundings. The hybrid then paused and turned to you. His hand gestured to a bowl made for a pet sitting on the floor. It was filled up with what seemed to be milk.

“Go on. Drink it all up, angel.”

Cheeks burning, you hesitated for a second. It was when he walked behind you that the panic kicked in again and you unwillingly bent down. Your tongue was stuck out, ready to lick up the milk to appease Rindou, deaf to the sound of unzipping. The palm of his hand was cold against your cunt, causing you to yelp. His free hand was quick to keep your head from turning around to see him.

What the fuck is happening?

“You’re not the only one who’s thirsty… Shit, you’re wet?” He was more amused than disgusted at his findings. This was fucked up. There was no way you were turned on despite what occurred. Maybe you were sick in the head all this time and Rindou’s actions just brought this to light? You would never know as your mind started to grow hazy due to the pleasure of him rubbing his palm across your slit. You were no virgin but it has been a long time since you’ve done it. Perhaps that was the reason why?

Why does it feel like that’s a lie?

Retracting his claws, he plunged two of his fingers into your warm pussy that parted easily for him. Front teeth digging into your lower lip, you kept back the moan bubbling up your throat while Rindou rubbed his fingers against your tight walls. Slick coated his hand which made it easier for him to feel around your gummy walls. His pleased groans were too much for your ears, his hard length brushing on your ass. His tail swished around before curling around your leg. Your hands keeping you upright were trembling as the onslaught of bliss was increasing, gaze glossy.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight… Are you going to let me fuck you, angel? Huh? Does my pet deserve this dick?” he questioned with mirth in his tone. Another finger was added, widening your hole. You couldn’t help the whine leaving your lips, eyes shut as you fought back more from coming out. Rindou held you by the waist when your legs gave out, cooing into your ear. The hybrid brought up his hand coated with your juices, inhaling it then tasted your slick. “It’s that good? I’ve waited so long. Held back and let you have your way. You’ll let me have you, mhm? Been good, angel. The least you can do is return the favor…” A silent gasp was what Rindou earned when he tapped the head of his cock against your pussy folds, rubbing his length on the damp flesh. Slowly, he entered you.

“A-are you gonna—ah!” You were sure he was going to tear you apart. It stung as the girth of his cock stroked your tight muscles, molding its shape there. Rindou took a few seconds to get accustomed to the way your pussy enveloped his dick, hissing under his breath at how heavenly you felt. And now that he has finally held you, Haitani Rindou was damn sure he has found his mate. Now, he will make sure to keep you by his side whether you want to or now. He’ll just have to give you something that will make you reluctant to leave… Or fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk out of this place without him. Maybe getting you pregnant will be the solution to this problem. “Ah, fuck… S’ big. R-rindou!”

“Angel, wanna give you cubs. You’d want that, huh? You want to be mine?”

His thrusts were hard and rough, causing you to moan and squirm. Lust rendered you blind as you took and took what Rindou gave. Time was no longer relevant at this point. All you could remember as he continued to fuck you like a savage beast during the mating season was the way his claws dug into your skin, marking you as his. The place’s layout slowly etched itself into your mind as he made it his mission to fuck you in every area with the endeavor of filling up your womb until all you could feel was his cum running down your thighs. Your breasts and nipples hurt after going through the abuse done by his mouth. Hickeys littered your torso and the skin of your neck. Clit and folds puffy, you couldn’t tell how many times you have squirted. Rindou always patted your head each time before tugging your nipples in a teasing way. The collar still wrapped around your neck jingled along with your breasts, soaked with your sweat and tears.

“R-Rindou! I-I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, angel. You can take more.”

He never gave you a break or a minute to rest and catch your breath. The moment he finished inside you, his balls emptied another load, replacing the cum he spurted into your cunt that dribbled out. Mind all in a mush, you sobbed at the overstimulation. Finally, the hybrid set you down on the couch, panting above you. A puddle of your essence and Rindou’s cum sat around your ass. The furniture wasn’t the only unfortunate victim of its owner’s quest to impregnate you and claim you. Mouth wide open, your eyes were fluttering shut due to exhaustion. Yet even as you stared at Rindou with those tired eyes, he held his cock glazed with both of your fluids right in front of your face in expectancy. The tip was red and super sensitive after hitting your cervix countless times while he fucked your brains out.

“Don’t tap out on me, angel,” he mumbled. Mustering up all your leftover strength, you sat up and licked on the reddish tip, earning a pleased groan. His hand reached forward to brush away the strands of hair from your face then carded his fingers through them. “Good girl. Always remember this, okay? Good kittens should clean up after playing. Good kittens shouldn’t make a mess.”

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leovenuslatina · 8 months

Text

Dear you 💖

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

a love letter from your fs 💝

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

psa - this PAC is a little different this is more a channeled message than a tarot reading enjoy!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

* take a deep cleansing breathe

and pick a pile that calls to you *

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 1

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile one, I am absolutely thrilled to express my utter joy and excitement at the mere thought of being in your presence. It feels like an exhilarating adventure filled with endless possibilities. When I am with you, time seems to stand still as we embark on an enchanting journey of love and inspiration. Your warmth and comfort embrace me like a cozy blanket, providing solace to my weary soul. Every moment spent together is cherished, as we create unforgettable memories and share the deepest of conversations. Your companionship brings out the best version of myself, igniting a flame within that cannot be extinguished. In your delightful company, I find solace, encouragement, and a sense of belonging that surpasses all expectations. Pile one, you are my safe haven where happiness thrives and dreams come alive – and for that, I am eternally grateful.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 2

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Oh "Dear Pile Two, You Complete Me" - how you fill my life with joy and clutter! As I gaze upon your haphazardly stacked papers, misplaced knick-knacks, and random odds and ends, I can't help but feel an inexplicable sense of fulfillment. You are like the missing puzzle piece to my organized chaos. Who needs a meticulously tidy workspace when they can have the delightful chaos of a well-curated pile? From bills that need paying (eventually) to notes scribbled on Post-it's, you hold the irreplaceable treasures of my forgetful mind. Sure, some may scoff at your seemingly disorderly nature, but little do they know the hidden wisdom within your disarray. So here's to you, oh magnificent dear pile two - although your tidiness might be questionable, your charm is unmatched.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 3

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear pile 3, it's only you and me against the world. As I stand here, overlooking the vastness of our existence, I can't help but feel the weight of the universe pressing down upon us. It is in this moment that I realize the magnitude of our relationship, for within your embrace lies all that we hold dear. The world may attempt to tear us apart, but we shall prevail. Our bond is forged through the trials and tribulations we have faced together; a stronghold against adversity. As the tempest rages around us, threatening to consume all that we hold sacred, know that I am steadfast by your side. Our unity imbues me with an unwavering strength; no longer alone in this tumultuous journey through life's torrential storms. Together, pile 3, we defy fate and conquer uncertainty as champions of love and resilience.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

pile 4

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

Dear Pile 4, you are my perfect person. The mere thought of your existence fills me with an indescribable mix of joy and longing. Every fiber of my being yearns for your touch, for the sound of your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear. In this chaotic world, you are the anchor that keeps me grounded, the lighthouse that guides me through stormy waters. Your presence brings clarity to my thoughts and purpose to my existence. From the deepest depths of my soul, I believe that we were destined to be together - two halves of a whole seeking solace in each other's arms. Yet, fate continues to test our resolve, placing seemingly insurmountable obstacles in our path. But fear not, for I shall endure any hardship and surmount every challenge to be by your side. For you, dear Pile 4, are worthy of every sacrifice and every drop of blood spilled in this epic battle against destiny itself.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

#black tarot readers #pick a pile #future spouse #channeled reading #pick a card tarot #tarotcommunity #daily tarot #tarot #tarot cards #tarot daily #tarotblr #love reading #love messages #lovers #i love them

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 6 months

Text

Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 23-24)

the fact that she automatically goes to unlock peeta's handcuffs when she sees his wrists are bloody even though he is still dangerous to her

i can't remember who did the analysis of katniss with gale's injury vs peeta's in this chapter but if you know of it please reply to this with the link to it!

but anyways, it's gritting her teeth, jagged stitches and smearing on cream for gale vs attending to peeta, gently rinsing, bandaging

with each page, it becomes clearer that peeta is returning to himself, for him to be able to remember the blood poisoning comment and the way she risked her life to get his medicine in the first games

"i think.. you still have no idea. the effect you can have" SCREAM. this is one of my fave things peeta ever says to katniss and he remembers it!! still!

"i don't know why his voice reaches me when no one else's can." thats LOVE baby. literally none of the others are able to get through to her, but him. not even gale. she values peeta's opinion so much. it matters in a whole other way

"but if he's right and i think he is" girl, the others said the exact same thing and you didn't wanna listen lol

cute that this reassurance and belief from peeta is what gives her "new resolve"

shoutout to gale for highlighting the QQ kiss, as he should

the doubt in peeta's voice when he says it was just for the show. because he remember it, remembers the feelings that were mutual, the desire spilling from katniss in that moment that was undeniable

gale thinking he's still part of the equation of katniss's love life at this point is so funny it's almost sad. that he thinks it's still a choice

gale's assessment of how katniss will pick really rubs me the wrong way. he doesn't know her at all.

katniss being rightfully mad at his incorrect assessment. and her contemplating his words here highlight how much passion, love, desire and compatibility are actually important to her. for him to reduce her down to survival instincts is terrible actually. because those other things actually drive her far more.

her being angry at peeta for not refuting it. girl, a few pages ago he was asking you if people can grow wings. let's give him a break, hothead

"as if in the end, it will be the question of whether a baker or hunter will extend my longevity" what's funny to me about this is that "baker" shouldn't even be part of this equation. a baker for survival for extending longevity would be out of place any other time. but actually the baker here is so important to her and her life that it works. in the end it is a baker and a hunter, but katniss doesn't pick on survival. she picks on what means the most, where her love grows and thrives the most.

katniss feeling peeta's eyes follow her and gale out of the room. she's so hyperaware of peeta at all times. has been from book 1 chapter 2

katniss giving peeta permission to take the pill be closing his fingers over the pill. like he'd been waiting on the permission for her by keeping the pill in his open hand.

peeta charming tigris and katniss picking up on it. we're so back

katniss's desperation like she's back in the QQ

peeta embraces her back

"not as steady as they once were, but still warm and strong. a thousand moments surge through me. all the times these arms were my only refuge from the world. perhaps not fully appreciated then, but so sweet in my memory, and now gone forever"

this passage highlights the significance of when they grow back together and his arms being there to comfort her. she thinks it's gone forever so how much more meaningful when it comes back to her

"thousands of moments" that many moments. moments we haven't been privy to because they were so often and so habitual that katniss didn't always need to spell it out

katniss walking and still looking back to see if she can see peeta

and when everything is going down, she holds onto the idea that he may have gone back when he felt the attack coming. even though she must know he never would have. this is an arena after all and he knows his job is to protect her

katniss clearly loves gale as a friend and she doesn't ever want to see him hurt/tortured/killed but he ultimately takes a second seat to her love for peeta. always an afterthought, never the bride

contrasting the moment that gale is captured by the peacekeepers with the moment that cato has peeta trapped. even though her and gale had talked about what to do, in that moment she's confused, doesn't know what to do, her instincts don't kick in. but with cato, she automatically understood, within milliseconds, that peeta wanted her to shoot cato's hand when he marked the x there. thinking thinking

RIP prim. honeslty still a very chilling moment all these years later

#everlark #katniss x peeta #peeta x katniss #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #tgtpto everlark read #the hunger games #mockingjay

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csilis · 7 months

Text

Five nights at Freddy’s William Afton x F!Reader

A/N: The movie got me back to my FNaF era, so I thought I write a oneshot with my favourite guy.

Note: William gets springtrapped. What a surprise indeed.

Your mother would be disgusted if she would see you now. Marrying the insane serial killer who ended your own sister’s life. But just like Cassidy, you were onto vengeance too. And to avenge the sister you have lost, you were willing to do anything. Even if it meant sacrificing your beliefs and becoming a monster just like the one before your very eyes.

So in the abandoned backroom of the Freddy Fazebear’s pizza you stood, holding his hands and waiting for an uncertain future to come.

“We are gathered here today in this beautiful place to witness the joining of two lives” came the prerecorded voice of a priest from the tape player which stood on the chair between you and him.

“Beautiful place? What a joke” you thought as your eyes were focused on the black-white floor tiles. He did just rid himself from the last of the old animatronics whose parts were splattered all over the floor. But it mattered not to him, he simply ignored all the destruction he brought upon himself and all the souls he enraged.

You weren’t paying any attention as the feeling of your revenge being so close started to consume every part of your whole being. You wanted it so bad, couldn’t wait to finally do it. But unlike him you had self control. You knew you had to wait for the perfect moment to get through with your plan. Or else you fail, becoming a ghost of the past just like your sister.

“You may kiss the bride” this was when you came back to your senses. It was time. Finally.

You then let go of his hands and swept the tape player from the chair with one swift move. You then stepped on it to be closer in height to this bastard. To clearly see the pain in his eyes as you take your revenge.

He was in that damned bunny suit just like you asked.

“The children will fear you this way. You will be invincible” you whispered into his ears this morning as you two were laying in the bed. Sweet lies. That’s what they were.

What pulled you back was his wet lips on yours as his hands roughly grabbed your waist. It was time…

Some part of the suit was exposed, showing how old that thing actually was. You knew that the springs were the only thing keeping him from being smashed. But it was about time to be changed. You knew from him that those springs were delicate and easily triggerable. That’s why you were standing in the middle of the mouldy backroom. You could see the wetness forming on those exposed wires and springs as you carefully wriggled out the knife which you sew into your bridal dress while he was out, destroying the animatronics.

In the meantime you tried to keep the act of the woman madly in love with him. You let his hands grab your breasts as he moved onto your neck to put kisses on. Your stomach churned in disgust. You wanted to vomit. But once you freed the knife, you felt finally relieved.

You gripped the knife tighter and stabbed him in the side. Your sudden act made him stumble a few steps backwards as his mouth was wide open. But he didn’t even had a chance to mutter a word out as the springlocks immediately snapped from the impact of the knife.

His blood spilled onto your white dress as he tried to scream but couldn’t as the metal stabbed through his lungs. You could only hear him drowning in his own blood as you stepped down from the chair with a mad grin on your face. As he knelt down because of the immense pain, you had time to notice the ghosts who seemed to be the only witnesses of your cursed wedding. The few moments of eye contact you shared told them everything they needed to know. It told your sister everything she needed to know.

Then you looked back at him. Anger radiated from him, your betrayal carving into his soul for forever. You knew he will come back. He always comes back. But until that day, you will thrive in the pain you caused him.

While picking up the headpiece of the suit next to your right foot you knew what you had to do. You walked towards him, lifting the headpiece higher.

“Until death do us part, William Afton!” you angrily yelled, pushing what you were holding into his head and hearing the springlocks inside that also snap.

It was what he deserved. It was all he will deserve. Endless pain and torture.

Word count: 781 Characters: 4188

It now has a continuation called Back to me.

#fnaf #william afton #x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf x y/n #william afton x reader #william afton x you #wedding #fnaf cassidy #springtrap #springtrapped #The_Revenge_Saga

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itbmojojoejo · 4 months

Text

Fractured Moonlight / Intro / Finan x OFC

Pairing: Vamp!Finan x Vamp!OFC

Summary: A prince forced to relinquish his title so that he may have a home, a princess begrudgingly doing her duty to ensure her lands survival, a king trying his best to keep their world from unravelling as war begins and a brush with death that reveals a secret threatening to destroy it all.

Wordcount: 4.6k | Other works.

Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW Sexual Content. Mentions of death, violence, blood, alcohol, and arranged marriage.

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy whatever this thing is that my brain has been conjuring up for the past however many months xo Thank you @bhxrdy for being my hype woman and @arcielee for being a wonderful beta and fixing my punctuation 💜

The lands are strung together with delicate threads of treaties that fray and threaten to break with each passing moon. Beings from an ancient rich history that occupy vast amounts of these lands, who once paid no attention to the divisions between mortals and creatures are finally deeply invested in what will ensue, concerned about which kings and queens will stand victorious on the battlefield.

King Helier is no stranger to war, he has seen it ravage and destroy the covens of his distant cousins, wiping out royal houses in the western isles with the odd lucky few escaping to the sanctuary of the remaining clans.

He’s fought and then stepped up to restore balance to his land when it teetered on the edges of not only civil unrest from inner fighting, but the threat of a neighbouring kingdom spilling into his and tearing it apart from the inside out.

The crown that sits atop his head was never meant for him; it was bestowed upon his ebony curls as his sister, their queen, fell into the cruel clutches of a sickness that unravels every fibre of a being, leaving nothing behind but a meek shadow of their former selves.

Helier gutted the court of all those who would bring nothing but further destruction and decay to his house, all the while the indiscernible shrieking and cries of their once great queen bellowed throughout the castle walls until they grew quieter with every new month.

The young prince Hal witnessed his father mourn not only the queen on her eventual passing, but an unknown lover who succumbed to the childbed, her life sacrificed so that Helier may have a daughter, Marlena, whose arrival softened his and his people's suffering.

Thick ebony hair and onyx eyes set against pale alabaster skin– “She has her mother's eyes,” is all Helier mumbled as he pressed a delicate kiss to the head of the babe in his arms, hushing any words that it was surprising she didn’t have the same bright blue hues as her father or brother.

It was agreed the king’s bedmate shall remain unnamed in the scrolls and that Marlena would be given the royal title of princess. Their kind did not have natural children born into the lineage often; it was considered a miracle for a king to have two direct heirs of his blood and flesh extending the longevity of his house and holding the throne now for two generations in a row.

Marlena’s early years were seen by few members of court; she was hidden away while the king’s physician whispered that her survival was uncertain and rumours began to circulate that he had presented the child to a trusted mage who insisted he was unable to help. A sorceress had been spotted in the private chambers on occasion and soon enough the young princess was thriving and healthy.

She was growing and being tutored and trained in all things a leader of lands would need in their arsenal, which at first confused the court. A princess was an important piece that could be used to strengthen bonds through marriage, why would she have any need to wield a sword? To understand how wars are won? They already had Prince Hal as their named heir, the firstborn.

“They will have the same training, as we should all be aware by now that the second in line is just as important as the first.” was all the king said on the matter.

Helier proved that his words were not empty by having two smaller thrones placed on either side of his larger, more regal one. Prince Hal sat to his right, and Princess Marlena to his left. Both children were privy to the goings-on of court and expected to be present when council was in session, their opinions heard and taken into account by the king, at first in private, then later in their life openly for all to see and hear.

It didn’t take long for Marlena’s proud opinions of their land being a prosperous and safe haven for mortals and other beings to settle and live among each other in peace to be known. Her disdain at the other covens seeing every other life form as an enemy or sustenance was clear when they visited during the darkest weeks of winter.

She shunned the small ideas of a betrothal whenever it was brought up and her father supported this decision, stating that when the time was right he would be the one to make the arrangements. He understood that their lives were not short, and a royal marriage could make or break a kingdom; it could not only be one of convenience in the moment.

As the many decades passed, the king, now aged by greying hair and frown lines, remained seated on his throne carved from glistening rock with only his daughter at his left, as Prince Hal was far away patrolling the borders after a recent rise in attacks from shadow walkers. He listened to the seemingly never-ending list of unnerving events now plaguing the continent and realised he might have to utilise his daughter’s position in a way he never wanted to.

Marlena pulled and twisted the iridescent pearls of a necklace that wrapped around her left arm and hung from her wrist through her fingers, catching flickering candlelight on their curved surface with every movement. Ivory silk and lace, a symbol of purity, clung to the skin below her collar bones, hiding the rest of her lithe form from eyes that linger a little too long. The ebony tresses she refused to cut were worn in twists and braids with pearls to match her daily jewellery laced through her hair.

If she had any concerns or worries, it was unreadable in her eyes or body. She sat relaxed as her gaze occasionally shifted from the speaking councilman to those who looked on.

The council member urged King Helier, “Your grace, this is the last thing we need as summer approaches.”

“I hear your concerns Yannic, but what would you have me do? We already have patrols being dispatched more frequently and there is a constant watch on the walls now.”

“We should launch a full attack, go-”

Marlena scoffed and interjected, “You’re suggesting we cross the border into their lands? Lands we do not know where we will surely lose numbers and start a war?”

“Princess, we are already at war.”

“No, smaller settlements along our borders are being attacked and raided, which is not the same thing as war.”

“By more than one kind, they have brokered partnerships, they mean to close in on us, trapping and surrounding us here when we are at our most vulnerable how can you say-”

“Hold your tongue,” the king coolly chided. “Yes, shadow walkers are growing bolder and now the sea barons are following suit but it has not been confirmed that they are allies. We have faced worse, what I need from you, my advisors, is to remain calm and strategise. Not flounce and panic at the first sign of trouble.”

“Your grace.” Yannic bowed, stepping away to the side of the hall ending the discussion.

Marlena’s ears pricked and unravelled the muted sounds from distant corridors figuring out who it was that approached; two different heartbeat rhythms but three sets of steps in perfect unison grew closer and closer giving away who it was instantly. The large doors of the throne room were opened before they even rounded the corner.

The scent of worn leather, damp sand, salty sea air, pine, dewy grass, parchment and ink all melded together, on top of a sweat and musk that only a man can wear drifted into the hall as Finan, flanked by Sihtric and Osferth, drew nearer.

“Lord king,” Finan bowed, offering a smaller head bow on straightening his posture to Marlena, “Your Highness.”

His eyes, dark burnt umber with tawny flecks, barely met hers as he kept his focus on Helier. For nearly two centuries Finan had served this crown, humbled by the loss of his home and royal title; he worked his way up from a thankful survivor to a formidable and loyal advisor.

“What news do you bring, commander?”

“Traders are having a harder time making it to the docks, and they’re too frightened to try getting here by land. Not so much a major issue for us but…” Us being the long-living, undying, vampyre, “They’re requesting a private audience with you tomorrow, your grace.”

“They can have it.”

Finan nodded and cleared his throat. “We also received a messenger, Prince Hal will be returning before the week's end.”

“Good.”

Helier stood from his throne signalling the end of the council session and motioned for Finan to follow him to his private office. Marlena’s dark eyes tracked their smooth movements until they were out of sight.

Standing from her seat she gave a subtle head movement instructing Sihtric and Osferth to follow her onto the sheltered outerwalk way. Her skin was glistening porcelain under the silvery moonlight and glowing amber under the contrasting firelight as she clenched the hanging pearls in her hand.

“Is it as grim as they’re saying it is?”

“The traders could just be nervous but truthfully, we won’t know for sure until Hal return’s princess.” Sihtric disclosed, keeping up with her quick steps.

“The messenger gave no details?”

“No. Only that some men have been lost and they’re coming home.”

“What business would shadows and sea barons have in being allies?” Marlena asked, looking at Osferth.

“None, it’s unheard of, neither kind is exactly known for being friendly.” He shrugged, struggling to keep up with the pair. “We know next to nothing about shadow walkers, how they live, how an army of them would behave, if they have a governing body, we only see what they’re like under the veil when they’re dead.”

“Have you fought them before?” Her long braid nearly whipped Sihtric as she snapped her head to him.

“Yes, but not an entire hoard of them.”

He, and a small number of other changelings, had been making their way towards the coast the very first time he encountered a shadow. They’d been ambushed in the night, by what they couldn’t be certain. They were taller than most mortal men, moving eerily fast with a muddy grey veil that vibrated and shifted around their form hiding their true appearance.

Any attempt at piercing the figure would cause their veil to harden like a shield, protecting them from the blow. The noises they made were unlike any sound Sihtric had heard before, a mixture of whistling hisses, shrill shrieks and low grumbles intertwined adding further confusion to the ambush.

By the time Sihtric thought to change his form he’d already lost two members of his group. He found it much easier to attack them with claws and teeth, pulling limb from limb, their moving shields unable to handle the onslaught of multiple punctures.

He and Rypere had only survived by luck, Finan and his men arriving to finish off the job.

“Woah big fella, I’m a friend.” The lilt of his voice strong as he lowered his sword, regarding the two changelings in their bear form. The two had been by his side ever since, proud to be in Marlena’s guard.

“They aren’t the easiest to kill, princess.” Sihtric cautioned Marlena.

“That may be true but they can be killed. Sunset tomorrow, prep the yard, we start training. I want you to lead it.”

“Training?” Osferth quizzed, looking past the princess to Sihtric.

“I want my troops prepared. I will not send them out there blind.”

Marlena was no stranger to battle. She’d done her fair share of patrols over the many years that passed since she came of age, but she had never been on the frontline of a war and staying behind, watching from the safety of high walls was not an option for her. If she were to send men, women, other kinds, to fight for her and her family she’d be right there beside them, spurring them on.

As soon as she stepped into the threshold of her private room, Marlena uncoiled the pearls decorating her body, hanging them over the largely ornate bronze mirror that hung from the castle's stone walls.

A low fire already burned in the fireplace opposite her bed; four tall posts on each corner holding up the deep blue canopy that hung over the sides, a protective curtain should the window ever become damaged during the sunlight hours.

Sleep wasn’t necessary for her kind, but occasionally it was required, and even then it was more of a deep rest than sleep. It was similar for food, not every vampyre could stomach it but those that could often enjoyed meats, rich fruits and sweet pastries which is why she always had a bowl of plums and cherries to hand.

Squawks of gulls swooping and diving past the shuttered window as the waves of high tide crashed against the cliff edge signalled sunrise, as it did every morning. Marlena sighed while taking a slow sip of her sweetly infused wine, eyes transfixed on the multiple maps of the continent she had laid out on the stone floor of her chambers.

She scanned the inked lines etched onto the thick parchment detailing the castle in its centre – the coast on the west, mountains to the north, open land that stretches to the red grasses and beyond to the east, and more open land bordered by dense thick forests to the south.

Mulling over different defence strategies she turned to the window, a minuscule gap in the wood allowing a narrow streak of low sunlight to stream through into the room urged her closer. Mindful to stay in the shadows, she watched dust particles floating in the air, only appearing in the rays as tiny stars before disappearing into the darkness.

The soft creak of her chamber door opening and closing didn’t pull her gaze away from the crack in the shutter, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The familiar scent of worn leather and coppery spice filling the room was welcome.

“You’re late, commander.” She half-heartedly chastised.

“My apologies princess, the king needed my assistance.”

Coming to stand behind her, Finan gently moved Marlena’s braid over her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist, his body molding around the shape of her slender frame and his words breathing across her cheek, “You get closer to this window each sunrise.”

“Mm. Do you not wonder what the sun feels like?”

“I imagine it feels like death.” He smirked lightly, lips skimming down the column of her neck. “Who are you drinking?” He asked, taking the crystal chalice from her light grasp and blindly placing it on a side table.

“Someone sweet.” Marlena sighed, tilting her head to the side with a hum as Finan’s canine teasingly grazed across her soft skin. His hands on her waist travelled to the back of her gown, loosening the thick ribbons with nimble fingers.

Layers of clothing were shed and left strewn across the floor, covering the now-forgotten maps in between hungry heated kisses. Hands eager to touch explored the freshly exposed skin as limbs tangled together on the bed.

Finan dragged his tongue over and through her glistening folds agonisingly slowly, only breaking away to lavish her thighs with burning lips, resisting every animalistic urge to leave deep purple blooms on her pale skin. Marlena pulled his brawny frame up her body with ease, instantly trapping his mouth with hers, hips grinding into his, wordlessly asking for all of him.

She relished surrendering her body to him, the blistering ecstasy that flowed through her veins from his simplest touch. Time and time again she allowed this over the past eight years and each time it ended she still felt starved, longing for more.

There’d always been an invisible thread pulling the two together since the day he arrived. As she’d always been expected to attend council even before she came of age, Marlena witnessed him relinquishing his title in order to be accepted into the coven.

He’d accepted her condolences with a smile that sparked her curiosity. How was it a young prince could lose everything he’d ever known, his home, his family, his influence, but still possess genuine kindness?

Finan attended every one of her training sessions, at first providing words and cheers of support, then eventually he was permitted to take over to ensure the original swordsman wasn’t being too soft on her.

With each misstep, loss of balance, and heavy blow that took Marlena off her feet, he’d be right there with a hand outstretched, easily lifting her back up and correcting what she’d done incorrectly. Every touch of his fingers sparking flames against her skin, she could never find it in her to get angry at the way he’d give her warning slaps with the flat edge of the blade.

He was by her side the very first time she led a patrol, answering every question she had wanting to hear as much as she could about his home life on the western isles, how different their lands and court were. He never refused to answer and kept her company when they took rest during sun up, talking until it was safe to move on.

The first battle they found themselves in together left Marlena in a state of shock afterwards, his calm words soothing her woes because she had killed for the first time. “Kill or be killed, they would not spare you.” He’d said gently, embracing her for the first but not the last time.

Finan always followed the rules, making sure the king approved before taking her hand to dance at gatherings; no one batted an eye at the budding friendship. It was inevitable with him being named the head of her guard, and when it came time for him to step aside for his role as commander of the king’s forces, his recommendation of Sihtric being his replacement was accepted.

His hushed words had Marlena’s eyes lulling open; she rested on his chest with fingertips tracing shapes into the hairs and skin. “Not to cause any upset, but the old man is being pressured.”

“Betrothal talks again?” She asked, unbothered any time there was unrest it was always brought up.

“It’s bound to happen, they’re preparing for the worst.”

“Let me guess, I’m to be shipped off to some distant king or prince?” Her tone amused as she shifted her leg slotted between his and moved to lay between them.

“A little closer to home actually. It’s-” His words cut off with a sharp hiss as Marlena playfully nipped at his skin with her teeth, instantly soothing it with a circle of her tongue. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“For now.”

Finan, as always, made sure to part ways with Marlena before the arrival of her handmaid, following the winding corridors and spiral staircases towards the lower levels of the castle unseen to wash up and ready in his smaller chambers.

Each swipe of the wet linen cloth doused in herbal soap removed the hints of cherry and sweet peonies lingering on his skin, careful to leave no clear indication of his and Marlena’s indiscretions.

Although he admired her nonchalance for the recent discussions of suitors, believing it would never happen, he found himself unable to speak of how serious the current situation truly was. They were losing men on every patrol of the southern border; tenants of settlements further out had started to move closer in and the issues on the coast were also starting to push inland.

Fighting battles on two fronts would be near impossible for them, especially with the added problem that they could only fight in full numbers after the sun had gone down, and with summer fast approaching, they were certain to face defeat.

He feared the list of five suitors would quickly dwindle to one, forcing Marlena to leave these lands in a marriage she would surely despise just to save them all. Women of royalty and nobility being a currency in times of uncertainty was nothing new, but the king was usually able to keep his daughter at his side, citing she was too important to be given away in case something were to happen to Hal.

“The most important thing the princess can do at this moment in time, Your Grace, is accept that her duty as a protector of the realm also includes wedlock, especially if that husband will provide us something so desperately needed,” Yannic had urged Helier the evening before inside the king’s private office.

“Do you have any insights you’d like to add, Finan?” The king asked, rubbing his temple as he pondered the list Yannic had already prepared for him.

“Tying yourself to another coven would provide a much needed strength, Your Grace.” His words left a bitter taste on his tongue, but he could not lie for his own selfish reasons.

After securing his leather cuirass, he rolled up the parchment with scrawled designs for a set of weapons and made his way to the bailey via the walled inner walkway, safe from the setting sun.

Pushing his way into the smithy, he was met with the heat of a roaring furnace; sweet smoky burning coal, and the booming voice of Clapa.

The giant beamed, “Lord commander!”

He was considered small for his kind at eight feet tall, which always left Finan dumbfounded when he saw him standing with the others that occupied the surrounding villages; it was probably the workshop that made him seem larger.

“Less of that, I have a small request,” Finan smiled, handing him the rolled-up parchment.

“What do you have for me?” Clapa mused looking over the sketches, his brow raising at Finan, “These designs are a little on the uh…feminine side, even for you.”

“They’re for the princess. She’ll need them.”

“I’ll get started right away.”

“Good man,” Finan patted the giant's arm and lingered while discussing finer details of the design until the sun had finally set.

Once outside on the main grounds, he walked the perimeter of the training yard listening to Sihtric address a large group of Marlena’s sworn men.

“A longsword alone will be useless. Those of you who fight with sword and seax, or sword and axe will have an easier time. If you don’t use both, you start doing so from today.”

A bowman spoke up from the crowd looking concerned, “And those of us who use arrows?”

“For now, nothing changes. You will remain on the walls until we have further information but I suggest you stick around, you may just learn something that could save your life.”

Finan spent the next two nights watching over the yard, checking over the armoury stock levels and avoiding the council chamber as much as possible. While he understood that politics were a necessary part of his position he dreaded hearing a potential announcement and giving his emotions away for all to see, likely jeopardising Marlena in the process.

On the third night, not long after sunset, the bell tower rang out alerting the return of Prince Hal. The streets within the walled city were lined with worried residents curious to get a look at any losses the prince’s men may have suffered and the guards struggled to clear space for them to filter through the gatehouse.

The bailey bustled with staff preparing the stables for the returning horses and council members rushing to the keep only to be turned away at the hall doors. King Helier declared it a closed session, he wanted to hear from Hal what happened firsthand before deciding what news was shared.

Helier perched on the edge of his seat in anticipation, Marlena paced back and forth in front of the three thrones twisting her pearls in her fingers, Yannic stared at his feet with his hands clasped together, and Finan looked between all three of them.

All four glanced at the door at the same time, the clinking of steel armour and rattling chainmail getting louder as the door opened to reveal Hal. His face was set in a grimace, dried mud and blood caking his face and matted into his shoulder-length ebony curls; his bright blue eyes only softened when they landed on his sister.

“Your Grace,” He breathed, offering his father a bow before allowing Marlena to embrace him.

Finan sat in an empty councilman’s chair as he listened to Hal explain the difficulties he’d had squashing an attack towards the southern border. The shadow walkers had retreated only to follow them on their journey home.

“We were attacked during sun up, I lost half my men. We need to ensure each group sent out is equal otherwise our chances of survival are-” Hal was stopped by the king cutting him off.

“How far was the last attack?”

“No more than six miles out.”

“So close?” Marlena’s gaze shot to Finan, an attack this near to the city was unheard of.

“Is there a chance they are still there?” Yannic asked Hal, standing from his seat and beginning to pace with his thoughts.

“Most likely, they haven’t been retreating as they normally would.”

The king sighed deeply as he stood from his throne, “Finan, ready some men. I want them pushed back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Lord King.”

In his chambers under flickering firelight, Finan shrugged into his chainmail trying his best to not accidentally elbow or punch his squire, who was busy ensuring his boots were adequately laced, in the head.

Osferth stood by the open door, an arm crossed over his chest with his other hand against his chin deep in thought, “I’ll see what I can dig up in the archives. We may be able to learn a thing or two from Queen Isobel’s time.”

“Whatever it is you find down there you tell no one but me or Marlena. You know how the king feels about you ‘being nosy’.”

“And if neither of you are here?”

“You wait until we are,” Finan instructed sternly. He was fond of the young mage who already had a wealth of knowledge and a deep desire for more but King Helier had a habit of chastising Osferth for asking questions and Prince Hal was still unsure of his intentions.

The scents of peony, cherry, almond and rich copper attached to Marlena hit Finan’s senses before her quick light steps carried her through the door. All three men bowed at her arrival and Finan quickly requested that Osferth and his squire leave them.

“You aren’t wearing enough armour for my liking,” She spoke quietly, tugging his cuirass then taking his arm in her hands to finish lacing his leather vambrace.

“I like to be light on my feet, can’t do that covered in steel princess.”

Her onyx eyes darker than a midnight sky stayed focused on his warmer mahogany tones, a light crease between her brows and lips pressed tightly together as he secured his sword belt.

With a subtle shake of his head, Finan reached out and gently smoothed the pad of his index finger down the crease to the tip of Marlena’s nose. Bringing her hand to his lips he pressed one kiss to her knuckles before slipping away to leave.

“Finan…” Marlena’s soft call came shakily, and as he turned back in the doorway her delicate fingers clasped around his jaw, quickly capturing his mouth with hers.

As her lips guided over his it felt familiar but different, a sense of deep urgency that had never been there before that left him aching for more as she pulled away, “Be careful out there.”

End Notes: If you'd like to be tagged for this series let me know!

#the last kingdom fanfic #finan x oc #finan fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic

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meraki24601 · 8 months

Text

Dawn

Whumptober day 11! I made it farther than I expected lol. I ended up using both the song lyrics and the object: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” and animal trap.

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Whumpee’s fangs cut their lower lip as they snarled and bit at the hunter approaching through the trees. The bear trap clamped down on their ankle clenched tighter as they lunged, a warning not to come any closer. White hot pain shot from the cold iron trap around their ankle and up their spine, twisting their powerful growl into a howl of agony.

“I set that trap out in hopes of catching one of the giant wild boar destroying my garden.” The hunter rolled their shoulders, their gun shining in the moonlight. “I never would have dreamed it was a disgusting vampire stealing my crops. What were you doing with them? Your kind doesn’t eat vegetables.”

This hunter seemed to be a reasonable one, if angry at Whumpee’s presence. They stopped to talk calmly instead of wasting bullets likely not made for killing their kind. Taking an unnecessary breath to block out the pain, Whumpee lowered their head, “My sincere apologies. My actions were uncouth, tainted with ignorance and fear. I am not the one stealing your crops. My purpose here is only to pass through. I did not know this land had been claimed. If you will release me, I will gladly help you hunt the boar you seek as payment for further safe passage.”

“You must think I am a fool.” The hunter’s voice was colder than the steel chaining Whumpee to the earth. “I know what you are. I know what your kind do. Should I release you from the trap, you would kill me, my family, and the entire surrounding village.”

“I swear, I would not. I swear to you, if you release me, I will not drink a single drop of blood until I have passed on from here. One hundred leagues to the east, if I must. You have my word. Should you not know, a vampire’s word-”

“Is meaningless. I know how your promises bind your kind. It means nothing. You promise to spare that which is mine with the same mouth you swear to kill that which is another’s. The blood you spill will not be on my hands.” With the finality of a king condemning a criminal, the hunter turned and began to walk away.

“Please! Listen for just one moment more. I am not a murderer as you think I am. Surely, you have heard rumors of the vampires of the East? Those who drink the blood of animals instead of man? That is where I am heading. To join my brothers and sisters there. We wish to end the death and fighting so this Earth can thrive.”

The hunter was silent for a moment, frozen on the edge of the clearing. “Vampire, what is your name? How long have you existed in this world as a vampire?”

“Whumpee, my friend. I am nearing eight hundred years.”

“Tales of the vampires who feast on animals have only begun within the past fifty years. It is not only the potential of future lives lost that condemns you, but the mourning of those who have already passed.” The hunter resumed their walk into the trees, disappearing until all that was left was the solemn sound of their voice echoing in the clearing, “I leave you with this: if there is an afterlife for your kind, may you rest in peace.”

Nature’s version of silence has always been loud. Bugs, and birds, and beasts of the night called to the sky, reminding the world they were still alive. With the hunter’s lantern gone and Whumpee’s torch extinguished on the ground, the only light in the clearing came from the Moon, stars, and the ten fireflies dancing close by.

Whumpee knew others were traveling East that night. Some whose path may bring them near enough to hear Whumpee’s call. Accepting one last hope, Whumpee settled against the tree, counting the small flashing bugs to pass the time.

Twenty minutes passed. One of the lights stopped appearing.

An hour. Two more lights were smothered by the night. Whumpee’s leg was numb. At least they didn’t have to worry about bleeding out before help could arrive.

When merely four flashing lights remained in the clearing, Whumpee began to cry.

Three lights left. Whumpee’s voice broke as they screamed, “Help me, please! Is there anyone out there?”

Two tiny lights. The clearing was silent. Even the animals had gone to bed.

One light left.

Dawn.

Part 2

#whumptober 2023 #no.11 #All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.#animal trap #oc #whump fic #trapped #hunter #whumpee #left for dead #vampire #vampire whumpee

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kueble · 2 years

Text

The Hunt

Here is my collab with @mysticcoyoteart for the @witchertrickortreat prompt “Hunt.” I had a blast working with them! You can find the amazing artwork HERE.

Explicit. Warnings: They’re animals. Bunny!Jaskier, wolf!Geralt, knotting, rough sex, chasing as foreplay, mild blood mention. 1,500 Words.

Geraskier

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An eerie howl echoes through the forest, and Jaskier shivers as he drops to all fours. As undignified as it seems, he’s simply faster this way. Perhaps it’s a bit counterintuitive, since his goal is to get caught, but the longer the hunt lasts, the more worked up they both are. Grinning, he pauses to rub his fur against a tree trunk - an effort to throw Geralt off his trail - before bouncing off in another direction.

The fall night is chilly, so much so that he almost longs for the doublet he left back at camp. The first time they played like this, he hadn’t stripped down and lost a lovely emerald doublet to Geralt’s claws. He certainly never made that mistake again.

The next howl is closer, and Jaskier knows it won’t be much longer before he’s caught. Still, he swerves between the trees, darting back and forth to play the part of terrified prey. The crack of a breaking branch sends another shiver down his spine. That wasn’t far off, so he braces himself for the impact.

His heart is hammering in his chest, every instinct ingrained in him is shouting at him to keep running, not to get caught by the much larger predator, and Jaskier fucking loves it. The added thrill of the chase always makes Geralt fuck him rougher than normal.

Suddenly, Jaskier is pounced on, his body slammed to the forest floor as Geralt crashes into him. He lets out a startled squeak, but he’s grinning ear to ear when Geralt leans down to growl against the back of his neck.

“Dangerous out here for a tiny little thing like you,” Geralt says harshly, and Jaskier just whines in response. Gone is his careful lover who lazily kissed him while he fingered himself open not an hour ago.

Melitele’s gorgeous tits, he thrives on it.

“Not so little,” Jaskier argues, bucking up against him, and Geralt snickers back at him.

“Cocky little bunny,” he says, grinding down against him. Jaskier can feel his cock, already hard and out of its sheath, and he damn near drools as he pushes back into Geralt’s large frame. Jaskier is completely surrounded by him, couldn’t get away if he wanted to. So it’s a damn good thing he’s right where he wants to be.

“Big bad wolf,” Jaskier quips back, earning another low chuckle.

“Very big,” Geralt murmurs before leaning down to nip the back of Jaskier’s neck.

He whines, already on edge as Geralt rakes his massive teeth over his fur. It would be so easy for Geralt to hurt him, would barely take any energy at all to sink those teeth into his throat, and just the danger of it makes Jaskier’s cock throb.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” Geralt asks, snorting as he grinds his cock against Jaskier’s slicked-up hole.

“You know how easy I am, love,” Jaskier laughs back, trailing off into a broken moan when the head of Geralt’s cock catches on his rim. He leans down, his ears brushing against the ground, and tries to hold himself back.

Geralt, the delightful bastard, just reaches between them and rubs the back of a claw against Jaskier’s entrance. The cold shock of it has him coming, shouting hoarsely as he spills on the dirt beneath them. His little cock throbs as it washes over him, his back arching and arms shaking as he rides it out.

“Easy prey,” Geralt says, his hot breath ghosting the side of Jaskier’s face. He can hear the grin in his voice, and knows he must look absolutely feral right now. And then Geralt sniffs the air, taking in the scent of him, and Jaskier whimpers as he realizes he’s getting off on the smell of his spend.

“Always happy to be caught by you,” Jaskier says as soon as he catches his breath. The good thing about rabbits are they may come easily, but they don’t ever stop. His cock is still hard, and he’s ready to go again.

Geralt nuzzles him - the softness a stark contrast to their taunts - and then Jaskier feels the thick press of him against his hole again. He braces himself, fingers practically digging into the dirt, and Geralt thankfully doesn’t tease him much longer.

The first press of him is always overwhelming. Jaskier feels like there’s no way his prick will fit inside of him, like just the head is enough to tear him apart. He’s well trained by now, though, and once Geralt pops inside, he slowly breaches him until his heavy balls are pressed against Jaskier’s body. He groans loudly, pushing back against him as Geralt starts to slide out again.

He slams back in with enough force to shake Jaskier’s smaller frame, and he cries out as pleasure dances down his spine. Geralt finds a quick pace, fucking him roughly as he struggles to stay on his hands and knees. It’s brutal and perfect.

Something wet hits his shoulder, and Jaskier whimpers, knowing Geralt’s tongue is hanging out while he fucks him. He bites his own lip as the drool slides through his fur and down his back. Fuck, he’s going to be filthy by the time they’re done.

That thought alone is enough to set him off again, and he comes with a shout. Geralt doesn’t bother stopping, is used to him by now, and just works him through it. Jaskier feels so full, so used that it’s making his head swim.

And then Geralt is pulling back, slipping free of him, and Jaskier makes a questioning whine before the ground and sky start flipping places. He flails his limbs, but Geralt whispers, “I’ve got you,” and it calms him down.

They end up with Geralt on his back and Jaskier straddling him, face to face. And oh yes, this is much much better. Now he can see his lover’s gorgeous face, his eyes nearly black and his fangs glistening in the moonlight as he picks Jaskier up like he’s weightless and slams him back on his cock.

Jaskier sets his hands on Geralt’s chest, even though he doesn’t need to work for it. Geralt does all the work, his claws digging into Jaskier’s waist as he fucks up into him. His prick is massive, and Jaskier feels like he’s fucking up into the back of his throat. He needs a distraction or he’ll come again.

Leaning down, he catches Geralt’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. It’s wet and messy, neither of them able to do much more than nip and lick at each other’s mouth. Jaskier runs his tongue over Geralt’s fangs, pressing up just enough to hurt. It’s a good kind of pain, warming him from the inside out, and he shocks himself by coming again.

He tastes blood, unable to control himself as he shakes wildly on top of Geralt. The copper taste of it explodes on his tongue while he coats Geralt’s stomach in watery come. He watches with wide eyes as his seed blends in with Geralt’s white fur. Unable to stop himself, he brings a hand down and rubs it in, making sure his scent will stick to him for much longer than tonight.

He’s still coming back to himself, mind fucked-out and blissful, when Geralt grunts out that he’s close. That news has Jaskier’s cock perking up again. He presses down, letting it rub between their bodies and keens as Geralt thrusts harder. He feels so full, so deliciously stuffed, yet he starts begging for more.

“Need it,” he whines, “need your knot. Please. Geralt. Fuck, need it.”

“Love when you get greedy,” Geralt tells him. He speeds up, his rhythm stuttering as Jaskier feels the base of his cock growing. The knot brushes against his abused rim, and Jaskier’s eyes nearly roll back into his head as he wills his body to relax.

One more thrust is all it takes, and Jaskier howls out, his voice echoing through the forest as Geralt’s knot pops past his rim. He comes again, slumping down against Geralt’s chest as sparks shoot through him. It’s nearly too much, and he’s pulsing with over-stimulation.

But then Geralt nips at his neck, growling as he finally lets go. The first pump of hot come feels like a blessing, and Jaskier clings to Geralt as he fills him up. It’s too much - always is - but Jaskier knows the knot will keep him plugged.

“Still with me?” Geralt asks after the first round stops, and Jaskier nods weakly. Geralt chuckles and presses a kiss against the top of his head.

They lay there, trading soft kisses while Geralt keeps spilling inside of him. Jaskier aches with it, his belly impossibly round, but it’s the sweetest kind of ache. He knows once Geralt pulls out that he’ll be a mess, come dripping down his thighs and coating his fur. Maybe he can get Geralt to lick him clean once they get back to camp. His cock gives a valiant effort to get hard again at that thought, but he’s done for the night.

---

NSFW Tags: @tothedesert @mayastormborn @feraljaskier @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @honeysuckletook @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @larawrmonster @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @gryffinqueen-blog @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @lokibus @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @clarebear66 @feral-jaskier @hayleynzlive @answrs @jaskierswolf @holymotherwolf @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @singerin @flawney

If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

#my fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #furries #I guess #they're animals #witchertort2 #the witcher #jaskier x geralt #jaskier #geralt #cw knotting #this is just filth and I love it #bunnies come a lot my dudes

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bhaalswn-arch · 9 months

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Now this is something that I planned on writing and trying to convey my thoughts/assumptions onto here. It could be long, it could be not, depending on the things I remember. ( This is simply dwelling into manipulation/compliments. How one thing can affect the brain when you've been described as such for the most of your life. )

"Vile Master" / "Unlovable Carcass" / "Vile Self" / "Dear Rotted Master" / "Ruined Body" & So Much More.

Flattering remarks be damned. None exist in the Temple of Bhaal. Manipulation is key. It thrives as much as it thrives on the spilled blood that drips from innocent bodies that run down the streets and down into the Temple. You were raised with raw obedience. No recollection of your childhood in your mind. Forgotten. Eroded. You live in your ruined body to serve and obey. To be your true vile self. You were watched, constantly. You were Bhaal's Chosen. Expectations were met and exceeded with every tenday. All your life you have been consumed by words and actions. Of hushed manipulation that is whispered into your ears. The cruel influence that soon turned you into the sin incarnate / cruel incarnate. You're disgusting and cruel. Your hands were created to destroy. To be blood-sullied. Dripping in what makes you sated and to honour your own God. To constantly be reminded of the tales of: Uthaedeol the Blood-drenched and many others. So many tainted words had been burrowed deep into Alkas' brain. That he cannot see himself as anything but unlovable and disgusting. Love is not part of what Bhaal is.

You're a wretched thing. You're tainted and horrible. You're nauseating and sickening. You're murderous and sinful. You're a wreck, or a shuddering/shivering mess. You're anything but beautiful nor handsome. You're not what other people say to each other. Such words spoken has soon transformed you into a Thing. As Bhaal intended. You were destined to have a cruel fate. Your brain working overtime to plan out every step in order to calculate every death every tenday.

If you were ever met with the word/compliment of being called beautiful. You wouldn't know what to do with it. You'll be too stunned to ask. To even contemplate on such a definition because it does not fit you. ( Or did it? Did it fit you? No. ) No one has complimented you. Not in terms of actual genuineness. Manipulation? Yes. But not in the way you think. But to be praised and make it sound genuine breaks the cycle.

It'll make him feel like a person, as you treat him as a person and not a thing.

"You're beautiful" / "Your smile is crooked yet unique" / "Your laugh is amazing." / "You look lovely today."

Sometimes Alkas will fail to believe it, and despite even his memory loss. It's probably dug in so deep into his brain that he may not forget it. Not when there is actual monologue of such words. ( ex. "unlovable carcass" ) and acknowledging how much had been said between him and Fel. To hear such words once again and feeling utterly familiar.

In the end. What do other people see in you? Do they see you as a Thing? Cruel. Disgusting. An animal. Someone who'd been swallowed up in the Darkness. Or do they see you as a Person? Handsome. Cunning. Someone who wanted to be better.

#[ 04 ] ── * HEADCANON ( 𝘱𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴 )#( this took long but-- )#( i may add more to the list of what has been said via “compliments” )

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aliquistis · 1 year

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Felyndrae Hlana'rret

Paladin of Eilistraee

"... In Drow, blue or purple eyes often indicate human ancestry ..."

My Grandmother named me. Weak Blood. As though I needed the reminder. My mother murdered her when I was still a child and took control of our House.

We have a saying in the Underdark: One can always choose a death. There are many, many ways to die down below, from the smallest stinging insect to the largest starving beast. There are too many cruelties to count, from slavery to murder to everything in between. One can always choose death. They tell us when we are still children, so that we understand the stakes at hand: if you do not have the will to survive, then you may as well walk into the darkness and find an exit of your choosing

But there is another meaning, as well: one can always choose a death. One can always kill that which might kill them. Drow think of death as an infinite solution, the endgame that boils down all obstacles to their most basic principles. If I cannot kill, then I will die. If I cannot choose the death of my enemy, then I may as well choose my own.

These teachings told me that I should have felt triumph that day, when I slit my sister's throat. It meant I should have felt pride at my mother's sudden appreciation of me, at the unexpected acceptance I found in my other half-siblings.

I felt none of that.

I felt nothing.

Violence scoops you out inside to leave a void where only the thorns of hatred can thrive. My human blood had made me an outsider in my own family, and the resentment that grew in the wake of that -- with the rivalry encouraged by my own mother -- spilled a poison in my veins that quickened as I grew older. Yet releasing that poison did not free me of it; I was poisoned still, trapped in a cycle of violence and revenge from which I saw no escape.

One can always choose a death. I washed the blood from my hands that night and finally saw the lies in the wisdom of the drow. I walked out into the darkness, prepared to make another choice, prepared to die. Yet I didn't.

I saw a sliver of silver, dancing like the moonlight I'd never yet seen. I followed that light to a secret hollow, to a secret place of worship for a Goddess I knew only in whispers of dissent. A Goddess I didn't know, yet somehow, She knew me.

I'd chosen death: first my sister's, then my own. But I found something else in the darkness, something unexpected. I chose death, and life found me.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #drow #eilistraee #fanfic #felyndrae #cw violence

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another-corpo-rat · 1 year

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My head is full of thoughts about Victoria's actual storyline ima plan out, i need to get them out so im making that everyone elses problem will i ever write it? prob not. i have commitment issues when it comes to long term projects so the rambling and occasional drabble with have to do

if you care to read this: hi, ty for even a passing interest in my bitch barbie - im rambling about her hand in Yoriunbo's death in a story that very heavily diverts from canon below the cut because i have the habit of starting at the end

kinda have two ideas for it: the first, is that Victoria's influence is indirect - she isn't the one that takes his life: Evelyn Parker is.

With Victoria's goading trailing through her thoughts maybe - but Victoria can't prove or take credit for that no matter how smug she is at the timing. But what she does know and what both women will keep quiet due to the means of mutual destruction, is that it was a chip of her making that blacked out any means of communication; Trauma Team or anyone who could help isn't alerted. Couldn't be - Smasher could be standing right outside the door, and Yoriunbo wouldn't have been able to so much as call for him (Smasher was, in fact, outside the door and merely gave Evelyn a knowing look and a passing 'you done?' that she answers with a nod and the flippant request to 'give him some time' a casual enough conversation, one that wouldn't draw suspicion that Smasher himself may have been involved should his recordings of the night be accessed)

Yoriunbo is found a mere hour or two after Evelyn leaves his suite, dead in the bath - very much in the style of The Death of Marat. Evelyn is suspected but she can't be found: the joys of conspiring with a skilled netrunner, it's as if she vanished into thin air (like those who've acted against Arasaka in the past, Evelyn is perhaps vibing with a certain Nomad clan, waiting for the dust to settle before moving on entirely)

and really, Arasaka can't afford to allow that story to go public: their CEO killed by a joytoy mere months after the previous died in suspect conditions. There's further mess and chaos within the corporation until Hanako manages to wrangle the factions together in something of resembling peace, and if the heiress seems to be quietly raging then no one knows why besides the pretense of grief.

the second idea - less thought out but entirely self-indulgent Victoria is the one holding the knife when Yoriunbo dies, but its not by her own strength that she slides it between his ribs. She's shaking, both from exhaustion and the wonder of 'can i really do this?' there's a whole lotta consequences that'll come from her killing him, but she can't exactly just let him live now either, can she? not after learning what he intended, how he wanted to crumble the tower she thrives on to ruin - and she has the proof, the witnesses, the recordings. she has Michiko's word that she'll be protected from those consequences, but the word of an Arasaka is a rotted thing, even if promised so sweetly

she's shaking and that makes her hands unsteady, even if her grip would be white-knuckled with how tightly she's holding the hilt. Smasher's hands wrap around hers, his chest pressing into her back as he guides the point of the blade into Yoriunbo's heart. and if the scene were caught in a frame, it might even be poetic: Yoriunbo, dying with something of a smile as he looks up not a portrait of his father, but the brother who took his own life before him - the same brother who created Smasher looking down from his gilded frame to witness that monstrous creation being the hand that spills his family's blood while curled protectively around a woman they'd deign insignificant

Victoria is frozen as she looks down at the body, realising that an Arasaka is as mortal as the rest of them. There's a more active coup in this event; less of a need to hide their involvement. And still, Hanako is fuming that her request that Yoriunbo be spared is ignored. Because she made the mistake of requesting it of Victoria, not ordering it of Smasher - and Michiko, ever the black sheep of their family, keeps her word and enforces that Hanako do the same

#cyberpunk 2077 #yes im subjecting the main tag to this lol hello #OC Rambling #Victoria Crane #its all very loose and messy atm #and ofc lacking in a shitton of context #something something about rulers being killed by those their societies deemed unimportant #esp in regards to Evie killing him #wip: square hammer

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azurescaled-archived · 10 months

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Actually to give some views into Seraph, I'm gonna post one of the journal entries i did describing an encounter with Khorne

Seraph awakens, in his body, or what feels like his body…Though there's something missing, but he can't place his finger on what it could be. He feels as if he's floating, and looking around, there's nothing around him, and yet…He feels like he's being watched. He walks for a while, finally finding his feet, before he reaches a mirror…Or a window? He can finally recognize this place as he blinks, clearing some bleariness from his mind. This is his father's castle. He remembers the meeting between everyone and their alternate selves, he remembers his alternate self, corrupted by Khorne, even partially taken over by him during their battle. He looks around, seeing his room, the elf sighs, frowning as he looks to the bed, seeing his sleeping body there. They restored Eleanor, but at what cost? Now here he was, useless to the party once more. It's not long before his head turns to the sound of footsteps, seeing himself walking forward, but this one…Eyes that burned read, with sharper teeth bared in a wide grin towards him.

"Ah, how long I've waited to talk to you…Seraph. That pesky seal on the back of your neck kept me from reaching you, but now that it's gone…I can finally get to know you better. I must say, knowing that other version of you…Now there's a true acolyte of war. He thrives in the bloodshed, and there's so much I can use to pick him apart. You have that same potential, you know. How I would love to see you become something like that Red Raven."

Seraph's eyes widened, he could no longer feel the burn of the seal on his neck. The seal breaking must've allowed all of his memories to come back in a flood, he doesn't know how many had been sealed away, but it's certainly not a good thing. Hence why his body couldn't take the strain, especially after the fight they had been involved in.

"Khorne. Of course, I should've known you'd have taken an interest in me. If another version of you was interested in me, why would you be any different? I won't become your puppet."

Khorne lets out a low chuckle, before it became full blown laughter. Seraph feels his heartbeat quicken at the sound, echoing in his skull.

"Oh, my boy. You think you can stave me off because you don' t take pleasure in the slaughter, don't you? Blood is blood, all I care about is that it flows. Your bloodshed could be just, and it wouldn't change a thing. I shall always be here, in the back of your mind, whispering. I've taken the time to read through some of your memories…And while you haven't spilled as much blood as your counterpart, I enjoyed listening to that man begging for his life. Music to my ears. Of course, there's also those untethered you fought as well…"

Khorne grunts, the grin full of knives settling into a snarl. Let it be said that he was not a god of what he knew to be true, war and blood would always be around, and they were his domain. There was pleasure to be had in battle, the defeat of an honorable opponent, to overcome one's enemies and to triumph. The blood, the drink, the revelry…He hated fascimilies of life.

"Oh how I hate those false bodies…No screams, no blood, just some empty soul forced into armor. Where's the rush in overcoming an opponent with no desire beyond mindlessly following orders?! How can those things be called warriors?! Their weapons are wasted upon them. But the souls returned to their bodies…I know you still hear their cries for mercy, you close your eyes and you can see the fear in their eyes…You may hate the source, but the truth is there. You were meant to be a weapon, a destroyer. Why else would you choose to ferry souls to the afterlife?"

Seraph looks away, not wanting to look this copy in the eyes. He would never be able to forget those people's faces, he knew that. But he steeled himself, glaring at Khorne.

"You're wrong. Just because I can kill doesn't mean I am meant to be a murderer. I fight to protect those I care for. I am not alone and I do not need to shoulder my burdens alone. I am a proud son of House De Vinter, and I will NEVER be your slave."

Khorne laughed, the grin widening so much it threatened to split his face.

"Put on a good show then boy. We'll see how well your soul stands to me."

#m;seraph

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lawyernovelistrewritestauriel · 1 year

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There and Back Again: Chapter 4

Previous - Table of Contents - Next

Ao3

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Chapter 4: Stormclouds

Tauriel's suspicion that some of the dwarves had survived the dragon's attack had been correct. In fact, all of them had and according to the people of Laketown they had sealed the mountain against them, calling them thieves. As Bard told them the story, he kept getting angrier until at last he could barely say Thorin's name without a curse. Soon after learning that the dwarves were all inside, Thranduil sent Tauriel out to set guards around their camp; it seemed unlikely the dwarves would make any sortie and there were very few of them to try to send out scouts, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks.

At last, Bard rode past Tauriel, looking tired and angry but determined. She waved a greeting and he slowed to a walk to speak to her.

"Where are you going now?" she asked.

Bard nodded towards the mountain. "To talk to that... to talk to Thorin one last time. I'd rather never see him again and your king clearly thinks I'm wasting my time, but if he looks out of his gate now he'll see a very different prospect. I just want to rebuild my city so that my people can go on with our lives; he'll have to be our neighbour, so I'd rather not begin that by spilling his kinsmen's blood. It could be that he'll realise this isn't an argument he can win and he'll agree to do what's right by us."

Tauriel nodded. "His nephew Fili seems reasonable. You may do better with him."

"Unfortunately, Thorin's the one I have to deal with for now." Bard looked up at the mountain with a deep sigh.

"Good luck," said Tauriel.

He chuckled. "Thanks. I'll need it." Then he rode on.

Tauriel watched him go, a single lonely figure riding up towards the front gate of the mountain. She shaded her eyes with a hand and squinted; she'd never seen any part of Erebor before today, but she could make out the shape of the gateway and that it appeared to be blocked. Perhaps there was a gate; it wouldn't surprise her from what she knew about dwarves for them to have made a gate entirely out of the stone of the mountain.

Bard vanished around a rocky outcrop and Tauriel turned away, back towards the rest of the elven force which was now making camp and mingling with the refugees of Laketown. Her immediate role was done, so she was now going to stay by Thranduil's side in case she was needed.

He was in a newly-pitched tent, leaning over a map of Erebor and the surrounding area with a couple of other commanders. They looked up as she stepped into the doorway.

"Ah, Tauriel, come in." Thranduil beckoned and looked back at the map. "There aren't enough of us to surround it for a siege, unfortunately." He sounded like he was continuing something he'd been saying before she arrived. "Even if all the people of Laketown were in a state to help with that."

"I take it you don't think Bard will be able to persuade Thorin of anything, my lord," said Tauriel with a small smile.

Thranduil snorted. "I'd be more prepared to believe he could persuade the mountain to surrender than Thorin, but he wanted to try." He sighed. "I doubt this will come to battle, which I'm grateful for, but the mountain appears to be well-fortified and I can't make out what Thorin thinks he's going to achieve. Even at its height, Erebor could never have thrived without the friendship of Dale. Certainly it can't with only twelve dwarves to defend it from attack." He frowned at the map. "Perhaps Bard is right and when he sees he has an army to face and not just a crowd of starving refugees, he'll think better of his actions, but if not…" He straightened up, looking around at them. "If not, he may be expecting reinforcements. Tauriel" - he tapped the open land north of the mountain - "go and see if you can see any trace of movement in the direction of the Iron Mountains. I'll expect you back in three days."

"I won't be able to get to the Iron Mountains and back in that time even on horseback, my lord," said Tauriel, measuring the distance on the map with her eyes.

"I know, but do your best. You should at least be able to see any sign of an approaching army."

Tauriel nodded, saluted, and left the tent. As she walked to the horse line she was already planning her route. The land north of Erebor lacked the cover of forest or even proper hills, but it was rolling moorland rather than being entirely flat and featureless. With care, she'd be able to stay out of easy sight in the hollows. Any army worth its salt would have outriders, but that was a danger she would have to face when the time came. She mounted her horse, riding without the saddle she'd used to carry baggage on the way to Erebor, and with a word urged it into a trot, turning her eyes north.

Galadhwen was one of a handful of healers who had accompanied the elven army. In this company, she was one of the less-skilled; as a ranger she was too much of a warrior to truly heal, but she could see to burns and minor injuries. A handful of girls and women from among the Laketown refugees had joined them, including Sigrid, who seemed glad of a familiar face among the newcomers.

"What do you think will happen next?" she asked as they sat together in a quiet moment, looking up at the mountain.

Galadhwen cut an apple in half and handed half to Sigrid, who took a large bite. "I don't know," she said, looking back at the mountain and pretending not to notice how hungry the girl was. "I don't think it'll come to a war."

"My father doesn't want to fight, but I don't think that makes much difference."

"Why not? He's leading those who escaped Laketown, isn't he?"

"I suppose, but he doesn't want to do that either." Sigrid sighed and looked at her apple core. "He wants to go back to the way things were. They were bad, but at least we had a home and knew where we would be tomorrow."

Galadhwen looked sympathetically at her. "Soon you'll have a home again," she said gently. "I know this is hard, but it'll pass."

Sigrid sighed. "That's what I try to tell Tilda. Bain too, but I don't think he believes me." She grinned a bit. "I'm glad not to have to deal with the Master and his men any more." Despite the attempt to be cheerful, her smile faded even as she spoke. "I wish Alfrid had run off down the river with him, but I suppose that might make this a little more bearable." She threw the apple core at a wall.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, the dwarves don't have anything to eat but what they brought with them."

"If they want to buy goods from us, they'll have a hard bargain," said Sigrid. She rubbed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Let's get out of the wind," said Galadhwen, getting up and brushing the dust from her clothes. Sigrid also stood and shook out her skirt.

"Do you think my Da makes a good leader?" she asked as they walked back down into the main part of the city.

"He cares about his people and is willing to defend them and do what he can to get them what they need," said Galadhwen. "I like him."

Sigrid grinned and held her head a little higher.

Tauriel rode until sundown and made a cold, cheerless camp on the sheltered side of one of the small hills. She could have continued into the night, but the ground was too rough and she didn't want to risk harm to her horse.

She ate a few mouthfuls of dried fruit and nuts as she considered the next day's route. She would only be able to ride for a few hours before she had to turn back and she doubted she'd get close enough to the Iron Hills to see a dwarvish army unless it was almost at Erebor, but the king had given her an order. She looked up at the stars and, despite her worries, she couldn't help a smile. After the last few years, it was still a joy to be out under the stars.

She rested until the moon rose, then got up to look over the land again. The moon was waning, but it was only a few days from the full and a light dusting of snow on the ground made the night brighter, though snow and frost would also make the footing more dangerous. She climbed to the top of the little hill, shivering as a gust of wind cut through her cloak, and narrowed her eyes to look into the distance. She could see the line of the Iron Hills in the distance, but something else caught her eye: a flicker of flame and the ghost of a plume of smoke catching the moonlight just before the wind blew it away entirely. She frowned. There could be something there, but it could have been anything from a glimpse of an army encampment among the hills to a simple traveller to a trick of the moonlight.

She climbed back down and laid a hand on her horse's shoulder to lead it around the hill, picking her way in the direction of the light she'd seen. A few hours' slow journey and then another rest. It would bring her closer and give her a better chance of finding out more in the morning.

She crept on as the moon passed by overhead, his cold light making the hills look like old bone.The sight sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the biting cold and at last she stopped to rest again, letting her horse settle and eating another mouthful of food as she climbed another hill. The moor looked like it had never seen a living creature. There was no glint of flame from the direction of the Iron Hills. She climbed back down and tried to rest until dawn.

When it came, the morning was crisp and clear and Tauriel set out again, riding now and alternating between a walk and a slow trot. As she went, she constantly looked around, scanning the tops of the little hills. While they hid her, they also reduced her line of sight.

Then she saw him on the horizon: a dwarf on one of the great boars they rode to war. She had never seen one, but the shape was unmistakable. Still, the rider was the important thing, not the mount. She dismounted and whispered a command to the horse to lie down.

She crouched against the line of the hill, slowly pulling up her hood. If there were more snow on the ground around her the silver of her hair might be camouflage, but there wasn't enough for her to take the risk. She waited, her heart in her mouth. The dwarf might not be hostile, but it wasn't a risk she was prepared to take. There was no time even for a confrontation and she couldn't risk warning them of the presence of the elves.

It felt like both a moment and an hour before she heard him riding away and dared to breathe again. Slowly, she crept on her belly to the top of the hillock and peered over. He was clearly visible from here, riding north. She sighed and glanced at the sun to judge the time. She probably had time to ensure he wasn't alone, though she doubted it. She mounted again and rode on, picking her way towards the north-west now.

After another hour, something to the west caught her eye. It looked like a cloud, but it was low even for a stormhead. Perhaps it was smoke, but as she shaded her eyes and studied the horizon she couldn't see any sign of flame and she didn't remember anything from the map that might be burning, especially in winter. What was more, though the nighttime breeze had died away to leave a still, frozen day, the cloud was slowly moving south-east. It looked like a huge flock of migrating birds.

She already had good reason to think an army was approaching from the Iron Hills. If there was another threat, she should spend the remaining time investigating that. She patted her horse's neck and urged it into a steady trot, looking around carefully as she approached the cloud.

She was still some way off when she heard the howl of a warg. Her horse balked, its ears pinned back. She stroked its neck, trying to soothe it, still staring ahead. Then she saw the first warg-rider crest a hill. He was soon joined by others. His warg howled again.

Tauriel glanced around, but he was high enough that there was no way she could hide this time. She couldn't string her bow and loose arrows fast enough to take them all down and she didn't know how many more were out of her sight.

Another orc rode up beside the first, who pointed up at the billowing cloud. Bats, she suddenly realised. They were bats, bred for war.

What was more, she recognised the newcomer: the huge orc she had chased through Laketown. She took a deep breath and let it out. She was dressed in green and brown, riding a grey horse. She knew the power of stillness when it came to hiding in plain sight. She carefully smoothed her hand over the neck of her trembling horse.

Then he looked directly at her. For a moment they locked eyes, then he pointed, barking an order.

In a flash, she made the decision. She didn't know how many he had with him or if they had archers. The only choice was to run. She wheeled her horse and bent low over its neck as she urged it into a gallop, praying it would keep its footing on the rough, icy ground. She glanced over her shoulder, balancing herself against the rocking motion of the horse's gait, and saw that a dozen warg-riders were following. The leader wasn't among them.

She swore and looked forward again, then swore again as an arrow hit the ground to one side of her path. She leaned to steer her horse in that direction and, sure enough, the orc had corrected his shot; the next arrow landed on her other side. She kept weaving among the little hills, shooting occasional glances back at her pursuers. They were keeping pace, but not catching up to her. She let out a long hiss of breath through her teeth. Wargs had better stamina than horses, though they were slower on the flat. She lost that advantage on ice and uneven moorland. She couldn't keep this up forever. She could either lose them or find some way to fight them, but she was outnumbered.

She looked forward, a thought flashing across her head. Little though she wanted to lead pursuit into an unsuspecting target, if she could reach the dwarves they were at least enemies of the orcs. But that was no good. She couldn't be sure enough they weren't her enemies too, and in any case she'd hardly be able to go back and warn Thranduil of their approach if they knew she was there and had seen them.

She couldn't outrun the orcs. She couldn't lose them in this terrain. She was going to have to fight or wait to die.

But even as she was reaching for her bow and planning the best way to jump from the horse's back onto the icy ground without breaking either the bow or any of her bones, she heard a horn from somewhere ahead and one of the orcs shouted an order. She quickly steered her horse to the side, looking back. The orcs were retreating. She halted the horse in the lee of a hill, dismounted, and crouched, panting for breath, waiting for them to come after her again. Her horse stood by her, steaming and trembling, but it seemed the orcs had given up the pursuit. When she crept up to the top of the hill and peered over it, she could see a column of marching dwarves, some riding boars. It certainly looked like they hadn't noticed her. Maybe they'd pursued the orcs, or maybe the horn call hadn't even been an alarm.

One thing was certain: she couldn't return the way she'd come. There was no chance she could avoid the outriders of both armies. As soon as her horse had recovered, she was going to have to find another route.

#Tauriel #rewriting the Hobbit movies #hobbit movies #hobbit movie AU #Through Woodland and Wasteland #Thranduil

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