#(gripping my hair and ripping it out wailing like a banshee)

[calamitywoman]

¡pero es que no aguanto más, este amor me calcina! me nace del corazón y el corazón me domina.

-

i love them so much that i colored this sketch, have these two dumb dumbs 💖

#my art #fanart #atla #zukka #zuko #sokka #(gripping my hair and ripping it out wailing like a banshee) #i love them SO #enough to imagine juanga songs to them #the amv in my head is great

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part Twelve is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 3,700

 “Y/N!” Jack tried to be gentle. Attempted to still your clawing hands. He couldn't break through the screaming. Wasn't able reach any part of your mind as you unsuccessfully moved to tear at the raw and bleeding mark that Dean had left. No words left your lips. There was nothing left inside of you that would allow for such a thing. Only agonized cries that covered the noise coming from the forgotten phone. “Please...Please, just stop!” Tears ran down your face. Your feet kicked out as your arms were pinned down to your chest. “I need you to stop!” Jack's voice caught in his throat. “Please...don't make me hurt you.”

“Alpha!” You finally managed a single word that had morphed into more of a wail. Louder than anything a banshee could conjure up. Your body arching as you fought to rip away the broken bond. The body's way of trying to save itself.

Jack's head turned back to the device he'd abandoned. Something had gone wrong on the other end. Instinctively, he loosened his grip. Prepared to go. Demand to know what was happening over there. The moment you could move, your hands dug through the exposed meat. Shredding it further. As if it would take away your pain.

“I don't know what's going on,” Jack re-pinned your arms. Guilt ridden liquid beginning to fill his eyes. “But, you're going to be okay, Y/N. Okay?” His eyes glowed gold when they met yours. “I promise...you're going to be fine.” Slowly, your struggles lessened. The E/C gaze that had been wide open with instinctual fury began to close. You fell asleep, whispering Dean's name. Jack left you once he was sure that it was safe to; moving to grab the cell phone. “Sam? What's going on?”

“Dean!” Sam was still trying to call to his brother. Jack listened in. His head turning to face your listless body. Not sure on what he could do in that moment.

Worry for all those he loved filled him to the brink; sending the lamp's glass scattering through the room as it exploded. “Will someone just give me answers? I don't know what to do!” The phone was whipped across the space between him and the wall. It was in tiny pieces as he stared at what he'd done. “I don't know what to do,” He whispered that time.

The boy's body slid down the door. His hands covered his face; completely unphased by the blood present. Too terrified that he could be about to lose another mother.

“And,” The drawn out word covered Sam's pleas for Dean to wake mixing with thunder. “That's enough of that,” The reaper ordered, pausing time to silence the scene playing out in front of them using her hand to let the energy free. Her scythe in her spare hand. The hook standing well above her.

“No,” Dean turned away from his body and brother, back to the woman who stood so patiently. “I saw Cas kill you.”

“How's that working out for him?” The older Winchester closed his mouth at the little chuckle that left the red lined lips. His expression morphing into the infamous bitch face. “It's funny to hear a Winchester talk about the finality of dying.” Sarcasm was heavy in the air at that one. “This reality...it has rules, Dean. So many rules.” He didn't make a sound. “And one of them,” She continued. “Kill one incarnation of death, like you did...the next reaper to die takes his place.” Her hand left the scythe. Antagonizing the hunter while pulling off the leather gloves, “So...When Castiel stabbed me in the back?” Black nail polish came into view. “Turns out, I got a promotion,” The familiar white topped ring adorned her finger as she re-gripped the scythe. “New job. New gear.”

“So you died to become death,” Dean pieced it together. Feeling as if they'd been played. In a way, they had. Again.

“This universe can be so many things...and sometimes, it is so poetic.” She answered, more than a little smug. She'd earned the right, after all. She'd come out on top of everything. “That's why we need to talk.”

Billie turned away, and instantly Dean found himself in a different place, “The hell?”

“Welcome to my reading room,” Billie stated, leading the way to her desk. Dean's eyes looked over the giant, black rows of cases. Each one filled to the brim with books. All were labeled 'W' in that particular section.

“Know not to leave this lying around near you. Don't we?” She referenced the previous death's end easily as the scythe was put away. Mocking it. Mocking Dean.

“So...” Dean began warily. Attempting to piece together exactly what was happening. “Am I dead?”

“You killed yourself,” The dark trench coat was pulled off of her shoulders as she moved to her waiting seat. Not even slightly intimidated by the man who'd managed to change the world more times than anyone could count.

“No.” He countered, making sure she understood his true intention behind the question. “Are you keeping me dead?” His inquiry was almost hopeful in nature. Life had been cruel. Especially to anyone with his last name attached. It would be a relief to not have to fight the good fight for a second more.

“Now, that depends on you,”  The coat was draped over the back of her chair. Looking at him as if he would know exactly how to take that.

“Okay. Uh...” He clearly had no clue. “Well, congrats on your promotion.” The falsely chipper was so very Dean Winchester. A twisted little side smile tugged at his tense features. “Uh, but I got a house full of ghosts waiting on me and my brother to get back to.” He pointed backwards, fully prepared to retrace his steps. “So, if it's up to me-”

“I didn't say it was up to you.” She leaned forward a hint as she talked. His eyes stared blankly at her face. “I said it depends on you.” He needed clarification, so she continued. “Word on the interdimensional street is you've been slipping between worlds, Dean.” Her intensity never lowered. “I wanna know how you did it. Now.”

“Well,” His eyes squinted ever so slightly. Finding his upper hand. Ready to wield it as needed. “I thought Death knew everything.” She took a steadying breath as the tables turned in his favor. Just a hint, but it was more than Billie cared for. That much was obvious.

“Then you can imagine how much this one little blind spot is really bothering me.” The smile on her face was far from friendly.

“What's in it for me?” The infamous Winchester demand came forth. His head tilted to the side as he waited. Giving her the same energy she'd offered.

Her arms crossed as she opened her mouth to speak, “What do you want?”

He didn't have to think it over for too long, “Free the ghosts.”

“Excuse me?” Her response said she expected something more personal. Expected him to try and gain something for the world. Change something in his past that had left him feeling wronged. All demands he'd have in the good ole days.

“Free the ghosts at the Meadows house.” He stated again, more clear this time around. “Let them move on, and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know.” He should have asked her to remove the marks that bound him to you. Should have asked for a million things different. Yet, in that moment, none of them crossed his mind. He was too set on his mission. On the most recent feeling of regret tied to Shawn. He'd promised the boy, after all.

Billie was wide eyed with surprise, but she didn't take long to agree. When a Winchester offered something so simple, monsters took it without hesitation. “Deal.” Eye contact remained enforced for what was far too long to be comfortable. “It's done.”

The red haired reaper, Jessica, had made quick work of it. The souls all long past their time. Eager to go.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don't.” The honest answer didn't take any time to slip out. She dropped her arms, moving away from her desk once again. “But, then again... I'm not the one breaking cosmic bargains left and right.” Her fingers brushed against the table as the other hand held her throat in emphasis. Reminding him of their last meeting. “Now am I?”

A small chuckle left Dean as he stared her down, unflinchingly, “Yeah, it's not like you hold a grudge.” He turned his face away.

“Don't I?” Her hands moved back to cross over her front. “So...spill.”A little head bob that said that he didn't have much choice followed before he spoke.

“Lucifer's son. Jack.” He sold the boy out without remorse. His brows lifting a bit as he said the name. Almost sarcastic. Residual jealousy filling the air. The boy had things in his life that Dean had craved. Including you. “When he was born, it created a little rip.”

“A little rip?” Billie didn't sound as if she bought it. He only bothered to make a sound at the back of his throat. A little noise to say that she could parrot properly. “Into another world?” Suddenly, she was on the prowl again. “And you went there?”

Another little noise with a small eye roll followed, “Yeah. I'll just say it's, uh, it's not candy land.” The snarky gaze with the words would have infuriated lesser beings. Had in the past.

“I'll bet.” Was all he got from the newest Death.

“Why do you care?” He was back on the defense. Not trusting a thing happening in that moment.

“Because I do,” It was an easy answer. She stepped forward once again. “Because...this whole multi-versal quantum construct we live in, it's like a house of cards. And the last thing I need is some big, dumb Winchester knocking it all down.”

A little hum left his lips as he nodded, “That does sound like us.” A tiny, wry grin lifted his cheeks. Patronizing as always. Only, it wasn't her he was mocking. No, it was himself. Her dark eyes trailed over him as she decided how to respond.

“You've changed,” She finally settled on. He didn't make a sound. Simply watched her, waiting for the next words. “When you bargained with me just now, you could've asked to go back. To live. Could have asked to end your mating.”

“How did you-” He cut himself off. Knowing that she would only point out her new status. Her raised brows said as much. “Well, I figure with you in charge,” He changed tactics, “there's no getting back for me.”

“That doesn't sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love,” She purred, moving around him. Her hands behind her back as she waltzed into the section of books. “The man who's been dead so many times, but it never seemed to stick.” His eyes and body twisted around to follow her. “Maybe you're not that guy, anymore. The guy who saves the world. The guy who always thinks he'll win, no matter what.” Not a sound left him. “You have changed.” His eyes refused to meet hers. “And, you tell people it's not a big deal.” She was on a roll, with no desire to stop twisting the knife. “You tell people you'll work through it, but you know you won't. You can't. And that scares the hell out of you.” Your face crossed his mind, then. All smiley and sparkly eyed. The only thing that could have given him that chance. And he was trying to throw it away. He didn't have a choice if he wanted you to stay that way. “Or...” Billie had caught the gleam in his eye. “Am I wrong?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean nodded a little as he spoke. “Doesn't matter. I don't matter.” The world had shown him that time and time again.

“Don't you?” He tried to remain stoic, but there was the slightest bit of longing present on his face. He wanted to believe her words. He just couldn't afford to.

“I couldn't save mom.” He started listing off his most recent failures. “I couldn't save Cas. I can't even save a scared little kid.” The self hatred poured out of his very soul. “My mate? She chooses the devil's kid over me. Time and time again.” He wasn't done. Not even close. “Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down.” A deep breath left him as he realized just saying the words took some of the edge off. “So, I'm not gonna beg.” His shoulders tightened back up as he met her eyes. “Okay? If it's my time, it's my time.”

“You really believe that.” He didn't say a word. Looking away for only a moment as his eyes watered. Blinking them away as he turned back. “You wanna die.” He simply stared at her, bringing his barriers back in place. Waiting for it to be the end. He was so damn close. “Dean...” She turned away, eyeing up the shelf to her side. “Every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how you die.” He didn't blink. Shaking ever so slightly in place. “You specifically.” Her hand closed over a book. “Heart attack, burned by a red haired witch, stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard, and on and on.” Her hand touched a new book with each step. With each word. His eyes followed the movement before moving up. Looking at just how many were present. He couldn't even count them all. He breathed in deeply, looking at all the possibilities. He'd always known they were there. It had never felt more real until that moment. “But, which one's right?” She didn't wait for an answer. “That depends on you. On the choices you make.”

“Well,” Dean spoke up. Stubborn as always. “I guess I made my choice.” He was okay with it. Even if it meant not getting to say goodbye.

“But,” She lifted her hands away from the books, “unfortunately... none of these books say you die today.”

“Come again?” That was the last thing that he'd been expecting.

“Since I got this... new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture.” She moved forward, once again. Not giving Dean room to ignore what she had to say. It was too important. “Do you know what I see?” His head shook in the barest of ways. “You. And your brother...even your mate. You're important.”

“Why?” He didn't like that you were brought into it. That you'd become a pawn in the game that was the universe rather than a regular person.

“You have work to do.” With that, she walked away. Past him without pause. “That's all you need to know.” He turned as she got back to her desk. “And trust me, having my eyes opened to the necessities of any humans, especially Winchesters, is not a thrill.” Her tone fit her words. She would much rather hold him hostage in either heaven or hell. “So...you wanna die, but I say...keep living.”

A little hum left his lips before he clicked his tongue; deciding to ask, “I need to know. My mom-” Billy didn't even give him a chance to open his eyes back up in the room. He woke up surging upwards and gasping for air.

“Hey!” Sam was brushing over his hair. Helping him sit up, “You're okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean managed, looking around for any sign of the newly promoted reaper. She was long gone.

“Yeah,” Sam leaned back against the wall, whispering more to himself than anyone, “you're okay.” His hand went up to rest against his head. Then, he remembered. “But, Y/N...”

Dean's head jerked to his brother, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You just died, Dean.” Sam's voice gained a bit of steel to it. Anger rising to the surface. “You just died, while mated.”

“Where's the phone?” His body screamed. The lack of blood flow leaving him tingly. His chest throbbing. But none of that prevented him from sitting up enough to search for the technology. Sam passed it to him. “Shit.”

“Jack called.” The terror flooded his chest at that. Only to grow worse when the other line went straight to voicemail. “It didn't sound good...” Sam was honest in a way to try and breakthrough to his brother.

“Let's wrap this up...get home.” He started collecting the items he'd tossed from the bag. Groaning all the while. “It was only a few minutes,” Dean tried to tell himself. “She's probably in heat, or somethin'. I can fix it.” His brother didn't look so convinced.

The sun was starting to rise. They had to take care of the bodies before they left. It was going to be a long day...

“Y/N!” Jack's voice penetrated the fog as you blinked awake. It burned. That was all you could think at first. Your entire body ached. But, your neck was on fire.

“Jack?” You forced yourself to sit up. Your fingers brushing against the crude gauze job that was done over your mating mark. He'd tried, at least. “What happened?”

“I...I don't know,” He answered honestly. Too relieved at the shift to slow down his answer. “I tried calling Sam, but then...” You knew what he was remembering. Wincing as you recalled it. “I had to try and calm you down.” The pain had been unbelievable. As if your soul had ripped from your body. You'd just wanted it to stop.

“Dean...” You touched the damaged mark again, wincing at the pressure. “It was Dean...Something happened during the hunt.” You understood all too well what the clawing was about. Your aunt had scars from the same thing. Your mate had died. Yet, somehow, you were okay mere hours later. “Did you get a hold of Sam?”

“Not yet,” He looked a little ashamed at that one. “I broke the phone.”

“It's not your fault,” Your hand brushed over his. Refusing to let him take any blame. “How bad is the damage?”

Blood and dried out flesh lined the underside of your nails when you looked down. It covered your clothes. You'd been damn lucky you'd missed the vitals running through the area.

“Pretty bad,” The lack of filter on him was refreshing. Most humans lost it before they even reached double digits. “I would have tried to heal it, but-”

“Jack,” A little squeeze made his eyes reach yours. “You did just fine. You knocked me out. Covered it up.” It was more than most would have thought of, giving the circumstances. “You saved me.”

“I put some witch hazel on it, too.” He had remembered that it could be used to help bleeding.  Promote healing by taking out inflammation. It was also good at helping prevent infection. Nothing else had felt safe after he'd carefully cleaned the area. It had been meant for minor bleeding, but his mind had figured that it would at least give you a boost.

“You remembered,” A small chuckle left you at that. “It should help.” With a groan, you tugged yourself upwards. “Thank you, Jack.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead. “I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here.”

“You should rest,” He insisted, forcing you to lay back down. He didn't want to think about it himself. “Whatever you need, just ask. I'll help.”

“Jack...I really need to pee,” You finally confessed, earning a small blush. Trying gently to give him the boot.

“I can walk with you...just in case.” His cheeks were dotted pink, but he was bent on his mission. Terrified that there'd be a repeat performance. With a nod, you gave in.

In the end, it was for the best. You were amazed at just how weak you truly were. Your body still reacting to the trauma of losing a mate the night before. Your soul still exhausted from the impact it had taken. Once again, your mind wandered to Dean. Wondering just what the hell had happened.

--

Dean didn't like to see grieving families. Liked opening up to Sam about what had happened even less. Having to explain Billie and the entire scenario wasted time. Forced him to admit he wasn't okay. That part had hurt him the most. Especially when they should have been on the road.

Calling wouldn't be good enough, even if the other side magically managed to answer. He needed to see his mate and he needed to see her immediately. So, when they got in the car? He'd hit the gas. Hard.

Sam had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. The familiar music was playing. Yet, that twitchy feeling never did fade.

He told himself over and over that it had only been three minutes. That wasn't time for you to react. Some omegas didn't feel it for hours. Before he could make the mental convictions stick, his phone rang; waking Sam up in the process.

“Yeah.” He answered without his usual perk. Waiting to be chewed out. He hadn't checked the name, but there was only one person he'd thought of. You. His subconscious wouldn't let the idea go. When the voice came across, though, you were forgotten for the first time.

A detour was made. It was a necessary evil. Tacking on an extra couple of hours.

As they pulled up to the pay phone, the deeply missed trench coat was standing there, encasing a form neither man thought that they'd ever see again. Both brothers approached, not saying a word. They didn't need to. The second he turned around, there was no doubt. Castiel. He was back...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff  @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #Supernatural angst #spn angst #spn reader insert #spn fanfiction #dean #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean angst #dean winchester angst #dean winchester reader insert #dean reader insert #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #alpha dean x omega reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #alpha dean winchester

[revthepunchbear]

The Darkness

His face was all she could see as she stood, ready and waiting, to enter the cube. His face as he’d listened to words she’d left in the blossom of a whispering tree. 

"Dalah'surfal, my lantern light... I will always be with you. In bed next to you or worlds apart... I am with you. The love of my life, the father of our children... I am yours. Always. I love you, more than the moon herself. Ya'Til-Anath, husband."

His eyes had been shut, his breathing controlled. Even in a moment that could be their last, he controlled himself. One of many reasons she loved him. 

"It is beautiful, Reveria," he said, running a thumb over the stone. He then rubbed that same thumb over her cheek. "Not a replacement for the real thing," he reminded, before putting his forehead against hers. "I do not need to tell you to fight harder than you ever have before. But that is what I am saying. Fight your way back to us, Reveria. Ya'til-anath, my beautiful and kind wife."

-----

The call had gone out and they’d all approached the cube. What they were to expect, no one knew really. So when Reveria came to, swamped in darkness, she thought it might be intentional. It wasn’t until she attempted to reach her hand to the lantern at her waist that she felt a surge of panic. 

I can’t move. 

Her arms, her legs, it was like the heaviest sleep paralysis one could imagine. Her eyes craned to the sides, looking to see if the others were nearby. 

‘You are alone… They have left you…’ 

The voice rumbled out of the darkness around her, leaving her with wide eyes. Within her, the spirit beast Uschi roused and roared, shaking against the mental chains that kept him in check. 

‘They will never respect you… They will never follow you…’ 

Her own words in reply, though defiant, she could hardly hear. Each taunt, each moment that passed saw the bear spirit grow more desperate. Roaring and straining against the chains. The Sleeper’s hand came to rest on her forehead and his true assault began. Images flashed in her mind, horrors from dreams long since come to terms with. Her children, grown and looking out over the ruin of Dead Sun. Eilithe, snatching the keys away in secret to betray them all. 

“Is that… All you have…?” 

Uschi roared savagely, snapping a chain as Reveria tried desperately to keep him under control, not wanting to fall to feral desires that had long since been overcome. She could hardly hear her own spoken words as she begged in her mind. 

The Sleeper slithered a hand down to the place where her ribcage diverged.

"Do you think... that we are like you? Crying...desperate.. to be regarded?" 

Sharp fingers twisted into her chest almost as if he were reaching into her . That icy cold grip seized up her insides, as he twisted his hand. 

"You..are a tool. A slave... only to be..unshackled... when it suits her. Let us..free you." 

As the Sleeper twisted his hand in her chest whispers rushed against her ear, though they were not quite coherent.

The druid was about to retort when those icy fingers delved into her chest and sent her spiraling into agony. A scream ripped from her throot as her entire body inadvertently twisted and writhed. White noise seared through her mind and in that moment another chain snapped free. 'Uschi... Please... No...' She could barely think it, the pain was so immense. Her spirit beast roared like a wild animal, wanting away from the pain and to protect them both. At least in his mind. Her back shuddered, arching slightly upward as her jaw clenched shut with spittle flying between her teeth in effort to endure. 

"You're... HNNNGH... The... Slave!"

"We... know what we are." 

He whispered, almost deceptively gentle. 

"Do you?" 

He seemed so passive about it-- there was no desire or ambition. He didn't care. When he twisted his claws within her. Who knows how long she was laying there bound by her own body. Each passing moment, he urged her to surrender herself. Outside the room, she heard a muffled shriek, Eilithe's own banshee wail, like it was ripping through water. 

The other voices grew louder. 

Go back. 

To the forest where you found him. 

To the beginning. 

Go. 

Hurry. 

You are running out of time.

Her mind was a blur, thinking of that dark past when she’d first met the spirit beast. On the couch. Sorrow overwhelming. Self loathing. Taking drug after drug until she knew it was going to be the end. Still, she sought it out. She fought. 

‘I will always be your light in the darkness…’ 

The sensation of hands, so many hands, rushing over her form, pressing to her stomach in an attempt to stop the ruinous bleeding came, while images of red webbing rushed past. The cold embrace of death came washing over her, familiar and terrible until… 

In an instant she was standing outside her old home. The simple studio style house she’d kept after the life she’d known and loved had been destroyed. Faint trails of leaves on a breeze rustled by and everything seemed to have a tint of green to it. 

Uschi stood before her, majestic and beautiful, raised up on his hind legs, arms slumped as he stared at her. If it was the Dream or just a memory, she didn't know. Perhaps it was her life, flashing before her eyes. A hand went to her stomach, almost subconsciously, to feel for a wound as she stared up at the spirit that had saved her life. 

"Uschi... Are we dead?”

At first the bear opened his maw and let out a confused and maybe even pained groan. Not pain. Sorrow. His glassy eyes stared at her so intensely, almost as black as hers. 

"Not yet," The voice was familiar this time. Distinctly it was Saeilhn's. And suddenly she was just there, standing beside her. 

"But you will be," another voice, one she had heard before. On her other side, the old mystic was there. Taller, much less withered with age-- but still shrouded. 

Behind her though, was the more distinct voice. Like it was risen above her, guarding her back. "Is time, Zin'Ulwembu. Tah let 'im go free. Tah become whatcha already know yah are. Set 'im free. Set'cha self free."

She was confused at first, why Uschi looked the way he did. He must of known something she did not. Taking a step forward, she reached a hand out to run through the familiar fur, only to jolt in place and snap her gaze to the side to see Saeilhn. 

"Sae... Is that rea--..." Another jolt and now she started to panic. Where was she? Was everyone else dead and she was on her way? "I will be...?" Her gaze searched the shrouded image of the woman, until a sensation not unlike the hair raising on the back of her neck played across her entire body. 

This time, she didn't jolt. She knew that voice and knew, somehow, that her patron wasn't dead. Calm filled her mind, the need to look at Mama never coming. She'd been so confused by her spirit beast earlier and now, the pieces all fell in place. Despite the calm, there was suddenly a terrible fear that swelled in her, yet... She knew there was no other way, somehow.

Taking those final few steps forward, she couldn't help but feel a sort of sorrowful panic. Even in such dire circumstances, tears welled in her eyes as she looked deep into Uschi's own, fingers finding that familiar fur to twist and grip into it. "Uschi..." The rest caught in her throat as in that moment, she relived the life changing moment she met him. 

Her arms went around him and she clung, perhaps harder than she'd clung to anyone or anything ever before. The bear's paws lowered and wrapped her in his own hug, a long low warble of sorrow issuing from his throat. He'd perhaps known, the moment they were in this space, what it would mean. As Reveria clung to him even tighter, afraid to let go, he grunted and groaned, in tones perhaps only the druid understood. At first she shook her head against him, tears staining his fur. 

Eventually though, she breathed heavily, one last time, the scent of his fur before stepping back. Her fingers trailed along his arms, running across the rough pads of his paws and then his claws until finally she released him. 

She continued to step backwards until she backed into Mama, eyes never leaving Uschi. The bear warbled sorrowfully, like a father losing a daughter, before letting out one last bellowing savage roar. As the road faded, so too did Uschi. His figure waxed and waned, the soft glow of emerald light consuming him the more he faded. A gentle breeze picked up, drifting past everyone, each breath of it swirling the image of the great bear. Each swirl turned to leaves and drifted on the breeze until finally, the beast was gone. At least from this place.

"He's not gone," Saeilhn said, staring after the bear. Her hand reached to grip Reveria's, once she hand let the bear go. "Not forever," the mystic said, reaching for Rev's free hand. 

"You have to do this alone, Revvy," Saeilhn said. Images rippled through the forest, the others thrashing against the Sleeper. Among them, Mairdrin looked seriously hurt. "You have all you need within you," the Mystic said. 

Their figures faded leaving only Mama behind her. "Dah Sleepah took much from all of you, zulfi. Now it's time to take it back." The sounds of cracking bones, of a heated fight breaking out rattled through the forest. The outside world was bleeding into the Dream. 

"Reach inside yah, an' find wha's been taken. Fah everyone dat eva' thought you was weak and tried tah steal yah dignity an' hide it. Find it, Zin’Ulwembu. All t'ings los' can be found in dah Red Web, inside of yourself. Find it. Focus on it. Give inta it."

The words bolstered her further and she could feel her heart starting to race in anticipation of what was to come. When Saeilhn and the mystic faded away, the druid turned to face Mama, giving her all the attention she had to offer. 

Her heart beat faster and faster as her deity spoke, until she felt she was surging with energy and adrenaline. Her features turned to that defiance once more as she nodded and spoke with much confidence. 

"Send me back. I'm ready."

( @eilitheduskbringer​, @kurel-andiel​, @xavier-sunshadow​, @velerodra-valesinger​ )

#rev #reveria #the sleeper #the red web #finale #writing #dead sun harbor #wra rp #wyrmrest rp

[freckled-words]

Count The Teeth - Part Seven

I am SO SO SO SO CLOSE TO FINISHING THIS!!! If I’m correct, I have only two or three more chapters to write. I’ve been sitting on this for a YEAR, and the original concept was so simple!!!!! *wails in agony over my own procastination/lack of inspiration*

In other news, in this chapter, I thought I’d play around with NateMare and give him a...different...side. I was seriously excited about this, so I hope you all get a bit of thrill from it too ~

WARNING: Some of the descriptions are in the gore category.

Edited by @the-wild-ego​

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX 

There was a tiny ‘POP’ and the rest of the world came back into focus.

The little bat clung to the front of your shirt, it’s claws lightly scraping against your skin. It’s ears twitched and swiveled, catching the noises all around it, even as its tiny black eyes peered up at you.

Disoriented, you reflexively rested a hand on its back and used your thumb to brush over its head. It gave a squeak, and raised its head to rub against your thumb, encouraging you to continue.

This lessened your unease as you looked around and took in your surroundings.

You had somehow managed to walk out of the garden, and right into a graveyard. 

The hedge wall, and the opening you’d come through were just behind you. In front of you, were a collection of headstones and grave markers. None of them looked recent, and were well marked by age from the grass growing around their edges and the cracks that had formed. You guessed there to be at least 20 graves. 

“Why, oh why, little friend, did you bring me here?” you couldn’t get yourself to speak louder than a whisper. With vampires and Phantom Sirens being a thing, you didn’t want to learn if zombies could be a reality too.

The bat squeaked, but gave nothing else in lieu of an answer.

Looking towards the opening you’d come through, you muttered, “I should probably head back and find NateMare, he’s going to be livid.” The thought of NateMare’s temper, and the heat that came with it, made you shudder.

If he was going to be mad, then why rush off to get punished? 

“I’ll just, take a stroll and see if there’s any clues here first.” 

That settled, you tiptoed towards the first row of graves.

-/-/-/-

He was enjoying himself. 

In the past few centuries, he’d made minimal contact with other beings like himself. He’d found they were too troublesome, or worse, sentimental. Their prolonged exposure to humanity, or just the base of their creation, had made the newer generation softer. 

There were four strong ones that held potential, but Mercer would leave them be. 

One had a penchant for stabbing anything that moved. 

One would want to dissect him at the first given opportunity. 

One would enjoy nothing better than to fight him for the sake of the fight. 

And the last one, well, he had a few too many tricks up his sleeve that Mercer didn’t feel enticed to learn about. Particularly not when he could send an entire army of deranged brethren to swarm him. 

He couldn’t even bother with the two others of his generation. They’d forgone their base nature, deciding to befriend humans instead of feeding off them as the food source they were. The three had agreed to not interfere with each other’s business, so long as their boundaries were respected. Mercer had made it a point to know exactly where those boundary lines were, lest he have to deal with the headache that was a lecture and possibly a slap on the wrist.

He had almost thought his little brother, NateMare, to be one of a sentimental nature as well. Having interrupted his feeding, and nearly blowing them both up in that garage.

He’d been delighted when NateMare had proven him wrong.

Mercer had been keeping tabs on NateMare this past month. He’d watched as he kicked around the human he’d saved. Going even as far as putting a collar on them and forcing them to do his work for him. 

Mercer had gotten a good laugh out of their discovery of his origins. He’d nearly forgotten that love letter he’d left on his host’s home. Oh the terror on their faces had been delicious.

Licking his lips, he allowed himself the quietest of chuckles. 

NateMare didn’t hear the rustle from the tree behind him. He was too intent on scorching some sense into the oblivious human.

He could only blame himself for his carelessness.

He grunted from the force of the impact as he was smashed into a tree. The tree’s trunk splintered and broke, falling to the ground.

NateMare turned to smoke in order to break from Mercer’s grasp, before he rushed around to try and get behind Mercer. Unfortunately, his smoke form was dark enough that Mercer could track his movements.

Showing his elongated canines in a grin, Mercer laughed, “I was wondering if you were going to come sniffing around at some point. But I didn’t think it would take you this long.”

“It wasn’t like you left us a bunch of bright, neon arrows to point out which way to go.” NateMare quipped back as he reformed and made a swing for Mercer’s face.

Mercer danced out of the way, “That would have taken all the fun out of the hunt. I do appreciate that you brought a little snack for me, that was very considerate of you.”

Mercer dodged a few more punches, then took up the offensive. When NateMare didn’t turn to smoke, he managed to pepper in blows to his body. He didn’t hold back, making sure each connection was felt. With a particularly strong uppercut, Mercer sent NateMare sailing back again.

When he landed, Mercer listened to the air rush out of his lungs.

Barely touching on his speed, Mercer was beside him, his hand wrapped around NateMare's throat and squeezed to cut off his oxygen, “Really, little brother? Is this all you can manage to do? I was hoping for a good and proper sibling brawl.” Just to ignite NateMare’s ire, Mercer pouted down at him.

NateMare was certain he had at least two ribs broken that were trying to heal. He didn’t remember taking a hit to his face, but his nose was definitely broken. At least three of his teeth had cracked from that uppercut. He barely registered the taste of his blood as it trickled over his tongue and down his throat.

The term ‘little brother’ was a grater against his temper. Yes, this asshole was technically his elder in the chain of their creations, and yes, Mercer was winning so far, but he would be damned to give up and let this leech think he was the superior.

He didn’t touch on his source often, hating the recovery afterwards. It would be a lot of bed rest and aching muscles for days. Regardless, there was no better time than now to let loose.

Mercer’s brow furrowed, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the nape of his neck. Had it gotten warmer?

NateMare clamped his hands around Mercer’s wrist. The sound of sizzling and the stench of sour meat mixed with smoke filtered into the air. 

Mercer had a high pain tolerance, and flames had never been an issue. Yet he could feel the sting of his skin blistering in NateMare’s grip. His lips drew back in a pained, irritated snarl.

NateMare finally forced Mercer’s hand loose. Drawing in air he grinned, “What’s wrong? Not bothered by a little Hell fire are you?”

Mercer cursed and ripped his hand free. Leaping back to keep some distance Mercer inspected his wrist. The skin was blackened, and blistered. Already his powers pulsed to the injury to repair it. Letting it fall to his side, Mercer tsked, “I’ll admit, I didn’t think your nature ran so deep. Here I was thinking you were all hot air and smoke, now I see. You’re a pretty little onion, with a shiny smooth skin concealing the rotten layers of darkness underneath. You call yourself a Phantom Siren, when in reality, you’re a Hell Banshee off it’s leash.”

NateMare grunted as his ribs snapped back into place. The cartilage in his nose returned to its original form, and his teeth filled themselves in. Rapid healing was always a bitch. 

While his given injuries fixed themselves, the rest of his body began to burn away.

Fat from his right cheek bubbled, forcing the skin to rupture and allow it to melt freely to the ground. The muscles along his jaw cooked, dried, and flaked away from his skull. His eye made a sickening pop as it burst and emptied the socket. 

Slowly NateMare got to his feet, leaving puddles of his liquified fat on the barren earth. Staggering a bit as his body adjusted to redistribution of his weight, he flexed his right hand and gave it a shake. This caused more skin, fat, and muscle to fall from his bones. Bones that were black, and reflected light from the moon. 

His remaining eye burst into blue black flames, his empty socket smoked from within. Those same flames sparked and caught his hair. In an instant it was impossible to tell if his hair was on fire, or if the fire had become his hair. 

NateMare rolled his shoulders, and breathed out a plume of smoke. His lips stretched into a grimacing smile, his voice was raspy and hollow as he spoke,“ I really shouldn’t be surprised that you know that name. I will admit to being a bit disappointed that you didn’t react more. Now how about a rematch, Big Brother.”

#Mercer Battle #NateMare #natewantstobattle #reader insert #fanfiction #Count The Teeth #Part Seven #gore warning

[diaboliique]

hiss spun.

It had been weeks since the depression had found its way to creep between the cracks in her ribs, to slip past her defenses like a shadow, like smoke, to nestle itself uncomfortably just beneath her skin. An itch that couldn’t be reached, latching onto the phantom limbs of past lovers that had once upon a time been wrapped around her. Smothering. Restrictive. 

Bruises on her skin that only she could see, that even after years passed, still remained, black to purple to a gross yellow-green at the edges. No matter how often the mirror told her that her pale skin was clear, the bruises still mocked her. Alex, her fabled Big Ex, had never beat her, no, but he grabbed her arms hard enough to leave the telltale signs. He’d punched holes in the walls. He’d made her feel irrelevant, unwanted, useless... too skinny, too fat, more makeup, never enough never enough never enough imposter imposter imposter.

I swore off obsidian thoughts And lay awake on broken glass I bled out more than once.

She’d kept it quiet, of course, only a few people knew what fragility hid behind the piercings and tattooed skin. Why she bent almost over backwards to make those around her happy, and otherwise just remained silent if nothing could be done.

In fragility I kept my head down and bit my tongue Until I tasted love

“What do you do when your trauma is scheduled?” The words were etched in uneven strokes of ink in her journal, a scrawl across pages interspersed with random sigils, crescent moons and planets with rings doodled in the corners. “What do you do when you are destined to feel like you’re dying every year, at the same time, as if you can plan months in advance for your own self-mourning?”

Every autumn, it felt like... the middle to end of September, to the beginning of October, for years, for too long, some sort of loss would come into her life. A shedding of skin, like a snake, just as uncomfortable as it seemed, and surely these were life lessons. Surely there was a reason for all of this, some karmic debt that had to be paid... a Saturn return. 

The smell of dragon’s blood and nag champa burning from her altar eased her back into her writing, as the needle on her record player popped slightly against the vinyl. She closed her eyes and let the disjointed noise and rhythmic drums of the Chelsea Wolfe album play. Sure, it was 2 years old at this point, but the lyrics seemed to hit her more and more deeply, as if it dug bit by bit into her marrow, to taste the sweetness of blood that others couldn’t gnaw their teeth into, despite how hard they tried. 

Placing her pen down, Coryn looked out the window at the sky. Pitch black autumn morning, 1 AM, and the air was still wet with the rain from earlier. All she wanted was to go running to the coast, to dive headfirst into the Atlantic and let the ocean swallow her pain, like it did so many years ago for her when she was younger. This time, however, her holding her breath for as long as she could wouldn’t be a game. This would be a test to see how long before the sea salt can clear her thoughts.

(She wouldn’t tonight. She didn’t trust herself to hold her breath. Not like this, not right now.)

“Is it possible to weep over the loss of something you never had? To gnash your teeth at something that was never promised to you, that you never once expected to obtain? Is it fair, is it right for you to do so?” How selfish, to feel as if she’s owed anything, especially happiness. Never at this time of year, this is a time for loss. Autumn, the season of harvest, of reaping. Nothing grows now. 

Another track down.

Flux. Hiss. Welt. Groan.

The pile of ash that was forming on her altar was second only to the wax drippings that coated the edge of her shelf. Candles of all sizes burned as if it were a church, as if it were a Baz Luhrmann set dressing, a funeral for one. 

“Do I feel I don’t deserve happiness because of Him? Because of what He did to me? Am I destined to measure everything by the unattainable ideals he set for me?”

You were the Summer You were the coma You were the only one It was so quiet And then you came around And all the hiss of unknown Turned lifeless and commonplace You carrier, you'll never see What came undone, what you took from me

He’d taken everything from her, again and again and again and again and every year and every minute and every time she spoke she could feel her words grow softer and softer, because who would want to hear her speak? She withdrew, because who would want to see her, who would want to be friends with her, nothing but an inconvenience, nothing but just clamoring for attention. Useless, talentless, deserving none of this.

His words like bruises, like blackened, demonic scratches against her skin, like the scraped skin she’d have to explain away as she always found herself on her knees, subservient, but never in the way she’d hoped. The anxiety of it all flared in her, and that scraping feeling came back, stronger, as if it were trying to cut its way out of her, from her ankles and wrists and stomach, moving past scar tissue, moving past slightly paler skin, slicing through those phantom limbs. ‘Fuck whoever dared to hold her,’ it said, ‘it’s undeserved.’ 

‘These skeletal arms were never meant to comfort, darling, they were meant to carry you down into the grave,’ it said. 

Led me here, said, "Hold my hand." A young nymph defiled then My body fights itself inside I feel it bow, this mortal hold You carrier, you repulse me Heard the sound of her knees scrape against the street You, the dirty one, what you took from me There was nothing left but hypocrisy Holy odium, blotted memory But my regret will never consume me The ocean's licking tongue, the letting of the blood Vile prophecy, scrape it out of me.

The feedback, the piercing soprano, the anxiety in the track, the popping of vinyl and of candle flame, finally culminated in a wail, an almost banshee like keening, ripping itself free from the blue haired girl’s throat. Raw, and ragged, and broken, like a dying animal, like a suffering creature, like a woman mourning the loss of her youth, of her innocence, of her trust, of any capacity to understand what was happening to her... over and over she screamed, weeping, wanting nothing more than to stop hurting.

The problem was, she finally was hurting. Years, and year, and years and years and years of repressing, of burying, of putting it off, of pushing it aside, of stuffing it down because how dare she feel, how dare she cope, how dare she take the time for herself, there are others to be taken care of, others need her, everyone else needs her.

She was shaking now, the pen in her hand broken from how tightly her hand had gripped it, the tiny pop of plastic before black ink, almost like a squid, left marks, puddles, on her palm.

In the morning, she’d clean up the mess. Wipe away the ash, gently chip away at the melted wax, comb out the knots in her hair, and pretend that the eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes wasn’t from four days of layering it on top of each other, crying, and smudging it again and again. 

The ink would wash away. The burns would heal. The scratches would heal. She’d eventually cook herself a meal.

But for now, she wailed. She was a wounded creature, otherworldly, because no human would react like this, imposter.

And the record spun, the needle having fallen off the edge. 

#( writing. ) #abuse tw #mental health tw #eating disorder tw #self harm tw #suicide tw #// i don't have much to say about this really but... yeah. #// here. a thing.

[high-justiciar]

the second battle of kal’deras

[ edited rp with @celestare ]

Sif turns over her shoulder with a snarl. "Are we doing this again, Warden?" Their weapons connected, with little more than a flash of metal on metal. The titan-forged steel almost seemed alive, pulsating with heat and an eternal fire that licked at nicks and scuffs, filling them whole again. 

“Too bad I don't want you." It was Sif's turn to try and bat her away, swinging the flat edge of the axe for her helm in an attempt to disorientate her so she could set her sights on the Captain instead.

Not only does the attack connect, but it renders Aeondra completely unconscious. The strike rings her bell brutally, and she collapses instantaneously, falling onto her face in the mud, still clutching her weapon. 

Their defeat is sealed, and it is a harrowing sight. Of all the night elves that fought, only the wardens remain alive. Ashae lost her struggle for her gun, and is currently being held hostage by the Horde soldier. One can hear her begging for her life, scared and scarred by the battle. This was her most intense fight, the youngest of the wardens present. Evendris lays unconscious, and her body is dragged, hefted next to Aeondra's, the both of them waiting to wake again. Veyana has long been broken under the incessant blows of the crowd she was tossed to. Her armor is sundered in several places, and she bleeds in the dirt, coughing and sputtering.

Sif watches a few of her own close in on Aeondra, but she raises a hand, hissing, "Leave her be." Back on the hill, Deus was tending to the wounded, and Garl crouched in the trees, picking off the rest of their footmen with quick, decisive mortal shots. He wants none to suffer, and leaves the Wardens to Sif. 

It was Veyanna Sif stalked to, shooing away the crowd that had gathered to jeer, crouching beside her and taking ahold of her helm, prying it off of her face so they could look at each other eye to eye. 

"Your Captain." Her voice was cool, dark. "Where is she."

"She is I," the purple-skinned, purple-haired warden spoke calmly, her face marred with blood. "You will get nothing out of me, Commander. You have won this battle. I wonder, though. If any honor in you remains, to spare my sisters."

"Perfect." Sif mutters, taking her up by the hair, her grip like iron. As her remaining forces closed in to get a look at the scene, she drags Greenshadow into the clearing, an arena where they were the stars. There, she was forced to her knees, and made to look upon those gathered.

 "Captain." Sif's voice was low, cool. "Why don't you tell my men what you meant to do to them." Her grip tightened. The Justiciar's power coiled around her, squeezing tight, filling her body with a certain heaviness. One that could hardly be ignored. Her lips, they would only allow the truth to pass through.

"To slay them, and take their Commander and my old prisoner into chains. To lock them away, and throw the key away," she states firmly, staring up into the nightsky. Watching the stars twinkle, and the moon glow vibrantly. It fills her with peace. She slowly shuts her eyes. "A fate that seems levied onto me instead."

A collective roar is sent into the forest at her response, until Sif silences her soldiers with a hand, bowing her head; only a smirk shows through the strands of wet hair that fall in front of her face. "You believe I am going to hold you captive?" Her voice is cool, layered, as if several different voices are speaking at once. She shakes her head. "No." She murmurs. "Allow me to send a message out instead, Captain. Darkshore belongs to the Horde."

Almost sweetly, Sif swipes blood-soaked hair back from her face, smoothing her fingertips along her temples. It was show Deus had seen before, could now watch upon coolly, much to his own dismay. To an extent, one could only admire the ability to play judge, jury, executioner. The ability to make soldiers feel the way she did. To show that everyone, no matter their rank, was mortal: and life was a fragile, fragile thing. 

Within a moment, her light would sear into the Captain in a muted flash, rendering her brain-dead before she even hit the ground.

Though Aeondra's head swims, she still awakes in time to behold the beginnings of what appears to be an orchestrated execution of her captain. Only having been reunited with her recently, a fire awakens in the ecclesiarch's soul. She would not let her be taken from her, not so violently and quickly. She rushes to a stand, and lets out a feral shout as she dives. Her hand catches Siphiah's wrist, and she pushes back. This allows Greenshadow to scurry forward, blink to Evendris, and lift her up. Ashae comes quickly behind, and the three flee. But Aeondra stays.

Even Sif, a veteran in every sense of the word, has to stand back, frozen, in order to process everything that had transpired. Her hands had already lit with holy flames, but rather than searing through Greenshadow's skull, they expand outward and flicker along the length of Aeondra's arm, yearning for something to cling to. A soul to judge. And she would feel the burn deep inside of her, unlike any chemical or physical burn otherwise. Unlike any other kind of pain fathomable.  And then they stood there together, alone.

 "You...!" She turned over her shoulder, but the other Wardens were long gone. 

Sensing Sif's hesitation, Garl strides forward and takes up the Captain's discarded helm, holding it up high...The sign of victory her men had been waiting for. And they erupt, their cheers and howls radiating throughout the trees, powerfully chilling.

Aeondra drops to the ground, slamming her arm against the dirt as she lets out deep, guttural whines of pain mixed with wails. The fire is barely physical, darting up the whole of her arm and searing the surface, thankfully not going deep enough to be a mortal, third-degree burn. Her arm would still function, but fire would be forever marked into her body. She stays there, as all of the Horde soldiers leave with their 'trophy.' The pain is now... metaphysical, as Aeondra clutches her chest. "What is... happening...?!"

Sif shook her head, seemingly in disbelief. Truthfully, she had never experienced this happening before, and was not able to distinguish if what Aeondra was feeling was the judgement made upon Greenshadow, or the weight of her own deeds. Nor had she seen a sacrifice so immediate, so mindlessly unconscious. 

"That was not yours to take..." She stated, incredulous and almost awed at once. Deus rushes forward to help, but Sif stops him in his tracks, an action which slightly stupefied him. Usually, she had no issue leaving the healing to his hands. "This cannot be mended." She murmured, darkly.

Aeondra felt a crushing weight on her very spirit, but one as strong as hers stands resolute. Indeed, it is an awing sight despite how much pain she is in. How she is forced on her knees from it. Few can command such power through resistance, through sheer will. Any lesser elf or human would have been brain-dead. She persists. 

"Every... price... I pay is for my people. This... this was mine to take. Is mine to bear... even if you Banshee-driven servants of strife ripped every limb from my body... I would fight. I would fight. I would give more, and more, AND MORE. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME!!" Her voice booms through the boughs - and her voice in that last cry sounds as though two people are speaking in unison, though one far more mystic and inhuman than herself.

Sif could only blink. Realization settled hard into her features, like stone. She had once looked upon those black-eyed elves with disdain, but now, she understood. How could she not, when that kind of power was sitting right there in front of her? The battle was more than between the races, factions, but something much higher: the powers of the universe. Deities. Truly, she seemed speechless. The experience had shaken her, rattled her resolve. Even Deus stood there, statue-esque, dumbfounded.

"As would I." Her voice rang out, deep from her chest. "Join your people. Your life is not mine to take."

Aeondra, renewed, pushes to a stand. The whole of her frame starts to radiate, glowing like the moon eclipsed. She towers over Siphiah in this form, and though agony courses through her - so does something else entirely. Apparently seeking to capitalize on that shaking resolve, Aeondra's voice booms right into the Sin'dorei's core. "Kneel. And make that statement again."

"I kneel to nothing, and no one, but the Light." This, Sif could state firmly, mechanically. "You'd have to kill me, and lay me at your damn feet." She jutted her chin up, looking right up at Aeondra's towering form.

"Fanatic," Aeondra immediately dismisses. "This is not your domain. Take your men. Pillage Kul Tiras. I care not. But if you step on these fields again, you will not leave these woods."

"Bold of you to say, after such a defeat." Sif remarks, coolly, seeming to locate her composure once more, and cling to it. But she takes a step back. Recognizing that this was not the same woman she defeated two weeks ago. 

“Look upon the field. At all your dead. My work is done." 

Even then, as Sif turned tail, she suspected that it may be true, that she would never return here again.

relevant: @preyontheweak, @knownashaunt

#rp scenes #darkshore #sun and moon #wow rp

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

idontwannabeyouanymore

[[ Warning: This piece contains heavy domestic abuse, and heavily implied child abuse, along with the trafficking of a minor, suicidal ideation, and brief rape mention. Please read at your own discretion. ]] 

"Stop! Get off of me!” 

My screams rumble through the decrepit farmhouse, fallen into more disrepair than ever since my father’s passing. Half of the windows have glass that is shattered. The other half are so old that no amount of scrubbing makes them easy to see through. I try my best to keep the house clean, especially the room that had belonged to my mother. This is the only pristine area, the only place I really put up a fight about anyone else entering.

Not that they ever do. Connor and my grandparents had no affection for my mother. The only memory I have of fighting my grandmother out of the room-- the one that got the most sunlight, with the most perfect view of the sea-- was after my mother had passed. I was only six, but I howled when she went through what few worldly goods my mama had to sell them. I remember them vividly; the jade earrings, the gold and diamond ring she told me was not from my father and would not expand any further on, the expensive silk kimono that mama never got to wore but cherished. 

At least her old pink cardigan had no monetary value. 

Now, though, the old hag has me pinned to the dusty couch. It was one of her “good” days, or as I liked to call them, the days she stopped pretending to be too frail and sick to get herself out of bed. It was strange that her good days never coincided with the ones where I had plans. They only ever happened on the days I seemed to feel well, rare as they were. 

In her gnarled hands are a pair of rusty scissors. Her awful, yellow teeth are bared at me as she holds them over my head. Despite her hate and general evil fueling her, I’m younger. I’m stronger. Gasping, I throw the bitch off of me... onto the couch, rather than onto the floor. It’s better than she deserves. 

“Come here!” she screeches like a banshee at my retreating back. “You think you get to wear that pretty crown of hair? After the exploits of you whoring all around the village reached my ears? I will NOT have you disobeying me in my own home, you little slut!” 

It wasn’t my fault. It isn’t my fault! Please-- Please... No...!

I am sprinting for the door, a hand desperately reaching to wrench it open. Not fast enough. Screaming bloody murder as hands grab me from behind, I thrash. I slam my fists, kick my feet, as my brother grunts and hauls me over his shoulder. My grandfather walks by the scene with glassy eyes, not even sparing me a cursory glance to make sure that I was okay. Not even taking half a moment to register what was happening. He had a strict schedule to adhere to, of course. It was three o’clock. That meant it was time for tea, no matter the chaos that was happening in his living room. 

“Pin her down, Connor,” Elizabeth Wells pants as I feel my back hit the couch again, nose scrunching in instinct at the scent of mold in the fabric. Dust puffs up around me, and the floor creaks. I snarl up at the old witch, my eyes boring into my face as I feel the all-too-familiar weight of my older brother pressing down on my body. I hate her. I hate her.

I hate her stiff silver hair, like steel wool, gathered at the nape of her neck. I hate her cold blue eyes. I hate the way she looks at me, like I am trash. Like I am scum. The way she looks at Connor, you’d think he hung the stars in the sky. He is my nightmare. He is the most evil creature I know, and our grandmother dotes upon him. Birds of a feather, I suppose. 

With a vicious hand, my grandmother gathers my sheet of hair - so long that it fell to my waist - in her fist, yanking on it until I cry out, until I feel strands of it being ripped by the follicle from my scalp. The woman pulls it as taut as she can while I try to push Connor off of me, but he’s bigger. He’s stronger. And I am an underfed girl, wailing as I try to free myself. A punishment. A punishment for something I was forced to do. How was this fair? In what world was this okay? 

The door bangs open again, just as I feel the blade of the rusty scissors pressing close against my scalp. Hiccuping, I look up, praying that it might just be the handsome prince I’d spent my younger years dreaming of. A handsome prince with armor and a sword that would whisk me away from all of this, away from my brother and my grandparents, to take me somewhere I... belonged. I knew I didn’t belong with these people who had so much loathing for me. And when I asked my grandmother why she hated me, our throats both raw from screaming at each other, cups and plates broken from our fight, she only ever offered me one simple response with venom dripping from her thin lips:

“You are just like that Far Eastern whore that seduced my son.” 

The man that walks through is no prince, and I actually wail in sorrow, in emotional agony. No, this is not my savior. This is the man that put me here in this position to begin with. This is the man that negotiated the price of me with Connor, with Elizabeth, with glassy-eyed old Jack. 

The price, I remember, had not been high.

“Good,” Elizabeth panted as she straightened up. “Alfie, come here. This defiant little wretch will make me cut her face if she keeps squirming. Take her arms while Connor takes her legs. Far too strong for such a little slip of a brat...”

Alfie raises a single eyebrow, leaning against his cane while his eyes look me over. Storm gray. Icy. He gives me a look that he thinks is one of pity, but I know better. I’m not stupid. He’s amused. Loosing a dramatic sigh, he approaches and strips off his leather gloves while Connor pants, shifting to pin my bare legs down against the sofa. In the kitchen doorway, I see Jack passing by like a spirit, gray and hollow, back up the stairs to his and Elizabeth’s bedroom. 

“Please don’t-- please, Alfie--” I hate that I beg. I hate that he likes it.

“I am not your guardian, Audrey,” he remarks, glancing down at me as he pins my arms above my head. “And thus I cannot interfere with how your grandmother chooses to discipline you. Admittedly, I think she’s doing the right thing. You and I -- all of us -- we had a little secret to keep, didn’t we? And you didn’t use all the discretion I told you to use, did you? No... No, you didn’t. Hair grows back, child. Stop your screaming and be still.” 

His hands are a vice around my wrists. I stare at the ceiling - at anywhere but him - as tears overflow from my eyes, falling hot against my cheeks. The scissors press against my scalp again, and I shut my eyes tightly as I hear the first cut through my silken locks. But the scissors are old, and my hair is thick. It goes slowly, with my grandmother muttering curses beneath her breath. I can feel how choppy it is, can feel the weight falling from my head, hear it falling onto the old, worn wooden floor. 

Snip. Snip. Snip. 

After the first few cuts, I stop struggling. Connor and Alfie don’t let me go. I don’t know which of them is more pleased to be overpowering me, to be sinking their hands into my skin while I weep and bite back the urge to beg more. And finally... Finally, it is over. They release me. I don’t stand right away. 

It feels as if I’ve been raped. Not in the traditional sense, no. But they had gloated in my lack of power. They had exploited. And they had taken from me. I feel limp and cold. It’s just hair, isn’t it? But it was my hair. I knew what it meant to have one’s hair cut like this in the Far East. I was disgusting. I was dishonorable. Maybe it was a mercy that my grandmother wielded the scissors and not me. After the past few months... I don’t trust that I wouldn’t have used them to make sure I never woke. 

It didn’t help that this was the anniversary of my mother’s death.

When I do stand, I run. No one tries to stop me this time. I run out the door and to the back of the house, my limbs and eyes searing. Doubling over, hands on my thighs, I let myself sob and gasp for breath all at once. Shaking hands eventually come to run through my hair... and I fall to my knees. There was barely anything left. It had been cropped, choppily, to my scalp. Years and years and years of growth, only to have it removed as punishment. 

It was the nail in the coffin that affirmed that I no longer had any autonomy over my body. I had lost that when my grandmother and Connor shook hands with the serpent, with the devil in fine clothing.

“You’ll wear wigs until it grows to an acceptable length,” Alfie tells me as I walk, numbly, back into the farmhouse. “And then we’ll bleach all that black out and turn it red. Pretty, right? I know you’re upset, Audrey... But you disobeyed. This is to make sure you know who knows best, and that is your elders.”

I stare at him, emotionless. He is standing in my kitchen. Grandmother and Connor are nowhere to be seen. Alfie approaches me slowly, gripping my chin between his long, cold fingers and smiling his serpent’s smile, sadly. He is a good actor. I almost believe that he feels bad, that time. 

“Hair grows,” he reminds me again, gently. “You were too pretty with all of it. It made me jealous, to see how men looked at you with those long, shiny locks. You don’t want to be too pretty, Audrey. Then no one will take you seriously. Be a good girl. I’ll be back tomorrow with some wigs to pick from, and then we can go out for lunch. Whatever you’d like.”

He leaves. I catch sight of myself in one of the windows that’s old rather than broken, and my bottom lip starts to tremble again. I hadn’t been too pretty. I had been nowhere close to pretty. I was disgusting. And now... I was even more wretched than I was before. Tears stream down my face again.

But there is a pile of dishes in the sink, and they won’t clean themselves. I turn away from the window. There are other tasks at hand I must do if I don’t want something else that’s precious to be taken away.

#writing #ffxiv stories #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #child abuse tw #human trafficking tw #domestic abuse tw

[korporxie]

Prompt #7: Serendipitous

The night was quiet. It was a welcome change to the bustle that had occupied the seamstress’ shop during the day. Now, I found myself sat up in the tall trees near the geisha house and inhaling the cool air. Two bodyguards strolled around the perimeter as casually as one men could be outside of a female exclusive building. The lanterns had gone low in the rooms of the geisha and maiko, and though everything seemed peaceful, I could feel a prickle of discomfort going up the back of my neck. Head tilting, I peered downwards and raised a brow as I heard faint footsteps dropping into the dirt to the east of me, at a low part of the fence wrapping around the inner garden of the geisha house. 

 Craning my neck, I watched the figure in black landing on their feet and ushering silently to another - similarly clad - following behind... and another, and another.  One more, then, for good measure. Five total, all of them tall with their faces covered. A frown creased my brow and I lifted my head to see both of the bodyguards with their backs turned, muttering to each other. 

 What kind of incompetence...? No. It’s not your business, Xiu. The oyabun probably sent them anyway. Don’t interfere. 

 A flash of steel, bright beneath the full moon, caught my eye as I was turning my head away. A butterfly knife? I inhaled quietly and watched the first figure that had hopped the fence slowly creeping up upon the beefier of the two bodyguards. Just as he was about to get the knife driven into his back, his brother noticed and whipped around, grabbing the arm of the assailant and shoving him back. Immediately, both of the men were swarmed by the attackers.

 Five against two. That isn’t fair, oyabun.

 Like a shadow, I dropped to the ground and landed low on my feet. My steps didn’t make even the hint of a sound as I made my way across the sand garden that had been so carefully arranged by the maiko named Hana earlier in the day. In contrast, the scuffle was getting loud, blow after blow being delivered to the two bodyguards that had been sent to protect the women within the house. One of them had dropped to the ground, groaning and bleeding from the temple and gripping at his side, where I saw crimson blossoming. As one of the figures clad in black spun around to aim a kick at the standing bodyguard’s head, I reached out and grabbed their leg, causing them to topple a little before getting flipped over my shoulder and onto their back.

 “Attacking a man with his back turned is a coward’s move,” I said, raising my eyes to look at the fight that had suddenly frozen. “You should know better than that, gentlemen.”

 “What are you doing here--?” snapped a familiar voice, and I raised a brow, looking to the source. Beady eyes, pitch black. Hikaru, one of the other orphan boys my father had ‘adopted.’ He was holding the bodyguard by the collar, and the latter was already bruising in the face, a fat lip bleeding. 

 “I was walking by when I saw five people dressed in black scaling the wall to an okiya that I know is under threat,” I replied with a frown. “I should call the  Sekiseigumi... Your Hingan isn’t what it should be, if you’re from around here,” I added, glancing down to the man I’d flipped. Didn’t recognize him. Not by his eyes alone, at least. 

 “Just shut her up so we can keep going!” he ordered the others around him. “We have to get this done tonight.”

 I sighed, watching them all converge upon me. 

 “Bad move.”

I took a step back and lifted my hands, tiredly gesturing for them to come forward. At least one of them knew who I was. The others seemed oblivious, and judging from what little I could see of their faces, they weren’t Hingan or Doman. Their eyes were pale, and so was their skin. They were Garleans that my father had been training, people I had never encountered. They certainly had a pack mentality. All of them came for me at once, knives glinting. One even pulled a gun, and I went for him first. 

 Dodging beneath the arm of one trying to drive knife towards my chest, I spun him around by the back of his shirt and shoved him into one of his friends. With him half bent, I vaulted off of his back and slammed my heel into the jaw of the one aiming the pistol. I heard a bullet whistle past my ear and rolled to the side once I hit the sand, kicking his feet out from behind him. As another dove for me, I grabbed their friend and used him like a shield, feeling the warmth of his blood spread over my lap as the knife met with his stomach rather than mine. 

 “You bitch--!” he gasped, and I kicked him away from me, seizing the gun out of his gloved hand. I shut one eye and fired a bullet into the kneecap of the one who’d drawn first blood, and on his own comrade, at that. 

 I admit, it wasn’t my quietest operation, and I didn’t like it. The lights were being lit inside of the geisha house, and I swerved to the side as I was rushed at by one of the broader of the five mystery assailants to buy me more time to dismantle the pistol. The bullets fell to the ground, and I tossed aside the weapon itself. Fighting in a kimono was restrictive, at best, and I exhaled in frustration as a blow met with my mouth. Reaching up, I untied my obi and side-stepped one of the attackers, wrapping the obi around his neck and tilting him backwards until he was purple and gasping, and I grimaced at the sound of his cracking back. Just before his air was cut off completely, I pushed him to the side, letting my obi flutter away with him. 

 Two down, three to go, and I didn’t hardly have any time before the house mother came out like a screeching banshee. One of them I just punched square in the jaw, blood leaking out from the tight fabric of the mask he wore over his face. My legs propelled me upwards around him until they were wrapped around his neck, and using my lower half, I flipped him onto his back to hear him land with a ‘crunch’ upon the sand. My kimono had ripped in the scuffle, to my relief, making it far easier to move. Grabbing a fallen knife, I cut the long underwear beneath them up the middle to give my legs more room to move. 

 The last two standing converged on me together, and I ran towards one, driving my shoulder into their gut and hearing them gasp for air as I winded them. They toppled backwards and I spun around, delivering a kick to the only one I had recognized - Hikaru - to the throat. Everyone was on the ground but me, by that point, and I looked around to assess the damage as I heard the hurried and panicked footsteps approaching the main door to the garden from the geisha house. Clicking my tongue, I turned the knife over in my hands, careful not to get any on my clothes, before pressing it into Hikaru’s palm. 

 Like a shadow once more, I was in the darkest part of the garden as the doors were flung open and the cries of the geisha pierced the air. Silently, I scaled the low part of the wall, grimacing at the bruising that was already starting to develop on my ribs from a kick one had managed to land. I was getting rusty. Regardless, I shook it off and inhaled deeply before starting to weep heavily and run down the street.

 “Sekiseigumi!” I wailed. “Please, help! Help! There’s been an attack at the okiya! Ijin attack! Please, help--!”

 “What’s happened?” A trio of Kugane’s finest rounded the corner, clearly shocked at my disheveled hair and torn kimono. “Miss! Miss, what’s happened? There’s been an attack at the geisha house?” 

 “Y-Yes!” I stammered, thick tears running down my cheeks. “I h-heard shouting and I-I scaled the wall -- or tried to, and my kimono got all r-ripped - and when I saw into the garden there were a bunch of people all lying in a pile! It looked like the b-bodyguards there got in a fight with some intruders... Please help them!”

 “Are you alright?” one of them asked me while the two others took off to go be big damn heroes. I looked up at the Hyur and sniffled. “You’re not injured?”

 “No,” I said, rapidly shaking my head. “No, I’m fine! Please go help them before all of those terrible people wake up...!” 

 “Right!” he said quickly. “Miss, please go wait somewhere safe until we can come and question you about what you saw!”

 And off went the final big damn hero. I waited until he had rounded the corner to stop crying and sighed to myself, reaching into my ripped kimono to take out a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. With one lit up between my lips, I ran my hand gingerly over the swelling bruise on my left side and took the darkest alleys back to the seamstress’ home where I was staying. 

 What would they have done if I hadn’t been there? And what am I doing, fucking up the people the oyabun sent to finish this job he made me take part in? I want out. I want out now.

#ffxivwrite2018 #writing #xiu #yakuza rp #hingan rp #kugane #ffxiv writing #ff14 stories

[waynct]

inverno

yixing x female reader

word count: 3815 genre: fluff, angst, smut warnings: cussing, smut, light choking, mentions of anxiety and emotional abuse note: here’s a (late) christmas gift for my followers! i used my mom’s laptop to write this sooo... i’m gonna go delete it now lmao

It had been a long day. Firstly, you and your sister's flight to the winter resort had been cancelled, so the two of you had to wait until 9 o'clock that night, then, you managed to completely forget your purse at the resort's welcome center, and at last, there you were, still waiting after 45 minutes for the gondola lift to take you up the mountain and to your room- where you just wanted to collapse into your bed for the next few weeks and avoid human contact in general. You decided your younger sister wouldn't be choosing the vacation next time around. The sound of men arguing quietly had been the center of your attention when they began speaking, but now you were trying to find other things to focus on than that or the freezing air that was nipping at the tips of your nose and ears.

Your eyes traveled over the expanse of snow-covered land in front of you before landing on the stranger to your right; he'd been there just as long as you had. It was easy to tell he was gorgeous even under the plethora of layers he donned, a dark scarf dusted with snow was wrapped almost completely around his head. His dark hair was ruffled and his eyes were hooded and soft- showing his tiredness. You couldn't blame him for looking sleepy, it was about 2 in the morning, or at least it was when you last checked your phone. You almost felt ashamed about the way your stomach flipped looking at this complete stranger, but it had been a while since you'd gotten laid, and his soft features (or at least, what you could see) looked fantastic.

Thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of the lift dinging, and the stranger hurried into the mechanism, an action you quickly followed. You couldn't help but notice the arguing turn into shouts as the door closed, but you pushed the thought of danger out of your mind when the stranger began to strip the scarf away from his face. Your stomach began to do flips again once his pink mouth- probably brighter than usual because of the cold- was revealed, and he swiped a tongue across the larger bottom lip. He was striking, and you were thinking of other things his tongue could do when his dark eyes raised from the scarf in his lap to meet yours. Attempting to save yourself, your gaze quickly fell to the window beside you, watching the reflection of him instead of the real thing- it was probably safer, for your sake.

Intrusive, anxious ideas had been slipping your thoughts the moment you entered the lift, and even though you tried to push them away, they seemed to cling to the back of your mind. Even with this beautiful stranger sitting less than 5 feet away, you couldn't help but to wonder what the men running the lift were arguing about.

That thought itself seemed to trigger the next few moments, a creaking sound and a halt of the lift threw you and the stranger onto the floor of the mechanism harshly, and your instincts went insane arms shooting out to steady yourself the best you could. The avoidance of the man had disappeared, now you and the stranger made steady eye contact while the lights flickered until they finally went out, and you sat in almost complete darkness save the soft light coming from the windows.

The rush of everything happening at once broke the control you thought you had over your emotions, and you could feel the wetness in your eyes begin to seep over your waterline, tears beginning to slide down your face.

This had to be the worst day of your life.

The lift's speaker crackled a few times weakly, and you watched as the stranger pushed himself off the floor and leaned onto the seat where he'd just been ejected, facing where the two of you had just left. His dark eyes seemed to search for a few seconds before he grimaced at the window.

"They're not there."

"What?!" Your voice was strained with emotion, as you hadn't had any time to calm yourself, and the stranger noticed this, the dim light showing he had turned his head toward you after your outburst.

"Hey, it's alri-"

You were tired and angry, and now, frightened. It was obvious the handsome stranger was trying to make you feel better, but the pity in his tone sent you over the edge. "No it's not!! I just wanted to be here with my sister- this was supposed to be fun, supposed to help, but now.." Your voice broke as you spoke, and he lowered to the floor in front of you, long, gloved fingers resting on your knee. Even from that small action, you could tell he was compassionate and kind. This time spent with your sister was sacred. You hadn't seen her in months, ever since she started seeing her new boyfriend- and it had changed her. She was constantly with him because of his clinginess, and at times you just wanted to go off on the man. Even though it was bad to think, you wished they had never dated in the first place. You couldn't help but feel you and your sister were being pulled apart, sparse threads on the verge of snapping being the only bridge left between the two of you.

A sniff from you was the only sound in the room for the next few seconds until he spoke again. "What's your name?" You sighed and shifted your leg, keenly aware that his hand on your knee hadn't moved. "It's Y/N." He smiled at you softly, a developing dimple in his cheek barely being visible in the darkness. "I'm Yixing." His thumb swiped against the stretched material of your jeans, and just that action sent shivers down your spine. It felt desperate, just those little things he did making you feel hot, but you couldn't help it; the rush of adrenaline only heightening your emotions and touches from him.

Yixing spoke again after a few seconds, finally breaking eye contact with you to glance at one of the windows. "I guess we have to wait until they get this thing fixed.. wherever they went." The taller male tipped backward onto his behind, his hand lingering on you as he did so. He leaned back onto a seat, brown eyes flicking around the lift.

It was funny, somehow, that he'd rather sit on the floor with you instead of actually being in the seat, but you figured it was because he wanted to make you feel as comfortable as he could. You began to let out a shaky breath of slight relief, when the lift shook slightly, rattling the wires it was connected to. Your ears picked up wisps of high-pitched wind moving around the outside of the mechanism- akin to the wailing of a banshee. At the motion, you nearly jumped out of your skin, goosebumps traveling down your arm. Yixing's hand was around you suddenly, wrapping around your shoulder. You could feel his warm chest on your bicep, his heart beating just as fast as yours was. You knew at that moment he was just as scared as you were, only he hid it better. Your head turned toward him, eyes widened in fear, and he pressed his pink lips together, his face glazed in thought.

"It'll be okay. It's just the wind." However confident he sounded, you felt like he couldn't possibly know for sure, but you decided to trust him for the sake of your anxiety. You nodded, letting yourself relax into his chest. He was impossibly warm, even with the coldness that had begun to prickle at the dried tears on your cheeks. The sudden thought of how you'd keep warm invaded your mind and frightened you even more, even though you wouldn't voice it for fear of making this beautiful stranger uncomfortable. It had always been hard for you to show your emotions. You parents scolded you when you cried, told you it wasn't pretty when you laughed, but with this man you felt as if you could say or do anything in that moment of emotional bareness.

Another shake of the lift had you gasping for breath while gripping onto the loose fabric of Yixing's shirt, feeling a panic attack coming on. Your heart felt like it was going to rip out of your chest, the chills running up your body making you feel like crying even more than you had earlier. Yixing's hand cupped your cheek, making you turn your head toward his face. His chocolate-hued orbs were locked onto yours now. "Hey... It'll be okay, I promise. Just have faith." He leaned back with the words, gesturing toward his torso with a wave. "Come on."

You hesitantly moved closer to him, tilting your face just far enough so you could breathe in his soft scent. "Thank you." Your voice was smaller than you anticipated, but it obviously affected him, since he began to press his thumb into your shoulder and rub it against your shirt. Another shake made your eyes shut tightly, and Yixing spoke the silence again. "Let's play a game!" You could see from looking up through your lashes that he had a small smile on his face, and you couldn't hold back your matching one that threatened to break through. "Alright.."

He shifted around, pulling his gloves off and letting both of his palms face up toward the ceiling as his knees pushed into your thigh. "Put your hands over mine.. and if I slap your hands before you pull them away.." Yixing paused, swallowing hard. "I get a kiss."

Your eyes widened, your gaze raking over his face. "W-What?"

The man had a sneaky look in his eye, and he tilted his head to look at you, black hair flopping with the movement. "You're gonna act like you weren't checking me out earlier? And before, when we weren't even on the lift yet?"

It took all your strength to not jump out one of the windows. You cleared your throat, pursing your lips and hovering your palms above his. "Got me there." He laughed softly- his dimple appearing again. You waited a few moments, but before you could ask him what was taking so long, he had quickly flipped his hands over, slapping the backs of yours. You jumped because of the quickness, and the man quirked a brow, the smile not having left his features. When you didn't say anything, he fidgeted slightly, the hands that had just popped against your skin tapping against his pants. "You don't have to- I just think it'll help you not be so tense."

You considered his features before nodded slowly. He was right. It was better to think about kissing him than both of you falling to your deaths.

"Okay.. so do it. Kiss me."

He managed to keep the confidence he held earlier in his posture, and his brown eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes a few times before he leaned in, only stopping once he was a few inches away from your face. You could smell cocoa butter on his skin at this distance, mixed with the soft cologne he'd probably put on that morning. His lips were so close that you could see the dryness of them from the lift being so cold now you could almost see your breath.

He slowly moved closer until you felt the softness of his lips pressing against yours as he enveloped your mouth under his warm one. His hands immediately went to your face, long fingers wrapping around your jaw- the feeling of it causing you to feel hot once more when his touch sent tingles from the pads of his fingers on your jaw to your core. Before you could kiss back, he pulled away from you, holding his hands up in the same position as before.

You huffed softly at the loss of warm contact, but obliged, hovering your hands over his once more. It wasn't that you didn't want to play the game.. but kissing Yixing was much more interesting. He flipped his hands and hit yours again, and narrowed his eyes at you playfully. "Are you even trying?" At his question, your face broke out into a smile, and you pushed out a 'psh' from your lips. "I am!"

Yixing closed the distance between your mouths again, this time pushing his tongue against yours once you had both parted your lips. The wet muscle of his circled around yours, making your imagination run wild. He placed his hand on your hip, pulling you closer to him. The warmness that came off of him was intoxicating, and the sweet taste of his mouth had you not wanting to stop. After you let out an unintentional moan when he squeezed your side, he released your lips, letting wet kisses trail down the side of your neck and pressing his face into the hollow of it. "God, you smell good."

The words were lowered and hissed out, and you knew why. Without a second thought, your hand stretched out toward the strained section of his slacks, and Yixing let out a groan into your collarbone as you pressed a palm against him, his tongue now leaving wetness behind as he was attempting to kiss your skin still. He pushed himself into your hand helplessly with a sigh and tilted his face back up to meet yours. "It's too cold to.." Leaving the sentence there to hopefully let you understand, you took his bottom lip between your teeth, squeezing his length softly as you did so- the girth of it feeling delicious through the bottoms he wore. His dark eyes were half-way shut as he watched your face, bottom lip still being ravaged by you. You sucked it the rest of the way into your mouth, letting it loose with a pop once you were done. "We don't have to take our clothes off." It was rare to hear your voice like this, but whenever you did it always seemed to had a large effect on your partner. Yixing's face was mixed with curiosity and arousal, but you ignored the expression, throwing your leg over his lap to push your ass onto his covered length. Your back was pressed against his chest now, and he gladly took the opportunity to slip his now freezing hands under your shirt and sports bra and knead your breasts, his face pressing into the area between your neck and shoulder. You moaned out loud at the feeling of your nipples being pulled by his cold fingers. It had been a while.

Your hips rolled back onto him and he dug his chin into your shoulder, letting out a soft growl as he pushed back into you. Yixing's hands dropped from your breasts to the waistline of your pants, wasting no time pulling them down your thighs. You let out a hiss at the coldness of the air, but Yixing seemed to already be prepared, immediately moving his hands from the pants he'd just pulled to your knees up and around your thighs; his long fingers squeezing and pressing into the softness of your skin as he attempted to warm you. One of his hands moved from your thighs to the center of your underwear- where you were already soaked.

"All this for me?" His soft voice sounded wicked and deep in your hair while he let one of his fingers move up and down the fabric over your clit, the motion making you breathe harshly, the heat of your breath creating a small cloud in the cold air in front of your face. His thumbs wrapped around your panties, pulling them down the rest of the way, and you felt yourself being pushed forward, so you leaned forward and placed your hands on his shins so he could undo his pants, feeling rather exposed with your womanhood right in his face. "Oh, fuck.." You barely heard the breathy words, so you jumped a little once you felt both of his hands on your ass, one of his thumbs dipping into the wetness of your slit- but your surprise turned to pleasure once his lips replaced the thumb. He sucked your clit into his mouth forcefully enough to make you whine, then brought his mouth quickly up and down the whole area of your center, the new feeling of his soft tongue fucking into your slit was making you go crazy. You whined, pressing your ass further back, and his hands clapped against the skin of your behind, the sound filling up the lift.

Any other time you'd be thinking about the way the cold was nipping at your extremities- especially the one that was out and exposed at the moment- but you couldn't think of anything but Yixing's mouth drawing shapes on your center. He pulled away from you suddenly, and you could hear the zipper of his pants being pulled down. "Come on, princess." You smirked at the nickname leaving the lips you knew were slick with your wetness, and pushed yourself to sit straight up, his hands still trailing on your hips and ass. "I'll save this for later."

You lifted a brow and turned your head to look at him while you let yourself lower to right above his now-hard cock. "Later?" Yixing made an affirming sound before he let the tip of his length run up and down your soaking slit, slowly pushing the rounded end of it into you and removing it over and over. "Y/N..." A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of your name leaving his lips in such a wanting manner, and you hummed in response. "I'm about to fuck the daylights out of you." The moment the words left his lips, he pushed himself the rest of the way into your core, and you gasped, falling back into his chest while his hips already pounded into you from underneath. The way he filled you up over and over made your head spin, and you let a strangled moan into the air- a man had never made you feel like this. It was the wildness of just having met Yixing, and the fact that you affected a man like him that much.

He squeezed your breasts tightly through your shirt as he clicked his hips upward, you heard his head fall backward onto the seat of the lift as he did so. "You feel s-so good.." He moaned out the words, breath shaky and stifled. Your head had fallen backwards along with his, and he turned his face toward you, leaving sloppy kisses against your jaw and cheeks while he continued his relentless thrusts into you, the sound of your wetness squelching with each slam of his hips into yours was the only sound in the room- save the both of your moans combined into a beautiful symphony of pleasured laments. Yixing slowed his thrusts slightly with what you assumed was him getting tired, so you took control, dropping your hips down and against his, and his sharp intake of air let you know of his surprise- the soft mewls he let out let you know of how you were making him feel. "Keep going- god-" His words were gasped out, and the thought of his fucked out expression that was behind you only spurred you on. Suddenly he wrapped an arm around you, lifting you up and off the ground before he spun you around in his arms, only for him to back you up onto the seat that was behind you. He slipped his hands underneath your knees once you were laid back, lifting your legs so he could begin pounding back into you from the position that allowed so much more- and let him hit even more spots inside of you.

You were glad he didn't slip off your pants all the way because of the cold air, but you wished your bottoms weren't in the way of his heaving chest so you could touch him too. He continued the pushing of his hips into you, hands wandering up your body and past your breasts to scoop around your neck, his hand pressing into it enough to restrict your breathing slightly. His lips were parted and eyes closed, his nose scrunching each time his cock would rub against your core a certain way- it was the hottest thing you'd ever seen- so you saved that in your mind, promising yourself you wouldn't forget him or this night, even with the threat of something terrible happening.

As you were beginning to reach your high, the soft lights of the window that splayed over him were replaced with the lift's lights turning back on, and the speaker cutting on made both of you jump in surprise and halt slightly in your motions. "We apologize for the delay, you will be arriving at your destination shortly." The lift jolted in movement as it began to climb up the cables, but Yixing continued his thrusts, if not going faster. "Y-Yixing, people are gonna see us-" He released the grip on your neck to drop his hand to the nub of your clit, his thumb rubbing slow circles against you. You moaned at the sudden increase of pleasure that sent pulses through your core up to the top of your head, and his hips began to stutter into yours while the two of you came undone at the same time.

The lift slowed slightly while you were recovering, and Yixing helped you out by pushing your pants back up your legs, fingers digging into your behind while he lifted you up so he could pull them over your ass. You smiled softly, watching his help, and you leaned toward him, pushing his now softer length back into the confines of his pants- but not before admiring it and letting a finger run over the veins of his hips- an action that made him shiver while he fixed his hair. "Well.. that definitely helped me get my mind off of.. dying." You let the words, laced with a laugh, slip out. He pushed out a chuckle and let you lean up before wrapping an arm around your head and pressing a kiss onto your lips. "I told you it'd be okay."

Your worst day had turned into one that had ended up being one that you knew you'd remember forever- whether or not Yixing deciding to stay in your life not mattering, but with the way Yixing slipped his fingers into yours and smiled, you knew the next few weeks at the resort would be ones you'd think of fondly for the rest of your days.

#yixing #zhang yixing #lay #yixing smut #zhang yixing smut #lay smut #exo smut #exo scenario #exo fluff #exo imagine #yixing imagine #lay imagine #zhang yixing imagine #exo reactions

[0writerchick0]

Warpath Prompt

Prompt from @queeenpersephone reads as follows:  

 if you’re still doing prompts: someone hurts sansa and petyr goes on the warpath?? ty love! 💕

________________________________________________________________!!!!Trigger Warning!!!! 

Vulgarity, Violence, Murder, Rape, Miscarriage, Mutilation. 

________________________________________________________________

I abhorred my wife, loathed her very existence. I knew that such hatred wasn’t exactly par for the course, but figured it wasn’t that far off from normal. I have not observed love and marriage to go hand in hand, typically. I’d have felt lucky just to tolerate the woman, but our long standing history guaranteed that I wouldn’t. I had to brace myself for her affection, every muscle in my body tightening, rejecting her touch.

I would fight my gag reflex, listening to her banshee wail above my retching, her man-hands dragging my face repeatedly across her fishy cunt. Often, I closed my eyes, and refused to speak, trying to keep myself from such an obvious shudder. So oblivious to her own disgusting nature, she thought I was too overcome with passion to form words. Embroiled with disgust would be more accurate.

I whored myself to my rapist because I valued money and position more than myself. I wanted power more than I wanted pride or self-respect. I thought it would fix all the times life screwed me. When it didn’t, I had gone too far to turn back. I know you understand that, my old friend.

My days were hollow, the only joy I derived from them were the times I was able to best someone else. It didn’t matter who or what, exactly, only that I was better. That was until I crossed paths with Sansa, the little girl I’d let sit on my knee when she was but a child. She’d been sent off to an all girl school for the majority of my marriage to Lysa, only to return a woman, and betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon, no less.

You were there for the announcement, tell me she wasn’t a breath of fresh air. You can’t. She was kindness in a life with only pain and injury. She radiated warmth and acceptance, a sense of regrowth and renewal in a completely barren world filled with people like you and me. Schemers, backstabbers, and liars, all of us. She was simply too pure, too good to ever pay someone like me any mind. Or so, I thought.

I was Uncle Petyr to her, but she knew instinctively by the way our eyes met that there was more between us, instantly. It was natural, primal, unavoidable. We were alone in her parents kitchen, the garden party carrying on outside, as I gripped the counter around her, inhaling the scent of her hair. She shivered beneath me, and I saw myself for the predator I was. About to recoil away from the girl I was meant to uncle, I stopped when I noticed her nipples erect against the thin material of her sundress. She was not meek and mild prey, terrified of being devoured by me, but instead anxiously waiting in anticipation for me to touch her.

Say what you will, old friend, but I tell you this truth. I warned her, let her set the pace. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

She didn’t, chewing her lip nervously as I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to her soft skin. She gasped at the contact, but she didn’t run. I trailed kisses up her neck to her ear, ecstatic that she was allowing me such liberties. I let my hand pick up from the counter, and clutch her side, careful not to push her too much. I just wanted to feel more of her under my fingertips. At that extra point of contact, she gripped my hair and pulled my face to hers, claiming my mouth. I couldn’t stifle the moan that I breathed into her, and she broke our kiss giggling. I felt the spell breaking, knew she’d go back to the innocent schoolgirl promised to Joffrey, and I would go back to the dark decaying life that I’d risen to.

Yet again, she surprised me. The party was over, people were collecting their things. We’d spent the entirety of it looking at each other when we thought for certain the other had no knowledge of it. Lysa waved her hand dismissively at me to get the coats. I’m sure you remember, you got a good chuckle out of it at the time. I don’t remember what I said to you exactly, my mind so wrapped up in the sweet smell and soft skin I’d left in the kitchen a couple hours before. I’m sure it was something biting though, as is typically our way.

When I walked into the Stark’s coat room, I heard the door click shut behind me. Low and behold, the beautiful Sansa Stark that I’d tasted on my lips, smiled before she leaned forward and kissed me again. I brought my hands to her arms, minding my urge to grip more intimate places. She pulled away from me and pressed a piece of paper into my hand. She smiled to one side, a dimple accenting her happiness as she said, “Here’s my number. Call me.”

This is no fabrication. She pursued me. I took the first step, but it was she that followed it up. I didn’t need her to give me her number, as you well know. I can find anyone I want to, or you wouldn’t be in the predicament you’re in now. Receiving that small crinkled up paper was the biggest thrill I’d had in a long time. It was permission, approval, an invitation. A physical note was careless, to be sure, but I adored it all the same. I programmed it in my phone under an associate’s name so Lysa wouldn’t suspect, and then I chewed and swallowed the small scrap to avoid it getting caught in the trash.

As you well know, things only evolved from there. I don’t know how or when you found out, and as we find ourselves here, it doesn’t matter. I won’t remove the gag to allow your gloat, plead with your eyes as you might.

I was with Lysa when she got the call from her sister. Were you there when Catelyn made it? Ever the support… No, I imagine not. Best to keep your hands clean. Lysa turned to me, horrified as she exclaimed, “We need to go to the hospital. Sansa’s been attacked!”

Attacked.

My body moved mechanically as I processed that one word and its weight. How? Who? When? Ned stopped us at the elevator, face flushed with a need for fatherly vengeance, hands wringing to find the person to exact it on. “What the hell was she doing in that part of town anyway?”

I had left her side that morning, in the apartment I’d purchased for us to be together in whenever the rest of the world wasn’t paying attention. She sighed on the bed and said, “I’m going to stay for another hour before Joffrey gets out of class and starts looking for me.” I allowed it, always finding it difficult to deny her anything. It made sense for us to leave at different times anyway.

Lysa put her hand on Ned’s shoulder, and empty gesture of comfort as she softened her voice. “Can we see her?”

Ned nodded his head, unable to speak. Panic rose in the back of my throat as I imagined how battered her beautiful body would be. If the great Ned Stark was unable to find words, how useless would I be rendered? Lysa wrapped her arm around me, and guided me into the room.

Sansa laid unconscious on the bed, wrapped in splints and bandages, oxygen piping through tubes to her nose. Her skin was so dark, much too dark for the ivory I’d felt smooth across mine. Bruising. So much bruising. Catelyn was sitting in the corner, but ran to Lysa as soon as she’d seen her. I stared down at my love, shattered as I listened to Lysa coo to her sister.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, cataloguing every bump and abrasion. Someone would pay for this. You, my creepy crawly friend, will know my wrath for what happened to her. I didn’t know it was you at the time, but I followed the trail.

Catelyn’s voice faltered as she cried into Lysa’s shoulder, “They said she lost the baby. Joffrey’s going to be so disappointed. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

Neither did I.

I know now, that you did. The room was suddenly warm and spinning as red hot fury coursed through my veins as I thought of nothing else but murder.

Lysa’s icy cold fingertips traced the back of my hand, caught in it’s white-knuckle grip on the bed rail. Her whispered words slithered in my ear. “I couldn’t let that little slut carry my husband’s child.”

Slowly, I craned my neck to look at her. The surprise and worry gone from her features, replaced by smug satisfaction. She smirked as she said, “Let this be a lesson to you, Petyr.”

My teeth hurt from the pressure of my clenching, though I barely noticed. I felt as though I could rip the railing off the bed and beat her with it. She reached for the blanket that covered Sansa, pulling it down at the same time she tugged at her hospital gown. I didn’t recognize my own voice as I growled, “What are you doing?”

She shrugged her shoulders lightly and said, “Checking to make sure that my little lesson has been delivered. It’s important for aunts to teach their nieces things.”

Dark blue and purple skin peeked out from the pool of fabric around her waist. Bright auburn curls that I’d seen intimately more than a few times before, stood in contrast against all the bruised flesh. I was outraged at her for exposing Sansa to the cold sterile hospital room. She ignored me, giggling as she said, “Oh, it’s perfect! Petyr look.”

I leaned over further, wondering what awful thing Lysa would deem perfect. Carved into my love’s delicate ivory flesh were the following words, Littlefinger’s Whore-Hole. The beast broke from his cage and I flew at her in a frenzy. My hands settled on her throat, squeezing as hard as I could, listening to her rasp as I crushed her windpipe. Only when I realized my muscles were flexed to hold her heavy sagging lifeless form, rather than fight it, did I look around me.

Catelyn had gone off to see to her husband, fortunately leaving Lysa and I alone. I ran to the door and propped a chair under it to keep anyone from entering. Each hospital room was equipped with a tall locker-like cupboard to hang a coat and bag in. Sansa’s was empty, except for a tote of her mother’s knitting. I removed it and tossed it in the top cupboard before dragging Lysa’s wretched body across the hospital tile and crammed her into the cupboard.

Getting the door shut was the hardest part, she’d grown a bit wide in the hips over the years. Somehow I managed, and then I ran for the door, moving the chair out of the way to avoid any suspicion should someone try to visit at that moment and find the door barricaded. I heard a whimper behind me and I whipped around to see my love coming to consciousness. Her eyes blinked open, the white of her eyes colored a dark red from the burst blood vessels. Tears streaked her cheeks as her trembling arms fought to cover herself from me.

She didn’t want me to see what they had done to her, what you had done to her! My hands flew to her, straightening her gown and tucking the blanket over her. I blinked back my own tears as I smiled down to her. “It’s alright, sweetling,” I told her. “You’re still the most beautiful woman. They didn’t take that from you,” I promised her. “You will heal and be strong again,” I prayed.

Her hand squeezed mine and she pressed her cracked and swollen lips together, a horse rasp sounded, “Trrr-ant.”

Trant. The man who did this. At least, it was his knuckles that snapped her delicate bones. It made sense that it would be him. He was was Joffrey’s muscle. If Lysa knew about their affair, then it made sense that Joffrey knew too. He would send his man after my woman, and teach her who she belonged to. I shook my head and told her to rest, smiling warmly as I kissed her fists. I noticed for the first time just how abraded they were, some of her fingernails torn and missing.

She fought.

My beautiful girl fought back, unwilling to be taken. I felt my heart beating loudly against my chest, a rogue tear rolled down my cheek, refusing to let me blink it away as I promised her retribution.

I called you at the time, do you remember? Of course you do. I asked you to use your connections on the force to bury details of Sansa’s attack, not wanting the Starks to know the awful details of their daughter’s mutilation. I knew she wouldn’t want them to know. I realize now that I didn’t need to ask you to cover this up, you already were. The Starks were there an hour before we were, plenty of time to learn the extent of things. They hadn’t, however, because if Catelyn knew, she would have said something. I forget sometimes, how far your reach is. Was.    

After I called to have Lysa cleaned up–it’s amazing the connections I’ve made over the years, I called some associates: Oswell and Brune. Trant wasn’t hard to locate, his strength and position leaving him overconfident. I stood over him as the boys gave him bruise for bruise, cut for cut to match Sansa. He tried to be tough at first, but soon his grunts turned to screams. As he faded in and out of consciousness, his blood a lake around my feet, I had them flip him over and pull his pants down. You’re going to like this, I carved, Littlefinger’s Whore-Hole above his ass and then rammed the dagger deep in his rectum, leaving him to gargle his last breath in the blood lake he drowned in. I took my phone out and snapped a quick photo.

Joffrey was next. Too drunk and high to notice that the club had cleared out as my boys closed in on him, Joffrey squealed when their meaty hands clamped down on his arms. I smiled, because it felt good to have the scrawny little shit trapped. “You had to expect that I’d come.”

“It was mother’s idea! I only did it because she told me to!” He squawked. Can you believe, I was actually more offended by that? Sansa was supposed to be his, though she never was. If he had any appreciation for the beauty that we both called ours, he would have been the one to act out so violently, motivated by a broken heart, hurt ego, something. Instead, his mother had to remind him to take action, to be so moved. Seeing how pointless he was, I had the boys hold his hands on the club table and I lifted each and every one of his fingers till they snapped. I want to tell you, my friend, that the sound of his screams were music to my ears, but they weren’t. He’s always talked in such a high pitched screech, that his wailing wasn’t that much different. Extremely unsatisfying. I said as much and then shot him twice in the chest before I pulled my phone out and captured his image.  

Cersei had anticipated my arrival. She sent her man the Mountain after me, but Lothor was quicker than the big hulking oaf, and gave him a hotshot in his neck with the hypodermic needle he tended to carry. I may not have taken such pleasure in watching the man convulse to his knees, if he hadn’t dared to stand between me and the bitch that ordered such brutality against my sweetling. They carried her to her bed and pinned her arms and legs down. I crawled on top of her, straddling her as I looked down at her. “Hello Cersei.”

Spit flew from her mouth as she cursed up at me, “Jaime’s going to murder you, you son of a bitch!”

“I welcome him to try,” I sneered at her, and pressed the barrel of my gun into her chest.

Her breath was heavy and forced as she asked, after a couple of seconds of silence, “What are you doing?”

I stared down at her forehead, her mouth, her heart, and kept my voice calm as I replied, “Trying to decide where I want to shoot you.”

She laughed, attempting to sound courageous. “I doubt you have the balls. Lysa told me all about you, how you couldn’t keep your dick up.”

I didn’t fight the sick laugh that slipped out as I pictured Lysa’s crumpled and decaying form hidden away in a cupboard. Cersei was trying to goad me, emasculate me. Too bad that she didn’t realize, an inability to obtain or sustain an erection around Lysa Arryn wasn’t exactly an insult, but instead, an understandable state of being.

She opened her mouth to speak again and I let the pistol find it’s home. Even with the barrel of a gun filling her mouth, she stared back at me as if I were boring her somehow, as if I wouldn’t do it. I squeezed the trigger, and watched her brains spray against her pillow.

I bet she doesn’t doubt me now! I took the picture to prove it.

I looked into her eyes, noting with satisfaction how they had changed. Instead of boredom, they held nothing but a vast emptiness incapable of ever harming my love again.

I told my men to stay back and clean up the loose end, finish Jaime once he arrived. I was on my way back to the hospital, planning how I would get Sansa and start over, when something finally occurred to me. Lysa and Cersei were not close. In all the years I’d been with Lysa, they’d never formed any relationship, barely sharing a few sentences at social events. Who would have bridged the gap between them? I was so careful. Who could have possibly known?

I whipped the car around and called Brune. Oswell didn’t survive Jaime. I knew there would be some casualties, and was glad it was only Oswell. In truth, I’ve always preferred Brune anyway, he knows how to keep to himself better. Besides, my friend, you’ve never been much of a fighter. Brune was plenty to subdue you, wasn’t he?

Did you know about the special request Lysa made of Cersei? The message Trant was instructed to carve? Don’t answer that! Of course you did. I’ve known you for a long time Varys. You always do what needs to be done, nothing more. I can’t only assume you felt this was justified by some greater purpose. What I’m trying to understand is, what would have warranted this level of depravity from you. Was it the baby? An innocent unborn child. My child. I know without any doubts that it was. Were you certain as well?

While I waited for you to wake up, I made some calls. Even the Hound wouldn’t take this job, said he didn’t get off on beating helpless women. So I asked him what he did get off on. Would you believe, he said he enjoyed a good hunt? I offered him some cash and the chance of a chase.

For you, my friend, I will offer you a choice. You can tell me now why you would do such a thing and get a single bullet to your brain, ending it all for you so quickly. Or, you can keep another secret to yourself, and start running. It’s okay, Brune, remove the gag and let him go.

Oh Varys, do stop your pleading. You have until the count of three to spill or sprint. One…two…

Oh good, he ran. I hoped he would. Brune, call the Hound, let him know his target is loose in the warehouse. Don’t forget the camera. I want to add his picture to the collection I give my love once she wakes up again.

#prompt #not baelishes #dark stuff #first person pov #trigger warning! #vulgarity #violence #murder #rape #miscarriage #mutilation #maybe i took this prompt too dark.... #cringing a little #sorry queeenpersephone if this isn't what you were looking for... #eeek.

[malachitaldorin-blog]

Hallowed Ground; New Life

“Twenty long, dreaded years - but I’ve come back for you, Aeraneth, purloiner of shadow.”

Long, tattered black robes trailed along the ash-covered soil, leaving a trail behind the shambling figure as he stepped closer to a secluded burial site hidden behind dark, decayed overgrowth and a pile of discarded steel that told many stories, all their own. As his eyes shifted to examine the hollowed area, tested and broken by the weight of war, a freezing gush enveloped his body. A warning? No. A beckoning call?

The robed man stepped closer towards the broken soil, headed with a gravestone that was marked:

 “TO AERANETH, BETRAYER OF THE DAMNED. MAY YOUR SOUL FIND NO PEACE, AND MAY YOUR SPIRIT LINGER IN EVERLASTING DARKNESS.” 

The words were chipped and barely legible, and the tombstone just as decayed and neglected as the small world that encased it. A land frozen in time by the horrors of the scourge, a powering force which must be embrace, not destroyed.

The man, weak and frail, lowered himself carefully to his knees, before settling back against his heels as he relaxed atop the grave. His eyes came to close and he waited - accepting the freezing winds against him as the painful chill seeped into his weakened body. 

Long hours passed before his eyes opened once more, veiled over with a darkness cast by his ashen hood. His gaze lowered to peer through the soil, which was still soft to the touch after gracing it with his bony fingers. “Your ashes paved a stone for my family and your sacrifice has not been forgotten, old friend. Your spirit will linger in darkness no more, and I will show you the light,” he said reassuringly, his voice shaky and dark in tone.

The man turned and slung the messenger bag off his shoulders, dropping it to the ground in front of him. After rummaging in the pack for a few minutes, he had laid out a few items before him: a dagger, a vial of baptized blood, and a small journal that had been tattered and aged. He examined the items, before giving a low nod. With that, his hand raised to lift the amulet hanging from his neck before ripping it away and breaking the old chains with ease. He clasped the jewelry between two praying hands before bowing his head, eyes dropping to a close.

“A tenebris ad lucem, et vocavi te - mea”

His right hand then gripped the amulet before slamming it down onto the vial of baptized blood, sending a splash of crimson over the soil. His hand remained firmly placed into the dirt as the shards of glass began to cut him deep, mixing his own blood into the fold. The ground rumbled at his touch and the gravestone crumbled into pieces before him. 

“YOU WILL NOT FIGHT ME, AERANETH! YOUR SPIRIT IS MINE AND YOU WILL RETURN TO OUR WORLD UNDER MY CONTROL! LET GO OF YOUR PAIN AND EMBRACE ME - FOR I, MALACHI CASSIUS TALDORIN III, WILL SHOW YOU THE LIGHT!” 

His shouting didn’t seem to do much but stir the rumbling ground even further before the soil began to capsize within itself. Finally, a shadowy apparition bursts from the soil, wailing in pain as it floated upwards, illuminating the darkened sky around it. Her face was beautiful but scarred, and her hair was a flowing long sea of blackness, that began to surround her form as she adjusted terrifyingly to her surroundings. Her eyes finally lowered to meet her summoner, the robed man that peered up to her under the cover of his hood - with only the glowing crimson hue of his left eye peering through.

She rushed down to take him, the man whom had disturbed her restful slumber. Malachi quickly grabbed his blade and began to carve the palm of his left hand, allowing blood to drip between his fingers and down to his wrist. She dashed in closer and closer but just before managed to rip his soul from his body, he pointed the carved towards her - the depiction hidden inside of his palm. The banshee halted in her tracks and simply stared - a horrible face quickly transforming into one of sadness.

“You... the one I see in my dreams?” Her voice chimed in, hollowed and reverberated. “Why have you come for me?”

“For the same reason you came for my family so many years ago. We saw a greater purpose in one another - and I can’t bare to see you live like this... Aeraneth. Come... we have much to discuss.” The robed man finally shambled back to his feet, leaning his weight against the walking stick that took the place of his broken scythe. 

“Malachi... Thank you.”

[ @xiviadanes ]

#malachicassiustaldorin #themeetingofthebanshee

[vilarps]

heyy prologue and ch 1 to my new writing project maybe? Who even knows yo

 Zero

Little Tamber Cinden, youngest of the family, baby-faced and doe-eyed, tried and failed to outrun night as it overtook the forest. Bears, wolves were the least of her worries, unseen until it was too late, and bone-white snow bloomed red with blood. Her long yellow hair trailed behind her, glinting silver in the moonlight, just like that of her sisters, and tears streamed down her face. She looked just like her sisters, green eyed and freckled if not shorter by two heads, with the same stubbornness that got them all into trouble like this.

I can check on the bear traps on my own, indeed. The only reason she hadn’t stepped on one yet was pure luck.

A faint blue glow flickered through the pines to the left. It wasn’t in the direction of home, but some light was better than no light, when trolls came out to feast. She pivoted and ran, just as the first few roars boomed shook the trees and vibrated through Tamber’s body.

A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and she ran faster, stumbling once and scraping her knee. She got back up, not bothering to assess the damage. As she came closer, the light took the shape of a massive covered carriage lit by glowing crystals, door facing away. She whipped around the corner to see the six armed guards, and her breath lodged itself in her throat. She trembled at the sight of them -- their curved glaives glinting dangerously in the glow, and their eyes regarding her behind their masks. Their terrible, terrible masks.

They wore the skulls of yaks and cattle with ornate carvings and gemstone inlays. The furs of these felled beasts billowed out in manes to the small of their backs. Their clawed hands gripped the glaives as they moved closer to inspect the freckled little girl who’d entered their camp.

Trolls.

She tried to scream, tried to run, tried to do something as two guards gripped her arms in their ice-cold gauntlets. One of them rapped on the side of the caravan, and the door slid open.

She didn’t wait for whoever was inside before she kicked and twisted herself free. Tamber turned to flee, running blindly in the forest towards where she hoped was home, pursued by rattling voices and roars of three of the troll guards.

She would not die tonight. She would not die tonight. Tamber fled, searching wildly for a sign of civilization. She could find her way easily in the daylight, knew this forest by heart. But fear clouded her memory, and nothing looked familiar. Nothing save for the familiar shimmer of iron traps, hidden in the snow.

She rounded a tree, lungs burning and muscles wavering. A basic plan formed in her mind. It was sloppy, and risky, but she had no other choice. Tamber rounded back.

The trolls were too close, ready to descend upon her, rip her limb from limb. She ran towards them, and veered into a hard left. She barely escaped the claws of the largest troll, which ripped right through her coat and tore at her skin. Nevertheless, the trolls overshot, and had to stop and turn around, which bought Tamber just enough time to see the telltale glint of a bear trap.

She skirted around a tree, leaping over the snow and leaves that hid it. Two of the pursuers did the same, but the last wasn’t so lucky. He let out a shriek that shook Tamber to her core, as harsh and violent as an avalanche. The trolls hesitated just long enough for her to escape, unable to ignore the wailing of the wounded.

For ten minutes, she ignored the gash in her arm and pushed forward until – a metallic jaw snapped shut around her own leg, and she screeched, a banshee’s cry in the middle of the night. Birds fled their nests. Glowing eyes opened in the dark.

Tamber wept openly, panic making her tremble and shake. She did her best to wrench the spring trap open, even as black spots overtook her vision, and her head reeled. Even as her blood soaked through her boot and stained the snow.

She whirled around wildly for something – anything to help her pry the trap open, but there was nothing but the trees and brush. It took too long to put her thoughts in order. Tamber limped to the tree chained to the trap, and reached for the lowest branch, just barely out of her reach. She stretched, standing on her toes, barely able to see. Somehow, she managed to wrap her pale hands around the brittle wood and snap it off the trunk.

There wasn’t time to try prying the trap open. The trolls had freed their friend and howled in their gravelly voices, echoing through the dark. Instead, Tamber shoved the tree against the inside of her boot, forcing the leather and fur away from her leg.

The sight of gore and bone sent her retching. Tamber dry heaved onto the snow, and went right back to working herself free. The troll was almost upon her when she wrenched her foot out of the trap, exposing the soaked woolen stockings underneath. Without waiting to catch herself, Tamber scrambled up the tree, almost blinded by the pain. A clawed hand wrapped around her good leg, yanking with inhuman strength. It would have taken her down, had her stockings not slipped free. The troll came away with a single boot and scraps of fabric, and Tamber climbed out of its reach.

It spat curses at her in its gravelly voice and guttural tongue, unable to climb after her. It waved its glaive about, kicking at the tree, livid and likely hungry.

But she had won. All Tamber had to do was wait until dawn. When the sun rose, the troll would flee to the safety of the underground, and she could finally go home.

One.

We burst through the door as soon as the sunlight touched us. Neither of us had slept that night, barely able to so much as remove our coats as we waited for the sun to come up, and we, red-eyed and weary, raced to the forest’s edge.

Nothing was said on the way there. All the fighting had been done, all the arguments were worn out and tired. Nothing mattered except Tamber. I prayed we’d find her alive.

I blamed myself, even if I had scolded Naza about it. I was the oldest, the strongest. It was my job to keep an eye on the traps, to make sure our neighbors didn’t go hungry while they nursed their son back to health. Tamber was still too young to do it alone, too small and frail. I should have fought harder to go with her. I had the best chance to survive, surly as I was, and Naza bore scars from a troll’s greedy claws herself. She hated the forest, but she loved Tamber more.

A glimmer of metal caught my eye. “Naz—“ I held her back before she stepped on it. She struggled against me as I brushed the snow and branches away, exposing the vicious teeth.

“Oh gods,” she whimpered.

“You don’t think she…?”

“No. No, she couldn’t have. She’s got a sharp eye, right? She’d have seen them all.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as me.

I swallowed hard, searching her eyes for any wavering. They were filled with doubt, but she was silent. I nodded, unable to let my mind wander further. “Right. Yes, you’re right.” I squeezed her hand and turned away, shouting as we resumed the search. “Tamber! Tamber are you here?” We didn’t let go of each other until we saw the blood.

A spring trap rested beneath a spruce tree, caked in dried blood and pried open until it broke. Multiple sets of footprints surrounded it – too large to be human, too small to be a bear. Somehow, whatever was in it had gotten free. No doubt the trolls had helped with that, and dragged them deeper into the woods as it bled out. As the sunlight finally reached them, it glittered like gemstones against the snow. Bile rose in my throat.

“Oh gods.” Naza clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to stand the sight. “Oh gods.”

I took it in, too horrified to look away, even as my sister clung to me. At least three people had been here – maybe more. They had gone off in two directions – one pair followed the blood, and two going off in a different direction.

“It wasn’t her,” I said, holding Naza close. “If the trolls had caught her, they’d have left whatever was caught in the trap, and eaten the rest.” Something else had been caught here. Something intelligent enough to get free.

It was the wrong thing to say. Naza let out a sob, and began weeping anew.

“No, no she’s fine. I’m sure of it, Naza. I’m sure…” My voice broke on my lie. I held her tighter and screeched wildly. “Tamber! Tamber! Tamber!”

A tiny voice answered back, almost too soft to hear. “Bette?” It came from above.

“Tam? Tam, where are you?”

“Up in a tree, over here.”

Naza pried herself free and raced towards the sound. “We’re here, Tambagaer! We’re coming!”

I followed close behind, grateful that Naza’s eyes were on the trees. She didn’t see the blood splattered beneath a tree, Tamber’s boot caught in a trap. But it was empty, crushed flat. Tamber had gotten herself free, somehow finding the strength to climb the tree where she no doubt spent the night.

All fear melted away upon seeing the tiny form of my sister, clinging to the trunk, frost decorating her cheeks and eyelashes. She shivered pathetically, crying still. “Bette,” she whimpered. Her leg was mangled, torn through the muscle and covered in dried blood, but she was alive. Alive and almost entirely unhurt.

My heart wrenched in my chest. “I’m coming, Tam, I’m coming right up.”

Naza stood aside, giving my arm a squeeze as I climbed the tree to gather Tamber into my arms. Tamber wept openly, burying her face into my chest as I unpinned my fur cloak to wrap it around her. It had to be the first warmth she’d felt in hours. I held her closer at the thought, barely realizing I was crying myself. It was nothing less than a miracle she had survived.

When we could all breathe again, I helped her down into Naza’s open arms. She held on to Tamber’s hands, even as I carried her home.

Our mother greeted us with tearful kisses, and ushered us inside. She must have hated herself for sleeping through the night, not realizing the danger her baby girl was in. After a hot meal and a long bath, where we spent an hour gently cleaning and dressing her wounds, Tamber was put to bed, and I sat patiently with Naza in the living area, waiting for the backlash.

But when she came down the stairs, red-eyed and tired, Mama said nothing at all. She only sat down, and held her head in her hands.

#text post #tw for blood and wounds #and also bear traps and trolls hunting little girls in the forest i guess