#this insidious dawn if

[this-insidious-dawn]

This Insidious Dawn is a dark fantasy IF wherein you play as a vampire, employed under the clandestine League of the Third God to hunt down anything -- everything - that does not belong in this world. But you do not belong here either, Warden. Demo tba.

☼ SYNOPSIS

The League saved you. Rewrote your life- gave you a chance to be more than a bloodstarved vampyr. Or did they?

You remember nothing of your past before the League; nothing but blood and indescribable agony, nothing but the thrumming of your heart stilling- and then beginning again, stilted and wrong. That was over a decade ago, the memories now faint and the connection quivering. They've been replaced, overwritten by years of blades clashing, body aches, and hollow hunger.

You started out weak. Starving, skin-and-bones, desperate for any reprieve you could get your hands on. Now, you're strong, each hunt -- each cut - giving you just enough energy to keep your worn body going. Some people would call it cruel, to keep a sentient being on the edge of death. Most people, though, would say that you're a vampire, so you hardly count as sentient.

Regardless of the morality of it, the method was effective. You were one of -- no, the most - efficient Warden the League had to offer.

And then a hunt went wrong. And now you're dead. But- a vampire (no, not a vampire; a vampyr) can never truly die. So you're back. But is it really you?

☼ FEATURES

↠ Customize your Warden. Appearance, gender, pronouns, and personality are all up to your choices as the player.

↠ This is a psychological horror first and foremost. It will have themes of dehumanization and derealization, amongst others. CWs will be offered.

↠ A character-driven plot where your choices impact the story.

↠ A cast of four consisting of The Acolyte, The Commander, The Savior, and The Forgotten, any of which you can optionally romance no matter your Warden's gender.

☼ CAST

↠ THE ACOLYTE

As with any vampire, you are accompanied by an acolyte to keep you in check and ensure that your hunts go well- as well as to mend any Gorges that riftspawn might crawl out of. Constantine Nimecidus fills this role, in your case (ae/aer). Ae is sharp-tongued, with a chronic lack of patience towards the people and world around aer, and can come across as snappy or rude. In other instances still, aer sarcastic, dry, and often untimely humor can offer a quick relief from the tension of any situation- or make it several times worse. Despite aer casual, laidback nature in the face of most events, ae places utmost importance on aer job, and quickly becomes intense whenever ae feels as if ae or aer position are being in any way threatened. You've spent years going on hunts with aer at this point, but the connection has never transcended the necessary 'I save you, you save me' exchange. Ae seems wary of you.

Constantine is a bit shorter than most, standing at 5'3. Ae has broad shoulders and hips, and is thickset with both muscle and fat. Aer amber skin is dappled with symmetrical pale patches, especially prevalent around aer eyes and mouth, and the lack of pigmentation has bled into aer hair in some spots, giving the dark auburn eye-catching streaks of white. Said hair is curly and cut shorter along the sides than the back is, and ae spends an awful lot of time preening it. Aer eyes are a striking, slightly luminescent bronze, and aer pupils appear instead of black as molten gold, shifting slightly in color to match aer emotions at any given moment. Ae has full lips and slightly upturned, monolid eyes. Ae favors shades of brown, tan, and orange in aer outfit, and ae near-constantly dons a rich red capelet with fur trimming around the hood.

↠ THE COMMANDER

Ex-commander of the Serpent's Guard-turned vampire. You'd personally never had a run-in with Alvaros Vepir until just recently (he/him). He's gruff, jaded, and withdrawn- exactly what you'd expect out of the man who gave his life for his queen only to nearly die (again) for it. It's hard to say, though, how much of his time as the commander he truly remembers. Alvaros is a poet's dream, the hero in an epic-turned-tragedy. He keeps everybody at arm's length, never allowing them to learn more than what the stories and theatrics tell of him. This is especially true of you- the vampire who was sent to reign him in, turn him from a rogue vampyr into a soldier of the League. Despite his emotional avoidance of you, though, he seems quite interested in you. Maybe it's the fact you're one of the few to have bested him in combat. Maybe it's just that 'vampiric charm' that old legends tell about (but that never seems to work outside of fights). Maybe it's because he remembers you.

Alvaros is intimidating in every manner. He stands at 6'4, his whole body is lean and scarred, and the black sclerae encircling dark green irises certainly does him no favors in lessening the effect. Before you were dispatched to retrieve him, you couldn't have said what he looked like; as the commander, he'd worn the veil regular of high-ranking members of the Serpent's Ring, leaving nothing but the back of his head exposed. Now, you know of his face well enough that you could probably recognize him in a crowd. With fawn skin dotted by freckles, hooded eyes, and a distinctive hooked nose, Alvaros is exactly what one would expect of a native of southern Ghel- save for his hair. Instead of the expected brown or black, his hair is a muddy blonde, and it has slight waves that turn into full curls at the tips. He maintains it short, never reaching past his chin. His face is scarred (his everything is, really), with a particularly nasty gash reaching from his left eyebrow down to his right jaw. It just barely misses his right eye.

↠ THE SAVIOR

An acolyte? You think so, anyways. Suri Revlece is the woman who saved you (she/her). You don't know whether or not she's even with the League, but she certainly looks like an acolyte. You don't know what she was doing there, either, but she seems willing to answer any of your questions while you recover- as long as they aren't personal. She's kind enough, but seems a little...off. She's finicky, always looking over her shoulder. She's running from something, but she doesn't seem to know what. She appears to believe that she and you have some type of camaraderie, although you've never met. But there's something to be said for the sheer strength of her magic- you've never seen an acolyte's shimmer burn a riftspawn like that. Never seen one with an eye glowing that bright, either. She's an anomaly- one that you're sure the headman at your partner's spire would be more than glad to have amongst their ranks, but then the mere idea of it had her denying it with vehemence. It seems like she has a history with it.

Suri has a mesmerizing look to her. The deep brown of her skin, near-black of her hair, and dark garb are contrasted with bright pops of color. One eye is a brightly glowing orange, the pupil nearly white, and the other is a misty grey, its almond shape deformed by the burn scars warping the left side of her face. That dark hair, braided and reaching down to about her hips, is decorated by light brown and gold beads engraved with runes that seem to serve to channel her magic. Her frame is lanky and she's long-limbed, reaching just above what most would think of as an 'average height', at 5'8. Below a brown leather cloak, more runed jewelry decorates her wrists and fingers, and her hands are tattooed in shades of bronze. The burn upon her face is not the only such injury she has suffered; her palms are burnt the slightest bit, and similar scars wrap around her arms. She has a broad nose and thick heart-shaped lips, and light stubble sits above the top lip.

↠ THE FORGOTTEN

You don't know who they are anymore. Who are they? (he/they/she)

A shadowy form, the silhouette of a memory. There's something not quite right about them. What have they become?

☼ LINKS

Demo - tba

Other blogs - @azraels-bad-choices (main IF blog) and @a-firsthand-murder-ballad (other project)

#interactive fiction #writing #interactive novel #if wip #twine game #if intro #this insidious dawn if

[azraels-bad-choices]

i need to show you guys what the crazy difference in branching looks like between these two WIPs.

:')

(for those of you who don't know twine, each colored dot represents a different passage in the story. i use vertical separation for chronological ordering like 1-2-3 and horizonal separation for different branches in the narrative like 4a-4b-4c)

also peep the passage count. i've hardly even started writing TID and it also has less UI/coding passages (the clusters in the top left of each) than AFHMB yet it has. that many overall already. help.

#a firsthand murder ballad if #this insidious dawn if #interactive fiction #i am going fucking INSANE

[goryhorroor]

horror for every year i've been alive • 1999-2023

#horror #horror movies #ravenous #ginger snaps #the devil's backbone #queen of the damned #high tension #dawn of the dead #the descent #hatchet #trick 'r treat #let the right one in #jennifer's body #insidious #you're next #the conjuring #as above to below #green room #the autopsy of jane doe #it 2017 #the strangers: prey at night #midsommar #invisible man #the black phone #x #scream 6 #horroredit #moviesedit #filmedit #cinema

[boxwinebaddie]

okay, so, idk if anyone else does, but i enjoy my weird little dialogue segments and i wanted to share a pretty important one with you that takes place during part three of the ravesey hate. it was honestly much more groundbreaking information when we were still trying to put a finger ( except, Absolutely Not; no one put a finger on #baeven unless he asks you to put it there, no one touch my son :'c ) on what ravenstan's real personality is and why he's not acting super cool ( bc he is naught, lol ) so now it's a little Less shocking but...still relevant.

so it starts out really cute, but it's kind of a Heavy dialogue exchange because for context, they're at a diner, they're chatting, ravenstan is kind of stressed out/nervous and a little drunk bc he had some box wine, brought the 'Emergency Escape Hatch' flask and dumped it into his soda fml, so he is sharing a liiittle too much information w/ kyle. but idk, kyle is his super best friend, even though it's a secret, he feels comfortable around him, so it all kind of just comes out bc he's been keepin it buried inside him for so long…tldr, sa tw. :(

but again, it's mostly just dialogue? i wrote in some stage directions for zest, but if i had finished any of the dialogue w/ actions i would have posted my chapters...which i didn't...bc i couldn't, lol. so have this! its spelled wrong in many places and all the weird waxing poetic descriptions don't make sense...lol, i'm sweating. but once again, as always, darlings, pls enjoy the worst part of your day...Literally. </3

ps. hold on, for additional context, ravenstan tried to slyly ask kyle about his past boyfriends to which Whore Slut Floozy Jerseykyle was immediately like 'I Don't Do Boyfriends' skhdlkshdsk but went on to mention that there was one guy in his english class freshman year that Was Naught His BF who kyle saw more than other boys.

anyways! roll clip! xx <3

#i'm sorry this is not that quality u know how i rock and roll #this makes me want to scream every time i think about it #ravenstan baby i love you so much #he endured sm #and like it just made him kind #all that evil and he never stopped being good #i love u bb #okay anyways not them both being jealous very unserious #ravenstan saying I'm The Virgin Sacrifice #WAS SOOOOOO OUT OF POCKET BITCH #kyle was screaming #not wh0resey repenting he was Embarrassed like #his room is a revolving door he throws guys out the window #and raven of crimson dawn is watering his plants #hell is place jersey kyle go to temple holy fuck #the funniest part of that was kyle awkwardly gesturing to stan and was basically WHAT DO U MEAN UR LITERALLY SO HOT #i was cryin he was deeply amused like uh huh anything else ;) #but uhhhhhghghhfhdhdhdhdhd stan :( stan i love you i love you i love you his whole life was just fucked up #i will just say that its not just stuff from the la flashbacks randy marsh...that man needs to die for what he did to shelley shar & stan #like truly evil and insidious things that do unfortunately tie into this like i want to die...kyle being like so hardlined and being gentle #the way he was like why am i unreasonably angry why do i want to hold him what the fuck is happening to me #after that btw stan freaked out bc he wa slike oh fuck oh fuck i shouldnt have said anything SHITSHITSHIT & knocks the water over #it gets everywhere & hes like apologizing to kyle bc it got all over his sweater and kyle just v calmly gets napkins #and is like...shh raven its okay Its Only Water <3 grabs stans hand & squeezes it like he used to when stan had panic attacks :'( #ugh my sons who i luv they are so qt also after that ky had to run to the bathroom bc he panicked & called marj i like a boy #wtf do i do im gonna throw up i hate this everything he does is cute to me am i havin a stroke kill me i want 2 die #also sorry abt the note screenshots i get stressed when the words dont fit perf on the lines and the tumblr font annoys me

[denimbex1986]

'July 2023's box office was filled with major blockbusters and the highly-anticipated Barbie vs. Oppenheimer showdown, and here are the biggest stats, records, failures, and more from the past month. The 2023 July movie lineup made it one of the most anticipated times of the year for movie fans. New movies from directors like Christopher Nolan and Greta Gerwig arrived, as did the latest installments from the Mission: Impossible and Insidious franchises. It understandably made for an exciting time to go to theaters and check out new horror movies, comedies, action adventures, and much more.

While several movies from the June 2023 box office still made an impact a month later, the majority of July's box office was dominated by a handful of movies. The success of Barbie and Oppenheimer was expected in many ways, but surprises still came with Sound of Freedom's overperformance. Meanwhile, the trend of sequels largely stumbling financially continued with some of the biggest stars and pieces of IP in the world. The result was the July 2023 box office breaking records across the board to deliver huge hits and some massive flops.

13. Barbie's Opening Weekend Broke Multiple Records

The biggest box office story from July 2023 is the runaway success of Barbie's record-breaking performance. It all began with a historic opening weekend which saw Margot Robbie's movie make $162 million domestically and $356 million worldwide. This meant Barbie's opening weekend box office was the biggest ever for a movie that was not a sequel, remake, or superhero property. It also became Warner Bros.' biggest opening weekend since 2016's Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Adding to Barbie's records, it became 2023's biggest opening weekend and the biggest opening of all-time for a movie directed by a woman, giving Greta Gerwig a major achievement.

12. Oppenheimer Had Christopher Nolan's Third-Biggest Opening Weekend

More box office records were also broken by Oppenheimer, as it became the biggest R-rated movie in four years. However, the bigger accomplishment is that Oppenheimer's opening weekend is the third-highest at the box office for any Christopher Nolan movie. The only two movies that are ahead of it are The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises. This means that Oppenheimer had Nolan's biggest opening weekend for a non-DC movie, topping Inception and his other original works. The success comes despite the movie's 3-hour runtime as audiences are flocking to 70mm IMAX screenings to see the widely-praised biopic.

11. Barbenheimer Hype Delivered The 4th Biggest Box Office Weekend Ever

The individual success of Barbie and Oppenheimer at the box office was impressive, but the two movies releasing in the same weekend also allowed records to break overall. The Barbenheimer phenomenon that drove over 200,000 people to watch the movies back-to-back in theaters generated massive hype. The end result was Barbie and Oppenheimer leading the way for the fourth-biggest box office weekend in history. Their total opening of $244M led the way for a $307M weekend domestically, which only fell behind the weekends where Avengers: Infinity War ($312), Star Wars: The Force Awakens ($314M), and Avengers: Endgame ($401M) opened.

10. Barbie Had Record-Low Second Weekend Hold On Way To $775M Worldwide

The record-breaking success of Barbie continued through its first full week of release and the end of its second weekend. The movie had a record-low second-weekend drop of only 42% as it made an estimated $93 million. The incredible demand to see Barbie means the movie ends the July 2023 box office as the biggest hit. It has made over $350M domestically already and flew past the $775M mark globally. This performance has guaranteed that Barbie will make $1 billion at the box office. Now, the question becomes whether it will be only the seventh movie to crack $2 billion.

9. Oppenheimer Had Record-Low Second Weekend Hold To Pass $400M Worldwide

Christopher Nolan's 3-hour R-rated movie about atomic bombs has cemented itself as another huge box office hit after its second weekend too. Oppenheimer made another $46M domestically in its second weekend according to estimates, and that is good for a mere 44% drop from the first weekend. The movie has already nearly doubled its budget domestically alone, but the performance has also been strong enough to see Oppenheimer exceed $400M worldwide. With no immediate signs of slowing down, how many other Christopher Nolan movies it beat at the box office remains to be seen.

8. Sound of Freedom Became The Biggest Box Office Surprise Of The Year

While the success of Barbie and Oppenheimer was expected, the way that Sound of Freedom's box office has continued to perform has been a massive surprise. The movie about child trafficking employed a Pay-It-Forward campaign to hand out free tickets to any interested party and has remained a hotly debated movie weeks later. It has made nearly $150 million domestically thanks to the word of mouth that comes with a 100% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes and Sound of Freedom's free tickets. With Angel Studios securing international releases now too, Sound of Freedom's box office will expand to new audiences.

7. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny Massively Underperformed At The Box Office

Although Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny technically opened in June 2023, only its first day of release counts toward that month. The rest of its run has occurred during the July 2023 box office, and Harrison Ford's final entry in the franchise has not gone as anticipated. It opened below Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and has only managed to make $355M worldwide so far. That might sound okay for most movies, but Indiana Jones 5's budget ballooned to $295 million during production reportedly. This means the movie will not even come close to breaking even, making it a huge flop for Disney.

6. Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning's Box Office Was Crushed By Barbenheimer

Another surprising box office disappointment has seemingly come with Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One. The Tom Cruise-led sequel was expected to be one of the biggest movies of the year after the prior installment's success and Top Gun: Maverick's box office records. Despite Mission: Impossible 7 earning rave reviews, it has made less than $150M domestically and has become lost in the Barbie and Oppenheimer domination. The silver lining for Mission: Impossible 7's box office is that it has made nearly $450M worldwide so far, meaning there is still a chance it breaks even for Paramount despite its $291M budget.

5. Insidious: The Red Door Breaks Two Major Franchise Records

The 2023 box office has been strong for horror movies, and Insidious: The Red Door continued that trend with its release in July. The movie set a new franchise record for the best opening weekend for an Insidious movie after making $33M. The success did not stop there, as the horror movie finished July with a global total of $174M. That is enough to make Insidious: The Red Door the highest-grossing movie in the entire Insidious franchise worldwide. The success comes as plans have already been announced for the universe to expand.

4. Elemental Breaks Even After Hitting $400M Worldwide

Pixar's Elemental was one of the apparent box office failures from June, but the July 2023 box office breakdown reveals how great the animated movie has continued to perform. It made almost $70 million domestically during the month, bringing its total domestic haul to nearly $150M. The great legs have helped Elemental's box office hit the $400 million milestone worldwide. This appeared unfathomable upon its near-record low opening weekend for a Pixar movie. However, audiences have continued to check out the family-friendly adventure to the point where it now breaks even for the studio.

3. Haunted Mansion Has Record-Low Opening For Disney Ride Movies

Disney's Haunted Mansion reboot was the last major release of the July 2023 box office, but it did not land as the studio hoped. After poor reviews and with all eyes still on Barbie and Oppenheimer, Haunted Mansion opened to a mere $24 million domestically. That is officially the worst opening weekend for a Disney movie based on a ride since the previous Haunted Mansion movie starring Eddie Murphy nearly two decades ago. The updated version carries a $150M budget. Disney did not wait until October to release the family-friendly horror movie around Halloween, something they likely regret now.

2. Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken Becomes A Major Box Office Bomb For DreamWorks

Another box office failure in July came with DreamWorks releasing Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken. The animated movie received positive reviews but never caught the attention of audiences after its release on the last day of June. It had a horrible $5 million opening weekend and will not make more than $50M worldwide at the box office. The disastrous performance for the original animated movie comes after the studio had back-to-back hits with Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and The Bad Guys last year.

1. July's 2023 Box Office Was The Highest Since 2016

One final July 2023 box office stat really shows the full effects of the month. The 83 movies that played in theaters this month domestically collectively made over $1.3 billion. That means that the July 2023 box office was the highest for the month since 2016. It is the fourth-biggest July box office total in history, falling behind 2013, 2016, and 2011. This is a great sign for the overall strength of theaters considering those three prior years each had at least 178 movies in theaters, more than double the amount that has been available post-pandemic.'

#Oppenheimer #Barbie #Barbenheimer #The Sound of Freedom #Elemental #Mission Impossible Dead Reckoning: Part 1 #Puss in Boots: The Last Wish #The Bad Guys #Haunted Mansion #Ruby Gillman Teenage Kraken #Insidious: The Red Door #Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny #Christopher Nolan #Greta Gerwig #Avengers: Endgame #Star Wars: The Force Awakens #Avengers: Infinity War #Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice #The Dark Knight #The Dark Knight Rises #Inception

[adamlovesspecs]

hold on two of my favorite characters killed the same guy

#they both got their heads crushed by my favs too 😭 #specs fisher #specs insidious #insidious the last key #koba planet of the apes #dawn of the planet of the apes #oliver jackson cohen obsession is still going strong but i just wanted to point this out lmao

[hero-of-the-horn]

oh

#sometimes lows are so insidious bc they creep up so quietly i dont even recognize them at first #and then they dawn on me and knock out my breath like im surprised this still happens

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝒪𝒻 𝒜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒾𝓇 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir only to discover that you’ve lost his child, and it wasn’t from natural causes. His rage spirals when he finds it was due to a fellow follower of his…

Notes: I suck at summaries But I loved how this turned out so I hope you do as well!!!

Pairings: Raphael × f!Tav/Reader

• Hurt I Angst I Miscarriage | Ascended Raphael | Raphael Gets His Revenge

Ao3

As Raphael returned to his domain, an unsettling sight awaited him in the heart of his boudoir. There, amidst the opulence, was Haarlep, his personal incubus, cradling you in their arms within the large bath. Raphael's eyes scanned the water, a macabre blend of red and clear, tainted by the presence of blood. His gaze then shifted to his beloved little mouse, your hair clinging to your face, your skin glistening with sweat, and your breath laborious as your eyes remained closed.

But it was the sight of the tiny wrapped figure beside you on the bath’s edge, drenched in blood, that sent Raphael's rage spiraling to new heights. He didn't need to uncover it; he knew within his very core that his heir, his precious child, had been stolen away. With such a great loss, for the first time in centuries, his heart felt heavy.

"What happened?!" Raphael's voice seethed with malice, his clenched fist emphasizing his anger. Haarlep, usually insolent but now treading carefully, moved away from you and gently positioned you against the steps of the bath, ensuring some comfort. Approaching Raphael, Haarlep’s concealed their voice in a whisper so that you couldn’t hear, "It would seem that your dear tav has gone and lost your little pup-," Haarlep began, only to be interrupted by a warning glare from Raphael, “The lady of the house has miscarried," The incubus finally confessed.

Raphael's rage intensified, his words laced with venom, "I see that, you insolent creature! How did this come to pass?!" Aware of the consequences should they misstep, Haarlep treaded carefully, knowing their fate might just mirror Hope's in the basement.

In a snap, Haarlep summoned a cup, presenting it to Raphael. "Korilla brought this to my attention. A glass of deceit, a venom ever so sweet. It's tainted with juniper." Seizing the cup, Raphael brought it to his nose, confirming the presence of the insidious poison. It dawned on him that an intruder had violated his sanctuary, contaminating his precious little mouse, with this abhorrent act. Even as a devil, he recoiled at the thought of snuffing out the life within a mother's womb. This transgressor would pay a heavy price, both their soul and flesh, as Raphael vowed to exact a merciless retribution upon them.

It only took a couple of hours, but Raphael manages to track down the culprit, Korilla, once a cherished follower, always by his side. Yet, for reasons unknown, she had chosen to betray him in the most vile of ways… As Korilla returned to his domain, Raphael awaited her, leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed in a display of controlled dominance. His face, seemingly normal, concealed the depths of his wrath. When she finally approached, he began to circle her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze never wavering.

“Tell me, dear Korilla, how was your day?”

Her voice was filled with falsehoods, twisting a tale to make it seem as if though she were gathering clients for him.

"Ah, ah," Raphael interjected, his tone laced with a sadistic delight. "The truth is far greater than that feeble lie of yours." His features twisted with a mix of disgust and fury, his nose scrunching in disdain. And in a snap of his fingers, the very cup from which you had sipped appeared before them.

"Justify this to me! Why I stumbled upon what is undeniably my possession, nestled within the grasp of Haarlep, grieving for the loss of my own flesh and blood? The stillbirth, wrapped in a cloth stained with the taint of blood!” He condemned her for the atrocious deed, declaring, "You invaded my sanctuary, forcefully snatching away my child from the very womb that belongs to me!”

Korilla stood her ground, her calm demeanor unwavering. "I did this for your own sake," she asserted. "That mortal was tainting your path to becoming the next ruler of the Nine Hells. I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

“You thought you were acting in my best interest, did you?" Raphael's scowl shifts to a smile, "Your feeble attempt to protect me has only sealed your fate."

Korilla trembled, her once defiant spirit now reduced to a mere flicker of fear. She had underestimated the power and ferocity of Raphael's love for you, and now she would pay the price for her treachery. But even in the face of imminent punishment, a spark of hope ignited within her, "Raphael, you cannot blame me for this," Korilla pleaded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "I did what I believed was necessary to protect you, to protect House Hope.

Flames consumed him, "Your time has come to an end, Korilla,” Raphael growled, his voice resonating with a deep, otherworldly tone. "But fear not, for your sister shall keep you company as I flay you and adorn my abode with your entrails.”

As his true form emerged. He transformed into a monstrous fiend with wings unfurling from his back, a tail lashing behind him, and a wild mane of fire cascading around his head. His once simple horns morphed into a complex crown of infernal bone, framing his snouted face. Two additional faces erupted from his cheekbones, giving him a total of four menacing, orange eyes. His entire being radiated with the glow of infernal flame, and fearsome tusks jutted forth from each of his mouths.

Raphael approached, his towering figure casting a haunting shadow over Korilla. His claws extended, glinting ominously in the flickering light. He reached out, his talons grazing her trembling skin, causing her to shudder in fear and anticipation. With each touch, a searing pain coursed through her body, a mere taste of the agony that awaited her.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #haarlep #raphael x tav #raphael #raphael x reader #raphael the cambion #tw.miscarriage

[mazeyphaedra]

it’s just . of course bobby dawn would fail kristen. she was the chosen one of his god’s holy son, of course he would take the opportunity to like exact divine retribution or whatever all under the mask of kindly devout grandpa :) just here to teach the clerics and have a good time :) no insidious evangelical motive whatsoever :)

#and i know in my goddamn bones that mechanically it wasn’t a roll. everyone was too surprised for it. JAWBONE THERE’S NO GROUNDS!!!!!!! #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year spoilers #d20 #dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #uh oh! #kristen applebees #kristen chilis applebees #bobby dawn

[morallyinept]

Helianthus - An Ezra One Shot 🌻

Summary: Ezra and you have docked on a planet that harbours a pleasant surprise for you both.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.4k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.” 

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here. 

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/kissing/reader is in the very early stages of pregnancy/mostly soft mush with some Ezra spiciness

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. 

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Ezra and sunflowers - what more could you want? 🌻

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the hazy realm between wakefulness and dreams, where misty clouds encircle an electrifying peach glow, breathy snuffling tugs gently on the strings of your consciousness. 

The lightest sensation of touch - a soft nuzzling against your cheek - pulls you back from the brink of satiated sleep and into the warmth of him. 

It’s a gradual awakening, the back of your eyelids swathed in sunlight from a wayward beam in the hatch spotlighting over your face. The slow unfurling of a tight bud at the break of dawn, you emerge from a gossamer veiled cocoon of unconsciousness to the feel of his large, pore-filled nose gliding planes over your jaw.

Flutters of his dark, fanned lashes are felt as he forges a path up to your forehead before placing a tender kiss on it with soft, cracked lips, making you smile. 

You feel his hand, warm and rough, sliding delicately up your arm. Fingers stroking the skin back and forth over your shoulder with blunt nails. Eliciting warm tingles; the fine hairs standing tall powered by need and a pulling want that pools in your belly. 

His lips trace under your jaw, a wet tongue slithering out tasting the skin there, ripe and fruitful. When he reaches your bare nipple, the sheet sliding down your body with his movement, you can’t contain the contented, sleepy moans vibrating on your lips as he sucks it into a hardened pebble around his insidious wet tongue.

“Awake?” He murmurs, kissing over the swell of your breast, plump in his hand. 

As you slowly blink your eyes open, the warm, intense browns meet you with a tender intensity. A crooked grin, a flash of yellowed enamel and the cracking of skin over his pink grin greet you - marred, hawkish features that are all his own and yours to savour.

Your voice barely whispers, "I was hoping to steal a few more moments of sleep. How rude."

With a gentle chuckle heavy in his throat, he drags his lips up the juncture of your neck. “Alluding to the pretence of your slumbersome charade. Your smile gives you away every time, Birdie.”

“And here I thought I was being subtle this time.” You sigh as he cages you under him, teeth perniciously tugging at your nipple again. 

“Subtlety has no place between us,” he says as he sucks it gently back in the warmth of his mouth.

You hum out as he suckles, thick fingers tracing patterns on your cheek, thumb gliding over your lips. You taste the salt and soil in the whorls of his print, nipping on the pad.

A tidal wave of warm breath bathes your face as he grunts into it, eventually finding your lips. His tongue seeks your own to exploit. Your hands engulf him close, a red giant swallowing him whole.

“Ezra…” You whine, your legs wrapping around his paunchy waist, and you realise a rough layer keeps you from him. “Your suit is on.”

“It is indeed.” He murmurs haughtily into your skin, teeth grazing.

“Take it off.” You sway.

His tongue licking tracks makes you whimper. He looks up at you and shakes his head of greased, mussed waves stuck against his forehead. “I have meticulous plans that you won’t scupper.”

“And if I refuse?” You pout, wrapping your legs around him tighter.

He groans as you rake your nails at the back of his skull in the slick oil of his hair. A move that you know will wilt him into subjugation.

“Do you know what you do to me, foul temptress?” He growls as he snatches at your hand managing to only capture one with his singular mitt. He nips on your fingers and you hiss. 

“I can feel it.” You muse. You reach for his turgidity with your other, trying to get inside his suit, but he soon stops you. 

“You’re insatiable,” he hums, licking his bottom lip. He then bites into the flesh at your neck, faint purple violets bloom on your skin from the marks of his teeth. “You’ve slept all day. I’d like to show you something before it gets dark. Put your suit on.”

You whine, a noise akin to a strangled squawk. He watches you reluctantly shuffle into your suit, chewing on his lip and humming as his beady eyes trawl up and down your body.

“Saturation?” You query as he reaches for the latch on the inside door without hesitation, or a helmet.

“No need. The air, while thick, is plenty breathable.”

“How do you know?” You baulk.

“This isn’t my first foray." He remarks with waggled eyebrows. "Took to scouring the landscape with thorough reconnaissance of our environs in search of any auspicious indicators of coveted resources. The discovery of a hidden cache would be a boon to our expedition.”

You shake your head at his length of explanation. “And did you find anything?”

“Something.” A conspirator of delight, Ezra guides you from the lander pod with a playful gleam in his dark eyes. 

“Where are we going?” You query.

“A little way up there.” He points with his only hand to the beacon of lumpy hills in the near distance.

The planet is green, lush and reminds you of a home you once knew. Breathable air, blue skies and dappling bokeh sunlight. It’s been a while since you both stumbled on an Eden to rest your weary bones and crooked backs.  

“Bit of a trek.” You mumble, relishing the chance to have stayed in the cot, warm and snug in some lucid dream long since forgotten.

“Merely a twilight hike.” The fervour of exploration imbues him with an indomitable vigour, a grin flashing at you over his shoulder that’s as infectious as it is alluring.

As you near the summit, the sun streaking fire in the sky as it sets, he stands waiting for you to catch up; his hand reaching for yours as you approach with creaking knees and rasping breaths. 

“Kevva, that’s steep.” You puff.

“Lying horizontal all day will render your fitness lacklustre,” he mocks.

“My lack of fitness is all your fault.” You remark with a wry grin. 

“I don’t recall nearly this much complaining at the time.” He wraps his arm over your shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

“Ezra.”

“Indulge me, pet. Close your eyes.”

You do as he asks and you feel him prod you some paces forward. His breath is felt on the conch of your ear, warm and moist when he guides you to a suitable stop. 

“Open.” He purrs.

You sigh out with an immediate smile. “Oh, Ezra…” 

“Resplendent, isn’t it, Birdie?”

“Did you know this was here when we docked?”

He shakes his head with pursed lips. “Happened upon them during my early ramble. I was quite taken with them.”

“They're beautiful.” You agree. 

“Go on, get up close and personal.” He takes your hand in his and leads you down the hill. 

The sunflowers stand tall and proud, their sturdy stalks reaching skyward like nature's sentinels. Each intricate disc of petals, a radiant burst of yellow, catches the fading sunlight, creating a mesmerising dance of shadows and highlights across the expanse of the field that seems like it stretches on for eons.

As you walk through them, the sensation under your boots is a soft, yielding carpet of grass and fallen petals and seeds. The gentle crunch of earth beneath is accompanied by the occasional release of a subtle, herbal fragrance, as if the very ground exudes the essence of sun-soaked vitality.

With each step, your fingertips brush against the velvety petals, and you can feel the delicate texture beneath your touch. The petals are soft, leaving a subtle, powdery residue on your skin.

You wander through their obliesk mazes, pushing your way through clusters with an awed mirth as he follows. You take a moment to steal a glance back at him over your shoulder and he’s stopped, looking upwards with eyes closed and breathing in. 

There’s a quiet intensity about Ezra as he stands there, taking in the vast expanse of the alien, yet somewhat familiar, landscape before him. His eyes, usually so alive with energy and steely determination, now hold a depth of emotion that you’ve rarely seen - a mixture of awe, wonder, and perhaps a hint of vulnerability.

You observe the play of emotions across his face - the furrow of his heavy brow as he concentrates, the slight quirk of his lips as a sense of wonder washes over him. The intensity in his dark eyes as they capture yours. 

"Well, hello there, pet," he says, his voice low and filled with affection. "Caught me admiring the view, did you?"

“We both are.” You simply say, reaching for him. 

As you both wander deeper into the labyrinth of the sunflowers, you can’t help but feel a sense of whimsy taking over you. He stops to pluck seeds out, tearing open a head and offering you some as they roll around his teeth.

"They're so beautiful," you remark, your voice filled with wonder.

Ezra nods in agreement, his eyes alight with mischievous excitement. "They are indeed.”

"I feel like we're in our own little world here," you say.

He squeezes your hand gently, his touch reassuring. "That's all we need.”

As the sun sets, he invites you to recline amidst the golden blooms, your head in his lap looking up at the sky, lost in a burrow of thick stalks. The anticipation that had danced in your eyes now transforms into a quiet serenity as you lie together, surrounded by the sunflowers' nodding heads seemingly miles above you in the sky.

Your fingertips, still adorned with the powdery residue of sunflower caresses, trace idle patterns on his hand as you clutch it close.

Above, the leaves create a natural canopy, dappling the sunlight into a mosaic of dying warmth as the cobalt bleeds in.

Lying amidst the sunflowers, you become part of the landscape - a living diorama where nature itself paints the backdrop for your being. It's not just a surprise; it's a moment of shared bliss, a poetic pause in the heart of the sunflower field on a foreign planet far from anywhere you could call home.

Companionable silence joins you both for a while, a break in Ezra’s beaky ramblings, content to simply be together in the midst of such natural splendour.

You turn your gazes upward, greeted by a luminous river of stars. His eyes, now reflecting the twinkling lights overhead, find a mirrored universe in yours. The sunflowers, though no longer in focus, cast long shadows that seem to reach towards the cosmos.

His accent, reminiscent of stout Southern edification, begins to expound upon the wonders above as he points out constellations and planets that twinkle as little beams of light.

"The beauty of the universe is unequalled." You conclude dreamily, your head resting on Ezra's thighs, his thick digits weaving and stroking under your jaw. 

From this position, you can see the vast depths of it, curling its fingers out to beckon you to dip your face into its secrets. 

"Lies." He retorts with a little snicker. "I fear the universe has met its match." He tilts your chin so you’re facing him and those deep brown eyes regard you sincerely. 

"You like to talk, Ezra." You smirk. 

"I mean it " he assures. “Look at you, the stars are blushing.”

You smile, feeling your jaw ache as he strokes under it with his only thumb.

“Have you ever pondered the nocturnal inclinations of sunflowers?" He breathes out looking up at them.

"Can’t say that I have.” You smirk. "Regale me, o' skilled raconteur," you tease as he tugs on your chin.

"It's a fascinating theory I came across - a notion that in the absence of the sun, these golden blooms, like erudite companions, turn toward each other. A celestial dance, if you will, where they share their stored energy."

“A cosmic conversation among sunflowers. I never thought I'd be part of such a poetic moment." You snort with a giggle. 

“Oi. Mock me all you like, woman.” Ezra nudges you with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I do."

"It's as if the sunflowers are sharing secrets, don't you think? A botanical confabulation beneath the cosmic theatre."

“Botanical confabulation? You sure have a fascinating way with words, Ez."

"Imagine if we could decipher their floral discourse. What tales do you think they'd share?"

You sit upright. “That they do wish you'd shut up and kiss me.” You say, pulling him towards you for a deep, saturated kiss. 

He sighs into you as you comb his hair back, your thumb lingering in that stark blonde piece of the moon in his hairline. Your hand grips his right shoulder, stroking down gently until it stops where he ends. You squeeze and caress the stump gently.

"You know, when you do that, I feel whole again." He breathes, nuzzling into you. "Confounding in it's whimsy."

“You’ve always been whole to me, Ezra.” Your nose traces the wiry route of the scar under his left socket.

"I won't get to feel your hand in mine." He says, casting a gaze to his stump. You’ve altered his fraying suit so his sleeve no longer flaps about, patching it tight and padding it. Some days he swears he can still wiggle his fingers. 

"You have another." You say, taking his hand and kissing the pads of his digits before slowly sucking the middle into your mouth.

“Careful,” he hisses, eyes turning as black as the sky above as he watches you suck it all the back to your throat.

You smile as it pops wet out of your mouth and he pulls you close against his chest. 

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if we missed the sling back… stay here a while.” You murmur as you take in the sights of the sunflowers cresting and creaking above you.

“Thirty turns until the next sling if we linger.” Ezra ponders, running the fuzz of his lips over your crown.

“Mm.” You nod. "We have the means."

"I'm concerned by your raffish approach to this contrite endeavour, however serene. Wouldn't you feel more secure in a near proximity to the birthing pools?”

“We've a while to go yet.” You reassure stroking under his chin in the wiry, greying hairs there. 

He slides his swamping palm over the small swell of your belly, rubbing back and forth gently. “That’s as maybe, we can come back. Bring the Niblet when all is well.”

“Or we could settle, make it a home.” You sway.

“A find of a calibre we've not yet encountered... feasible to some end.” He grazes your jaw with his nose, lips kissing you side on as you cup his hawkish face. “You know I would give you the universe, pet.”  

“I already have it.” You say, staring up at him. 

“Oh, the hackneyed piss that pours outta your mouth,” he smirks as you giggle into his face. 

“Now you know the trite that I have to endure that comes out of yours.”

“Hokum. You love the elucidation of my wayward charm.” Ezra sneers. 

“Among other things.”

“Such as?” He smirks.

You sit upright, slowly pulling the poppers open on his suit. He doesn’t resist as you pull the zip down revealing his chest and belly. You hold yours taught so he can unzip it, revealing the naked flesh underneath it.

He leans forward, sucking mouthfuls of your sumptuous skin into his mouth, hissing as you find the dripping swell of his cock.  

“So that’s what you’re getting at?” He smiles crookedly at you as you work him in your palm, rolling back the skin to reveal a ruddy bulb.

Thick and sticky, he fills your hand. Feeling the rough material of your suit pressed into the crease of your cunt as you wind your hips desperately against him, moaning with frustration keening into his mouth. 

“Be careful you don’t overplay this distraction technique.” 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you simply smile, standing and removing your suit entirely.

“I am immune to your tactics.” Ezra assures as he lets his eyes wander freely over your body as he strokes his cock in want.

“Are you sure about that?” You mirth as you sit in his lap. He’s considerably hard as you subtly grind against him as you kiss. 

“Should I aid you in your release, pet?” He taps your clit gently making you squeal. “Shall we make the sunflowers recoil in their chaste shrewdness?”

“Let them gossip and blush.” You nod into his face. Your fingers curl around his thick length, stroking as you kiss him some more.

“Mmhm. Hold it like you love it, Birdie... yeah, just like that.” He drawls at you. 

“Scoundrel.” You groan.

“I am but incorrigible.” He smirks. 

Your kisses are desperate, incisors and tongues, far reaching and choking. His pads swipes against your clit again and you cry out as your whole body jolts with pleasure, his fingers soaked already. 

"Sweet Mother of Kevva… a parched man could never drink you dry." He sucks you from his fingers, before slipping them inside you. 

You groan out, long and laboured as he strokes your spot with ease, fingers as thick as his cock as they pump and uncoil the muscles from your bones. 

“Gently, does it, hmm?” He cajoles as he brings you to the brink.

“Ez… mmm,” you can feel it bunching tight, the knot unwinding as he lets you soar into the heavens above, watching in rapt attention as you shake in his lap. 

He drones out as you line yourself up with him and sink down slowly. Knees in the soil and fingers in his mouth. 

“Shit,” Ezra groans as you slide all the way down. Eyes paused in a mid-possession as your cunt squeezes and your back breaks. 

“You seek to annihilate me, don’t you?” Ezra rasps as you rock on him, broad shoulders in your teeth as you kiss indents in them. 

“Ezra, fuck!” You whine, feeling him bottom out and fuck up into you with the simple flex of his hips.

"Give me another one of your kisses, Birdie. Take me back to paradise." 

The way he fucks you is like poetry in motion. His gaze unwavering, his touch never faltering. The softness soon replaced by desperateness; fingers bruising more violets into your skin as he clutches you for balance. Kisses with more bite, pants that start to howl. 

“Ezra,” you whine, holding onto him. “Kevva, I’m close…”

“Let me have it,” he coaxes, turning your face to him, watching as your eyes cloud over under a sky full of iridescent stars. "Beg me to fuck you harder." Ezra hisses to you.

"Please... h-harder-" Your body convulses around the rapture of him. 

"That doesn't sound like begging to me." He taunts with a sly grin. “You have my cock in you, pet. Make me fuck you with it.”

“Please! Mmm fuck, please!” You grapple at him, nails drawing blood in their grazes, his teeth bared as you pull at his greased roots. “Give me all of you, Ezra!” You growl. 

“Your cunt is just full of me,” he rasps, your breath bouncing in the back of your throat with every hard thrust. His babbling eutony filling your ears like cotton as you fade out into the white noise. 

Just barely hearing the clicks of your kisses and the lewd squelches of you around his cock. 

He feels you burst, sees it, hears it. Dissolving him to dust in your solar flare. In that moment, you're his, wholly. And he swears to Kevva he feels something akin to unwavering love rattle through his punctured bones. 

The push of you onto him with his hand makes you gasp as you grind and gyrate, your clit pressed in and rubbing against the patch of coarse hairs that you soak sticky with your slick. 

“Hm, hm, hmphf…” he grunts, small and ragged as you work, nostrils flaring under the steep hook of his nose. Plush lips pressed into a thin line as he strains. 

He throws his head back growling, teeth bared at the universe above, howling throatily as he spills inside of you. His thighs shake, rioting of their own accord as you watch them ripple and tense.

His eyes are squeezed shut before opening them with blown pupils and a slack jaw. They glide down to yours, mouth panting into that wolfish, crooked grin. 

“Birdie, I’m still pouring… look, look what you do, exquisite creature.” He pants, sweat slick hair creasing on his forehead, that little blonde patch rip curling in its defiance. 

You settle against his clammy chest when he comes to; he lays back with you in his arm as you cup and stroke the stump gently tracing the knot of scar tissue until your fingers still.

You both sleep there, under the stars, in the dirt and leaves of the sunflower stalks protecting you both in their intricate cocoons. 

In the morning, when the sun rises and the sunflowers turn their heads in its direction, conversing in their unspoken language with the bright star, Ezra wakes you again with those soft, gentle nuzzles, humming the secrets of the universe inside your ear.  

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed spending time in the sunflowers with Ezra. Let me know your thoughts. And I'd appreciate a re-blog if you enjoyed what you just read so other's can enjoy this story too - thanks so much!🖤🌻

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect #pedro pascal characters #prospect ezra #prospect film #jett's writing

[this-insidious-dawn]

Hello! What are the differences between vampire and vampyr? Why are vampyr discriminated against?

hello!

for your first question, i'll send you here, where i explain in-depth the difference between the two. in essence: vampires are 'tamed' vampyr, who've had their thread to rift magic severed.

as for the latter question, well, they're spawn. creatures borne of rift magic, creatures who have to prey upon humans to maintain their strength. spawns are, at best, pests to the rich and powerful, and, at worst, very real threats to the less fortunate. most spawn are like animals, stalking the wild and closing in for easy meals.

but vampyr keep charge of their mental faculties, to a point. often, newly-turneds will attempt to fight the calling of human blood, or to sustain themselves off of animals, but eventually they will become ravenous-- sent into a bloodthirst wherein they lose control over themselves.

so, the only vampyr your average human will encounter are either 1. ones who hide their vampyrism out of fear, 2. ones who are so ravenous they act like rabid animals, or 3. openly vampyric ones who were willing to feed off of humans in the first place and thus are often considered morally dubious at best. so the public interactions with them often are not stellar.

however, the Church most certainly doesn't help. they propagandize the existence of spawn themselves, and put out bounties for any known vampyr so that the Church can turn them into vampires. how deeply their meddling has affected the way sentient spawn are treated in Ghel, you'll just have to wait and see <3

#...the moment i get my ass in gear #sorry this got rambly </3 #worldbuilding #this insidious dawn if #vampyrism #vampires vs vampyr #ask #NOT proofread please tell me of any typos lmfao

[azraels-bad-choices]

IFs masterpost.

A Firsthand Murder Ballad - colonial era dark fantasy. blog: @a-firsthand-murder-ballad. demo here.

This Insidious Dawn - dark fantasy / psychological horror. blog: @this-insidious-dawn. demo tba.

#organization post #interactive fiction #a firsthand murder ballad if #this insidious dawn if

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch.2

ch. 1

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 5

ch. 6

Doors bound to frames, and patched up curtains drawn over locked windows with rusted bolts.

The silence has lingered in your room since Ellie left, trying desperately to seep out of any gaps, but you’d sealed them all tight, barricaded yourself in, chained your mind and body to the guilt.

A few days must have passed since then. Who knows? They've all melted into each other like you're constantly between the light of day and the dark of night behind those covered windows.

All you've done is lay and think. Nothing more. Appetite and sleep abandoned you, and you retreated into your consciousness, the dark place that started to feel less like fire and more like warmth.

If Soren saw you now - well, God, you can't bring yourself to even consider that.

People came by intermittently and, by people, only the nurse woman and Maria, both of whom were met with an oh so welcoming silence as you ignored their knocks.

Then returned the silence, which happened to be anything but silent for you - the echo of memories hitting the walls of your mind amplifying, screeching mercilessly and bursting your eardrums from the inside out.

The cracking reverberates the loudest - right as his skull made contact with the wall, sending his brains projecting across it. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, piercing right through you.

His blood - your blood - insidiously crept it’s way into every corner, painting the walls around his deformed figure, dripping down into glistening crimson pools along the floor, spattering across your face, and absolutely drenching your hands in a way that wiped out any possibility of them ever being clean again.

The bat rattled against floor as you let it slip through your trembling fingers and then your mind went blank.

When you resurface, the thoughts still weigh heavy on your mind, and the malicious hiss,

“What have you done?!”

that usually follows morphs into a bloodcurdling cry, begging for your attention.

You can’t stay here. You cannot.

You are safe here, but you have no desire to be.

Alone and trapped in the memory of what happened that day, surrounded by people who only seem to make you feel even more alone in this dark room.

And you knew you had nothing to live for as soon as Soren was gone.

So, you’ll pack up and leave quietly when you can walk again-

BANG BANG BANG

The howling of the beginnings of a blizzard accompanies the sharp thuds against your door, shaking the frame. It almost scares you before you realise it’s just Maria or the nurse bringing food.

You sigh and pull the covers over your face, seeking relief from the harsh cold.

BANG BANG BANG

“HEY! IT’S ME! ELLIE! I KNOW YOU HAVE A CRUTCH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

…

“HEY! THERE’S A FUCKING BLIZZARD AND I BROUGHT YOUR ASS FOOD! OPEN THE DOOR!”

BANG BANG-

The lock bursts off the door frame and projects across the room, letting the door fly open, in coming a gust of furious winds and snow, and a panicked string of curses from Ellie’s chapped lips as she rushes in and slams the door shut behind her.

You arose from the bed like a fucking vampire, probably resembling one too, and stared at Ellie who was leaning against the door, pushing out laboured breaths, with your jaw hanging open.

“Fuck, I can fix this- Damn- Shit, I just need… like… Fuck! Why’s this fucking lock so flimsy anyway?! And why the fuck didn’t you just open the door?!”

You ignore her rambling, “You broke my lock?”

“… Sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

She holds up a small stack of containers,

“You haven’t been opening the door so they sent me.”

“To break it open?”

“Hey, I said I was sorry, okay? I’ll fucking fix it… I just… need to check it out first…”

You sigh and let your head fall back against your pillow,

“Ellie, it’s almost midnight, and there’s a fucking blizzard outside. This couldn’t have waited till tomorrow?”

She walks towards where you’re laying and looks over you before setting the containers down on a nightstand.

“I know you haven’t eaten in days. People worry. Don’t be an asshole.”

“They’ll cope,” you grit out disdainfully, though it’s unwarranted, to which Ellie scoffs, seemingly losing her patience with your jarring change in character since she last saw you.

“You’re a fucking dick.”

“I’ll cope.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Ellie glances around the shadowy corners of your decrepit room.

“Damn.”

“What?”

“Feels like I’m in a coffin, you got a candle or some shit?”

“Uh, I think there’s one on the desk. But I’m going to sleep anyway.”

“Looks like you’ve been sleeping for days. Want me to neaten this place up for ya? You’re not allowed to say no, by the way.”

“How about ‘not really?”

“Oh, you getting smart with me?”

“Fuck off.”

“In a minute.” She trudges around the room, kneeling stiffly to retrieve discarded trash littering the floor with little strained puffs.

For some reason, you’re annoyed that you can’t get back to the silence. You’re annoyed that she interrupted your thoughts so violently. Now she’s cleaning, trying to crack open a window to let out the stale air and smacking it down as soon as a flurry of snowflakes enters, and you’re sitting there, watching her, unable to get back into your head.

A giggle itches at your throat but you swallow it, glancing over her and the way the tip of her nose is tinged pink from the cold.

Cute.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“Uhh… Fuck. I don’t know, just close my eyes and run fast as I can.”

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, yeah, not much else I can do.”

“…You know, you can stay if you want to. Just for the night.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about want to, but I might stick around just to check up on your ankle, you know, do you a favour.”

“Pssh. In that case, you’re more than welcome to leave, dude.”

“No, I'll stay, since you practically begged me.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

A few moments later, the room is brighter, clearer, fresher, and Ellie forced you to eat under her beady-eyed, scrutinizing gaze. You shift your leg, staring down at the swell beneath the bandage as Ellie stands awkwardly at the foot of your bed, having stripped off a few outer layers.

You look over at her, not really sure what to do other than gather all your willpower to not stare at the way her nipples poke through the fabric adorning her.

Fucking cold in here.

You rub your eyes furiously, as though you want to push them back into your skull, and throw yourself back onto your pillow.

"Jesus. You trynna go blind or something?" she chuckles, a rasp laced in her voice.

"Shhhh. I'm sleeping."

"Oh yeah? You asleep?" You can hear the smirk in her voice and the floorboards creaking beneath her step as she closed in on you. You crack open an eye to give her a bemused look, even though her words made your insides turn.

"Yes."

"Uh-huh, right."

"Right."

"So... You got a sleeping bag or some shit?"

"Nope."

"Blankets?"

"No."

"Wha- I- So are you expecting me to just huddle up on the couch when it's, like, minus a bajillion degrees outside?!"

"I don't know..." You open your eyes and think. It's genuinely cold. There's a blizzard so she can't get home. There's no blankets. You know you're going to regret what you're about to propose, but you spit it out before nerves restrain you.

“You cool with sleeping on the bed?”

She scratches her neck, a torn expression on her face.

"I mean... Isn't that... You know?"

“No, I don't know. Look, it's not weird, just don't think freezing to death seems like an attractive option. Just for the night.”

She scoffs, more so out of shock than mockery, “Okay.”

“Yeah, just a suggestion but if you’re uncomfortable with that then I’ll-”

“No… Why would I be…? Plenty of room for us to share the bed."

“Yeah.”

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling around, Ellie pulls the covers back and settles on the outermost edge of the bed, almost rolling right off, with her back turned to you.

You're not much better, laying close to the other side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a body stiff as a plank of wood

"You... uh, you okay over there?" she asks hesitantly

A quick,

"I’m okay, thank you," rushes past your lips as you try to settle your heart rate. It's this time of night that the thoughts start flooding in. You know there's no point in bothering to try to sleep.

The covers rustle beside you as Ellie, courageous as ever, turns to face you, eyes raking over your figure curiously.

"Good... Just checking," she says softly, quietly, words coming out soft as cotton. Then she turns to face the ceiling and silence blankets the room.

After a few hours, your eyes are bloodshot and fixated on the same crack in the wall that they had been for a while now. The glass is starting to overflow, and you don't know that you'll be able to hold back the tears even just for one night.

You can only hope Ellie's asleep when the restrained sound of your sniffles tears through the heavy silence every now and then. Your chest tightens when you hear Ellie start to make some soft grumbling noises, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns back over to face you.

"Hey," she says, her hand hovering over your shoulder,

"Let me see that ankle for a sec."

You squeeze your eyes shut and groan, hoping she can't make out the slight quiver in your voice, "Why? Why can’t we just sleep?"

"Just... wanna see how bad the swelling is," Ellie mumbles, sounding annoyed.

"I know your dumb ass wouldn't tell me if it was hurting.

You sit up shakily, the darkness casting a shadow over your glistening eyes, and lift your leg to your chest. Ellie reaches a hand out and gingerly runs it over the bandages, tugging them away and feeling the area for swelling.

"See? It’s fine."

She gazes up at you, her eyes lingering for a moment before she nods.

"Yeah, looks okay, I guess," she sighs.

"Can't be sure with you... But, fine, whatever, go to sleep."

You rest your head back against the pillow with a sigh and close your eyes.

However, sometime later in the night, you feel Ellie nudging your already awake figure.

"Hey."

She's speaking very quietly, but there's something urgent in her voice. You rub your stinging eyes, somehow annoyed at her for pulling you out of your thoughts.

"What?"

"I need to check your ankle again."

"No, it feels fine, go back to sleep."

Ellie stays silent for a second before letting out a long sigh.

"Yeah, well, I'm checking it anyways," she says.

"Just roll over."

From her tone, you can tell that Ellie isn't asking this time, so you do as she says and show her your wound, though her eyes are yet again focused on your face for a little longer.

"Okay... It looks fine. Again."

Ellie shakes her head for a moment before lying back down. She watches you shuffle around before muttering,

"Damn it."

"What?"

"I... You know what? I can't sleep, so talk to me."

"You were just sleeping th-"

“Yeah, well, it’s gone, so talk to me,” she hissed, to which you rolled your teary eyes, trying to gain a few crumbs of composure before speaking.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. I mean, I don’t know anything about you.”

“That’s cuz there’s nothing to know,” you mumble. You know that’s not the truth.

“… Just… Look, what’s your favourite colour?”

You raise an eyebrow skeptically,

“Favourite colour? Are you serious?”

“Yes! Just answer the question, asshole.”

“Fine. It’s purple. It’s the most colourful colour.”

“Purple… Huh, didn’t expect that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you just don’t… I don’t know, you don’t exactly seem into colourful stuff. Kinda expected you to say black or something.”

You snort indignantly, turning your head to meet her heavy, mesmerising eyes.

“Says you… I would never.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?! I’ll have you know that I, also, would never.”

An easy chuckle bubbles through you as you look up at the ceiling. Easy. Simple, all the things she said and the way the conversation slowly diffused into something more balanced, ridden of the initial obvious strain on Ellie’s part to get you to stop feeling whatever you were feeling when she saw your shoulders quiver in the moonlight.

Your head tilts to look at her for the first time after a while, skin dry of the tears that evaporated off your skin as you grinned, telling her the pun you claimed was better than hers and waiting for a response with a mind miraculously clear of the thoughts that polluted it up until a moment ago.

Ellie’s bottom lip is tugged between her teeth to hold back her own smile, though the creases beside her eyes give her away,

“Oh, was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Uh, yeah, it was. Don’t act like you didn’t find it funny! Not after how much you laughed at your shitty ones!”

She raised her eyebrows playfully, feigning a somber tone, “I don’t know, bu- OW! He- What the hell?!” as her face hit the pillow you launched at it. The sight of her face suddenly full of confusion draws a laugh from you - a real one. You hadn’t felt that familiar warmth for so long.

Caught up in the lightheartedness of the moment, you meet her gaze with a grin, holding up the pillow menacingly,

“Sorry, been wanting to do that for a while,”

Ellie grabs onto your wrists, a pure grin adorning her lips as she desperately attempts to fight your hands away from her through laughter and muttered “fuck”s. You give into her struggle with a groan and she pins the pillow and your hands back against the bed.

There’s a shift - both of you can feel it, neither of you expected it, as Ellie looms over you, loose auburn locks dangling close to your skin.

Your stomach turns. This is bad. This is wrong. This feels uncomfortably right.

Play it off, you tell yourself, unable to decipher the thought behind Ellie’s slightly furrowed brow, before you let out a laugh you hope sounded natural and playfully push her back onto the mattress.

Your heart is racing; you can feel the beat in your thighs which twitch every now and then, but you do a good job at hiding it, allowing the conversation to lull into that comforting silence like before, kindly putting you to sleep after hours of trying.

Those thoughts never stopped racing though, outrunning the thoughts of him…

a/n: boring ass chapter again, this is gonna be slow asf but it gets more eventful after this, i promise 😩 prolly some smut later too… creds to cafekitsune for dividers

#fanfic #tlou2 #spotify #enemies to lovers #ellie x y/n #ellie fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x you #ellie williams angst #tlou fanfiction #mean!ellie #tlou #tlou part 2 #ellie tlou2 #the last of us

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 10

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Words: 1,889

——–

Part 10 ∇

You waded through the depths of the woods, the crisp air consuming you.

The ground was damp, the tree’s mossy and the cold bit through your clothes. But at least you felt something, allowing the sensation to blanket what writhed within.

Silent tears streamed down your face as you made you way further into the woods. Hybern had won, he had turned you to a weapon born in a cell, insidious enough to even hurt children. Months of treatment and the strides of progress were revealed now for a certain truth – it was not enough. You weren't enough. Not strong enough, no loving, or caring, or kind enough to overcome what he had made you. Not good enough for your family. And certainly not good enough for Azriel.

So you walked and walked, cyclical thoughts swirling in your head as you stumbled through the thicket, leaving the faint sound of the city behind, uncaring that you were lost.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the faint glow of dawn peeked through the branches, that you realised exhaustion was quick on your tail. Stopping at a clearing, you slid your back against a mossy ash tree, blinking through crusted tears and heavy lids that begged for sleep. Your vision reeled, the ground now uncertain and you wondered when the last time you had a drink of water was. Blinking faster now, you tried to steady your vision on the open grass in front of you.

And Hybern, who stood at the centre of it.

You choked on your own breath, scrambling to your feet.

His wicked grin shone through the dim light of dawn, at contrast with the climbing dark trunks that surrounded the clearing. Strapped to his body was  a plethora of weapons, the silver of swords and knives almost as bright as his smile.

“Impossible,” you gasped, your hands clenching to fists as you began to shake.

“Possible,” he responded, his eyebrows raising as he fingered the handle of his sword, the large weaponed sheathed at his waist.

You were quick to think to grab a rock from the ground, throwing at directly at his head. Hybern’s figure rippled like watery smoke as the rock shot straight through him.

“Liar,” you snarled, anger brewing in you. This was the first moment of peace you had found since you could remember – how dare he disturb it.

“I may be of your mind Y/N, but that does not mean my strikes will hurt any less.”

“Leave me alone,” you seethed, making to leave in the direction you had come.

“I will follow you,” he called, stopping you in your tracks. Turning, you found amusement written on his face. You wanted nothing more than to take his own sword and spear it straight between those smug eyes.

“Do it,” he provoked.

“What?”

“Kill me. See if you can.”

You shook your head. Perhaps if you shook hard enough, he would disappear.

“I’m surprised you’re yet to try,” he drawled, slowly pacing towards you. You watched silently, fuming, readying for when he might attack.

“Or perhaps it’s because you know you’ll fail.” His taunt earned a snarl from you.

“Why not try, dear Y/N? You’ve already lost everything important to you, what else could there possibly be?”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“Ah, there it is,” he smiled, his eyes narrowing and focusing on you. “Fight.”

“No.”

“No? I suppose I forgot how wonderfully stubborn you are. After all, you were near impossible to break in my dungeon. Have I truly changed you that much?”

You glared at him, and he watched you back. “Pitiful,” he spat, turning in his tracks to leave you to brew in your own insanity.

With a deep breath, you tried to control the shake in your voice. “I’ll kill you when you’re brave enough to appear in the flesh.” Hybern stopped then, turning back to face you with a quirked brow. “Mark my words, you pathetic excuse of a male. I will kill you – the real you.”

Hybern tipped his head back a laughed. “Oh Y/N. You truly are as broken as you look.”

Red flashed before your eyes, your anger bubbling to the surface.

“You won't last to ever find the real me.”

You frowned, dissecting his works. This version of Hybern, a figment of your mind, was hinting to you, warning you. It was clear then – you needed to fight him, beat him, kill the plague he planted in your mind if you were to ever truly recover.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Launching into a sprint, you speared for the King, a cry ripping from your throat. He merely grinned, unsheathing his sword, swinging directly where you dove. You slid to your knees, narrowly missing the strike, the silver of his weapon glinting before your eyes, impossibly real.

With a grunt you rolled to your side, dodging again and Hybern stuck his sword in the ground, intending to have speared you. You glared back, the sheer audacity of a grouse death making you see red. This was not a fair fight, or at least not yet.

Darting behind him, you swung a low kick to his back, sending him off balance with an opportunity to swipe a weapon. You secured a hand knife, the closest item in your reach. Shrugging, you raised cold eyes to Hybern who had now steadied himself. This would have to do.

“Thief,” he spat.

“Cunt,” you replied.

Hybern growled, raising his sword high before launching for you, the loud swoosh of his weapon sounding above his yell.

And so began the dance between you two. You were light on your feet to avoid his strikes, circling and calculating for your own opportunity to attack. Your innate skill and tactics surprised you, and you realised there were years of training that innately prepared you now. You would have to thank your family for that if you made it.

“Don’t be a coward, Y/N. Remember, I don't exist, I’ll never grow tired.”

You gritted your teeth – Hybern was right, you were only exhausting yourself. Trembling with adrenaline, you kept your distance, your heart pounding in your ears as you tried to decide what to do.

“Pitiful, the lot of you,” he spat again. “Your court is weak, your family too. And your mate, willing to die for his true love? How utterly pathetic.”

Primal anger flushed within you, boiling your blood and you tossed the knife to your dominant hand, gripping it’s handle. “Don’t you dare speak of him like that.”

“I enjoy watching him come undone because of you, Y/N. I knew all along the Spymaster was the weakest link of the Night Court. Always putting others first, always suppressing his own needs and desires. All I had to do was push him right to the edge.”

A different kind of strength found you then, like a lone prized trophy in a barren cavern. You may not be worthy of love, but Azriel was the most deserving of all. You would die to defend that.

And so you launched for the evil King, arm raised with the blade pointed straight for his heart. Airborne, you careened towards him, you vision narrowed as the pathway to freedom honed in your vision. He wasn’t real, this wasn't real. You would overcome him for the sake of your mate, love and determination fuelling you as you launched to kill the King of Hybern.

It was a reeling shock to feel the King’s sword pierce clean through your middle. Your eyes widened with shock as you looked down, the handle resting at your stomach, Hybern’s hand already soaked with the red of your blood.

He grinned famously, your widened eyes finding his as your head swirled and you let out a strangled sound. There was no pain to be felt, yet your blood poured, warming you as your breath stuck in your throat.

“It’s as I said,” he smirked, lifeless eyes holding yours. “Pathetic.”

And perhaps because he was talking, or perhaps because he underestimated you, but he was unprepared for the short knife that quickly stuck in the side of his neck.

You delighted in watching Hybern’s artery generously bleed as much as your stomach did. And there was an odd moment where you clung to each other, neither of you willing to be the first to fall, both of you nearing closer and closer to death.

“Y-you b-bitch,” he stuttered with fury, gasping for the air that never reached his lungs.

You could feel him slipping from your mind – the roots that infected even the deepest corners beginning to wither and rot. He was dying, leaving your reality, flushing from your system after the months of poison and torture that had fixed him there. A sickness that finally had a cure.

You laughed, cackling as you watched those hideous eyes glow red for a final time before a white casting fogged them over. He let you go then, crumpling to the floor, his body withering before your eyes. A gust of wind blew over, sweeping his figure to ash and taking the remaining of his body with it, leaving you alone in the clearing.

Falling to your knees, you clutched at your own stomach, Hybern’s sword no longer lay within, the remnants of the weapon turned to dust along with the King. But your blood covered your hands, it’s warmth pooling around you, gushing at an alarming rate.

“Stop. Stop!” you begged to no-one, pressing on your own wound. You would surely die any moment now. 

So you cried – cried for the loss of your love, cried that you never had the chance to remember the life you had, or to ever recreate the joy and love you knew surrounded you. There was so much that could have been, and grief would be that last thing you ever felt in this world.

Through the blur of tears and the closeness of death that begged your eyes to close, it was Azriel’s scent mixed with that of your blood that told you he was near. In fact, he was not alone. 

“Real or fake?” your voice quivered as you body began to give, falling slowly to the mossy ground. Azriel caught you, pulling you to his lap quickly as he scanned over you.

“Real, my love. As real as can be. Where does it hurt?”

You frowned. “The blood–“

“What blood? I see none.”

You trembled in your mates arms as he cast an urgent look back to his family. Rhysand shook his head gently, tapping his temple to show Azriel your injury did not extend past your mind.

Azriel sighed in relief, stroking you hair as he held you close. “There is no blood my love, its not real.”

“My stomach! He– he–”

Azriel soothed you, rocking you closely. You were too delirious, too confused and exhausted to comprehend what was real or not.

“I killed him Az, for you,” you whimpered, your body convulsing with heaves of exhaustion. “We’re safe now.”

Azriel cradled your face, kissing your forehead before pulling you closely to him again. “Rest now, my love.” he soothed, and that was the last thing you heard before slipping into numbing darkness.

--------

Part 11>>>

AN: Thank you so so much for your patience with this chapter lovelies!! And of course for the ongoing support ❤️❤️ I sincerely hope you liked it!

I always love hearing what you think, so don’t be shy to drop a comment. And also if you’d like to join the tag list :) 

#azriel x reader #azriel x brainwashed reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #Azriel series #acotar angst #acotar series #acotarfanfic #acourt of thorns and roses #acotar brainwashed reader #rhysand #azriel memory loss #acotar memory loss #acotar brainwashed #azriel mate #acotar reader insert #acotar reader faints #acotar reader injured #azriel x injured reader

[milfsloverblog]

Stood Up (Part 3) (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: This took me so long to write, I reaaaally wanted to write the angst (beware) but then got stuck at the smutty part (which is why it isn’t as detailed). I hope you’ll enjoy reading this chapter as much as the previous ones! Lil reminder that my requests are open and I’ll happily write for any of Gwen’s characters <3

~1,8k

Saying you had fallen for Larissa would be an understatement. In a couple of weeks the tall woman had insidiously made her way inside your brain and inside your heart. She was usually your first thought in the morning when your eyes fluttered open, and your very last at night when you went to bed and moaned her name, your hand buried between your thighs under the bedsheets.

You hadn’t dared use her phone number yet. She’d said to use it wisely and you weren’t sure that calling or texting her every time you wanted to would make her very happy. You knew she was a busy woman, probably working until late at night only to wake up early in the mornings, and the last thing you wanted was to bother her.

A couple of times you had thought about sending her flowers, you even had the perfect bouquet in mind. Some black pearl amaryllis paired with baby’s breath and eucalyptus. Love and passion, new beginnings, protection. The perfect bouquet. But you had no idea which school to send it to and even if you had, you still weren’t sure that sending flowers to a woman you were having casual sex with was a good idea.

————

You sighed as you flipped the sign on your shop window, staring at the word “closed” written in bold letters while you locked the door. Thursdays were always slow and you had only made a few sales that day. You hated Thursdays more than Mondays, but at least you had Fridays to look forward to. Even more now that you knew Larissa.

“Lydia!” You called as you walked past Ellen’s and noticed your friend taking her cigarette break outside the restaurant.

The girl stubbed out her cigarette and waved as you approached her, pushing an awkward smile.

“Are you alright ?” You asked with a soft chuckle, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“No, no I’m fine! It’s just…It’s so rare to see you on Thursdays!” Lydia laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of her neck.

You were about to answer when you noticed it, the silver hair through the restaurant window. You couldn’t believe your luck.

“Larissa!” You whispered, watching the woman for a few seconds before moving to walk inside the restaurant.

“No, no wait-“ Lydia tried to hold you back but it was too late, you had already pushed the door open and taken a few steps towards Larissa’s table.

That’s when you finally realised that another woman was sitting across from Larissa. A redhead with big glasses who looked around Larissa’s age.

The tall woman leaned in a little, telling her companion something that made her laugh loudly. Larissa smiled, looking proud of herself and you watched as the redhead put her hand on the blonde’s one on the table.

Oh. Oh. It suddenly dawned on you that you were witnessing a date.

You took a step back and accidentally bumped into Lydia who dropped the empty plates that she had been carrying. Immediately the whole restaurant turned to look at the two of you, including Larissa and her companion.

You kneeled at the same time as Lydia did to pick up the broken pieces of glass, your back turned to Larissa.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Lydia whispered, glancing at the tall woman still sitting down in her booth. “I tried to tell you, I…I’ll spit in their food if that makes you feel better.”

You looked at your friend, eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill, and shook your head.

“That won’t be necessary.” You managed to say, “We’re not together. She’s free to see whoever she wishes to see.”

With that you got back on your feet and took a deep breath, turning around to look at Larissa who immediately pulled her hand away from the redhead’s. She opened her mouth to speak but you didn’t care enough to listen, instead choosing to get out of the restaurant as quickly as you could.

As soon as the building was out of sight you burst into loud sobs, letting the tears run freely down your cheeks. And it was silly, you knew that. Larissa didn’t owe you anything, she wasn’t yours and you weren’t hers. You weren’t even mad at her, you were mad at yourself for allowing this to happen.

Of course, she would want to date someone more like her. Someone her age, someone who did more in life than owning a flower shop. You knew that you were different from Larissa in almost every aspect but somehow you had hoped that maybe…

Fuck, it hurt. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as you realised that you had fallen in love with a woman who probably saw you as a mere distraction. And you could never be mad at her, because it was all your fault.

——————

The next few days were hell. Every time you closed your eyes you’d see images of Larissa and that redhead woman and it made you sick to your stomach. So much so that you skipped dining at Ellen’s that Friday.

You resented every single person that came into your shop to buy flowers for their partner, your teeth grinding each time someone mentioned their loved one.

“Your partner is lucky, I bet they get showered in flowers a lot.” The tall man standing on the other side of your counter said.

You looked up at him and his beige coat, and then back down at the bouquet of stargazer lilies he had bought. He had been here twice this week already. Yesterday he had gotten a dozen of white tulips and you couldn’t help but wonder if the man knew what these flowers meant.

I’m sorry, the tulips said. I miss you, the lilies added.

“I don’t have a partner.” You simply answered as politely as you could. “I’ll be back in a second, I need to get some organza.”

You walked to the back of your shop, shuffling through your organza rolls to find one that would match the bouquet.

“Ha!” You smiled victoriously and made your way back to the front of the shop, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw Larissa standing where the man had been just a couple of minutes earlier.

Your eyes quickly scanned around the shop, the man was gone. It made no sense, because if he had left and Larissa had walked in, the bell over the door would have rung twice, and it didn’t ring at all.

“I waited for you on Friday night,” Larissa’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, “But you never came.”

You bit back a snarky remark and walked to the counter where the lilies were still waiting to be wrapped.

“I didn’t feel like going to Ellen’s.” You answered, keeping your eyes down as you cut the organza.

“You haven’t called, or texted.” She said, making you shake your head a little.

“Yes, well, I know you’re a busy woman. Didn’t want to bother you.” You shrugged, still not looking at her.

“You’re right, I am a busy woman. But I would have made time for you.” Larissa took a step closer and you put the scissors down, taking a deep breath before looking up at her face.

“I don’t think we should see each other again.” You said as straightforwardly as you could, watching how Larissa’s mouth dropped slightly open as she processed your words.

“Why?” It came out of the older woman’s mouth as a whisper.

Because I’m in love with you but you aren’t in love with me, you wanted to say.

“Because it wouldn’t be right to that redhead woman I saw you with last week.” You shrugged and went back to wrapping the bouquet.

There was a moment of silence before Larissa suddenly started laughing, and it made the anger bubble in your body.

“Yeah, it’s so funny, isn’t it? So, so funny.” You said through gritted teeth. “I really hope it made you feel good about yourself, me fucking you and you fucking me. I know I’m not good enough to be with someone like you, hell you probably wouldn’t even look at me if I walked past you down the street. But, fuck, it hurts. It hurts to know that if I had been a little more like that redhead, maybe you would have wanted me. Really wanted me, like I want you.”

Larissa had stopped laughing then, her blue eyes wide as she listened to your rant. She frowned because she thought she’d understood what you were implying but it couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly be in love with her.

“Marilyn, the redhead, is my employee.” She eventually said after a few seconds. “And she is the closest thing I have to a friend. I don’t know what you think you saw that night at Ellen’s, but it wasn’t a date. We do like and respect each other, but it’s nothing like that.”

You just stood there quietly, realising you had been even more stupid than you’d thought. You wanted nothing more than to disappear.

“You fell in love with me…” Larissa said barely audibly and you shrugged, fidgeting with the lilies in your hands.

The cat was out of the bag now, it would be useless to deny your feelings after your clear display of jealousy.

“Yes, I did. Can you really blame me though? You’re everything anyone could wish for.” You eventually said, daring to look up at the tall woman.

Larissa leaned on the counter, her face stopping only a few inches from yours.

“Tell me again how we shouldn’t be seeing each other.” She whispered, her eyes dropping to your lips.

What happened next happened so quickly, you barely had time to register it. You closed the gap between Larissa’s lips and yours, her hand immediately grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer.

She walked around the counter and lifted you as if you weighed no more than a feather, only to take you to the back of the shop and lay you down on the workbench where you prepped the flowers each morning.

You could smell the roses and carnations that surrounded you when Larissa kneeled between your now naked legs, a couple of thorns dug into your back but you could not have cared less.

“Have me, please!” You begged, aching to feel the woman’s touch on your skin again.

How special it was, you thought as you looked down into Larissa’s eyes and she looked up into yours, to have a goddess kneeled between her worshiper’s thighs, her mouth and chin slicked with their arousal.

You knew you wouldn’t last long when the coil in your tummy tightened dangerously, threatening to snap at any second.

When you came moaning Larissa’s name, the woman’s heart swelled in her chest. You loved her. Someone loved her. She was loved, finally.

“I love you too.” Larissa whispered in your ear as you came down from your high, placing a soft kiss on your panting lips.

She loved you.

Thank god. Thank god for the imbecile who had stood her up.

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader #no beta we die like larissa #principal weems

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TEA

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse and more

Read after the cut...

-

For a near week your deceptive submission endures, the hours newly tightened by a schedule your host has contrived to divert you from your anti-appetite.

Days rise from the borderless veil of time like castles from a dawn mist. Made a school child again, you sit before documentaries and foreign art films, take up a journal whose pages bear but glances of your internal woe.

You find yourself wishing that you could write with any particular talent.

As a girl you’d yearned to be an author, never daring to materialise the urge with any substantial effort. Now you can’t imagine you’ll ever be allowed so loose-penned a profession, if any at all, kept covetously home and infantilised until you cannot think beyond a fraction of words.

Why, then, does Hannibal go to such arduous lengths to educate you? Surely it is only so that—before the eyes of peers—you'll be the cultured averment of triumph through therapy.

In the soirees of your doctor's hopes you cleave, willing, to his side, bewitching the throng with smirking witticisms before sucking his cock with that same clever mouth when the last guest steps, merry and ignorant, into the night.

Already Hannibal aspires to materialise that abstraction. You find proof enough of it in the wardrobe he’s amassed for you, which expands as the days progress.

Some of his choices are attractive to you, reluctant though you are to consider this— long velvet gowns in puce, umber, black, blouse and skirt co-ordinations plucked from the runway, some still in boxes emblazoned with designer names.

Others of the selection offend you, however, in their bald intent for closed-door wear. Girlish dresses in light chiffon, corseted silk in flowering lace. Short necks and hemlines, some of them scarcely reaching the knee. Then there are sheer nightclothes stored in perfumed sheets, no practicality but for the sort of sleeping in which no slumber is to be had.

You’re to dress like some obscure young celebrity, a whimsical echo of an era thirty years passed. Still, there is an attempt in this incredible closet to appease you as well as to change, adapting your preferences to a style acceptable to Hannibal’s eye.

It’s of particular note to you that the garments are each the same size, implying that you haven’t gained significant weight since your last awareness of its value. Conceivably the labels might have been replaced, but it’s so unlikely a trick that the theory is quickly thrown out.

Hannibal is inviting you to trust his process with a peace offering of equilibrium, the second-best prize to starvation.

You are not such a fool as to take it yet, though in action you may appear to have done so.

When in the presence of your keepers you remain in unwavering character, an amplified, changeling copy of the child you'd once been. In this way you're allowed your little misbehaviours—pulling a face at food you do not like, or the shrugging rejection of an idle caress.

So long as you sit at meals, and don’t speak in any manner that threatens the illusion of family you are unharmed, and laden with unending gifts. It would be a winning childhood, had you been born into it through a far less insidious violence than that which brought you here.

Still, the awareness that you must simper and lisp for another month before you venture an escape soon wears upon your tolerance.

One Saturday morning, alone in your room, the silence of that cushioned cell amplifies your every thought to a piqued tenor.

You miss when hunger bled like smoke through your skull, ridding its halls of all but its fey shape. With a scalding clarity you behold what you are now: a homunculus, the issue of diablerie, cut small by men’s black magic.

You cast yourself amidst a tide of cushions and mimic your own words upon them in a bitter snarl.

“‘Yes, Daddy’”, ‘no, Daddy’. ‘Little one’. Oh God! It’s all so stupid. Stupid!”

An involuntary laugh chatters through you like a coin thieved from a beggar’s cup, hateful and maniacal. Yet you perform this anger as you do the docile coquette, the bounds between that self and your own a gradient that softens by the day.

It’s become rather easier to be a monster’s daughter than a woman, this you cannot deny. The longer you are extracted from the world the less you’ll remember of how to live within it, if you ever knew, before.

The misery of this thought proves too much to bear.

You cry until your head is as hot about the brow as a horseshoe turned white from the forge. The sobs wrench the muscles of your stomach in two pained halves, and still you weep until you laugh again, thinking how deranged you’d sound to any eavesdropper in the rooms below.

Afterwards you sit very quietly, like an ailing bride in a Victorian novel; you are, after all, very ill, and it suits you well to behave so.

Having nothing better to do, you switch on the television and skim through the channels with neither aim nor interest.

Thin, beautiful women populate the screen, their waists like darner flies, their wrists as narrow as your thumb. Even the history programmes feature experts with trim figures in sensible interview dresses.

Perturbed, you flick on and on until you find something on eighteenth century Paris, hosted by a grandfatherly old professor marked safe from scrutiny in the absence of compare.

You watch until your lids fall, thinking of catacombs full of monk bones, the cloying scent of ancient death, each as forgotten under dust as you are by all those who once loved you, and revered by those who never have.

In the afternoon Hannibal wakes you gently by turning the television off at the set.

“Are you feeling alright, little one?” he asks. “It’s unusual for you to sleep in so late.”

You hum in a noncommittal fashion, scarcely bothering to open your eyes.

Perhaps he’ll let you drowse the day away; you’d dream through all horrors like this, should your insomnia give you reprieve. A week, a month, a year sold to the sandman in exchange for peace— yet the dark would follow you there, also, antlered men in imagined night.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” says Hannibal, peeling back your sheets with a brisk tug. “Up you get. Alana is visiting us this evening. She’ll have some questions for you.”

Weakly attempting to thieve back the blanket, you say, “I really don’t feel like talking to her. Can’t you do it? Please?”

“Jack won’t be satisfied with a second-hand report. Alana must see that you’re comfortable here. Not a particular incentive for you, but I can provide others.”

You open one eyelid, enticed by this readiness to bargain.

“So what do I get if I say yes?”

“A light dinner,” says Hannibal. “And—depending on your behaviour—perhaps another reward we’ll negotiate later tonight.”

At this you sit up; starving is a precious contraband in the doctor’s abode, worth more to you than every decadent thing under its rafters.

“Feeling better already, I see,” says Hannibal, through one of his charitable smiles. “Please stand by the mirror and allow me to dress you.”

Unbidden there comes the thought of his hand under your skirts, pressing inwards like a starfish sucking at a stone.

“Oh, come on, Dad,” you say, in flustered haste. "Really?”

“There’s a certain picture I’d like to create for Alana’s benefit,” he insists. “One of wellness and serenity. Your selections tend to imply something far more brooding and morose.”

With a testy little sigh you slip out of bed, rubbing your arms free of rising gooseflesh.

“You bought me those ‘brooding and morose’ outfits, remember, Dad? What does that say about you?”

“That I seek to please you,” says Hannibal, touching your mouth with playful thumb. “Today I hope that you’ll return the gesture.”

He holds aloft a pastel blue dress in transparent lace, a beaded line of detailing pointing downwards at the hips in a suggestive v.

“I don’t know,” you say, far more sharply than intended. “It’s short. And I don’t like the colour.”

“The shade will suit you,” Hannibal replies. “And you’ll wear a shift underneath for modesty, if that’s your concern.”

You don’t bother with reproof; he’s guiding you out of your nap-rumpled clothes and into the dress before you can think of an excuse he’ll entertain.

Unresisting, you only glance aside, breathing shallowly so as not to brush your chest against him as he adjusts your collar.

That Hannibal hasn’t made love to you since you shared a bed makes you think that he’s waiting for something, a moment fermented to sweeten the sex. He is, you warrant, as driven by pleasure as any man, being only of a tighter and more methodical restraint.

You can’t decide whether you’re glad of the wait or if you’d prefer he throw you down on your bed and ravish you now to have done with it.

Doubtless Hannibal considers an identical dilemma, turning you before him like a ballerina in a mirrored jewellery box.

“Even the greats couldn’t hope to replicate this image of you,” he says, as he inspects his work. “To attempt it would have them rending the canvas to pieces rather take credit for their failure.”

The compliment is long forgotten when, later, Alana breaches the house, her pretty face above her mulberry blouse like a lily in a violet bouquet.

Her casual manner in kissing Hannibal’s cheek at the door suggests a social visit, as does the gift of white wine under one thin arm. Still, she remembers her duty, taking you aside with a subtle professionalism within two minutes of having greeted her host.

Her kindness is a shingle in a cyclone, dashed away by the futility of its own existence.

“Dr Lecter told me you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you,” says Alana, placing one of her graceful hands atop your own without comment as to its frigidity. “Are you feeling more positive now, or would you disagree with that?”

Slipping your fingers out from under hers, you say, “Well, I have a TV now. I’m allowed to do a lot more things I’m actually interested in. That helps. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you talked Dr Lecter into it.”

Smiling, Alana says, “I can’t take credit for that. He was already making preparations when I brought it up. He's racked up quite the shopping bill.”

The notion of Hannibal navigating the catalogues of online stores is ridiculous, somehow anachronistic, but then again you’ve witnessed him tapping at a sleek iPad, a jarring sight, on every occasion.

“How about mealtimes?” asks Alana. “I understand you’re working towards a plan that’s easier for you.”

“It’s still hard,” you mumble. “Tough. You know.”

Your eyes are on Alana’s patent court shoes, picturing a blandly organised rack of identical heels in alternate shades. Perhaps ankle boots for the colder days. Simple. Nothing flash.

Alana pauses, quickly assessing your disinterest in the exchange.

“Hannibal says he’d like you to agree to more therapy sessions,” she says. “He feels you’re opening up. I think we both know that’s probably wishful thinking on his side, but don’t shoot him down just yet.”

“I won’t,” you say. “Couldn’t anyway, right?”

Alana rearranges her discomfort into another closed-lipped smile. You can’t envision that lipstick ever moving, striped across her face as yours has been by both of the friends that she holds dear.

“So how are things between you and Will now?” enquires Alana, quite on cue. “Rumour has it you’re getting along like a house on fire.”

Truthfully Will has rather cooled since the night of the seizure, his envy retreating to the black of some inner primordial cave. He seems both caustically amused by your recent performance and cynical of its longevity, yet neither judgement is as severe as before.

The thought of your kindness sits with him, has been taken up with the cagy hunger of an orphan to a heel of bread. Piece by piece you’ve given him more of it in flirting words, but these he’s yet to take, turning each away with a smirk.

“Don’t try so hard,” he’d said, only a day ago, but when you’d thrown an idle foot across his lap as you read a book beside him he hadn’t removed it, only pretended to ignore the intrusion.

“Me and Will are okay,” you say to Alana. “That’s all.”

You must give away something of your successes in your expression, for Alana’s mouth twitches into a coy grin.

“Just okay?”

At that moment Hannibal knocks on the open door, a merciful trespass, setting you free of her.

*

As promised, you’re offered a modest salad while Hannibal and Alana make their way through numberless courses over the gifted wine.

At first you’re too absorbed in the mortification of eating in front of the other woman to pay attention to their mounting chemistry, dragging the same tattered leaf through streams of congealing oil.

It’s only as you’re making a fortress of cutlery across a lump of uneaten meat that you take full stock of the flirting at work before you.

Though attempts are made by both parties to fold you into the conversation they are mild at best, almost neglectful.

Alana glances up into Hannibal’s eyes in frequent, laughing enjoyment, touching his shoulder or forearm lightly; he, for his part, looks upon her lips and the curves of her form and speaks fondly to her, his voice hushed with a want of sex.

You’ve heard it often enough to know it, and should be glad to have his attentions otherwise distracted.

Yet your hands creep under the table, squeezing your thighs and stomach as though to claw out the matter you've ingested through your meat.

"I'm done," you blurt out, cutting across Hannibal's opinion of a recent classical performance he’s attended. "Can I go upstairs?"

It's with difficulty that you bite off the habitual 'Dad' that has replaced 'doctor' in your vocabulary.

Hannibal offers you a near invisible look of disgruntlement at the interruption, quickly mollified by Alana's fingers at his elbow.

"I'm sure we're boring you," she says. "Go on up and relax. You don't have to stick around just to be polite."

You glance at Hannibal, seeking his approval before you stand. His eyes, within so static a face, are black glass in their suspicion.

"I'll come up to speak to you later on," he says, at last. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask for it."

Rather than go immediately to your den above you linger to watch as the couple drink in the parlour, so close as to almost be in one another’s arms.

You see from Hannibal's relaxed posture that he is not ablaze with a fascinated love for Alana as he is for Will; he holds her merely with the affection of an old friend, and, too, with an uncomplicated desire.

He would never rape Alana Bloom; such violence, to Hannibal, is an entry into a cabal of which she has no part. Her value to him is as representation of his treasured comforts, and all that which Hannibal would not willingly change.

Alana is as used for her parts as you are, in her way, and oblivious to it, like some grinning scarecrow blind to the birds that snicker and creep at its back.

Yet as you watch her lean, murmuring, into Hannibal’s neck you feel a tooth of ice grind through your heart and turn away, feeling numbly for the bannisters behind you.

Almost on hands and knees you climb the steps to your bed, brought low by that astonishing cold.

Pausing at the bathroom you prostrate yourself at the toilet’s mercy, still unable to empty yourself of the pain and bile you'd evict to be naked of your jealousy.

In surrender you rest your head on the cool floor and remain there even after the compulsion to vomit subsides.

If you cannot flog yourself for your sins as the saints did then this will do, sprawled before the porcelain God of another degredation.

Presently the bathroom door creaks open, striking an unwanted rod of light across your face.

“Go away,” you mutter, wiping your face with an angry scrub of your knuckles. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Hannibal looks at you with a minister’s pious severity.

"I see. So I was correct. You object to Alana and I having a sexual relationship. Any other father would sternly inform you that it’s none of your business, and as your therapist it’s even less so.”

Raising your head, you snap at him as fiercely as you dare.

“What about me?”

“My friendship with Alana is very different to what you and I share,” says Hannibal, and you snort, wiping a stream of clear mucus across your lips.

“I’ll bet.”

Hannibal turns his head at a quizzical angle, and you perceive the very second of his understanding like the unveiling of some trick.

“You must explain yourself, darling,” he says. “What is it about this that has upset you?”

The logical answer should be that you wish to save Alana from him, that you cannot watch her beaming, black-haired head roll out from under the axe.

Instead, you blurt out, “Don’t you get it, Dad? How it makes me feel? You’re supposed to understand me, and I’m pretty sure you do. You knew that it would hurt me. You did this on purpose the way you wave me around in front of Will.”

Using the sink to right yourself you get to your feet, standing on pathetic, defiant tiptoe so that you might gaze into the devil’s face directly.

“If you have to do this, then please, just me. Just me. I can’t stand it. It makes me feel sick to think about you and her together. Knowing you’ll touch me afterwards. Don’t do this to me. Please."

“I see,” says Hannibal.

He speaks with such calm that you deflate from your anger at once.

“Very well,” he says. “I can make an excuse for Alana to leave. Would that please you, little one?”

This time you don’t answer, only stare at him with huge and terrible eyes until he retreats to the stairway.

“Oh, god,” you say, under your breath. “Amy, you’d really hate me right now, wouldn’t you?”

You hear Hannibal and Alana talking in low undertones, the female voice a coo of thoughtful sympathy. In time Alana collects herself to leave, but only when her car propels itself quietly from the driveway does Hannibal come to you again.

By now you’re sitting at your dresser, making a humiliated attempt to recollect your dignity with cosmetics. You know that Hannibal will not like what you’d made of your face—the eyes painted black, your lips the colour of your heart, a sinking, well-bound stone.

Yet all he says as he stands behind you is, “Look at me, little one.”

Your hand shakes, blotting your eyelid with an errant apostrophe of mascara.

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. I’d like you to, even so.”

The gentleness of Hannibal’s voice is an agony to you. You’ve never hated nor been more drawn to him than you are now, this impossible spirit in the vessel of a man.

Stiffly you turn on your chair, meeting his gaze to find it truly repentant.

“I won’t make love to Alana again,” says Hannibal, and you know as you do the reality of elements that he does not lie. “I see that this triggers your fear of abandonment too greatly. But it might not be possible for me to avoid all romantic advances.

“There are rumours abound as to our arrangement already, and it will seem suspicious if I don’t take a lover. But I’ll do my best to be faithful to our family.”

He pauses, watching you battle to suppress your disgust for him, for yourself, for all things in the bracken of his design.

“For now, I’d like you to relax,” says Hannibal. “This level of distress will make you ill. I’m concerned that it already has.”

Taking you by a hand as clammy as mermaid skin he leads you down to the living room to serve you from a pot of fragrant tea.

Though its calorific value is likely near to air you catastrophize with immediacy, unable to touch the cup, let alone drink.

“I’m not doing it on purpose this time,” you babble. “I’m not, Dad, please, you’ve got to believe me.”

Hannibal raises a hand to caress you— that, and only that, and yet you shrink against the couch in expectancy of a blow.

An appalled look tightens Hannibal’s expression, a hypocrisy of which he seems endlessly capable.

“There, now,” he says. “I can tell the difference between unruliness and genuine struggle. You and I both know that tea is only leaves and water— why do you believe against logic that it will affect your weight?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a helpless shake of the head. “I feel like if I drink it I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll eat and eat until I’m... big, and then I won’t be able to go back to the way I was. Everyone will see me differently. Treat me like they used to. People can be cruel.”

“And none crueller than you are to yourself,” says Hannibal, and he eases the cup between your hands so that you must take it or scald yourself raw. “There is nothing shameful in having a body of any kind, and any who judge you for that would wear their foolishness like a flag for all to see. Nevertheless, I’ve balanced your weight here, and will continue to do so if that is what’s needed for you to believe in my intentions.”

He aids you to drink, lifting the cup to your mouth over and over until the last drop. From the bitter taste you know it altered by some drug.

For once you do not care.

The night has left you so ashamed of your bearing that you’re half joyful to be done with it, sinking back as euphoria transforms all things that touch you into nirvana.

Your fingers drape across your body in aimless exploration, stopping only as Will enters the room with Hannibal at his side.

The younger man’s eyebrows jump as you giggle and hide your hands behind your back.

“You’re smiling,” says Will. “And I’m not sure how I feel about the circumstances.”

“Our girl is relieved to see you, Will,” says Hannibal. “A familiar face is a balm for even the most taxing day.”

Will looks from you to Hannibal ponderously.

“Alana was here earlier,” he states.

“She was, much to our little one’s chagrin.”

“Do you have to talk about her?” you interrupt, in loose-tongued irritation.

Hannibal chuckles.

“We do not. There are other topics I’d find far more engaging.”

You watch from under heavy lids as the men discuss the Lover’s case in low, library murmurs.

“Tanya Marrow was found washed up by the Patapsco River this morning,” says Will, with a grim regret. “Her wounds were fresh, meaning the Lover only mutilated Tanya and placed her into the doll when he was ready to throw her away. He was content with how closely she resembled the woman he’s desperate to make, for a while.

“But she wasn’t close enough. In the end he had to remind her that she was just a toy to him, and punish her for her lacking.”

The contrast of these dreary horrors with the rainbow light of feeling through your needy cunt should sicken you, but your mind is in disorder, barely one thought akin to the next.

“We’ve made a breakthrough in regards to the dolls,” Will continues. “The well-made ones are expensive; for one person to have so many implies that the Lover is either a wealthy collector, or that he’s able to access them at a considerable discount. Possibly for free.”

“I’m assuming the factory producing these dolls has been identified,” says Hannibal.

Will swallows a mouthful of whiskey.

“There are only four vendors known to produce the style of doll the Lover uses. Jack’s got someone looking into their customers, narrowing down the suspects to buyers in Virginia. Considering how specialised these clients are that shouldn't take long.”

The older man listens with a solemn intensity, scarcely drinking from his own glass.

“I see the Lover almost exactly now,” says Will. “He knows he has to take his bride eventually; he’s circling her, choosing women that are closer and closer to her physical proximity. The next target will be someone she knows.

“It’s a dangerous move, but by now the Lover wants someone that’s stood so close to this woman that he can taste her. Imagine her beneath him when he defiles the inferior victim.”

Fear swims, crocodilian, within you, disturbing your narcotic stupor.

Seeming to sense it, Hannibal says, “Let’s continue this line of conversation later on. I wouldn’t want to give our surrogate daughter bad dreams.”

Will glances at you, watching you fumble idly with the hem of your dress.

“You don’t plan to cast her as our daughter in tonight’s play, do you?” he asks, plainly.

“That would unnecessarily chasten the evening,” says Hannibal. “She’s the woman for whom we are legally responsible, and what we deem fit for her continued health is ours to determine.”

You recline across the couch like an empress, watching the firelight glance shadows across your skin like a garment in a dream. Hannibal slips a hand from your shoulder to your breast, teasing the tiffany lace across your nipple, and the warmth and delicacy of the touch breathes through you a shiver of ermine delight.

Only vaguely do you acknowledge your revulsion, a whisper at a keyhole on the other side of the house.

“What did you give her for her to let you touch her like that?” asks Will, curiously.

His hands play upon the sides of his whiskey glass, and the thought of them upon your thighs or between them drives your lower lip between your teeth with unbeckoned desire.

“I’ve offered her release from her spirited rebellion,” says Hannibal. “Even having promised us fealty, this act she wouldn’t easily endure. I wish for her to experience intimacy unhindered by her mental bounds.”

His fingers glance beneath the neckline of your dress and cross your bare skin as a swan's wing meets the sky, rushing a moan from you more akin to a sob in its juddering resonance.

“Besides,” Hannibal continues, “she’s had a trying afternoon. Her body welcomes this.”

Will’s face, washed honey bronze by firelight, is so neutral that even if you were not high you’d fail to extract the mechanisms of thought behind it.

“We’ve both succeeded in bringing her to climax,” says Hannibal, as his other hand folds your skirt against your pelvis. “But never her consent. Tonight, perhaps we will.”

“In this state she has no real autonomy,” Will argues. “We’re witnessing an illusion.”

Hannibal pauses, his face like that of an antiques dealer slyly unveiling some stolen wares.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Little one: you’ve described me as handsome. Do think that Will is good-looking?”

Your concentration wavers as two digits inscribe an ouroboros in your arousal. The wrongness of it all only enhances the sensation, the thought of being a lovely toy for older men to play with.

Your name on Dr Lecter’s lips recalls his question.

“Yes,” you say. “I— I do.”

You don’t know why you’re honest. Even a child, embarrassed, could lie.

Will smiles, and for a moment there is something almost sweet in his expression.

Then the dark of him slithers behind it again with predatory ease, and he leans forward, knees apart, possessed of a revelation of self-assurance.

This is the self he becomes when challenging Dr Lecter, the arrogant observer of all living things.

“I already knew that,” says Will. “I don’t mind hearing it clarified, though.”

You can’t imagine him ever admitting that you’re beautiful in return. Hannibal would, has done so already in such a succulence of language that your mouth could water with it, but not Will, not in so many words.

All that he will allow thus far is that you are not ugly. Blearily you vow to unwind from him his obsession.

“Puppy love,” says Hannibal, looking into your face with a gentle irony. “You’d like him to touch you, wouldn’t you, little one?”

This you don’t answer, and rather than press you again Hannibal makes you come with three fingers inside you, patient as you cry out and roll your head aside in conflict and delirium.

You cannot decide if he means to reward you for your participation with Will or to humiliate you for that same eagerness. It is bewildering and erotic, this envy they have for one another; to quell it you must kneel to the hierarchy, submissive always to your covetous masters.

“Join us, Will,” says Hannibal, at last.

Briefly you think that he won’t, a scoffing lord, above it all.

Then he crosses the room, sets down his whiskey and kisses you, first your mouth, then your neck, leaving the taste of smoke and almonds wherever his lips meet.

Whimpering, you kick your feet on the couch as each petal of ecstasy comes loose from a branch within you.

Sometimes Will’s teeth push against your flesh, not quite biting; Hannibal, on the other side of your neck, gently does, as though inheriting the expected assault from his would-be lover.

His fingers form a cylinder of delight in you, the pad of his thumb undoing another orgasm in a trio of strokes.

“How gifted we are to receive such delights,” says Hannibal, and as you groan he docks his arousal in your own, filling you so entirely with his cock that you think and feel only the fucking and nothing more, a witless hole.

Will brings your hand to his erection, and there is no uncertainty in that motion, nor in his lips about your breast. His rough tongue, the saliva like a paste jewel on your nipple—

Writhing, panting, you stir through pleasure upon pleasure like the layers of the earth, soft, dark, deep.

Your palm tightens on Will’s cock like a night sea about the lighthouse it yearns to bring down, working him with a knowing purpose. As Hannibal continues his pelvic rolls against you Will draws back, avoiding the early release that your cunning fist would bring.

Not once do the men make contact in a sexual manner with each other, and you don’t understand it, this avoidance of the ultimate lust. Yet perhaps it is that they fuck through you, for when Hannibal achieves his orgasm and moves away Will pushes into you without caution of the other man’s seed still warm in that same place.

He looks up into Hannibal’s eyes as he does it, watching his response as he weaves pleasure from a loom of servile flesh.

But then you make some shapeless sound of need, one hand extended, not quite touching him, and Will's eyes return to you with such intensity that you forget that brief, lost woe.

He mimics Hannibal’s command of your body, hands moving, unrushed, from breast to hip as he opens you further to him. His violence is a mage’s dance, something once done around fire, and charged now through the vessel of a young and studious man.

No wonder, then, that you have neither strength nor will to repel him. You roil, loose-limbed as the dead, only your noise and perspiring response to sensation to evidence your ongoing life.

Hannibal’s arms go loosely around you, holding your head in his lap as Will makes love to you with a brooding fervour. Every touch is like the discovery of a new and indescribable existence, having traversed to some frontier of feeling only sects of pleasure have previously founded.

You know yourself wanted by both men, now, feel it through their mutterings of ecstasy, the unending pressure of mouths and hands upon your skin. They crave your wanting of them in return, lap up your slightest sign of it, tainted as it is by Hannibal’s poison.

Will pours in you his ending, his breath a kiss against your eardrum.

You come again with both men gazing upon you, their faces as close and beautiful together as stringed pearls.

Dimly you fear that they will succeed in their work with you, no matter how fiercely you defy their twofold will.

“Hey,” says the younger man, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Snap out of it. You’re bleeding. Did we hurt you?”

Your first thought is, “yes, of course you did.”

The next, having looked down at the red dart through the milk of semen on your thigh, is the same nip of terror you know from an unexpectedly high number on the scale.

The final cognition—and one almost certainly true—is that this carnival of sex has brought that crimson forth like the incitation of bacchanalian madness.

The shock of it wrings you near dry of the doctor’s drug, a bald winter sobriety.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s my period. I haven’t had one in years.”

#manna fic #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #tw noncon #tw eating disorders #tw bulimia #tw anorexia #tw dubious consent #tw nonconsensual drug use #tw fatphobia