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pricegouge · 2 months

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Fatted Rabbit Part One on AO3

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The car park is empty save one Jeep, hatch open and guarding the owner's back as she pats down her bare chest with a wet cloth, eyes nervous and wary as she watches for intruders. She doesn't spot him at first, too worried about the road and the trail head. She wrings out her cloth and then dips to wet it again in a pail of soapy, steaming water. The motion showcases her ample chest and her soft belly and his tongue lolls. She puts on her shirt and her hands move to her belt, undoing it quickly as she checks her surroundings again for intruders. He only notices he's been spotted when the hands on her zipper go completely still. He raises his gaze to her face and huffs at the look of pure terror he finds there. Not gonna hurt you, honey, he wants to tell her, but he's not entirely sure that's accurate anyway. Suddenly, it's like he's fresh off his torpor again, all beast. The only problem is, he's not sure if he wants to eat her or fuck a cub into her. She smells divine, but he can't deny the way her thick body makes his cock twitch. Good mate, stayed so soft all through the winter. He's not entirely sure what he wants, except closer, but when he puts one massive paw in front of the other, the poor rabbit yips and hops back into her little burrow, hatch slamming behind her as she scrambles further into her tentative safety. Curious, John ambles closer, stands with his paws on her car door to peer in at her.

A/N: no warning for this chapter but later chapters will include: explicit sex, past DV, kidnapping, canon-typical violence, some angst and a bit of a wump but very fluffy overall and I promise a happy ending (at least for John/Bunny)

Spring creeps into the den subtly, slowly, easily. Normally there's some pushes and pulls, a tide that rolls in and muddles his instincts before retreating, leaving him cold and tired once more. It plays nice this year, settles humid and warm in his fur like fingers, a coaxing kind of wake up call that has him chuffing and stirring still a week or so too early to venture out. It's nice, though, this slow ascent to proper consciousness. Has his memory stirring in ways he can't usually process when he's in this form - vague feelings and sensory memories: sun warm sheets, honey on toast. He slips in and out of wakefulness, the steady drip of snow melt counting the days in thirty second intervals. The ground warms, looses its frozen scents for his inspection, a chronicle of the months he'd lost to his torpor: an arid winter, northerly snows, a fox burrow maybe a kilometer uphill. He sleeps some more.

There's a stream about an hour's hike north of the den. Shallow and wide, it never completely freezes, but John knows it is time to greet the new year when it overflows its bed. It wakes him slowly for the last time, the sound of its gurgling having changed to an echoing rush and what that implies is not immediately obvious to him in this state. He's digging into the mud of his den, trying to find a softer bed to cushion his sore hips when he realizes, and he chuffs in annoyance at his own sluggish brain. If the creek has already overflowed its banks, that burrow is likely empty by now. So much for an easy breakfast.

He's too grumpy to properly marvel in the new year. He notes it in little ways as he stalks the forest - the pale sun warming his coat, the pungent mud revealing the path of his next meal - but he is still too groggy to properly appreciate the beauty. It's like this every year, which is the main reason he decides to overwinter in this form. Staying human has its perks, the ease with which he can stock and maintain a warm, safe den not least of which; but these first few weeks of remembering how to function, when instinct and hunger drive him more than rational thought, are difficult to navigate as a human. For him, early spring is a time to check his perimeters, ensure no other boars have encroached on his turf. John Price's domain is Columbia Falls and the areas surrounding it. He can't very well go around pissing on buildings and gouging knife marks into anything that stands still long enough. Hard to explain away stumbling into the nearest diner like a zombie and ordering uncooked greens and steak. Best to leave these beastly urges to his beast form, in the mountains and valleys of the park he's come to claim over the last ten years.

The days are still short, the forest slow in waking. A lazy start the world over, it seems. It takes him days to completely shake off the dregs of his torpor and he loses whole hours at a time, comes to shoulder deep in freezing streams or wetting his muzzle in the blood of a calf. He hopes he isn't cutting too close to the early campers when he's like this. He makes for a big goddamn bear, a right anomaly, draws attention. He hates to be spotted, would hate even more for his hunger to win out while his humanity is still so far beyond his grasp.

Cutting a long, circuitous track around the lands he's claimed, he takes his time about it. It takes him nearly two full weeks, but by the time he's at his northernmost point, he's mostly remembered how to be a human. He gives it a shot sometimes, while hiding in the caves he's emptied. He can't stay himself for too long, still too cold and damp for a naked human, but it's nice to stretch his back out properly, clean his teeth with nails. By the time he makes it back south to West Glacier, he's ready to find his clothes where he'd hid them on the outer edge of town and rejoin society, chomping at the bit for real human interaction. Maybe that's why he doesn't skirt the car park as well as he should. He's been a creature of instinct for months by now, if his basic need is just a simple, warm smile, it makes sense that he'd seek out the areas of the park most likely to find it.

He smells her before he spots her: warm skin and honey, artificial strawberry scent and a natural musk that has his mouth watering. Human, must be - racoons didn't often use scented soaps - he ought to steer clear, especially if her scent is already having this effect. He's never lost control and killed a human, doesn't want to ruin his streak today. But he's base driven, an instinctual animal, and he's padding along before he can really even think it over. He clambers through springy undergrowth, chuffing excitedly when he finds undisturbed greens. It's his final warning before he ventures onto high traffic areas: the green fences denoting areas in which small game is too timid to linger. He simply eats those too and carries on.

She's got the back seat torn out, a soft mattress taking up the raised stage area there. Likely some storage underneath. Instead of a passenger seat, a neat little shelf houses a cooler and a hot plate along with some kitchen essentials, from which she's grabbed a knife. He chuffs a laugh, breath steaming the window. He sniffs along its seal, wondering how long she's been hiding away in this paltry den. Few weeks, maybe. A month. She must be cold, poor rabbit, no bucks to keep her warm. She looks on the verge of tears now, and he lowers in sympathy. He should clear out, let her be, but he's addicted to the way her chest rises with each labored breath. He wants to nuzzle there, let her run her fingers through his hair as he kisses and bites and-. Oh, that's human. He wants to be human for that. Good. Means he doesn't really want to eat her.

Still, always good to leave an impression.

So he stalks around the Jeep for a while longer, careful to keep his movements as calm and non-threatening as they can be. She loosens up eventually, drops her knife when it's obvious he's not going to roll her little house right over. He wonders why she hasn't driven off yet and then spots her keys on the ground next to her rapidly cooling bath water. Bad luck, that. He debates waiting her out just so he can show he's trustworthy, but he figures she's got a whole den, and he's got a car park so he'd probably lose that venture. Ah well, he has her scent now. He'll be able to find her again. For good measure, he marks her car, chuffing in laughter when he can hear her complain about it. He hides in the tree line after he leaves. She waits another half hour or so before cautiously opening her hatch and retrieving her items, dumping the soapy water on the gravel. Illegal, that, but at least it's not the grass. Once she has her keys, she doesn't hesitate to pull out. John lingers close to the road and watches her watching him as she passes, her eyes more curious than scared now. Brave rabbit. Smart rabbit. Juicy little thing.

Next>>

#christ this is mortifying why is it that posting here seems way scarier than ao3?#bearshifter!price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x you #fatted rabbit

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sadnymi · 3 months

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"My Dreams Are Just Dreams... Until They're Not" modern Mattheo riddle × reader [ chapter three ]

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language,childhood trauma ,abusing, cheating ( not the main characters)

Please understand that from this chapter onwards, the story will delve into darker themes. I urge you to pay close attention to the trigger warnings provided.

words: 2,216

Reading Time : 8mins 26sec

Summery: A week at my best friend's beach house, surrounded by our friends as we meet her soon-to-be fiancé's companions, marks a turning point where the very fabric of my beliefs begins to unravel. It's during this week that I encounter the boy who incessantly appears in my dreams, blurring the distinction between the world of my subconscious and the tangible reality before me. Matthe Riddle emerges as the poison I willingly imbibe, a curse that feels akin to a dream, weaving its tendrils into the very essence of my being.

[ Gif is not mine ]

Red – the hue of blood, the symbol of power, the embodiment of pain. All I could see was red, engulfing my vision in a swirling, crimson haze.

“ you can’t hide forever princess “

Close your eyes and breathe he can’t hurt you- if you can’t see him that’s mean he won’t be able to see you

“ comon , daddy hates waiting princess, he’s going to punish you when he finds you “ shut up - shut up - shut up

Then I hear it—the sound of his steps, each one drawing him nearer and nearer.

“ he’s not coming you mean nothing to him you know? Why would the heir of the most powerful house care about someone insignificant, someone so worthless like you “

“ liar “ I screamed and then it was red all over again all I saw was red

I jolt awake, gasping for air as the tendrils of the nightmare slowly release their grip on me. My heart pounds erratically in my chest, echoing the frantic rhythm of my dreams. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I take deep, ragged breaths, trying to ground myself in reality.

I sit up in bed, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the nightmare. I run a hand through my disheveled hair, trying to calm the racing thoughts in my mind.

" must not fear," I repeated

" | must not let it consume me, fear has no power if he did not find a body to take “

I rush to the window, desperate for a breath of fresh air to quell the turmoil swirling within me. But as I peer outside, my heart lurches in my chest at the sight of him, his gaze locking onto mine. A wave of uncertainty washes over me, leaving me paralyzed with indecision—uncertain if this encounter is real or merely a continuation of the haunting dreams that plague my nights.

Fingers trembling, I hastily pull on my hoodie, seeking refuge in its familiar embrace as I make my way downstairs. Each step feels heavy with apprehension as I navigate the familiar path to the spot where I last saw him standing outside my window. My mind races with questions, my emotions tangled in a web of fear and longing.

As I reach the spot, the air around me feels charged with tension, thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions. I stand there, searching the darkness for any sign of him, my heart pounding in my chest as I grapple with the overwhelming rush of emotions that threaten to consume me.

"Please, tell me I'm not dreaming," I implore, my voice trembling with fear as I search his eyes for reassurance.

He appears bewildered but responds softly, "You're not dreaming, love."

The weight of his words offers a brief respite, but the turmoil within me refuses to be quelled. "What's wrong with me?" I whisper, tears threatening to spill over. "Something is wrong with me."

The floodgates open, and I succumb to the overwhelming wave of emotion, tears streaming down my cheeks in front of him. I despise my vulnerability, yet I cannot suppress the torrent of fear that grips me—the echo of the monster's voice from my nightmare still clawing at the edges of my consciousness.

"I... I don't know what to do," I manage to say between sobs, my words barely audible through the tears.

Suddenly, and with surprising swiftness, he enfolds me in his arms, drawing me close until I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my chest. The warmth of his embrace offers a fleeting sense of familiarity, a small respite from the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf me.

As I bury my face in his chest, the tears continue to flow, unchecked and unbidden. Despite my efforts to maintain composure, I find myself crumbling under the weight of my fears and insecurities.

But he holds me steadfastly, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm raging within me. With each gentle stroke of his hand against my back, I feel a measure of the tension begin to ease,

In the safety of his embrace, I allow myself to release the pent-up emotions that have been consuming me, to surrender to the vulnerability that lies at the heart of my fear. And as he continues to hold me, offering silent reassurance and unwavering support

Stepping back slightly to meet his gaze, I find his hands still wrapped around me, offering unwavering support in the midst of my emotional turmoil.

"I... I think we know each other," I begin, my voice trembling with uncertainty. "I know you said we don't, but I can't shake this feeling. It's as though I've known you before, as though we're connected in some inexplicable way. I can't explain it, but I feel it deep within me. Maybe it's from another life, or maybe there's something more at play here. But I know you—I feel like I always have."

His touch is gentle as he wipes away my tears, his eyes filled with a tenderness that takes my breath away. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving only the two of us standing together in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

And then, with a softness in his voice that sends shivers down my spine, he responds, his words carrying the weight of unspoken truths and hidden desires.

He gently suggests, "You should go back to sleep and rest. Let me take you to your room, love. We can continue this conversation when you're feeling better."

Feeling vulnerable, I murmur, my voice barely audible, "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

He meets my gaze with unwavering sincerity. "I think many things about you, but questioning your sanity is not one of them."

With his reassurance echoing in my mind, he guides me back inside the house, his steady presence a source of comfort in the darkness. But as we reach the doorway to my room, I hesitate, a wave of unease washing over me at the thought of being alone.

"I don't want to go back to my room," I admit, the words tumbling out in a rush. The thought of being alone in the darkness fills me with an overwhelming sense of dread, and I cling to him, desperate for his presence to chase away the lingering shadows of fear.

He pauses, gently brushing the hair away from my face before speaking softly, "Would you prefer to stay in my room instead?"

"Can I?" I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper, unsure if I'm crossing a boundary by accepting his invitation.

"Yes, you can," he replies with a tender smile, his voice a gentle caress that soothes my nerves. With a grateful nod, I acquiesce, allowing him to lead us both to his room.

His room is a sanctuary of simplicity and cleanliness, a haven of tranquility amidst the chaos of my thoughts. The soft hues and minimalist decor create an atmosphere of serenity, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

As he guides me to the bed, his touch is tender and reassuring, his fingers lingering against my skin as he tucks the blankets around me with care. With delicate precision, he begins to play with my hair, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.

His touch is intimate yet gentle, his fingers threading through the strands with a tenderness that speaks volumes. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation, allowing myself to be carried away by the warmth of his touch.

"I feel bad, it's your bed," I murmur softly, a pang of guilt tugging at my heart as I acknowledge the intrusion.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in closer. "Don't worry about that, love," he murmurs huskily, his voice sending a shiver down my spine his lips brush against my cheek with a feather-light touch, eliciting a soft sigh of contentment as I close my eyes.

As I finally begin to drift into a peaceful slumber, cocooned in his embrace, I feel his lips press against my forehead in a gentle kiss. "Sleep well, my love," he whispers softly, his words a promise of comfort and security.

In the hazy borderland between wakefulness and sleep, I feel his lips tenderly brush against my forehead in a gentle kiss. catch the faint echo of his words something that sounds like how he’s going to fix everything whispered into the stillness of the night..

As I wake, I find myself enveloped in a sense of peace that has eluded me for far too long. There's no lingering fear, no remnants of the nightmares that used to haunt my sleep. It's been a year since I last woke in terror, a year since the darkness of my dreams consumed me

"You're awake," he says, his voice breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

I turn to him, the memories of what I said to him flooding back, and my smile fades as I blurt out, "I'm so sorry, Mattheo. Oh my God."

He sits beside me on the bed, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions. "It's okay, love. It was just a nightmare. You were terrified, but it's just the fear talking. There's no need to apologize."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. "I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling ashamed of my panicked reaction.

"Don't apologize, it’s okay “

"I must have scared you," I murmur.

He smiles, his eyes warm and understanding. "Believe me, it will take more than that to scare me."

I glance at the clock and realize how late it is. "Oh, God," I mutter again , feeling a surge of panic at the time.

"You looked so peaceful sleeping," he says softly, his words tinged with affection. "I didn't want to wake you up."

I want to tell him how grateful I am for his presence, how his calming influence eased the terror of my nightmare. "It's been a while since I slept like that," I admit quietly.

"I must go and get ready if I want to go to this party," I say, reluctantly tearing myself away from his comforting presence.

I rise from the bed, casting a shy glance towards him, my lips curving into a smile. "Thank you," I murmur softly, feeling the warmth of his nod and the softness of his smile drawing me in.

As I make my way back to my room, butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Relief floods over me as I reach my room, grateful that no one witnessed my departure from his room. Yet, as I settle in, anxiety grips me, threatening to overwhelm my senses. I try to distract myself, my thoughts wandering to someone with black hair and captivating eyes.

Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, closing my eyes and savoring the memory of his soft lips against my cheek. It's a fleeting moment of solace in the midst of my tumultuous emotions, a reminder of the undeniable connection that binds us together.

After a quick shower, I begin to prepare for the day ahead. Deciding on an off-shoulder, short red dress, I carefully slip it on, relishing in its vibrant hue. Sad started to put some makeup on couldn’t help but wonder what mattheo would thought about my look

I heard a knock on the door, and Sarah entered, concern etched on her face. She inquired if I was alright and mentioned that I had missed breakfast.

“ you sure you’re okay baby ? “

I smiled “ yes , never been better “

"You look amazing," she remarked with a smile.

I returned the compliment, "So are you. Green is definitely your color."

Sarah grinned, adjusting her emerald dress. "Thanks! I was a bit hesitant about it at first, but now I'm glad I chose it."

"It suits you perfectly," I assured her, admiring her confidence.

As we continued chatting, Sarah's presence brought a sense of ease to the room, and I felt grateful for her

“ I will be waiting for you downstairs “ I nodded with a smile

I frantically searched for my small bag before making my way to join the group. Suddenly, I heard it—a sound that chilled me to the core. It didn't sound like a dream; it was too real, too sinister.

Driven by an inexplicable force, I followed the sound, my heart pounding with fear. It led me to a door I hadn't noticed before. Hesitating only for a moment, I pushed it open, plunging into darkness so deep I could scarcely see my hand in front of my face.

And then, I saw them—three monstrous figures from my nightmares, lying in wait for me. Their eyes gleamed with malice as they fixated on me, sending shivers down my spine.

The pain and terror I thought I had escaped flooded back in an instant, threatening to overwhelm me. Among them was the source of my deepest nightmares, the embodiment of all my fears—my stepfather.

"You kept daddy waiting, princess," his voice echoed through the darkness, dripping with menace.

Paralyzed with fear, I could do nothing but stare at him, the realization sinking in that my nightmare was far from over.

Tag list:

@hereticdance

#mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader

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marvelmusing · 1 year

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Someone Special

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Vampire!Darklina x Fem!Human!Reader

Summary: After becoming lost in the forest, you begin to lose hope for your survival. Then you wake in a warm house with two beautiful people doting on you.

Warnings [18+]: soft!dark warnings, reader doesn’t consent to being turned but she deals with it pretty well, dub-con because they both subtly use compulsion on the reader, brief mentions/allusions to sex, dub-con nudity (changing the readers clothes while sleeping), mentions of injury and death, blood consumption, usual vampire themes, biting, etc.

My Masterlist

Shudders wrack through your body as you stumble over a slippery log. The heavy downpour of rain has made everything slippery, and you’re concerned about the scrape on your calf.

Rainwater might wash the steady stream of blood away as soon as it blossoms to the surface of your skin, but the dirt and foliage from the woods clings painfully to your wound and you worry that it might become infected.

The pain in your hands has numbed, minor wounds from another fall rendered almost unnoticeable due to the coldness of your fingers. Drawing yourself closer together, you wrap the soaked fabric of your coat tighter around your body as you shake.

Sunset might have already happened, but with the dark clouds and thick tree branches shielding your view of the sky you have no way of knowing if night has already descended upon you.

The forest is dangerous at night. Everyone knows that.

Hopelessness has your body shaking with pathetic little sobs as you search around you like a helpless puppy looking for its mother.

You don’t know what to do.

Every muscle in your body aches with the tension of walking for so long and shivering in an attempt to conserve whatever limited warmth lingers in the centre of your body. All you want to do is collapse into a warm bed and sleep for eternity.

Even just lying on a dry patch of land seems appealing for a brief moment. But then reality hits you. Curling up amongst the undergrowth seems much more painful than poetic to you. If you stop now, hypothermia will claim you. Unless some beast in the forest finds your weakened body and decides to maul you to death.

Finding a smoother patch of grass is a godsend for your sensitive feet, as pain now shoots up your legs with every step - especially your wounded leg. If you could see properly through the lashing rain, you might have noticed that the grass looks like a subtle pathway. A secret path, that very few know about.

Dark patches sparkle over your vision and you struggle to tamper down your panic as you realise you might lose consciousness soon. Standing still, you lean against a tree, frowning when you spot a shadowed shape in the distance. It almost looks like a house.

Then your vision goes dark.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fingers thread gently through your hair, a soft humming guiding you into consciousness.

A crackling fire is the first thing you see. Burning away underneath a huge ornate mantelpiece made of what looks like marble with shimmering gold meandering through the textured stone.

Glossy hardwood floors glisten under the firelight but a thick rug protects you from the chill of the floor as you become aware that you’re sitting on the ground.

Plush velvet cushions surround you, supporting your body as you lie with your head tilted back onto someone’s lap as they sit on the seat of the sofa that your back is leaning against. There’s a soft blanket draped over your body, though you still feel rather numb and therefore unable to enjoy the luxurious texture.

Opening your eyes fully, you tilt your head back further to see the person who’s still playing with your hair.

She’s beautiful.

A delicate oval face with creamy skin that glows warm with the flicker of firelight that dances over her features.

Dark hair hangs loose over her shoulders, cascading in casual waves, almost entwining itself with the pretty lace at the bodice of her nightdress. Black ribbons tie the front of it together, and you force yourself not to stare at her breasts as she leans forwards.

When you look back up towards her face, you find her dark eyes already on you and the breath halts in your throat as her pink lips curl into a soft smile.

Then she glances over to the other side of the room.

“Sasha, she’s awake.”

Blinking in confusion, you look over in the direction of her gaze.

It takes everything in you for your jaw not to drop at the sight of the man sitting in the armchair by the fire.

He sits relaxed, his long legs widened over the width of the leather chair, and you swallow hard at the sight of his trouser clad thighs. His clothing looks a little damp and some strands of his dark hair cling to his forehead.

A crystal glass sits on his thigh, cradled loosely by nimble fingers before he raises it to his lips and swallows down the contents without removing his pitch-black eyes from you.

He stands and in this moment you feel so tiny, sitting on the floor with this beautiful woman still smoothing back your hair and this breath-taking man towering above you.

He moves closer before he stoops down to examine your face intently. His eyes are even darker up close, threatening to swallow you whole.

“Hello, little one. How are you feeling?”

Shivering, you tuck yourself closer towards the fire. His question has brought back your awareness of your own body and the aches and pains have returned. But one feeling overrules all the others.

“Cold,” you whisper.

He hums in understanding.

“I know,” he says gently. His voice is smooth but there’s an edge of command there that has you listening to every word. “We can’t warm you up too quickly, or you might go into shock.”

“Are you hungry, my lovely?”

The question comes from the woman above you and before you can answer you’re tipping your head back to admire her again. There’s a haziness in your eyes as you nod, and she hums with a pleased smile.

“Let’s sit you up.”

Before you’ve even processed the man’s words, he’s hooked his arm underneath your legs, drawing you up against his chest. He places you down beside the woman, draping your legs over her thighs and you moan softly at the warmth of her.

Without any prior thought, you bury yourself against her, nuzzling your face into her chest and the hollow of her throat with a small sound of pleasure. Arms curling around her body, you shudder at the flood of warmth spreading over your skin.

It’s then that you realise how little you’re wearing. Just your underwear.

A flustered blush rushes over your cheeks, burning your body as you feel the weight of their gaze on your almost naked figure.

Then you realise that the underwear you’re wearing isn’t even yours. It’s a matching sheer lace set, delicate black patterns curling perfectly around the shape of your breasts, adorned with intricate gold embellishments at the edge of the cup.

Feeling the tension enter your body, the two of them exchange a glance, a wordless conversation conducted within a few seconds of eye contact.

“Do you remember what happened to you?”

The woman’s voice is soft and soothing as she brushes her fingers gently over your cheek. A shiver runs through you as you shake your head.

“Aleksander found you out in the woods.”

At the sound of the man’s name - Aleksander - you turn to look at him.

He meets your gaze steadily and you notice that his clothing is almost dry now. But you remember the dampness you had seen clinging to his hair.

“If it wasn’t for your heartbeat, I would have thought you were dead,” he says. His gaze turns fond as he looks at the woman. “My Alina is rather fond of strays, so I brought you home.”

Shakily, you draw in a breath and come to terms with how lucky you got, completely ignoring the comment about strays, though the woman - Alina - scoffs lightly at Aleksander. She gives him a pointed look that you don’t understand before she returns her attention to you.

“All of your clothes were either ruined or soaked through,” she explains. “And skin to skin contact is the best way to get you warm.”

As she strokes her palm over your thigh your eyes flutter closed, nodding in agreement. Her touch is electric, warming you down to your very soul.

A pair of arms wrap around your waist, Aleksander pulling your lower body flush against his hips. He must have rolled the sleeves of his shirt up at some point because the bare skin of his forearms is hot against your stomach.

Alina picks up a bowl from the small table beside her and your stomach groans at the scent of something rich and savoury.

“Slow sips,” she instructs you.

Nodding, you lean forwards as she holds the bowl to your lips.

The delicate porcelain is warm against your lips, and you sip tentatively at the creamy red soup. There’s a sweet tang to the liquid and you swallow down a larger mouthful eagerly. After a few more you lean heavily into the bowl, whining when it’s pulled away from you.

As you try to follow the bowl, a firm hand settles at the back of your neck, keeping you pinned in place. Pouting, you frown petulantly in protest.

Alina raises a brow sternly at you which immediately softens your features into something more apologetic.

“Just hold still and take what we give you,” Aleksander murmurs in a low voice.

Once you nod in agreement, Alina returns the bowl to your lips.

Aleksander’s hold on you remains unwavering, allowing you to sit with your mouth open and accept the warm liquid that Alina pours down your throat. All the while, he whispers soft praises into your ear.

“There’s a good girl. Swallow it all down for us.”

There’s a warmth in your stomach once you’re finished, making you feel warm and sleepy. Eyes fluttering heavily, you sink down against Aleksander’s chest.

Once Alina has placed the bowl aside she draws you into her arms, allowing you to brush your nose against the ribbons on her nightdress before you settle your cheek onto the patch of her bare chest.

Her heartbeat is steady and rhythmic, a perfect unfaltering beat that lulls you closer to sleep.

Aleksander’s hands sinks into your hair, squeezing gently at the back of your neck to relieve the tension there. A small moan of pleasure catches in your throat as you begin to drift off.

Their voices are low as they talk with one another. Whilst you can hear their words, understanding them is hard, and reacting is even harder, so you remain still as sleep begins to settle into your body.

“Happy with this one, Alya?”

A soft hum of agreement and then you feel her fingers stroke gently over your cheek.

“She’s so sweet. Our little baby.”

There’s the sound of a kiss being pressed to Alina’s forehead.

“I’m assuming the spell worked?”

“She’s consumed blood from both of us. With the ordeal she’s been through it’s likely the entire turning process will pass while she’s asleep.”

Aleksander breathes out a wide smile.

“After all these centuries. Our own little fledgling vampire.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There’s a dryness to your throat and lips as you wake and although they aren’t comfortable feelings the ache in your stomach has you forgetting those discomforts instantly.

Whimpering in pain, you writhe against the mattress you’re lying on, nudging into the people sleeping on either side of you. Aleksander and Alina.

He wakes immediately, noticing your distress and how your nails are inching towards your body to scrape at the uncomfortable feeling crawling over your skin.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, his voice gravelly from sleep. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

A shudder rolls down your spine at his command and you whine in pain. He breathes out a small sigh of realisation and relief fills you - at least he understands whatever is happening to you.

“Alya darling, wake up.”

The woman beside you grumbles quietly but soon her eyes are open, looking over at you.

“Is it feeding time?” she mumbles sleepily.

For some reason, Aleksander doesn’t need to nod for her to understand what is happening. But you’re still clueless.

With wide eyes, you watch her unlace the front of her nightdress, revealing her soft breasts. She shuffles backwards, propping herself up against some pillows as Aleksander takes hold of your chin.

“Open your mouth.”

With a frown, you do as he says, allowing him to tilt your head back and press his thumb against your face - just over the spot where one of your canines meets the gum.

There’s a sharp pain in the front of your mouth and Aleksander holds tightly onto your chin to prevent you from closing your mouth as your canines extend into fangs.

Aleksander smiles, tilting your head from side to side for him to admire your new pointed fangs.

“Oh Alya, look at how cute they are.”

Alina’s expression is filled with delight which softens into something more doting as she observes the confusion and pain in your eyes.

“Come here, my lovely.”

That’s all the encouragement you need to bury yourself into her open arms. Frightened whimpers prickle in your throat that she soothes away with a few gentle strokes to your head.

Cupping the back of your head, she guides your face down to be level with one of her breasts.

“Take a bite,” she instructs you.

Shaking your head, you try to move away but Aleksander is there, cradling the back of your head to keep you close to her breasts. Somehow, you can hear her heartbeat, as steady as it was last night, thrumming beneath her skin.

Whilst you don’t fully understand what is happening, what the two of them have done to you, the thought of hurting Alina stops you from doing as she said.

“It’s soft here,” she explains, giving her breast an enticing squeeze that makes your mouth water. “Easy enough for a little baby like you to feed on - and it feels good for me.”

That convinces you further, but you still look up to meet her dark eyes. She nods in reassurance.

Leaning forwards, you allow Aleksander to hold the majority of the weight of your head as you relax enough to sink your teeth into Alina’s breast.

She moans at the painful sensation, humming softly in pleasure as you begin to draw blood from her.

The hot liquid fills your mouth in a pleasant stream, enough for you to drink leisurely, suckling on her skin. Sighing in relief, you curl up in her lap with your legs draped together on the opposite side of her body.

The pressure of Aleksander’s hand at the nape of your neck helps keep you grounded in the moment, letting you enjoy the taste without pondering the implications.

Alina strokes her hand over your stomach, giving you small affectionate scratches every now and then which sends a shiver over your skin.

Occasionally you trace your tongue over her nipple, capturing drops of blood that have lingered there.

They both praise you constantly, telling you how well you’re doing, how sweet you look in Alina’s arms, how perfect you are for them.

Once your eyes close for a long period of time, and you find opening them again to be too much effort, they begin talking to one another as if you’re no longer in the room suckling on Alina’s breast.

“She’s making a mess of herself, Sasha.”

Too consumed by drinking, you don’t react when Aleksander lifts your leg up, parting your thighs so that they can both examine the sticky mess of arousal glistening there through the thin strip of fabric they had chosen for your underwear.

“I’ll clean it up once she’s finished feeding.”

“Our poor girl must be so desperate,” she remarks suggestively.

“No, Alina,” he says firmly. “It’s too soon after the turning. It would overwhelm her.”

She sighs, the motion of it rocking against your face though it doesn’t disrupt your feeding.

“But Sasha, look at her.”

Her fingers brush over your cheek and make a small happy sound at the affectionate touch. Aleksander’s lips press against your temple, and he inhales the scent of Alina’s blood eagerly.

He guides you into releasing her skin from your fangs and you whine at the loss of your new favourite treat.

“I know, sweet girl. My Alina tastes good, doesn’t she?”

Mindlessly, you nod in agreement.

“But I want you to go to sleep now, little one.”

He draws you into his arms, enveloping you fully into his embrace and you melt at the feeling of finally being warm and safe. Blinking heavily, in mere seconds you’re falling fast asleep.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When you wake you’re alone.

Frowning, you sit up in an unfamiliar bed. It isn’t the same bed you had been in with Aleksander and Alina. That bed had been large, the headboard carved from thick dark wood, and there had been black sheets over the mattress.

This bed is almost the complete opposite. It is a large bed, but that is the only similarity.

The bed is circular, with a beautiful white canopy that hangs down from the ceiling to drape over the side of the piece of furniture. The fabric is almost transparent, made from a fine netting material that has been decorated with shimmering silver threads in the pattern of different constellations.

There is no headboard, just a low metal border surrounding the entire bed that would make it difficult for you to climb out by yourself - though not impossible. The bars of metal are interwoven together mimicking delicate vines.

Up above, where the canopy begins as a small circle, a beautiful collection of crystals dangle in mid-air, casting tiny rainbows onto each other and the soft netting of the canopy.

“I hope everything is to your liking.”

For some reason, you don’t startle at the sound of Aleksander’s voice, as if you had already subconsciously noticed his presence. Turning your head towards him, you watch as he steps further into the room.

“What did you do to me?” you ask in a whisper.

He regards you for a long moment.

“I think you already know.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you nod. Despite the panic in your chest, your heartbeat remains steady, as does your breathing. That must be a side effect of becoming a vampire.

“Why?”

Something glistens in his eyes, as he walks slowly around the bed. Then he stops. There’s a distance in his gaze as he speaks quietly.

“Alina and I cannot have children. We have had countless friends over the centuries. Some decided to become like us. None of them survived.”

Slowly, you edge closer towards him. He brushes the fabric of the canopy aside and you realise there have been several openings cut into the material. The soft whiteness of the netting makes his dark features stand out dramatically.

“There’s something different about you. Something special.”

Confusion fills your eyes, and you shake your head, looking away from him. Concern fills his features at the sight of your distress, but you manage to speak before he can ask you what is wrong.

“I’m not special,” you protest quietly. “There’s nothing special about me.”

“I told you that you were almost dead when I found you.”

Remembering sitting by the fire between the two of them, when Aleksander had explained that he found you alone in the woods after you lost consciousness, you nod.

“The only reason I found you was because your heartbeat was so strong. Your body was ice cold, rigid with exhaustion, and your leg was infected, but your heart wasn’t giving up.”

At the mention of your leg, you look down, lifting up the edge of the nightdress you’re wearing to examine the skin there. Nothing. No trace of a wound. No scar. Not even some bruising. Whatever they had done had healed it completely.

“I couldn’t leave you there. Not when I knew that I could save you. However slight the chances may have been.”

A tear traces its way down your cheek as you remember that this is the man who saved your life. Without him, you would have died in the woods. Even when you arrived at their house, you would most likely have died if they hadn’t turned you.

“Thank you.”

“You won’t be able to leave the house for a while - for your own safety.”

You nod in understanding. Being a vampire will take some adapting to but at least you have Aleksander and Alina to help you along the way. He opens up the nearby wardrobe, a tall piece of furniture painted white and silver.

“As a result, the majority of your wardrobe is filled with sleepwear. I hope you don’t mind, but Alina is rather fond of nightdresses, and we wanted you to be comfortable. If there’s something else you would prefer-”

“No,” you say quickly. When Aleksander turns back to you a blush warms over your cheeks and you play with the delicate hem of the dress. “I like them. They’re very pretty.”

“You look very pretty in them.”

The warmth on your cheeks burns hotter in response to his words which gives you the courage to ask him,

“Would you pick one out for me to wear today?”

A softness fills his eyes as he nods slowly.

“Of course.”

He reaches for a clasp you hadn’t noticed before, allowing him to open a section of the bars surrounding your mattress like a gate. He must see the mixture of surprise and disappointment on your face, accompanied by the confusion you’re feeling. This bed isn’t a cage, why are you disappointed?

“What’s wrong?” Aleksander asks.

“Nothing.” He lifts a brow sternly and you look down as you admit, “I thought you were going to lift me out.”

Once your gaze lifts shyly to meet his, Aleksander closes the gate and extends his arms towards you, curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture. Moving on your knees, you shuffle closer to him.

He lifts you in one smooth motion and you cling tightly onto his shirt as you become momentarily airborne. His hands are firm on your waist, and he gifts you a little kiss on the tip of your nose once your feet return to solid land.

It doesn’t take him long to pick out another dress for you to wear. As he considers his options, you admire the sight inside your wardrobe. Lace and silks and sparkling embroidery. All for you.

Aleksander asks if you want to dress yourself, but either he or Alina must have changed your clothes twice already since you arrived here, so you don’t mind him removing the dress you had slept in to put you into a new one.

His selection for today is a short black dress made of silk, adorned with white lace at the hem and the underside of your breasts. There’s a small bundle of ribbons near your cleavage, to keep the dress closed at the top.

“Do you know how to tie the ribbons?” he asks.

Looking down at the complex tangle of ribbons on your bodice, you frown and shake your head. Aleksander smiles kindly, stepping forward to tie them himself.

“Alina will be more than happy to teach you. I will admit I’m far better at undoing them.”

When your gaze snaps to his he gives you a boyish wink and your cheeks flush with warmth once again.

Once he’s slipped a matching black robe over your shoulders and retrieved a rather fluffy pair of slippers for you to wear, Aleksander takes you by the hand and walks you through the house to find Alina.

Aleksander seems to know exactly where she is, though he doesn’t mind stopping so that you can admire the large windows that overlook the grounds of their estate, or the ornate carvings along the staircase, or the portrait of the two of them that sits tucked in a corner.

When you reach the library, your jaw drops.

Aleksander chuckles softly at the spellbound look on your face.

Bookshelves tower high above you, with thin ladders attached to tracks dotted around. You’ve never seen so many books in your life. The majority of them are leather-bound, though you do spot some more modern looking titles tucked away in a darkened corner.

Huge windows illuminate the space, cool daylight casting rays over the reading nook which Aleksander is directing you towards.

Alina sits perched on a velvet chaise sofa, an open book lying discarded on her lap in favour of looking at you. She smiles widely when your eyes meet.

“How are you feeling, my lovely?”

Looking down shyly, you squeeze Aleksander’s hand before you murmur,

“Good.”

He nudges you towards Alina and soon you’re settled by her side with one of her arms around you, whilst the other traces over your bare thigh as she admires your dress.

“This is pretty,” she says in a quiet voice that makes you shiver.

“Thank you.”

She turns towards Aleksander.

“How did I know you would pick one of the black ones?” she remarks teasingly, her eyes sparkling as she watches him sit down on the chaise opposite you.

“You must be a psychic, Alya dear.”

She grins at him. Then she turns back to you, smoothing your hair aside as she asks,

“Do you like everything in your room?”

“It’s wonderful. I love it.”

She practically beams at your words.

“We’ve been collecting pieces over the centuries, waiting for someone special to have them.”

Glancing over at Aleksander, he meets your eyes and nods in reassurance. You are special.

It must have been so lonely for the two of them, to only rely on each other, failing to extend their family beyond themselves for centuries.

“Would you tell me about them?” you ask her, nestling against her side and propping your head onto her shoulder.

She lights up immediately, telling you about how your bed was made in 18th Century Shu Han and that the canopy was handmade by a half-Shu designer who lived on the Ravkan border.

Aleksander smiles fondly at the sight of you listening so intently whilst Alina talks happily about the room the two of them have been assembling for centuries.

They’ve waited a very long time for you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

#darklina x reader #vampire!aleksander morozova #vampire!alina starkov #vampire au #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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focsle · 10 months

Note

This may be a strange question, but is there any prep you think someone should do before reading moby dick? Or just anything worth bearing in mind for it? Especially for someone whos only read a small handfull of books that old

Hmmm I don't know exactly but here's my stream of consciousness answer to this hahaha.

I don't think it's a book that requires necessary prep to jump into (though it's always helpful and enlightening to hear other people's thoughts and analysis about it while you're reading). As far as the age of the book, a lot of people tend to be surprised at how modern and humorous the language is, though it's very dense and winding. I think it's a book that asks you to spend time with it--it's not one to skim. It has, mostly, very short chapters though that help make what it's saying digestible. But if you're jumping into it expecting an adventure novel about hunting a white whale, that's not gonna be it! I describe the process of reading Moby-Dick as watching a man unravel his soul in front of you for hundreds of pages. It's all his meditations and grapplings thrown out in the open. And maybe, in witnessing one man's soul unraveling, you can find little pieces that resonate with your own.

I think it's always good to bear in mind the time in which it was written: 1840s into the 1850s United States: rapidly industrializing, a period of European immigration in ways the country hadn't seen in the decades prior, the continued violence and land theft wrought upon indigenous people in growing westward expansion and idea of Manifest Destiny really making itself felt in a white American identity, a country extremely polarized and filled with tension around the institution of slavery and fugitive slave acts also destabilizing the lives of Black people in free states, and ultimately a nation fast on its way to hurtling into Civil War. It's a critical decade when it comes to the path of the country and I think many of the questions Moby-Dick raises arise from its time. And that time, if you ask me, feels startlingly close to our moment right now in a number of ways. I think the 2020s will be just as critical a decade. I'm rambling now, forgive me. Call me Ishmael. And also that it was written during the golden age of whaling, where it was one of the largest economic sectors in the country and so much of the energy and product consumption was linked to it. Whaling was a Big Deal, and so many of the issues mentioned above are inherently woven into the industry. I feel like an 1850s American whaleship was very much a male microcosm of its own country. And I think the Pequod in Moby-Dick reads that way as well.

Getting a cursory sense of Herman Melville too can also give an insight into this work. Because--this is perhaps controversial of me to say from a Literary Analysis standpoint but--so many of his books are autobiographical to some degree. He puts a lot of himself into them, I think. I think his personal experiences, at least to some degree, inform the sort of questions he asks and conclusions he reaches in the book.

The book has a LOT of references ranging from the historical to the biblical. There are podcasts that dissect Moby Dick chapters (tho I'm bad at listening to podcasts so I can't recommend a specific one). Power Moby Dick is a meticulously annotated virtual copy that can give context where needed.

Historian Nathaniel Philbrick wrote a book called Why Read Moby-Dick. He's the one who called the book a metaphysical survival manual which I think is such an apt way to describe it and the way I perceive it too. The book however was published in 2011 and has a very like.....Liberal White American 'Obama Is President So The Trajectory of the Country is All Lookin' Up From Here We're All Good Now' skew that, especially today, reads rather flat. But there are still interesting things he brings up.

Very silly, but there's also a book called Our Daily Breach by Dennis Patrick Slattery that engages an examination of each chapter through a personal lens, if that's your sort of Thing. If you're a Journaler.

Anyway! Read how you like! I think one can go in blind and when stumbling across something that feels confusing or intriguing, can follow that thread after reading the chapter. But it is an interesting novel to hear other opinions on (and man have the opinions been written. Throw a stick on jstor and you'll find 8 million essays), because it's a very weird book that can be read so many ways and mean so many things.

#asks #anonymous #wow sorry long lol #THIS IS A LONG WAY TO SAY 'no' but dig in if you want to

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bookreviewcoffee · 5 months

Text

Mrs Dalloway Virginia Woolf.

"Aren't we all prisoners? She read a wild play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell and realised that it's the same in life - we all scratch on the walls."

In "Mrs Dalloway" you will find a stream of consciousness where the feelings and thoughts of the characters intertwine, creating a tight knot that seems to require someone to cut it in one fell swoop, so that its constituent parts fly apart and an invigorating gust of air rushes in, penetrating into all the corners of the soul, sweeping away from its path the stone blocks of the established, overlapping years, clearing the space and launching a new process, where it is possible to make completely different decisions, rethinking the life lived and forming the outlines of the future. It is curious how the author accommodates so many characters in one day, penetrating into their inner workings and extracting the course of their thoughts, while combining the characters so that they are cleverly woven into the general framework, without being knocked out of what is happening by an absurd puff. The work raises interesting questions, among which I would like to highlight the following: life and death - the joy of being on the planet and hopelessness, lack of emotion and desire to live, understanding and superficiality of perception of the problem by others; love and its manifestation in all its diverse spectrum, which affects a person, changing it, breaking and supporting; is it possible other development of the situation than what is predestined? Virginia Woolf knew what she was writing about, diving and pushing off the dark deep bottom, surfacing on dry land, which, in my opinion, adds to the genuineness of the work.

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karniss-bg3 · 7 months

Text

No Escape

Content warning: This fanfic contains mentions of suicide, intrusive thoughts, self deprecation and self harm. Please do not read below the cut if you are not in the head space to consume this kind of material.

Word count: 554

Summary: Kar’niss awakens to find he is not alone, in his head at least.

***

Filth. Pest. Nuisance.

Kar’niss’ eyes opened, stirred from his trance by the whispered words creeping from within. He was within his twisted alcove not far from Moonrise tower, a secluded spot with gnarled trees, rocky cliffs, and a deep ravine below. His moon lantern remained forever clutched in his grasp to keep the shadows at bay illuminating a freshly drained humanoid slumped over the branch nearby. His gaze darted around in search of the voice even if he knew its true origin, wishing for something tangible to fight rather than the immortal monster within.

The abomination has risen, crooked and twisted. This ravine is deep. A few steps and the suffering ends. Do it. Coward, he is a coward. Selfish, dim, too incompetent to die.

The voices were numerous and relentless, their volume growing in strength the more he came into consciousness. Kar’niss clamped his jagged hand onto the side of his face, trembled fingers coming to curl and dig at the uneven flesh of his forehead and cheek.

“M-Majesty, protect me from their venom,” Kar’niss growled, backing up tighter into the tree.

She has abandoned you.

Our Queen has seen you for what you are, a fraud.

Ugly, ugly, ugly. Vile, She vomits at the sight of you.

We can barely stand to be a part of you. Walk off and free us, WALK OFF!

The drider shook his head frantically maintaining his grip on the lantern, his claws breaking the skin due to the dangerous pressure applied. “N-No, She would not abandon us. We are Her m-most loyal s..servant…”

No one likes you. No one.

Annoying blabber mouth. Shut up, be silent, never speak again.

The abomination cannot help himself. He wants to be accepted, to be loved.

A great joke, that. Add delusional to the list of flaws. A shite smear deserves more love than you, filth.

“SHUT UP! Shut up! Hhnng!” Kar’niss thrashed against the tree with such force it would’ve dislodged leaves had it any left to dislodge. Moisture streamed down his face, trying desperately to regain control of his own mind with little success. The more he fought the intrusive thoughts the more insistent they became. His head was flooded by a chorus of insults, each more biting than the last. He could hear nothing else around him left completely vulnerable to the whims of his inner demons. Even his cries went unheard in his own ears, drowned out by the brutal assault by his subconscious.

It all came to a head in a violent fashion. The voices overwhelmed his senses, his muscles wound tighter than a spring. His hand gripped his hair with such force that it ripped strands out by the roots. He threw his head back and looked toward the blackened sky, his face streaked with tears which cut a path through the dirt on his cheeks. His mouth fell open unleashing an unholy wail from the depths of his chest. The sound tore through the bleak forests of the Shadowlands, disturbing nesting ravens forcing them to flee the branches to get away from the ear piercing screech. The harrowing cry reached the spires of Moonrise gaining modest reactions from the inhabitants. It was a familiar sound that they learned to ignore with time. It would sort itself out, they believed.

One way or another.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #my writing #kar'niss fanfic #bg3 fanfic #tw: mental illness #tw: suicide mention #tw: self harm #tw: intrusive thoughts #There is no greater enemy than the mind who turns on its Master

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fafnir19 · 6 months

Text

Hunter Prince - Part II

My days as Zarik's loyal companion have melded into one continuous stream of events, each blending into the next. The towering spires of Zarik's tower cast long, ominous shadows across the surrounding forest, and I find myself feeling increasingly enmeshed in Zarik's web.

"Hunter, you have proven yourself resourceful and dedicated," Zarik intones, his voice like velvet wrapped in silk. "I have a proposition for you." "What is it, Zarik?" I reply, feeling a familiar prickling of apprehension in my chest. Though I've grown accustomed to Zarik's whims, I can never predict what path he will lead me down next. Zarik's emerald eyes sparkle with anticipation. "I have decided to take you as my apprentice in the art of magic." My heart stutters in my chest. "Your apprentice?" I ask, bewildered. "But I am no magician. I am but your humble companion." Zarik's smile is enigmatic. "You underestimate yourself, Hunter. Trust me, with my guidance, you will exceed your own expectations." Under Zarik's tutelage, I immerse myself in the world of magic. His expertise is awe-inspiring, and I prove to be a quick learner. However, despite Zarik's teachings, doubt still lurks within me, shadowing my every step.

"Zarik, I must admit, these past few weeks have been enlightening," I said as I fed the firewood into the hearth, the flames dancing in the dimly lit chamber. "Indeed, Hunter. You've shown great dedication in your training," Zarik replied, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. "I am impressed." I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude at Zarik's praise. "Thank you, Master. I am honored to be your student." Zarik leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "However, there is one thing that still troubles you, Hunter." I furrowed my brow, wondering what it could be. "What do you mean, Master?" "Your self-confidence," Zarik said, his voice gentle. "I believe I have a solution that may help." I tilted my head, curious. "What solution?" Zarik's lips curled into a sly smile. "I have in my possession a potion that will not only boost your confidence but also enhance your charisma and libido." My eyes widened in surprise. "Is that even possible?" "It is, Hunter. And I believe it's just what you need to reach your full potential," Zarik said, his tone unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, I nodded. "Alright, I trust you, Master." Zarik retrieved a vial from a shelf and handed it to me. "Drink this, Hunter. But be warned, the effects will be immediate." Without further hesitation, I gulped down the potion, feeling a surge of warmth spreading through my body.

Surprisingly, Zarik's words rang true. I felt a newfound sense of confidence surging within me, and the world seemed to shimmer with new possibilities. "That's impressive, isn't it, Hunter?" Zarik commented, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Yes, Master. I feel like a new man," I replied, marveling at the change within me. Zarik stood up, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Now, I believe it's time to put your newfound confidence to the test." "How so?" I inquired, eager to prove myself. "I want you to embark on a mission to gather dragon scales for our magical elixirs," Zarik explained, his tone serious. "However, you must wait for the dragon to leave its cave before transforming into a falcon and retrieving the scales." I nodded, bracing myself for the task ahead. "I understand, Master. I won't disappoint you." With Zarik's instructions in mind, I transformed into a falcon and soared towards the dragon's cave, my heart pounding with exhilaration and nerves. As I landed inside the cave and reverted to my human form, I quickly located the gleaming scales and began to gather them. However, just as I finished, the ground rumbled, and the dragon returned, startling me.

In my panic, I stumbled and hit my head on the rocky wall, darkness enveloping me. When I regained consciousness, I found myself staring into the piercing eyes of the dragon, who introduced himself as Frerryr. "I didn't mean to cause you harm, young one," Frerryr spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "But your injury was dire. I had to intervene." I watched in awe as Frerryr shared some of his own lifeblood, using the magical dragon blood to heal me completely and establish a bond between us. Riding on Frerryr's back, I returned to Zarik's tower, where I recounted the astonishing encounter to my Master. Zarik listened intently, his eyes bright with fascination. "Frerryr as your companion? This is remarkable, Hunter." "Yes, Master. I couldn't have imagined a more extraordinary turn of events," I replied, still reeling from the experience. Zarik's lips curved into a knowing smile, and he reached out to stroke my cheek tenderly. "You've proven yourself to be quite exceptional, Hunter." As I gazed into Zarik's eyes, I couldn't help but acknowledge his magnetic allure, a newfound awareness stirring within me. "Master, I..." I stammered, unsure of how to articulate my thoughts. "Shh, Hunter. There's no need for words," Zarik murmured, his voice low and soothing. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and I find myself drawn to him in a way I never imagined possible. "Hunter, it would be a shame for someone as handsome as you to limit yourself to pursuing only one gender," Zarik muses, his voice laced with a captivating allure. "I have augmented the confidence potion to broaden your preferences. Come, let me show you." With a delicate touch, Zarik guided me to the bed, his actions conveying a silent invitation that I couldn't resist. He pulled down my pants, spread my legs and places himself in between. His cock was leaking precum and he rubbed it against my hole. Suddenly he shoved into me. He asked whether I like it but I could just moan in pain and pleasure. He remarked with a smirk:" That's good. The first time is important as it determines your position towards me. For me you will become a bottom and you will willingly spread your legs whenever I desire it!" My mind spined and I felt a desire to fuck pretty boys and beautiful women. But with Zarik it was different: I needed him in me and I wanted to suck his cock so bad.

From that moment on, I found myself not only serving as Zarik's hunting companion but also sharing his bed -with him and other pretty boys and gorgeoues women-, reveling in the newfound intimacy and connection. As I lay beside Zarik, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow upon us, I couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment and belonging that I had never experienced before.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #straight to bi #hunter prince #dragon #wizzard

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sluttywoozi · 2 years

Note

since you’re asking for requests: what about reader and jihoon in a little red riding hood au? (no smut pls) (also pls dont ask where the idea came from my lunch break is abt to end and that was the first thing i thought of sbdndkdndndnd)

Rating: T | Word Count: ~1k

warnings: swearing, mention of dying and being eaten alive but it’s not scary i promise

Fuck, you knew you shouldn’t have taken the shortcut. It had seemed so enticing, making it to your grandma’s house in half the time, but now you worry you won’t make it there at all.

There have been… noises behind you, leaves crunching and twigs snapping in a rhythm, like someone or something is following you. Anxiety hit as soon as you stepped foot in the forest, so you’d thought you were just being paranoid, but you should have known better. You also should have known better than to risk going into the forest just to save some time and energy.

But you didn’t, and now here you are. Trapped in the woods, being tracked by what sounds like a monster, the noises clearing up to become footsteps, heavy and labored behind you. You’re about to break out into a sprint when something catches the hood of your sweatshirt and you reel backward, trying desperately to find your footing in the encroaching darkness.

Shit, all you wanted to do was feed your grandma, that’s it, just make her some soup, do some face masks together, maybe watch a rom com, just carry out your regular saturday night plans and now you’re going to die. You’re going to die a horrific, gory, painful death, and no one will even know or find your body because the monster will have eaten it, eaten you, fuck, it’ll probably eat you alive, limb by limb, because that’s just your fucking lu-

“Can you shut the fuck up and stop freaking out? Please?” A voice sounds from behind, sounding suspiciously normal. It’s a trick though, right? It has to be a trick to get you to turn around, and once you look at the monster, it’ll open its mouth and-

“I’m not gonna eat you and I’m not a monster. I just want to know what you’re doing on my property,” the voice continues impatiently, tugging at your hoodie to try to spin you.

You turn slowly, reluctantly, one eye pinched shut and your fists raised, and confront the voice.

It’s… a guy.

A man.

A cute man, with lots of muscles and a freckle under his eye and a handsome, round face.

A cute man, with a handsome, round face that is currently frowning at you, his brows cocked in a way that tells you he’s judging you.

Your tongue tied suddenly, your stream of consciousness dammed like a kinked water hose, and he continues to stare at you (glare, really), obviously waiting for an explanation.

“You told me to shut the fuck up!” You say, your panicked brain releasing the first thing that came to mind.

His face goes flat, but he looks off to the side and purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing as he considers your point.

“I guess that’s fair. Stop shutting the fuck up and tell me what you’re doing here,” he demands with a bit more patience.

“I was on the way to my grandmother’s house, we hang out on Saturday nights!” you start, “And she’ll be really worried if I’m late, and she knows where I am, and she’ll call the police if I don’t show up,” you continue in a hurry.

“I know you’re going to your grandma’s, you said it earlier,” he reminds you with a roll of his eyes, “I mean what are you doing here,” he specifies, as if that makes his question any clearer.

“I was taking the shortcut, I just wanted to beat the sunset,” you try to explain, but he just looks more confused and annoyed.

“What shortcut? This,” he gestures behind him, “just leads to my house, there’s no other path into or out of this forest,” he says with agitation.

“What? But Soonyoung told me-”

“Soonyoung?” His head falls back onto his shoulders, his groan harsh against the quiet of the woods, “Soonyoung has been bothering me to leave the house and meet people more since I moved out here. I guess he decided to stop giving me a choice.”

You’re gobsmacked.

“Soonyoung just… sent me into the woods, knowing I wouldn’t make it to my grandma’s, and that I’d be alone, in the dark, lost, and completely defenseless?”

“Yeah,” The man responds shortly and without surprise, “Soonyoung just kinda does stuff, he doesn’t really think about logistics.”

You honestly don’t know what to do. It’s pitch black, you can barely see the ma-

“What’s your name?” you ask, tired of knowing him as just some guy in the forest.

“Jihoon. What’s yours?”

You’re a little surprised he asked, considering that you’re trespassing and he didn’t seem to want to know you at all just a minute ago, but you answer anyway.

“Hm. Well, my flashlight’s dead, so I can’t walk you back. You can stay here, I guess, if you don’t want to find your way back in the dark,” Jihoon offers, avoiding your eyes and kicking at the dirt under his feet.

You consider your options. You know you don’t want to walk back without any light, even with Jihoon next to you.

It’s just that you don’t even know this man. He apparently is friends with Soonyoung, whose opinion you no longer trust because he did this to you, and you definitely couldn’t take him in a fight, but he’s also… hot and kinda sweet?

You know you shouldn’t be swayed just because he looks like he could deadlift you, and talks like he’s not used to talking at all, and has on a shirt with an anime wolf that you vaguely recognize, but what could one more bad decision hurt?

Besides, what could you possibly have to fear from a dude who wears slides in the forest?

“They’re comfortable,” Jihoon snaps defensively as he leads you to his house.

#jihoon x you #jihoon x reader #lee jihoon x you #jihoon x gn!reader #svthub #lee jihoon #lee jihoon x reader #svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen #seventeen oneshot #jihoon #✨emily writes✨#✨emily answers✨#thank you for requesting!#this was fun to write #sorry the au is a bit vague

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zucchiniwi123 · 14 days

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May the fourth

Be in your memories.

By. C.Joy.

2024

Dangling from plastic playgrounds,

Talking about love, life,

What kisses feel like.

What crushes feel like.

Awkward times to look away,

But awkward times to gaze.

My shoes, between the metal, smiling.

We stumble over the bridge, creaking as we go.

The stream trickling beneath our feet, its muddy glory

As the sky sprinkles rain drops to the tops of our heads.

Enough to make us blink and flinch,

And hold our hands out for more.

From damp to soaked, as it pours on us,

Enclosing our tiny town,

Our broken bodies,

Our fragile friendships

In shattering patters of water

Hitting our skin and hair

As our clothes stick to us,

And the echoes of change reach our ears

We shriek in emotional joy.

We reach a field of new leaves and new mud,

Our new territory, shelter from society

To enjoy our joy in peace.

Basking in nature's blessing,

And eachother's comforting company.

Our bare feet in the grass, like children again.

We skip, frolic, run, scream, laugh hysterically,

jump to the heavens, we reach our hands up for more.

Like a child begging her mother to be held.

I don’t remember if I was crying.

It was probably just the rain.

“I wouldn’t be mad if I died here.”

Then let's die here. Let's forget the world,

Let our souls crumble into the soil of this forgotten field,

Intertwining into oil as the years go by.

Zeus can strike us through our embrace.

Hands clasped, electricity pulsing through our veins,

In one way or another, as we shook with our final breath,

And were finally one with each other,

And God.

Gosh, let me die there in the memory.

But I can’t. (Can I?)

Because as we lie side by side on our backs,

Water seeping down our cheeks with open arms,

I sit up and say-

“This is the kind of day I’m glad I’m still here for.”

We find our place,

As the patters grow softer and smaller.

Heavy, feels the air, although the clouds begin to part.

It’s vulnerable, having wet hair around friends.

The self-consciousness of running makeup and revealing shoulders creeps in.

The small budding flowers interject as we toss them between each other.

Ripping them from their roots for our mere entertainment,

They’re beautiful in their dying. I hope I will be too.

We lick the pesticides off blades of grass, as we talk about French kissing.

We say things we wouldn’t say anywhere else.

The field catches our secrets and holds them safe and away from the world.

Spongy shoes, puddles of sludge. We make our way back through the field.

A frog in our path, as we hold it, tease it, adore it, and squeal.

Just my type, they joke.

Just my type.

I walk with them in the road, under a gentle pink sky.

Squeaking shoes, shivering shoulders, fresh mosquito bites.

Damp, stained denim and a ripped sweater tucked into my bra strap.

We talk about death.

As we slap the leaves on the trees along our path,

Giving us tiny shimmering reprises to our rainstorm.

We reach the end of the sidewalk.

And wave goodbye.

Absent-minded smiles.

It’s off to Mexico.

Oklahoma.

Anesthesia.

I walk home alone.

Gently touch the leaves on my walk.

Humming ‘singing in the rain,’

Skipping and twirling along.

In my pink-skied ecstasy

Of knowing I lived.

#love poem #original poem #original poetry #poem #poetic #poetry #poets on tumblr #sad poem #writers and poets #poems and poetry #rainy days

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laserswordtraining · 1 month

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What if Tom Riddle created his own take of Amortentia to overcome instability the horcruxes began to cause but it only encouraged the creation of his horcruxes?

Here have the intro

Tom always held his diary close. It was more personal than anyone knew, more important than anyone could imply. It was his proof that nobody knew him like himself, it was his saving grace. Created from Myrtle Warren’s accidental death last year, Tom won out with that first mudblood death, managing to cover it up when it risked the school closing, but all the chaos that the beautiful basilisk had brought on was worth it in the end.

Tom’s diary was his research put into action. He had looked into possible routes to immortality since the myth of the Fountain of Eternal Youth in first year; refusing to die as young as his mother, as powerless. But it was when he’d heard of Abraxas’ great uncle claiming to survive death, that Tom found the first clues that led him to horcruxes. Tom was a boy who researched well, adapted everything, tested and questioned all he should. But when he read the disturbing steps to creating a horcrux, he couldn’t help but have them imprinted into his memory.

He’d planned on continuing his research into horcruxes, but he’d become so absorbed in the Chamber of Secrets, in speaking with Slytherin’s monster, the basilisk that lived for centuries, asleep underneath the school. He felt foolish only for a split second- the moment the basilisk made its way up the same path he’d come down- and killed Myrtle Warren. But he used it as an opportunity, her death would not be a waste.

Within the heat of the moment, Tom recalled how he could use the death to create his own horcrux. It fit the requirements after all, done due to his knowledge and circumstance- none other was able to release the basilisk- and the body was in perfect condition. He urged the basilisk to bite into the girl's skin, and his eyes flared at the sight, glad to claim this as his first kill, despite not being as prepared as he would have liked.

That year, Tom had sealed off the entrance to the girl's restroom with a wave of his wand and used a severing charm on her eyes. The eyes were the window to the soul, and they would be the cost for splitting his. Tom wrinkled his nose as he held the brown eyes in his hand and rinsed them in the sink. He kept it running and manipulated the stream to be able to gulp it down as he placed the first eye into his mouth. Tom did the same with the second and finished the ritual of the body by slicing it open with a messy incision down her stomach and drinking the blood that streamed out, before gagging.

Tom continued with the final creation of the horcrux by smearing his blood on the cover of his diary and repeating the words in latin that’d stuck so clearly in his mind.

To kill another, to live another, another, another

He gasped and sputtered as he felt himself split, feeling as if he were more, not less. The piece taken from his consciousness rose through his throat as a murky green roaring storm and dove into his diary, laid at the feet of the dead girl splayed on the bathroom floor. Tom felt glorious, jubilant, and he knew his horcrux was complete. He would live forever should no one ever find out of its existence, his diary’s true purpose. Tom tucked the diary back into its place at the inside of his vest pocket.

As he’d done so, Tom came up with the way he’d get away with murder. Slytherins knew of his ability to speak with snakes, but people did not know of the basilisk. The only one who’d successfully seen it was little Myrtle, so there was no way to trace back the murder to him. But there was another beast in the castle that Tom was willing to expose so that Myrtle's death would not be left a mystery.

Tom enlarged a cobweb under the sinks, and urged it to wrap around Myrtle’s body. When complete, it was a morsel that hung in the far corner restroom stall, only recognizable as the prey of a large spider. Taken apart, it would only be discovered that her soft parts had begun to be consumed, that she was slowly liquidizing from inside out due to the venom injected from the basilisk bites, in the same way that acromantulas fed. It was a fine choice to keep the secret of the monster held in the back of his mind, Tom had many precious jewels of knowledge like that.

Tom still shined at the thought of how he’d handled the situation, with no one to tell but his diary. Framing Hagrid and his acromantula was ingenious, it kept Hogwarts open through the spring, and ensured that Tom would have somewhere to return for his sixth year.

In the summer, Tom had become quite close with his diary self. Nobody understood him in the same way, he couldn’t trust anyone else, couldn’t speak to them as honestly. This was the one person he knew he could believe and treat as an equal. The diary was even helpful in facing the truth that was his family history.

Tom discovered the dreadful truth of his heritage; his father, a muggle, drugged with amortentia to create himself, who neither parent wanted. His witch mother had been desperate for someone to love her to go to such an extent, unwanted and mistreated by her own family.

Encouraged by his diary to further his power and promise his own life, Tom had spent the month before his sixth year killing his only remaining relatives, who were not worthy of knowing him. Tom feasted on the eyes and blood of his father, drenched in the blood of his grandparents, and severed his soul again, sending it to occupy the family artifact that should have been his from birth. He had stolen the ring from his only surviving magical blood who was not deserving of claiming the relation to Salazar Slytherin himself, and framed him for the death of the others.

Tom felt himself in the diary, in the ring. He felt wild, devoted to himself, and it came in waves. He’d be fully present, then sick with an absence that had only continued to grow despite the surety of the horcruxes. Tom’s horcruxes agreed, he should feel nothing but stable, yet…

Read Swallowed and Split to learn how Tom becomes Voldemort with yet another path.

He’s very much Voldemort, but it’s a happy ending considering everything he’s been willing to do lmao

#hp fic #self rec #tom riddle #voldemort #I just thought this needed a boost #the hits are low so I added some tags on ao3 too oops

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kabukiccentrics · 7 months

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Nahida could sense the disturbance that rippled through the forest that day, a tiny dew drop in the grand scheme of the ocean of trees and sand named Sumeru. Initially, she hadn't paid it much mind--such events were commonplace, a hunter shooting an arrow into a Shroomboar, a Spinocrocodile snapping its jaws around a wriggling fish, Fatui soldiers or Treasure Hoarders getting into a scuffle with a certain Traveler. It registered on the same wavelength as those at first...

... until it didn't. The forest rustled and sighed anxiously, a death rattle on the wind, the feeling of dirt displaced, of life ebbing, of nature reaching out to reclaim what was rightfully its own. It was curiosity that pulled her from the task that occupied her, reaching out into the stream of nature's consciousness to follow the river out into the depths of her nation.

Was it something to be concerned about? Should she ask Wrenn to look into it? ... And why did the river hasten at the thought, stirring as if it had crashed into a stubborn line of boulders, tumultuous in the face of something much larger than it first appeared, a riptide that pulled the unsuspecting victim under the water.

What had nature seen? The birds sang to her, weaved a tale of two powerful entities clashing, of loud shouts, of elements clashing, of a battle to the death that had concluded and left the forest to settle once more. Reflected in the birds eyes, her chest grew cold at the image she saw in each eye--one of an individual clothed in the sky, gentle and violent and warm and bitter, and one of an individual that walked as if he knew no fear, knew no modesty or inferiority, knew nothing but his own self righteousness.

Yes, an image of Wrenn, and an image of The Doctor.

That realization sent her rowing back upstream, pushing against the flow of consciousness to make her own path forward. Where was Wrenn, where was his consciousness in the sea of Sumeru's people? She sifted through the land of her people as a frantic student cramming for their final exam might, pages hastily flipped through until she felt a resonating, familiar pulse.

Wrenn. He was alive. She shakily exhaled, and after she felt herself calm, she probed deeper. Where was he?

...

Finding him was easy enough, and so was going to his side. Though he was alive, she knew he wouldn't have emerged unscathed, not from the fragments of memory she was able to see from the wildlife. And sure enough, he was looking rather roughed up, and unsteady, eyes wide and unseeing like one would expect a kitten to look after a particularly loud storm.

But this was nothing so childish. The horror in Wrenn's eyes went deeper than fear. That much she could tell, and while she could easily look past those eyes and see into his heart what had hurt him so, what The Doctor had done, she would not violate him even further in this moment.

Softly, she walked over and sat down next to him. She didn't know what to say in this moment, her social awkwardness always rearing its head at inopportune times, but she didn't want to leave him alone either. Not when he looked so scared, so fragile... It made her heart hurt.

@starlitwishes

#m; nahida #the murmurs of the forest

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mrbenvs3000w24 · 4 months

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The Art of Nature: Interpreting the Gift of Beauty🌿

Delving into the world of interpreting nature through art raises a profound question: Who am I to undertake such a task? This introspective journey, influenced by insights from "Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For A Better World" by Beck et al., (2018) prompts a contemplation on how I navigate the concept of "the gift of beauty."

According to the textbook, the gift of beauty involves awakening in individuals the ability and desire to perceive the beauty in their surroundings (Beck et al., 2018). It is not just an aesthetic endeavour; it carries the weight of providing "spiritual uplift" and nurturing a commitment to the preservation of our natural resources (Beck et al., 2018, p. 85). The gift of beauty, then, becomes a dynamic force, urging us to appreciate and safeguard the splendour inherent in our environment.

In my role as a nature interpreter, I see myself as a mediator between the unfiltered beauty of the natural world and those who may not have the opportunity to witness it firsthand. Nature communicates in a language beyond words, and through various artistic forms – be it photography, painting, interpretive theater, music, or other mediums (Beck et al., 2018) – I strive to translate its intricate messages into visual and emotional experiences that resonate universally. Take, for instance, the photograph showcased below:

In this captured moment, the sun-kissed pine trees stand tall, framing the landscape as if nature itself is applauding. The creek, a glistening ribbon of life, winds its way through the terrain, inviting exploration and reflection. Amidst this serene setting, you'll find me with my arms raised in triumphant awe, a spontaneous gesture of my connection with the untamed beauty of Northern Ontario.

The textbook underscores the importance of interpretation in instilling the ability to sense beauty in our surroundings (Beck et al., 2018). This aligns seamlessly with my own approach. Nature unfolds as a masterful artist, presenting sunrise brushstrokes, orchestrating a symphony in rustling leaves, and inscribing poetry in the rippling waters of a mountain stream. Through interpretation, I aim to amplify these subtleties, encouraging others not merely to observe but to deeply perceive the beauty enveloping us.

Interpreting the gift of beauty extends beyond personal artistic expression; it is a shared responsibility. It involves crafting narratives that transcend the confines of a canvas or photograph, inviting individuals into a dialogue with the natural world. The act of creation becomes a collaborative effort, a partnership with nature to articulate its wonders through the lens of human creativity.

Furthermore, the textbook posits that interpretation serves as a catalyst for action (Beck et al., 2018). It is not enough to merely showcase the aesthetic allure of nature; the interpreter must propel the audience toward a sense of responsibility for conservation (Beck et al., 2018). By fostering a profound appreciation for the beauty in our surroundings, we cultivate a collective consciousness that motivates active participation in the preservation of our planet's delicate ecosystems.

In reflection, interpreting the gift of beauty is a multifaceted endeavour that surpasses individual creativity, delving into the broader narrative of humanity's interconnectedness with nature. Through art, we assume the role of ambassadors for the environment, urging others not only to witness but also to actively engage in the conservation of the unparalleled beauty gracing our planet. As I navigate the path of a nature interpreter, I am acutely aware of the transformative power art possesses in inspiring a collective ethos of responsibility toward the remarkable world we inhabit. Let me know your thoughts on "the gift of beauty" and what resonates with you in the interpretation of nature through art!✨

Madison B.

References:

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For A Better World. Sagamore Publishing.

#nature interpretation #art of conservation #art and environment #nature #gift of beauty #envs3000

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queenpiranhadon · 4 months

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A/N: SHOOOTTTT THIS IS SO LATEEE IM SORRY 😭 It's okay, it's here now :). This chapter is written by me 👀. My cowriter is the lovely Nyota (@labaguetteisdabest) :D. . You can find the masterlist here

Warning(s): blood depictions, gore, death, rabid animals, panic attacks, sleeping as a coping mechanism, LOTS of cursing, blacking out, all that fun stuff in the chapter.

Pairing(s): Kaepex

Thump.

The rhythmic sound of the carriage bouncing against every rock and pebble on the narrow road was probably the only thing keeping me sane as the claws of boredom threatened to suffocate me in its patronizing grasp.

The man outside, the one driving the carriage was one I vaguely knew, he was the one who coincidentally brought me to the docks of Minsare when I was 5 to go to Watarumi in the first place. And now I was going home.

My bogy tingled with anticipation at the prospect. The room I’d been raised in for 5 years, and icy winds of Khaenpanii stinging my flesh, akin to the feeling of being free.

I couldn’t wait.

Thump.

CRACK.

The only thing I remembered after that was the sound of the delicate but sturdy wood of the carriage being splintered open before everything went black.

When my brain finally decided to regain consciousness, there was an insistent ringing in my ear, high pitched and nauseating, stabbing needles into the darkest corners of my brain, working its way into anything and everything, attempting to fracture my brain’s ability to function.

But it clears up eventually, the throbbing in my head ebbing and flowing, as two sharp red piercing eyes send chills straight down my spine, ice cold fear running through me from head to toe.

My body refused to move, my bones locked as if they didn’t know how to move in the first place, no matter how much my muscles twitched, screaming to move, to run, to do anything but lie on the ground, splinters of wood stabbing my skin as the giant beast lurked closer, its red eyes wide and wild, mouth foaming with the prospect of food.

Food.

It looked starved, and unhinged, sanity long gone to the feline creature, but most of all, it was desperate. Eyes the color of sticky blood that said that they only existed to be fed.

To feast.

On me.

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The rhythmic pounding I felt now was my heart, beating so fast I felt like I was going to choke on it.

Crunch.

Adrenaline and pure fear course through my veins, as what I assume to be a rabid leopard, now sinks its foamy and bloody mouth into the flesh of my driver, saliva dripping down its fangs, the horses that pulled the carriages long gone.

The leopard tears through his skin, the sickening crunch of devoured bones and the smell of metallic blood are the only two things I can sense, my driver’s agonized screams slowly dying out, a choked sob leaving his lips followed by thick streams of red.

I can’t look, so I don’t, bile rising in my throat, threatening to suffocate me in fear and disgust.

And then its pupils narrow, zooming in on me, clarity returning to the beast’s eyes, ready for another hunt.

It’s only then that my legs start to move, one of my bags still draped over my shoulder, scrambling to stand up and sprint into the woods, careful not to lose track of the path.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

I run away, loose but sharp branches slicing my skin. They sting, but the pain only makes me run faster, my energy only focused on moving, on getting the hell away from the crazed monster.

I can hear its paws crunching against the underbrush, but I can’t see it. I have to move faster.

My heart races faster, it feels inhumane at this point, tears of desperation pricking my eyes and my throat clenches in fear.

Lungs burning to the point where they feel numb, my eyes find a small nook underneath the thick foliage, the opening big enough for me to hide in and the surrounding number unripe fruits great enough to cover my scent. I use my body weight to abruptly fall into the opening, tumbling into the darkness as I hear the low growling above me.

My heart pounds in my ears, my lungs begging to take much needed air, but I let them continue to burn, knowing that if I make even a single sound, I’d end up with the same fate as my driver.

Please damnit Allaida I beg you, please please please please...

Suddenly, the growling gets louder, as the padding of paws get quieter, the vibrations it sent getting less intense, and suddenly it was gone.

Air floods into my lungs, trying to gulp down as much as I can, even if it was too much to take it at once. Crawling out of the nook, my chest heaves, coughs racking through my body as tears start flowing down my face.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to drown out the sounds of the forest, the beads of sweat mingling with the salty tears that stained my face.

I’m petrified, but I need to think through this like I always do.

Now that I think about it, this trail is usually crowded with carriages, one passing by every half hour or so, considering Minsare and Khaenpanii’s trading regime. Merchants are almost always traveling on this route, what’s a leopard doing so close to it – we barely see any animals here, especially undocile ones. Unless... no merchants have come. But for a lack of merchants to be the cause of rabid animals converging on the route, they’d have to be missing for a long time.

My heart rate picks up again, as my stomach twists in uncertainty.

Was something wrong?

No one was around... and speculation of a sickness has been arising for the past few years. But the last time I heard about that was 5 years ago... then again, that’s the last time I’ve heard from anyone. After that, my Reya training was extremely brutal, so I just chalked it up to not having time to write.

But if something was wrong... then maybe going back to Khaenpanii wasn’t the best idea.

Wait. Was that why Eran didn’t send a letter? If the whole continent was infected with this virus...

This is bad.

This is really bad.

Damnit, damnit, damnit.

The only chance I have of survival is to find people that aren’t infected like me.

Oh, fucking hell.

I have to find Apex and Cari.

Fujimura shares a border with Khaenpanii, so finding Apex would be the best course of action.

But I really don’t want to.

Maybe dying here would be best.

But no, I know I can’t, what Syla would jeopardize the lives of her people for a grudge against another?

Even if they’re really irritating...

Fatigue finally seeps into my aching bones, a stream of red running down my leg – which is weird, I never noticed it. Maybe something hit me while I was running.

Now that I had a plan, I just needed to find a place to sleep for a while... I’d go find the cold-hearted fire princess tomorrow.

Looking at my bag, the one still slung over my shoulder, I realized I had a clean change of clothes, including a flowy white blouse, a deep brown corset, and some baggy beige pants. Besides that, and the clothes on my back, I had my signet ring, a few scrolls, a hairpin, and thank fuck, my uncle’s compass. And a single apple.

Wonderful.

I have to last an entire day on a single apple.

My mouth felt dry, begging for some cool refreshing water. But going to find a lake to drink from would be a death wish, more rabid animals like the leopard would probably be lurking in the area. Using my sore fingertips, I turn the humid air around me into frozen molecules, attempting to form a sort of container to drink out of.

The result is a deformed teacup.

Oh, how I missed my silver-plated goblets.

Making sure the ice was solid enough to not melt all over my fingers, I fill the cup with fragile ice, hoping it’ll melt into drinkable water.

Maybe I should’ve gone for the Acquarone instead...

No matter, the ice has melted by now, and I must drink before the cup melts over my hands in this unbearable heat.

Gulping it down, the slightly bitter taste of the water makes me scrunch my eyebrows, but at least dying of dehydration won’t be an issue.

Using the slightly melted cup to clean the dirt and blood off myself, I crawl back into the nook, deciding to sleep there in the meantime.

The darkness was comforting, helping me block out the world, as sleep slowly overtakes me, my subconscious deciding I could go a few hours without healing Dodomi.

I’d continue my journey at noon.

#adrienne “apex” pyracent #kaeda leona cynet #star crossed haters #kaepex #kaeda x apex #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #creative writing #my writing #writer #the cloud archives ☁️

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idabbleincrazy · 1 year

Text

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Word Count: 1621

Warnings: pwp, morning sex, holiday fic, smut, oral, anal fingering, biting, teasing, anal, poetic porn, stream of consciousness, bottom!Angel, d/s undertones

Summary: Sometimes, the best gift is the one you didn’t even realize you wanted.

A/N: wrote this for the morning sex prompt instead of what i originally planned. ah, well.

Squares Filled: Morning Sex ( @mfbingo xmas edition)

Angel woke to the feeling of something cool and damp sliding over his inner thigh. Muggy-headed, he pried open one eye and groaned, the light streaming through the necro-tempered window causing his head to throb. Letting his eye fall back shut, he felt the cool, slippery, something pause for a second before resuming its path. He felt like he should be worried that whatever was on his leg meant him harm, but he couldn't sense any danger through the cloud of fog that was his mind, so he laid there, trying to remember the events of the previous evening. Besides, whatever it was, it felt good enough traveling over his seldom-touched skin that he could feel himself starting to respond to the soft ministrations.

Last night had been Christmas Eve, he remembered that much. The team, Spike and Harmony included, had come up to the penthouse that evening to have a small celebration, what with Lorne being unable to attend Christmas dinner over at Fred's due to an emergency of some sort with one of his clients that just couldn't wait until after the holidays. He knew there had been plenty of alcohol, enough that by the time the others had left, he was pleasantly fuzzy-headed and whiskey-warm, the humans, and even Harmony, giggling and singing carols as they left. He was pretty sure he'd made sure to call them all company cars to get them home safely. Pretty sure. Have to check on that later; wouldn't do his soul any good to find he'd been somewhat participant to a drunk driving accident. Soft, damp slide along the crevice where thigh met hip, southerly parts waking faster than his brain under the gentle licks.

He remembered inviting Spike to stay after the rest had left, the flowing alcohol leaving him in a good enough mood and recalling some of the better parts of their shared past. Remembered breaking open the good bottle of brady, splitting it with the blonde as they talked and even laughed. Remembered hands gaining a mind of their own, fingers lingering on skin as they brushed away stray locks of hair hanging over too-blue eyes, or caressing, whisper-soft, the back of a hand as glasses were refilled. Puff of cool air, scratch of teeth across his stomach, twitch of cock as tongue dipped into navel.

He remembered darkened glances that skittered away just as quickly as a head could turn. A fumbled, clashing kiss under the sprig of mistletoe Harmony had hung above the doorway to the kitchen. Inviting Spike to stay the night rather than stumble home or risk wrapping his Viper around a lamp post. Remembered not stayin' on that bloody couch and big-arsed orgy bed, and struggling out of clothes, nearly tripping over a pant leg, crawling under cool silk sheets that felt like a balm to liquor-heated skin. The comforting feeling of an arm laid over his stomach as sleep overtook him, firm chest against his back and soft purr rumbling through them both. Fingers teasing between legs to skirt over sensitive skin, lips mouthing through coarse curls, ignoring the thick length reaching for attention.

Unsure of why Spike had chosen to wake him in such a manner, and not much caring to question it further, Angel let out a soft groan as he felt the blonde teasing around the base of his cock. Another pause, uncertainty rolling off the slender vampire between his legs, and Angel shifted, wriggling his hips in search of continued attention, a silent approval of the impromptu rekindling of their intimate relationship. Hands slid down his thighs, pushing at his knees to urge his legs wider. Lips continued where they left off, soft pressure of mouth against alert skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Throb and ache as the most needful part of him was bypassed once more, pleading whine bitten back as he squirmed, trying to direct that slick tongue, over, over, please, God, just an inch to the right.

Hands on his hips, pinning him to the bed, his own reaching beneath the covers, one threading through sleep-mussed curls, other batted away as it crept towards his aching shaft. God, he's never been tortured this pleasurably; Angelus would never have stood for it, the demon too insistent on instant gratification when it came to carnal pleasures, want, take, have; the soul always longed for it but Angel never kept a lover long enough to receive it, never thought he deserved it. Forces himself to think on his sins, pushing away the creeping feeling of bliss. Remembers driving Dru mad, turning William from the soft poet that lingered within to the hardened vampire that killed viciously for more than a century. Danger passes, soul still firmly attached.

Still Spike teases, head dipping lower, nosing against heavy sacs, inhaling deeply at the juncture of leg and groin. Crunch of bone and the mosquito-sting of a fang piercing thin flesh, feline-rough tongue soothing it away and growling moan of hunger as the faintest trace of blood hits his nose. Angel remembers now, and knows what it will take to bring that mouth where he wants it, where he desperately needs it. Remembers carrying out this precise form of torment upon the lithe blonde a fair few times during their eighteen years together a century ago.

Whispers Spike in a voice rough with sleep, alcohol, and barely repressed pleading. Writhe, groan, twitch of muscle as he tries to nudge that stubborn head towards the aching shaft now lying flat against his stomach. Another needle prick, rough lap of wet muscle, closer, but not close enough. Subaudible whimper, wrists pinned down at his sides when he fails to tug those curls those scant inches to the right, buck of hips met with a warning rumble vibrating against his flesh. Can't take it anymore, needs that mouth on him, needs to know it's as good as he remembers. Caves. Please, William, need you.

Opens his eyes at the approving groan, looks down, sees the comforter shift and rise as Spike kneels up, lets out his own thankful moan as cool mouth descends, slides down his aching cock. Fingers still clamped around his wrists, stopping him from being unable to touch, to direct, to do anything more than lay there and let the feel of that wet cavern engulfing him, aching tip of his cock pressing against the contracting entrance of the blondes throat as he swallows around him.

God, yes, yes, don't stop. Don't ever stop. Wants to thrust, needs to buck and writhe, wriggle, squirm, feel every inch of his aching shaft buried in that tight throat that feels closer to home than he's felt in too many decades.

One wrist freed, feels fingers pressing in beside his throbbing cock. Tries to tangle his hand in gel-crunchy hair and receives a smack for his troubles. Sucks in needless oxygen as he feels slippery wet digits slide over his balls, down his perineum, lower, slipping between his cheeks. Louder moan, as slick fingers circle around tight ring of muscle, clench, relax, clench, relax, unsure. Breathes, pants, deciding. Mouth pauses, suction gone slack, questioning. Fingers still going round and round, gentle, waiting but persistent. Decision made, he keens.

Yes, God, Will, yes. Legs spread wider, muscles relax, inviting. Please, yes. Eyes cast up to the ceiling as that blissful, sinful mouth resumes its motions. More, fuck, please, William, need more.

Low groan, the feel of the rumble shooting through him, eyelids fluttering, struggles not to thrust up. Fingertip presses, muscle gives way easily, welcoming. Oh, Jesus. Spit-slick digit slides in as head bobs, distracting Angel from the intrusion, leaving the elder vampire unsure whether he wants more to thrust up or bear down, Spike's free hand preventing either. Slippery finger pumps in and out, slow, too slow, please, faster, need it. Speed increases and Angel moans, long and loud, cock leaking pre-cum that gets lapped away only to be replaced by more.

Fuck, yes, so good. Spike. Will. Oh, God, more.

Back arches as the second finger slips in on the next thrust, restricting hand moving away to tug on full, aching balls to distract from the sting, stretch, burn. Feels fingers wriggle, scissoring as he adjusts, relaxes around the probing digits. Keens, whimpers, whines, sounds he hardly recognizes as his own. Feels orgasm looming, creeping, too soon, not soon enough.

Not enough. Hands free from slender yet strong restraints, he tugs, scrabbles, claws at Spike's shoulders, pulls him off his hard, so hard, cock, drags him up his body, out from under the covers, fingers still pumping, thrusting, stretching. Legs wrap around slim waist as that beautiful, God, so beautiful, demonic face looms over his own, feels an equally hard erection pressing, rubbing, sliding, against his own.

Merry Christmas, Sire.

Merry Christmas, Childe.

Lips devour, cherish, mold around each other. Crunch of bone and pierce of fang into stroking tongue, blood filling mouths, mingling, shared, savored. Third finger sneaks in, and full, so full, need more. Thrust down to meet each instroke, push up to grind cock against cock as fingers retract. More, Will, need it, need you. Take me.

Wriggle, whine, slide, growl and plead, and ah, yes, that, do it, Spike. Whimper as the fingers disappear, mouth moves away, inhale as fangs slice into a thin wrist, moan as blood drips onto his cock, back of hand brushing against the urgent erection as its match is slicked.

Christ, so hot, luv, like this. Bloody beautiful, all needy and desperate.

Please.

Blunt pressure against the loosened rim, pushing, pushing, past the clenching, pulling muscle. Mouths meet again as hard, velvet steel slides in, stretching. Remembers, mm, yes, this, this is home.

~~~~~~

All Things Spike: @leatafandom @captain-peroxid3

Other: @countblucas

#spangel #mf bingo #mf bingo xmas edition #buffyverse fanfic #a:ts fanfic #bottom!angel #lemon #holiday fic

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