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chanfictions · 2 years

Note

pls I am in love with your writing I can’t it’s so good 😭

please anything orochimaru 🥲

It's dangerous to give me this kind of freedom 👾. Normally, I ask that a scenario be included in an ask, but my brain rot took over with this one.

Monster

Orochimaru x Reader

18+ Content! MINORS, DNI!

Darkish content. Cruel Orochimaru. Bondage, rope, references to human experimentation, verbal degradation, orgasm denial, edging, mind games, choking, fear kink

1.4k

"If you want any hope of earning my forgiveness, you will swallow your shame and say it again. What am I?"

Monster.

That's what you called him in a tearful fit of angst and betrayal when you discovered the sannin's latest unholy work gasping its last, cursed breaths in the glassy wreckage of a broken maturation tank. It was the word that filled your head with a sick, nauseous fear as vicious, yellow suns fixated coldly upon your face and seemed to penetrate the depths of your soul. But now, that simple word haunted you, unforgotten by the vengeful god who lorded it over you. It lingered in the back of your mind, steeped in aching regret, demanding to be replaced by a much more fitting title.

A broken wail trilled from your lips as he mercilessly brought you to the brink of failure again and again, repeatedly denying you blissful release if for nothing else but his own amusement. Breathing his name in a fit of desperation, you danced on a lunacy fringe. Eyes rolled back and mouth agape as he set your nerves alight, you were nothing but a joyride to be had for his pleasure. You were his possession. His plaything. And you lived for every soul-shattering moment of it. Long, nimble fingers selfishly explored the soft, quaking depths of your body, only to be withdrawn when your lustful cries reached a fever pitch.

"No," came the tempestuous hiss rushing through your head as Orochimaru haunted your bound form like a vengeful phantom. Painfully light snaps of crackling chakra ghosted your exposed skin in lieu of the contact for which you so hungered, denying you the satisfaction of the touch you so desperately craved. "Say it again."

"P-please, I--"

"If you want any hope of earning my forgiveness, you will swallow your shame and say it again. What am I?" Soft, seemingly innocuous words delivered upon the velvet tongue of a shape-shifting demon wrapped around your heart like a barbed wire vice as cruel fingers extracted their penance from your soul.

He's never going to let this go.

"A m-monster," you cried sorrowfully to the heavens, bitter tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. The hands -- vicious and unrelenting, scoured you for repentance by smiting you with an unfulfilled, aching void as punishment. Painfully light touch left waves of goosebumps in its wake as his hands walked the curves of your bound form. The twisting, gnashing need to be used wrenched reason from your body, leaving you feverish for anything to fill the burning emptiness in your core. Fingertips teased every quivering orifice, threatening intrusion but never gifting you with relief. It was torture.

"And what does that make you?"

Gasping and biting your lip, you arched into your insatiable need to find relief from the roiling heat pulsing between your legs. Pressing into the creature who consumed your sense of self, your eyes were lost in the back of your head as digits slipped into your mouth. Tasting yourself as he jerked your head to the side with hooked fingers in your cheek, you wailed helplessly in reply.

"It makes you a filthy little worm," he cooed in cruel amusement as you gagged on his hand, "with no purpose in this world but to be used by a monster."

"Y-yes -- sir," you gasped through a gulp of air as Orochimaru's pale hand smeared strings of saliva across your face and gripped your chin fiercely to point your gaze at his.

"But you love it when I use you, don't you, my pathetic little wretch?"

Pupils blown on the brink of ecstasy, all you could do was chant prayers of yes, sir to the sky in hopes your God would be pleased. But those wicked hands brought you neither mercy nor promise of relief. Instead they exacted the wrath of a vengeful demi-god, drawing you toward bliss, only to leave you locked just outside of the gate. Sweat rolled down your spine as you cried in frustration to the uncaring ceiling, winding your legs around nothing as you teetered precariously on the balls of your cold, bare feet.

"I should just leave you hanging here, pathetic and dripping," he purred, trailing a finger across your soaked cunt to make a point. "Thrashing about like a fish out of water with not a drop in sight…"

"Orochimaru-sama, please--"

A low roll of laughter hummed ominously like distant thunder in your head. "Begging will get you nowhere, my dear." Circling you, he eyed your bound, trembling body dangling from the ceiling like a trophy catch with a glimmer of satisfaction that this was absolutely destroying you burning behind those wicked amber eyes. "I'm not convinced you're truly remorseful."

"I-I'm sorry, sir. R-really -- it just… I wasn't… it caught me off guard and it--"

"Frightened you?"

Eyes wide and bitten lip quivering, you looked up at the burning, slitted suns that were fixated upon your face before shamefully averting your gaze. Several shaky breaths escaped from between your teeth before you finally managed an answer. "Y-yes."

"Good," he purred dangerously, predatory eyes gleaming in the sparse flickers of candlelight when he pulled away from you again. With nothing but a brush of his lips against yours, he stole the breath from your lungs as you pulled on your ropes, leaving you stunned, terrified, and insatiable. Slick coated your inner thighs, kissing your skin with a chill as his subtle movements produced a light breeze. Cool fingertips trailing delicately over your body left you shuddering with a nervous desire, unsure as to what face your master would show you today as he circled behind you again. "You should be frightened," he murmured wickedly in your ear, a hand ghosting over your throat as the other slipped between your thighs to torment you again. "Because as you said, I am a monster."

Whimpering pathetically, your hips keened needily into his touch despite your growing fear that the hand at your throat wasn't there just for show as it slowly tightened over your windpipe. His now very obvious arousal pressed against the curve of your ass as he applied just enough pressure to your soaked little bud to leave you listing on the brink of madness. "Please," you finally choked out in a desperate whisper, voice cracking under the strain.

"Please, what?" he hummed with a velvet tongue and cruelty staining his tone.

"Use me."

Orochimaru just chuckled coldly in your ear, the sound vibrating its way through your entire being as he kept you precariously toeing the edge of ecstasy without offering you the solace of release, drawing agonizingly slow circles around your clit until he felt you nearing failure again. "What do you think I've been doing this whole time, hm?"

Coughing and choking for air when the hand at your throat relented, you tried to fumble through a reply, only to feel the hot head of his cock swipe tauntingly against your pussy as he coated it with your own dripping arousal. The only sounds you could produce were a litany of aching cries of please, sir.

"Say it again," he hissed cruelly in your ear, swirling his fingers around your hypersensitive bud, promising to send you over the edge if obeyed. "What am I?"

Biting your lip as static clung to your clenched eyes, the answer fell apart on your tongue. The air was gone from your lungs. Words dangled out of your reach. You stammered desperately, trying to spit out what he wanted to hear but failing miserably over the distraction between your legs and twisting knot of desire burning in your core. You cried out in shameful relief as he impatiently pressed into your tight, pulsing heat and ripped a soul-rending orgasm from your quaking body when you took too long to answer. Your rope suddenly gained enough slack to bend you over at the waist as his hips rutted into yours again demandingly, setting a vicious pace that made your brain completely malfunction. The waves of white-hot pleasure crushed you. Only his dark hums of quiet laughter filled your head, drowning out the raspy sounds of your own pathetic mewling. The coil in your belly threatened to snap again, sending tears of ecstasy rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto the cold, stone floor as you struggled to choke out the admission of defeat he so wanted to hear.

But it wasn't enough. Inky tresses tickled your trembling shoulders and cast you into darkness as the creature loomed above, sweetly whispering his quiet demand against your temple while he railed your soul into the next life with a twisted smile curled upon his lips.

"Say it again."

#naruto x reader #naruto smut #orochimaru x reader #orochimaru smut #naruto imagines #orochimaru imagines #naruto fanfiction #orochimaru fanfiction #chanfictions #orochimaru x you

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yanara126-writing · 3 years

Text

The Adventures of Hildraed Dawnsbane - Watching and Fucking Morals (4/?)

Farmer, Pirate, Menace, Captain, Dawnsbane. Hildraed has many titles, she really could have lived well without Watcher.

Read here or on Ao3. (1827 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

I recommend listening to this song, as it was the inspiration for the fever trip that made me wright this. It’s really good, I promise.^^

Hildraed was mad. And she hated this town. Why was she even still here? Because fucking damnit she felt bad for these people. It had started with the damn cook, continued with the poor abused woman (had the fucker not been dead she’d have killed him herself) And then there was the blacksmith who’d promised her a discount, Aufra with her probably soulless baby (not that she’d told her that), and then the goddamn farmers. Because it always came down to farmers, didn’t it? And now she was slouching back in the inn, nursing some bad ale. And the stupid hunk was smiling at her. Fuck him. Eh, maybe later.

Aloth was far better to focus on, with his companionable grouchiness.

With a more desperate than enthusiastic swing she drained her cup and it slammed it down again, trying to pretend the ale wasn’t more water than alcohol.

“I hate this place.” Edér’s stupid grin only got wider. Hildraed glared some more at the cup. She wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Does that mean we can finally leave?” Hildraed didn’t miss the desperation in Aloth’s tone and almost felt bad for him. Only almost though, she felt way worse for herself.

“Yeah. Yeah we can. In fact, we will right now.” Originally she’d intended to stay one more night and leave in the morning, but if she had to continue seeing Edér’s stupid, satisfied smirk she was going to punch him after all. She slammed a few coins on the table, not bothering with counting out the exact amount, grabbed her bag and stomped out the door. Behind her she could hear her new companions scrambling to finish their own drinks and hurry after her.

Outside she had mercy on them and waited a bit for them to catch up, grinning again at Aloth’s relieved sigh. It was too easy to play him. She’d have to teach him a bit to avoid having him be all to easy to manipulate.

Edér apparently wasn’t in quite as much of a hurry, and while waiting for his heavy footsteps to join them, Hildraed found her attention wandering through the miserable town. And of course, her gaze once again landed on the tree. Ever since her first meeting with the dwarf woman she drifted back to the fucking tree. There were no more souls left there, she’d checked far more than she would ever admit, and still her steps kept pulling her back there. And so now again.

The stench was in her nose before she was even aware what she was doing. Dangling, rotting limbs filled her vision as she stared up, wood and flesh melting together. All around her there were purple shimmers, whisperings that drover her mad all around the clock, but looking up there there was nothing, and somehow that was worse. She’d seen hangings before of course. She’d seen people she’d known and even liked hang much the same way. But something about this made her angrier.

This was messy. This wasn’t justice, it was a blood rage. The pirates she’d seen hung had known the risks. Perhaps they hadn’t deserved it either, some had been good people, some had absolutely asked for it, but all of them known. These people up in the tree had just lived, had perhaps never broken a law in their lives, had been punished for suffering a tragedy.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Hildraed flinched, cursing herself for losing focus. That was dangerous at the best of times, which this was not. Just this time the universe seemed to forgive her mistake though, and Edér stood next to her, chewing on his pipe. He didn’t say anything, only stood there, looking up as well, his rough hand, marred much like her own, on her shoulder.

Hildraed didn’t know what triggered it, maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the weight of the last few days were finally drowning her, maybe it was that thrice-damned look of defeat in his eyes, but something in her mind clicked into place and she knew what she still had to do here. It was a terrible idea, would bare way too much to these people she barely knew, but she had to nonetheless.

“You know what my favourite song is? T’s about a boat.” Edér glanced at her, surprised and confused, but still amused.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now? I thought you don’t do empathy?”

“Shut up, I’m drunk.” No she wasn’t, she hadn’t drunk enough of the water ale for that, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No, you’re not.” Well so much for her reputation then. She narrowed her eyes at him, glaring with all the intensity she could muster through all the aches of her body and constant buzz of soul fizzles pressing against her new senses.

“You. I don’t like you.” That didn’t seem to intimidate him at all, if anything he just got softer. Hildraed sighed and looked away again. What crew had she gotten herself here? One who was easier to play than a fiddle but had a wrong string and one who already laughed at her. And still…

“My mom always sang it when we were down on our luck. It’s about a crew saving their boat after it already sank. It was the first chant I learnt. I’ve sung it every time the universe hated me especially.” It had carried her through her 35 years of life even when nothing else had. She’d shared it every time she’d sung it, just as she’d been taught. This one thing wasn’t something to keep to herself. She had no intention of sharing anything else, the secret of her past would die with her as far she was concerned, but this one thing she’d keep throwing into the world as often as necessary. And right now it was very necessary.

With another look at Edér, and not the fucking tree, she turned around and stalked out of the pit. Aloth was standing a bit away in the shadow of a wall, trying to keep himself out of the public eye. Hildraed sat down not far from him at the edge of the pit and pulled her old lute from her back. She gave it a loving pat, before starting to pluck the strings in a familiar tune. Behind she could hear Aloth shift a little closer, in front of her could see Edér settling down next to her, but she ignored both of them.

“She went down last mid-winter in a pouring driving rain…” It had been a while since she’d last played it, and the familiar notes rang something deep in her, tugging at places within herself that she didn’t have a name for before.

“There were just us five aboard her when she finally was awash

We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost…” It had taken her own boat to really understand it. In her youth it had been a nice story, and good tune with an inspirational message. Now as an adult it meant so much more. Her fingers danced over the strings with more elegance than she’d been able to work up in weeks, her foot tapped the rhythm, her body swayed with waves that weren’t there, her mouth formed the words that had accompanied her for so long.

“But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,

For she's worth a quarter million, just floatin’ at the dock

And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain…” Another foot joined in the rhythm, but Hildraed didn’t look up. Chanting was always exhilarating, but this was special in another way. She felt the words reverberate around her, felt souls stirring as the story continued to follow the melody. There was a clarity that had never been there before, an awareness that had nothing and everything to do with this song so dear to her. More souls were drawn closer, and it felt like drowning in life.

“All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend

Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends

Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow

Or I'd never have the strength to go below

But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and porthole down

Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and girded her around

Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain…” There were people all around now, and somewhere the logical part of Hildraed knew she needed to be careful, to be aware of everyone around her, to not let herself be caught off-guard again. Unfortunately, that part was buried deep under the emotions and sensations flooding everything else. At this point she wasn’t sure what was hers anymore, she just kept playing and singing, surrounded by more whispers than ever. Whispers of pasts, of uncertain futures.

“And you, to whom adversity has dealt a mortal blow

With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go

Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain

And like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!

Rise again, rise again; though your heart it be broken

And life about to end

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend

Like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!”

She played the final cord, sung the final tune, and her fingers and tongue stilled. The whispers were still there, ringing loudly in her ears and rising to a crescendo, making her head hurt even more- Wait, no, that was clapping. A few hands clapping around her, and Hildraed finally looked up, eyes a little bit clearer now. It wasn’t as many people as she’d thought, a few guests from the inn, a few people from the surrounding houses. And Hildraed stared.

It wasn’t so much that she minded the audience, quite the opposite really, she’d always enjoyed hogging people’s attention. But that had been before this stupid shit. Before she’d started noticing way too fucking much, while losing focus of everything else.

But then, as it always was, it didn’t take too long for the people to notice that the show was over, and they dispersed again, throwing strange looks in her direction that she didn’t bother to notice. She’d be gone now anyway, let them think what they want.

In the end only two were left, one on each side, though when Aloth moved next to her she couldn’t say. Her head still hurt, she was confused more than ever, and she still hated this place, and yet she felt a little lighter now. The tree was still there, and it was still abominable, but maybe now she could finally stop looking at it.

And maybe now they could finally fuck off.

#Pillars of Eternity #writing #Watcher Hildraed #Edér Teylecg #Aloth Corfiser #fanfiction #singing #the mary ellen carter #derina harvey band #'t's a good song

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brightlycoloredteacups · 7 years

Text

Dreams

Series: Bynhilda’s Saga

Warnings: Violent Imagery, disturbing dreams

Dagmar’s prediction almost comes true. Brynhilda barely clings to life during the winter months. Her wound starts healing with little trouble, but an infection settles into her lungs, things spiral for the girl there. All winter long she lays by the hearth, coughing, shivering, barely keeping food down. Eysteinn keeps a careful watch over her. It irritates Dagmar. They should just throw the girl out and leave her to the wolves. Wasting all their precious resources on someone who won’t live to see spring is a foolish thing to do.

One night, as she and her husband are lying in bed, tired after love making, she says as much to her husband. A bad mood as settled over their home thanks to Brynhilda, so his resultant growl to her quip is no surprise. “Hush woman! For once, feel with your heart rather than think with your head.” Dagmar merely sniffs and rolls over. Eysteinn begins to kiss her shoulders, trying to soothe his irritated wife. “The gods walk with this child.” He explains. “They are testing her, seeing if her will to survive is strong enough. Great plans have been set in motion for her. It is our duty to help her.”

“Oh? And how do you know the gods watch over her so carefully?” She snaps. “Do you not know who lies in our home Wife?” Eysteinn continued to argue. She stays silent. “I do, the last time I went to the village I asked about the army that set up in our forest all those weeks ago. That was the Army of King Boggvir. He was one of the last Kings to stand against Harald.” Dagmar sits up, looking at her husband in disbelief.

“Yes, we have Boggvir’s own shieldmaiden in our home.”

“Impossible!” Dagmar hisses. “Brynhilda can’t be killed, she is deathless.”

“Just because one is deathless doesn’t mean they can’t come close to death. Even the All-Father has suffered.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dagmar says, settling back down into the furs. “It can’t be Brynhilda. She is with Boggvir, they are planning their next raid. Boggvir wouldn’t be so stupid as to sacrifice his best warrior. The girl will die in a few days, and I will be accepting your apology.”

“Come Spring,” Eysteinn says, laughing, “I will be accepting your apology.”

Brynhilda continues to flow in and out of consciousness. Her dreams are ever changing, ever terrifying.

She’s in Helheim, having succumbed to the sickness ravaging her body. Hel points and laughs at her as Brynhilda sits at a table with the old and infirmed. Everyone mills about. Looking so dispassionate and bored. Her will to fight has left her being, so she does nothing more than sit about. A wraith surrounded by rotted foods.

She is back on the altar, hands tied to the arm rests made of antlers. This time, her king manages to finish the job. She is so close to the Gates of Valhalla when she cries out. The Gates shut before her, she spends eternity on Midgard, weeping, looking for those gates. The gods laugh at her for making such lofty vows, then failing.

The one that terrifies her most is the one that serves as her motivator. She is buried again. This time, it’s a proper burial. Her weapons are laid at her feet, the gold she acquired through her lifetime spread all around her. She is dressed in the best funerary garb, the Knot of the Slain sewn plainly onto the chest of her clothing. She knows instinctively that the knot isn’t meant to signify her death, but to prevent her from rising from the grave. The Sleep Thorn is carved into oak and laid underneath her head as well. A spell to keep her asleep forever.

Boggvir and the Jarls stand around her grave, sending silent prayers to Odin to keep her in the ground. She smiles, they’re fools. The magic behind the symbols is weak, her will too strong. She will rise despite the precautions taken.

She watches as the month’s pass, her body is rotting under the dirt. Winter buys Boggvir time, allows him a false sense of security. He forgets about Brynhilda, settled into his life, with a wife and a child.

When the snow begins to melt, she begins to stir. This is where the dream turns terrifying. The skies turn an unnatural black, it rains for many days and nights, wetting the dirt. This will make it easier to come out of her grave. The winds whipping about have a magic about them, someone is calling her to task. This time, there is no suffocation, no struggle as she rises.

Boggvir has made yet another mistake. He has buried Brynhilda in a mass grave. It is centuries old, but filled with the bodies of warriors’ past, all angry at having been wronged by someone in their lives. Her own anger reaches out to them, and they begin to stir as well.

For a moment, the ground seems to be its own entity, alive with activity from those below. Bodies start to burst forth, fully armed and armored with rusted metals. As the storm rages on, and her army gathers, Brynhilda is aware of a chant beginning. It’s one word; kill. There’s nothing melodic about it, but as it reaches a crescendo, she feels her anger and pain well within her, until all she can do is let out a fierce scream. The others scream with her.

The rain stops as suddenly as it began, the clouds part, and the sun begins to shine. She looks at herself and the army behind her. Despite the rotted flesh falling from bleached bones, the maggots and beetles crawling about the walking corpses, she recognizes these people. Two of them step up, and place their hands on her shoulders. Her parents. She turns to the army behind her. Her ancestors, enraged on her behalf walk with her.

She awakens with a gasp. Half expecting to be covered in mud, she thrashes about and whimpers in terror. “Hush little one.” Someone says above her. She panics, begins to scramble to get up. “No, no, please, you’re weak and you’ll hurt yourself!” The voice says. She doesn’t listen. It’s hard to get up, there’s something binding her torso, it’s clunky and throws her balance off. She manages to stand for a few seconds, before falling back on her ass. She cries out in pain, but shuffles away from the person until her back hits a wall.

The woman just sits there, looking at her slightly amused. “Are you done child?” She asks. “Who are you?” Brynhilda demands. “I am Dagmar, wife of Eysteinn, the man you owe your life to.” Brynhilda looks about the small hut. There’s nothing remarkable about it. A bed is shoved into the corner, there are various jars on a shelf. It’s a normal looking hut. “I,” She starts, eyes swinging back to Dagmar. “Thank you,” she means it, dying in the dirt had seemed her only option last she remembered.

“Don’t thank me, thank that fool husband of mine. He’s the one the insisted we keep you alive through the winter.” Dagmar motions for her to get back. “Now I owe him an apology. And you owe us food.”

“I have no food, or money.” Brynhilda explains. “You can work, can’t you?” Dagmar says. “You’re still healing but you’re well enough to scrabble about my home like a crab. Come here girl and let me change your bandages.” Brynhilda does as she’s ordered. Dagmar begins unwrapping the binds, as soon as all is settled, taking out the sticks layered in between wrappings carefully. “Someone did a number on you girlie.”

“Yes,” Brynhilda admits. “Spent the whole winter sick and healing. Fever nearly killed you.” Brynhilda remains silent. “You look foreign too. What were you, a slave?”

“I was never a slave,” Brynhilda snaps. “Nothing wrong with being a slave.” Dagmar mutters. “You’d do well to remember that. One must do what one must to survive.” Brynhilda turns to look at the old woman. “Turn back around.” Dagmar orders. “And stay still. Your back still has a long way to go, we had to cut some of the flesh off when it got infected. Your bones healed proper though. My husband saw to that.” There’s pride in Dagmar’s voice as she talks about Eysteinn. “Said the gods were intervening personally with you. I wanted to throw you out into the snow. Eating all our food stores like that. Then you didn’t have the decency to keep them down.” She gives a hmph.

Brynhilda wants to snap at the woman, but reigns her temper in. These people helped her, however reluctant they were to do it. “The gods intervening with mortals, have you ever heard of such a thing? They only intervene with King Ragnar. They say he and his family are descended from Odin. Even his wife is descended from the famed Sigurd the Dragon Slayer and Brynhilda the Shieldmaiden.”

“I know.” Brynhilda says. “My father told me the stories.” Dagmar finishes unwrapping Brynhilda and lays the bandages to the side to be burned. She dips a rag into a bowl of warm water and begin to wash Brynhilda’s skin. “And you, are you descended from the gods?” She eventually asks. Brynhilda remains silent. Dagmar doesn’t seem to mind, she continues to talk. “Even if you aren’t, my Eysteinn is convinced you’re being watched over by them. He says Odin himself has his eye on you. You seem to be blessed.”

At this, Brynhilda scoffs. “Blessed? I am cursed. My entire family was murdered, my king has betrayed me, now I have to listen to some old woman prattle on about how she wanted to leave me to nature.” Dagmar chuckles. “Then Odin is truly testing you.”

“How, by taking everything I ever loved, leaving me alone in the world? Leaving me with nothing?” Brynhilda can’t fathom why she’s even talking to the old woman. Maybe it’s the stress, maybe the fever has touched her brain. Whatever the case, she feels like oversharing. “Odin will reward you in the end.” Dagmar assured her. Brynhilda gives a derisive snort.

When Dagmar is finished washing Brynhilda’s back, she walks over to the shelf with the jars and pulls one down. Walking it back over to Brynhilda, the girl gets a whiff of the contents. There’s no mistaking it, it’s a healing paste. Brynhilda grunts in pain as Dagmar smooths the paste along her back. Halfway through, the door to the cabin opens. Brynhilda cranes her neck to see an older man walk in. He’s carrying rabbits around his midsection. “You’re up!” He says jovially. “Dear wife, it’s the first day of spring, and it looks like our guest has pulled through.”

“Yes, I am sorry for doubting you husband.” She growls. Eysteinn laughs. Bending over to kiss his wife, Brynhilda watches as the old woman smiles and blushes. She’s envious of the love between them. She can only hope to have a love like that in her life one day.

“So, young one, my wife doesn’t think you’re watched over by Odin. I think otherwise. Will you settle the debate for us? Are you Brynhilda? The one who was Blood Eagled by Boggvir?” There was no sense in lying to them. Before she answers she looked for possible weapons in their home. They were old, but she knew better than to underestimate the elderly. There was a reason they reached old age. The couple might not take kindly to the Shieldmaiden of Boggvir in their home. “I am,” She says. Eysteinn’s eyes glitter with excitement. “That’s two point for me wife.” Dagmar snorts. “Who’s keeping score?” She wipes the last bit of paste stuck to her fingers onto a rag.

“Odin has saved you then? For great purpose, I imagine.” Eysteinn sounds thrilled with the idea. “I like to think so.” Brynhilda admits. There’s no other way to account for her good luck so far. Dagmar begins wrapping a new set of bandages around Brynhilda’s middle. “Odin only interferes in the lives of those he considers worthy. You must be a tremendous person of importance.” Eysteinn continues. Brynhilda purses her lips. “They say Boggvir rewarded you well for your services to him.”

“He betrayed me!” Brynhilda snarled. “I made that man king and he tried to sacrifice me on the word of his whore! Why would Odin want such a sacrifice? He knows I will enter Valhalla when I am good and ready.”

Eysteinn is smiling at her, mirth evident in his eye. “You are angry, that will serve you well in the times to come.”

“What do you know about the times to come?” Brynhilda snaps. “My husband dreams,” Dagmar said. She’s done with everything now, and moves to sit on the other side of the fire. She brings out a knife to begin gutting the rabbits Eysteinn brought home. “He sees things, senses things.”

“Plus, the ravens ever present outside our home gives it away.” He says. “Are you descended from the gods?”

“My father says we’re descended from the god Freyr and his wife.” Brynhilda says. Dagmar laughs outright at this. Brynhilda’s face gets hot with her laughter. “Oh, that’s a good one.” The old woman teases. “Descended from Freyr and his wife, I’ve never heard that one before.”

“I didn’t say it was true,” Brynhilda defends quietly. “I said that’s what my father told me.” She brings her knees to her chest, and looks longingly into the fire. Dagmar and Eysteinn sense the conversation is over for now. “Rest, young Brynhilda,” Dagmar says. “Tomorrow, you begin to work for your keep.”

#ivar ragnarsson #ivars heathen army #ivar the boneless #ivar fic #vkings #ivar and brynhilda

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misunderstood-shadows · 7 years

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The Returned: Chapter 16

A/N~ End of Book 1! I hope you enjoyed the story. What shall happen to our fearless (more or less) heroine?

Find out in Book 2!

I had almost forgotten how terrifying Elijah was when he fought. His face sets into a look of determination and it is both beautiful and petrifying the rate which he dispatches his opponents. When we were growing up, he often sparred with Klaus, Finn and Mikhael, while Rebekah and I braided each other’s hair and made fabrics, as appropriate for young girls in that era. Though I loved to spend time with my honorary sister, I had always longed to fight alongside the brothers. When I returned to the Mikaelsons in 1201A.D, Elijah had taken it upon himself to ensure that I could fight effectively. In good time as well; that year the people of the town they had settled in found out about our vampirism. Though they had yet to learn of our weakness and strengths, they came at us with a ferocity only humans could summon in the face of a deadly threat. It had been endearing really.

As the hordes of vampires attacked us, I was reminded of that fight. Though now, my technique was perfected and I was a thousand times stronger than the vamps here. As wooden balustrades were broken off the stair railing by flying bodies, I picked them using them as makeshift stakes to kill and disable vampires as they attacked me.

‘’Look. Another Original bitch.’’ A voice said behind me. A light skinned woman stood there, twirling a broken chair leg in her hand. ‘’I guess I should put her out of her misery.’’

She lunged forwards and I easily grabbed her throat and lifted her into the air, knocking the makeshift stake out of her hand. ‘’I wouldn’t do that. You see, I’ve been having some issues lately and they have made me very irritable. Plus, the explosion Marcel set off earlier today broke my back. Do you know what it’s like to heal a broken back?’’ I squeezed the woman’s throat tighter and she shook her head, fear in her eyes. ‘’Didn’t think so.’’

I jerked her body, snapping her neck and let it fall to the floor in a heap. Only when every vampire was down, except for Elijah and I, did I notice the destruction around us. Blood stained the floor and the sound of mending bones filled the air. The wooden stairs had been torn apart, splinters littering the ground.

‘’Are we done?’’ Asked Elijah. Some of the vampires struggled to their feet. I sighed and prepared myself for round two.

‘’Wow,’’ a voice called. I spun to see Francesca walk into the court yard, accompanied by her brother’s/body guards. ‘’Nice job. Saved me the trouble of killing all these vampires myself.’’

Something smelled… different about them. It was earthy… almost animalistic.

‘’Elijah, they’re- ‘’ I cried. Two of her brothers lunged forward, eyes flashing yellow. They tore into my neck and I passed out as the venom invaded my system.

‘’Alessandra.’’ Elijah pushed the body of a vampire out of the way, kneeling by my side.

‘’Hey, Elijah.’’ I murmured. I could feel the werewolf venom racing through my veins, burning me from the inside out. He propped me up against a nearby wall and I grunted. The wounds on my neck and shoulders pumped blood. ‘’It’s been a long time since I was bitten by a wolf.’’ I groaned. ‘’I have to say, I don’t particularly enjoy the feeling.’’

‘’It’s progressing faster in you. Here,’’ he scooped me up into his arms and raced me upstairs to my bedroom. ‘’I shall return with Niklaus.’’ He promised. ‘’Stay here until I do.’’

As soon as he disappeared out the door I leant over the side of the bed and vomited. A spray of blood shot from my mouth, staining the beautiful carpet. The pounding in my head increased and I groaned. I could hear the screams from the courtyard, wolf bites were so much worse to new vampires. Even though I had fought them less than 10 minutes ago, I felt sorry for them.

There was no way Klaus would heal them; they would die screaming.

I must have passed out because when I woke, someone was shrieking. Even with my attuned ear, I could barely make it out, but it was there; a woman screaming in pain. After a moment there was a resounding yell; Klaus. The sound rang in my fever addled brain and I cried out in pain.

Elijah appeared at my door dressed in a pristine suit, a small smile on his face.

‘’Elijah, what are you doing here?’’ I looked at him, too weak to sit up.

‘’I came back for you. I will always come back for you.’’ He said gently, walking forwards.

‘’But you didn’t.’’ I whispered. ‘’You left me alone for 250 years.’’

‘’I was in shock. I tried to find you but I couldn’t.’’ He sat down on my bed, close to me. A hand stroked through my hair and I closed my eyes.

‘’I love you.’’ I whispered. My vision blurred as the venom wormed it way deeper into my brain.

‘’I love you, too.’’ He whispered.

‘’You’re not real.’’ I whispered, tears leaking from my eyes.

‘’Of course I am.’’ He insisted.

‘’No, you’re not. Real Elijah would be out looking for Hayley. He doesn’t love me; he’s cut me out.’’ I took a shuddering breath. ‘’He’s cut me out. He loves Hayley. He would be out looking for her. He knows that I’ll be ok.’’

He gripped my hair, pinning me to the bed. ‘’You’re right; I don’t love you. I never loved you. Who could? Not to mention you can’t even control yourself when you feed after 1000 years. You lost our child, you lost me. You’re worthless.’’

‘’You’re not real.’’ I whispered, pressing my palms to my head, trying to squeeze the images out. ‘’You’re not real. Not real, not real.’’

When I opened my eyes, Elijah was gone. In his place stood a little boy, no more than 8 years old. His blood hair was matted with blood and most of his neck was missing.

‘’You killed me.’’ He said in a high voice. ‘’You tore my throat out. I died screaming.’’

‘’I’m so sorry.’’ I wept. ‘’I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to; I was just so hungry.’’

‘’My family blamed the wolves. My father hunted them down to kill them but they killed him. My mother died of grief. You killed my family.’’ He stalked forward, clambering onto the bed. His face changed, decaying and falling off in front of me. I screamed, trying to scramble away but I couldn’t move. Slowly, more people appeared in front of me. The faces of the people I killed drifted past, each rotting and dropping off, revealing the white skulls beneath.

‘’You killed us.’’ They chanted. ‘’You killed your own baby. You destroy everything around you.’’

‘’Alessandra!’’ Klaus ran through the illusions. I scrambled away from him, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

‘’Please. Please, just leave me alone.’’ I pleaded. ‘’I’ll leave. Elijah and Klaus won’t see me again. I’ll leave. I won’t bother you anymore. Just please, stop this. I don’t want to see it.’’

Klaus bit his wrist and held it to my mouth. I sealed my lips against the blood, refusing to consume it. He gripped by jaw forcing me open. Weakened by the werewolf venom I was unable to resist. The blood slid down my throat and the visions disappeared. I panted, the burning in my veins subsiding.

‘’There you go.’’ Klaus breathed, smiling. His eyes were red rimmed and I wondered what happened.

‘’Thank you.’’ I whispered.

He nodded, then stood up. Behind him, in the doorway, stood Elijah. He watched me with carefully guarded eyes.

I slid off the bed and made my way into the bathroom.

‘’What happened?’’ I asked Elijah, hearing him follow me into the bathroom, running the tap in the sink. I grabbed a washcloth and proceeded to wipe the blood from my face and neck.

‘’The child died.’’ Elijah whispered. I spun around to face him, hand flying to my mouth.

‘’Oh, Elijah.’’ I breathed. ‘’I’m so sorry. Nobody should have to go through that. Losing a child is-’’

‘’Well you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Alessandra?’’ He snapped. I looked down, shaken by his words. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he apologized. ‘’That was rude of me. It has been a trying day.’’

I nodded, turning from him, tears welling up in my eyes.

‘’Please excuse me.’’ I said, leaving the bathroom. I walked through my bedroom and out into the cool night air. After a moment Elijah joined me. ‘‘You should talk to Hayley. She will be upset at her loss and she’ll need someone to talk to. She should find something to take her grief out on, or it will consume her.’’ I said, not looking at him.

‘’How did you deal with it, after…?’’ he asked.

‘’I didn’t. Your mother Turned me and my family threw me out. I ran. I turned off my humanity and went on a 100 year killing spree. Then a witch tortured me until I switched it back on then I hid from you for another 100 years before joining you in Britain.’’ I sighed. ‘’Fortunately for Hayley, she doesn’t have that option.’’

‘’Actually, after the birth, the witches killed her. She had the baby’s blood in her system; she’s a hybrid.’’

‘’Elijah.’’ I said urgently, looking him in the eye. ‘’You can’t let her switch off her humanity. Compel her or something. If she turns it off… it’ll haunt her forever.’’

He nodded. ‘’Does it haunt you?’’ he asked.

‘’Every day.’’ I whispered. I watched the city, the faces of the hallucinations flashing before me. ‘’I love being a vampire, Elijah. I really do. I enjoy not being weak and I’ve seen so much happen over the course of my life. But I hate the guilt. I’ve hurt and killed so many innocent people. We lock it away and keep it buried but eventually it comes back to haunt us.’’

‘’It is both a blessing and a curse.’’ Elijah acknowledged.

‘’There’s something wrong with me.’’ I admitted, looking down at my hands. ‘’I- I’m hungry all the time. I can’t control it and I want… need to feed until whoever it is dies. I thought that maybe it was drinking clean blood again, but I killed that guy in the alley, Elijah. I promised myself that I wouldn’t kill anymore. I pulled away but the blood- ‘’ I swallowed. ‘’I think that the monster I’ve been burying is coming out. I can’t live in a big city if I lose control.’’

‘’You shouldn’t deal with this on your own. I know that Hayley and Niklaus will be close together over the next few weeks. I’ll help you find out what’s going on with you.’’ Elijah promised.

I turned to him, eyes wide. ‘’Please, don’t feel obligated to help me. Yes, I would appreciate the help but I know how you feel about Hayley. You should hang on to her, love doesn’t come across us very often.’’

‘’You said that you had only one love in a thousand years when we were in the car to the bayou. Who was he?’’ Elijah asked, still looking at me.

I smiled sadly. ‘’Someone who will never love me back. Goodnight, Elijah.’’

He nodded, then walked from my room. When he was gone I turned to towards my room when something caught my eye; a small child about 5 years old staring at me from the street below. I blinked and he was gone. I shook my head; it was probably a remnant from the wolf bite.

#elijah mikaelson #fanfic #mikaelsons #the originals #supernatural #crossover #imagine that!

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glopratchet · 4 years

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retirement-home

Undergrowth seeking The sun is setting, and the sky is beginning to turn orange as it begins to set in your eyes shelter from the rain Lightpoles of light shine through the trees, illuminating the ground below Lightpoles of light shine through the trees, Construction drama all around Accustomed to the shadows, willow adepts hold hands in a circle, chanting Robert chats with Féval père Construction drama all around Green-skinned bodyguards adorned in leather and denim stand on either side of the gourmand saurus, his pupils dilated… Let's just get to it! Green-skinned bodyguards adorned in leather and denim stand on either side of the gourmand saurus, Bandages dirtied with mud and blood The gnome seems pale Conscious, if just barely Bandages dirtied with mud and blood Monitors beep alarms His fists ball up as a jolt of lightning runs through his body "Where am I? "Naledi Monitors beep alarms Vaccine enters the patient's body through his veins Your nostrils flare, smelling the thick scent of diesel, grease and rubber Vaccine enters the patient's body through his veins Shocktroops prepare grenades as a leutnant barks orders at them Shocktroops prepare grenades as a leutnant barks orders at them Pharmaceuticals Midrim Limited, owned by the Regime and helmed by Captain Rimanika Pharmaceuticals Midrim Limited, High-roller midbite owners, books and casinos owned by the Regime High-roller midbite owners, Lizards gamblers and thrill-seekers from all over Confederacy space Lizards, Gorazel and his blood-manipulating magic Miguel ineptly fumbles with trigger, as you teach him the ways of warfare Gorazel and his blood-manipulating magic Cyber-surgeon Professor Mberupekwe Mbara works tirelessly on the wounded Nurses and orderlies taking small breaks from the chaos overtake the hospital Cyber-surgeon Professor Mberupekwe Mbara works tirelessly on the wounded Lieutenant Krozer is here! Agent walking slowly over to the pot of coffee, pouring some for him and you "Boss Agent walking slowly over to the pot of coffee, Borders, barriers, segregations Agent stretching turning back to the room Big L salute; you return it "The Moonracer was a success! Agent stretching, Blood baths The blood seeping from his chest to the cracks in the concrete floor General Ecker's last stand Bloodbaths Agent caregiving Sedated forever, locked in a coffin of steel and glass Naked but for plastic curtains separating them Dog -eared copies of Green Genetics | The Choice of Progress, and Why Monarchy is Evil propped up in their hands Dog-eared copies of Green Genetics | The Choice of Progress, Agent cheese-making Abomination, barely even human NASA stickers still visible, turquoise and dull yellow against the rusted metal exterior of the machine Agent roving His head rises, as if sticking his neck out Will you approve or decline his offer? Cyclone of emotions in a heartbeat Lion's roar burning a whole through everything Agent well-being His mighty paw clutching an Uzi short shotgun Albino cobra, hood fully expanded as it prepares to strike Agent coping Pulse quickening as adrenaline surges, burning through you Do you recognize these feelings? Agent catalyzing Blackness, pierced by the wailing of a mother Young soldiers scramble, dropping their food to draw their various firearms Agent landscaping His groan is a presage of the pain you're about to unleash upon him Sergeant peers through the periscope, whistles Agent mistreating Something clatters to the floor The stare of wounded soldier, waiting for the final blow The sickening crunch of splintering bones Agent diagnosing Seeing the world through a foggy camera lens Invaders, enslavers, slaughterers Agent stroking Soldier stiffening as the electricity tears through him Agent portraying Urgency so thick you can taste it, adrenaline pumping into your veins Everyone thinks you're a monster, because that's what I wanted Agent evoking Night-sky, lit up by the blast You miss the battlefield Agent photographing Explosion of emotions from the dying soldier Agent handicapping Sergeant bellows, high-caliber bullets tearing through the air Agent joking A gurgling laugh escapes your own throat as the knife cleaves through his frontal armor Agent giving orders Agent brushing off excess dirt One foot after the other, none of them stepping too harshly Aloof and unaffected by the future Sundowning setting apocalypse into slow motion Agent acediology The soldier's finger pulls the trigger, but the gun fails to fire Sanitation of body and soul Synapses in the brain misfiring, leading to sleep Colossus rising; fortress of solitude The smell of fresh blood and vomit churning in your gut Regression into infantile fantasy as a shield from bloodshed Community-dwelling tribal warfare Epinephrin rushes, adrenaline pulsing Great gear overflowing from bookbags and lockers, assault rifle peeking out the top Muckety-mucks hoping that your psych eval comes back positive Shuffling of papers and murmuring of hushed voices Bare mattress and worn-down carpet Ribbon-cutting for the new healing wing Helicopter blades whirring overhead Anxiety burning in your chest, despite the smiles you put on Balloons and mini-birthday cakes under halogen lights, a celebration of fifteen years since the Cure Sensawunda! Grooming Torn-out page of the Kama Sutra, hidden behind a biology book and attire for your next pageant Skinnys the newest substance replacing alcohol and tobacco A blue card, redeemable for one cured child's organs Counseling sessions to discuss death, over and over again Motherload of narcotics and psychotropic drugs seized by Delta Company Never-ending remorse, shaking hands Eating contests and wet T-shirt contests, barf bags at the ready Your system cleansed of toxins, feeling invigorated Whisky-joint -basketball-throwdown! Dwelling in darkness as your world crumbles around you Terrorist organizations pledging alliance, chaotic guerrilla strikes and bombings Sodbuster besieged by nightmares of bloody, doomed civil war CSI sorting through the wreckage, pointing fingers Sleeping Fortress America, gateway to the world the sleep of the righteous, night after night Your personnel records expurgated for reasons of national security Mini-chainsaw carved from a battered hunk of meat, abandoned A torrent of memories and birth identifications 26 undergraduates, dead and taken off line Astryl sifts through evidence and admonishes you A spent casing rolling under a bookcase The family silver, tarnished Toothpaste and nail clippers, procured at the last ration station Fighting over a cracked compact mirror Shambles that was once an infant, swollen several times natural size CSI measures every cubit and indices every blackboard scrawl Wet-nurse standing before you, blubber pouring from eye sockets like tears Towering, irate figure promising freedom in flesh and machinery beating in unison Chatters chmidtchild mp3 plays faintly while in your pocket Hegemony and valor bleeding into the unknown Passageways twist and turn as you hunt, quietly Rot increases as putrid steam billows into frigid air Admission collected to raise hitman Body buried two thousand feet below Rotting, empty eye socket watches you with a mixture of hope and lust Weakness-magnets each pulling in a different direction, tearing the collective apart from within Homelike prison, built to hold the worst that humanity has to offer Mausoleum awaits, made from the destruction of your aspirations Cafffeine -fueled hyper-articulate poetry from shouting voices and violence The only certainty Gerontologist calm and collected as you lie in wait Sitting in your drafty crypt as rot spreads, eating at hopes and dreams Tumblebleeds yourself away, forever stumbling forward into the future The vague threat of terrorism franctically expended to fill time and distract Cognizance truncated by drugs injected at birth Consciousness smashed to bits against the grinding wheels of this atrocious hamster wheel Gusts of bloodthirsty elation in battle The distant echo of gunfire somewhere outside of this citadel Life-prolonging machine breathing for you in bursts A sewer connecting one locus of despair to the other Surgeries leaving you disfigured and without certain organs Mild satisfaction brought on by contribution of articles to sub-standard news organ Sports and reality shows to forget your sorrows, if only for a moment Addled brains desperately searching for truth, wisdom, decency Mousehole to escape when craggy reality becomes too much to bear Immortal ruler of fables and nursery rhymes Resurrection ists stripping the flesh from your bones for money The disease spreading rampantly, claiming youthful lives Harmonica haunting you through the prison corridors All trials leading back to the supernatural Detached shoulder pulsating microphone stand, choir of shrieks and howls Mattresses embroidered with nursery rhymes, sweet lullabies for the wicked Booty in bottles of shine and bags of pdevices Blood-soaked urchin armies waging gangland warfare over crackhouses Rusted-out trash barrel fires and rats the size of ponies Rotting meat smell of dead bodies left uncovered in the streets Phosphorus searchlights ripping through your being Alleys and allies twisting in an eccentric patterns, never straight for more than a few cubits Automaton driven to find the killer of his beloved Selma Hellfire and brimstone preachers bringing morality to the masses Megalomaniac al omnipotent entity demanding sacrifice after sacrifice The ghostly echo of the apocalypse in bottomless silos Dust to dust, pain to pain, doom to doom Eternal life seems like nothing more than a fever dream now Patriots raving in a static-ridden anarchy Heaven's goblins, led by the fiddler and the lean man Adrenaline -charged duels and gunfights along dead-end streets Grease-stained gambling and long, lingering bartabs Conquistadors hacking and flaming their way through jungles Olmec colossal heads commandeered by Jolly Ranchers and liquor Gangrenous and necrotic plague victims emitting the smell of rot and mildew Anxiety-relieving pills to avoid the toxicity of Mankind Forever! Faucet dripping, wall crumbling, the sounds of the night Sidewalks carved into and stepped pyramids for the peasants Prophecy foretold of the coming goblin and fanatic followers Zombie hordes bottle-necked by lack of open doors Triangulation of the blood, splattered brains, and rusted-out metal Pirates jettisoning stolen treasure into the depths Preachings of the end of days to doomed desert travelers A dead man and his broken slaver Cataclysmic beams of lightning crashing down from the heavens Corrosion eating away at all metals save for one Rebel alliances exploding within themselves Soapbox oratory drawing all eyes to one man Bloated King feasting on the misery of his subjects Moisture Oily machinery, water buffaloes, and steaming rice paddies clumps silently in the darkness Sermons prophesying the Day of the Dead and All Souls' Rotten, rusted-out hulks of abandoned machinery Lobotomize the rabid, pot-smoking college students Skeletal pirates prowling the night in search of plunder and rum Delivery rooms for freshly killed virgins and babies Toothbrushes being given away for free with student IDs Bleach-white political propaganda exhorting the virtues of community Talisman swelling with power and striking terror into all Bleeding-edge technology much more efficient than it should be Making candy bars out of human flesh Stinky skin conditioners and vomiting hair tonics Stacks of ludicrously cheap VHS tapes A language that, while vitally important, nobody speaks Insecticide miners and natural poison barrels Ancient, decaying albums full of Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon and Bob Marley Oozes and oozes of all types Eternal stains on hotel carpets Life and death decided by rusted dice Newspapers overflowing with conspiracy theories and scandals Lacquer cabinets cascading over with rum bottles Static-laden, monotonous radio broadcasters Diplomats scrambling for crumbs Slick-talking, well-read merchants pontificating on high culture Jocks and preps in backwards hats beating the crap out of goths Obsolete mines and anachronistic technologies Eskiminzins melting Greenland's ice caps Grave robbers pilfering priceless cadavers for medical research Physique gyms pumping man-musk Obsequious Elvin slaves functioning as doctors Ken-doll politicians spewing empty promises Garden-variety chemical-resistant weeds A colony of subterranean mole people Burrowing owlbears tearing through the soil Chemicals from a bygone age destroying the state of things Alsation-trained debt collectors Designers pumping out "new" clothing every year Complacent monks devoting their lives to an unattainable end Anatomy books used by future doctors Kooky 14-year-old leaders taking over the reins of power Ancient government overthrown in a popular revolution Populations of the future spreading to and inhabiting other planets Armadillo-like future robots armed with lasers and other weapons of mass destruction Coffee -flavored coffee Tabloid newspapers with photographs and moving pictures A foreign language that sounds vaguely French Hoppers skittering about Stank-hole criminals hiding away with their ill-gotten loot Sealed reliquaries containing the bones of saints Livers mooth and shiny robot butlers incapable of independent thought Cowardly "soldiers" using ricin-filled bullets Nobility hiring mercenaries to fight their wars for them Sand-filled hourglasses constantly running out Vicinity -enforcement licenses that keep you always nearby Automated tellers constantly loaning you money that you must pay back with interest Vitamins found only in the intestines of humans Grading people for social norms, beauty, and other variables Silent sports with no fans Scorpions and vultures literally fought to the death Helpless slaves in thrall to fat masters Former citizens building communities up from nothing Watermelons that actually melt inside you Dumpster -diving universities for the poor and destitute Prisons filling with both criminals and political opponents Bravado -loaded mercenaries attempting to recapture lost territory Silently suffocating hotel guests Dune buggies full of different types of the undead Librarians marching for work arrangement reform Apocalypse-weave guns stuffed with holy water bullets Trees were extremely rare before the event Occupations concerning themselves only with business and money Spit-and-polish military coups Scamps and vagabonds eking out an existence through thievery Psychopathic laughter issuing constantly from a person's mouth Super-soldiers made with oil and other biological matter Protests over dead refugees from the war Distributed battle armor of the type you currently wear Teetotaler ghettos spawning intolerance on both sides Highly vented helmets trickling clouds of poison gas Zoologist savages attempting to re-mold humans into new shapes and sizes Many undead werewolves with a taste for human flesh snacks Lizard-on-a-stick Galaxy far, far away Endoskeleton and useless attachments such as wings and shark teeth Bagpipes full of infectious black mold spores Bullying protests targeting video game studios Phenotype -altering illnesses altering lupine sydnrome Tiny toy hunting knives carve "V" for victory symbols Moreauvian stumbles into a mundane trap Kleptomaniac youth exposing their treasures Toxic foam pool cleaner When it comes to entering the earth on must do it very precisly and carefully You need to enter the air at a precise speed and angle so that you don't get burned up in the atmosphere or skip out into space to your destruction If you return too fast or too steeply bad things will happen If you pause too long in outer space, your body will absorb enough solar energy to burn you up when you next descend If impact is to shallow then back you go back into space to be frozen preserved and released half a millennium before others of your kind Too deep and the brutal forces will crush your life away The three requirements deceleration heating accuracy of landing or impact Most of your descent is burn monotony You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg so you can select the best and choose the one that do not flow the liquid However, everything is possible, you can refill of "fuel" The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls of the container and crack and if you place a shell inside then this could bounce or deform with pressure and scratch the egg on roughness of inner surface An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking so the landing should not be an issue from that perspective This is why you have kept this as plan B You start saying some thing "how much further should reach the outer layers soon don't want to rush things too much though Straining your neck looking up you try to see the sky Sort of like day dreaming or some thing You start to wonder what your landing will be like Some say hitting water is like landing on solid ground

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shep-writes · 6 years

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The Queen for a Kingdom, Prologue

Fandom: Dragon Age Character(s): f!Cousland, Alistair Theirin, Nathaniel Howe, Velanna, Bethany Hawke, Sigrun, Oghren, The Architect Pairing(s): Alistair/f!Cousland, Nathaniel/Velanna Rating: T Genre: Romance/Angst Warnings: N/A Language: English Summary: The Hero of Ferelden is missing. With the Divine Conclave fast approaching, tension is mounting between the mages and templars, especially in Redcliffe where a whole host of rebel mages has taken refuge. However, with the Blight finally starting to take hold of her beloved King, the Warden Queen finds that her fate lies down a different path than that of the rest of Thedas. A/N: N/A Read On: fanfiction, AO3 Chapter: 1/? Chapter Title: Prologue

Black roots had sprouted beneath his eyes. They were faint, barely noticeable, but they were there nonetheless, ugly, seething lines of corruption crawling beneath what once had been healthy tan. It was only natural that the flesh that covered his bones would pale overtime, for he was nowhere near as active as he was in his youth—and at that he would have undoubtedly scoffed and said “In my youth? I’m still young! I barely look a day over twenty!”—his warm, sun-kissed skin dulling as years spent wrapped in regal garb and trapped indoors slipped by.

But this.

This.

This was not natural.

The Warden Queen stood above her sleeping King, soft beams of moonlight slipping in through the partially cracked window of their bedroom to alight upon his broad, naked chest that rose and fell with each deep breath of solid slumber he took. Every ounce of self-control she possessed was required to keep her from reaching out and running her fingers through the golden hair that trailed down his abdomen. A thin blue sheet was lazily draped about his hips, hiding his lower body from sight, though the Warden Queen didn't need to remove it to know what laid beneath. She knew his body as well as he knew hers—the spots that tickled, the joints that ached when it rained, the muscles that needed massaging, the scars that crisscrossed and marked wounds of old.

Something moist and warm spilled from her nose. On reflex, she wiped the liquid away, the soft material of the glove adorning her long-fingered hands brushing against her pale skin to absorb the thick, dark glob. The dull throbbing of a migraine in remission came with it, her vision splitting and refocusing with frighteningly wild abandon.

Thick-soled boots carried her across their modestly furnished suite to the writing desk littered with stacks of books, rolls of scrolls, parchment paper, quill pens, ink bottles, a variety of poultices and tonics, and the wax stamp of the Theirin family's royal crest. Purposefully ignoring the tear-splattered letter that neatly lay atop a stack of grievances, laws, tariffs, and all other sorts of official things requiring a King's—or Queen's—touch, she grabbed a vial of deep red, threw back her head, and gulped it down in one swig.

A heady rush swept through her even as the last drop was falling from the glass rim, numbing the tips of her toes and fingers, chasing away the darkness. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes, let the cool breeze of a mild summer night brush her fevered forehead. The scent of roses danced beneath her nose, though she could not smell them. All she could smell was rot, death, decay, the goo that had begun to seep from her pores far too frequently for her taste, accompanied by the low, breathy chant of the damned.

Darkspawn blood.

The Blight.

Green eyes snapped open, bright with fiery determination.

It was essential that she move quickly. Unburdened by her Warden-Commander armor—strategically left at Vigil's Keep years ago for this very occasion—she would move swiftly and quietly in the black bodysuit lent to her by a certain fair Sister, creeping undetected through the halls of her own castle like a thief.

The irony of the situation was not lost on her; of the two classes she could have chosen, she had gone the brutal, uncaring, loud route of the warrior, a Berserker no less. The combined efforts of her rogue companions had been enough to teach her how to tiptoe stealthily in plain clothes, but not in full armor.

Casting her gaze out the window, she watched the guards that marched the grounds of the Royal Palace. It would be hard to slip by them; training by a familiar former-Crow had seen to that. But slip by them she would. She had to.

Without a backwards glance, she strode towards the heavy wooden door that led to their chambers, making sure to tread lightly lest she wake her sleeping King as she moved across rug and stone. She was surprised at how easy it was—to leave him. Perhaps it would come later, the heartbreak, the longing. Perhaps it would remain at bay, her head overpowering her heart for a change.

Tugging her hood into place, she tucked her short-cropped red hair behind her ears. Sweat plastered her bangs to her forehead, a cold, clammy dread chilling her bones while her skin remained hot.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled the door open, the hinges creaking in protest.

A groan issued behind her and she froze, waiting, waiting, waiting. For what, she wasn't sure. For him to wake up and call her back to bed, sleep fogging his brain and clouding his thinking, thus preventing the inquiry of, “What in the Maker's breath are you wearing?” For him to spring to his feet, claim that he had known of her plan all along and was hurt that she hadn't included him?

Neither of these things happened, and she loosed a breath from her tight lips. Instead, she heard the mattress groan as he shifted and mumbled incoherently, doubtless searching for her even as he remained oblivious to the world in sleep.

A lump in her throat spurred her into action, steeled her resolve. Heaving the great door open, she stormed into the hall boldly yet quietly. Torches lit her path, throwing her shadow across the red carpet lining the vacated passages she walked.

He would have gone with her. He would have abandoned his post, his people, for her. She couldn't allow that. Not when she had selfishly declared herself his consort all those years ago, when she had thrown logic and reason to the wind—you can't give him children, you're a Grey Warden, you can't give him children, you're a Grey Warden, you can't give him children, you're a Grey Warden—and let love rule her thoughts, govern her actions, be her motivation. In doing so, she had doomed her homeland, subjected it once more to petty squabbles of who would inherit the throne once the barren Warden Queen and bastard King died.

And so gone was the Queen, for what she did now was not for her people, though help them in the long run it would, one way or another. If she was blessed with success, an heir would they receive, Eamon's concerns of keeping Ferelden in Theirin hands eased. If met with a crueler fate she was, well…

Gone was the Warden, for what she did now—though potentially beneficial yet devastating for the order of warriors this quest might prove to be—was not for her fellow cursed brethren, though their sufferings she longed to quell.

Gone was the Cousland, for this was not a journey of vengeance that she embarked upon, nor one that required someone of noble blood.

All that remained was Miri, once a young girl, now a grown woman, still caught in the throes of love, desperate to save the one she could not live without.

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