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dakotafoster · 4 years

Note

Werewolf Bakugou x reader!! I’d like it if there was a lot of his wolf form!! Maybe the reader is a mage as well!! Perhaps there’s a war happening and they got separated in the midst of battle and one gets slightly injured. I know you said no gore. Sorry this is so all over the place!!

Thank you for requesting! This is my first request on this blog and I tried my best with this one-shot to meet it to your expectations so I hope you like it ♡ I went for a sort of forbidden fantasy love narrative if that’s alright.

ᴍᴏᴏɴ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ

ραιяιиg : werewolf! katsuki bakugou x fem! mage! reader

ɢɛռʀɛ : fluff, a tiny bit of angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs : none

աօʀɖ ƈօʊռȶ : 4.2k

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 : Amidst a raging war between your fellow sorcerers and the Werewolves, you find yourself unexpectedly in love with their Alpha.

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

It was an absolute nightmare. It was not how you wanted to use the gifts you had been given, you didn’t want this. Your refused to use your grandmothers teaching of spells and magic for carnage and murder, you wanted to help and save, to nurture those who could not help themselves. You had been sent to fight a pointless war, driven by null excuses. Dragged and thrown into confrontation by your father and mother, who seemed to care little or not at all about your say in the matter. Everyone in your village, every sorcerer and mage believed that such beasts shouldn’t exist, that lycanthropy was nothing more than a demon’s stunt to lure you to Hell, going so far as to say their leader or Alpha was their term, was the embodiment of Lucifer himself.

You on the other hand, you thought that they were a misunderstood species. You wished to simply understand them, to perceive their culture and recognize them for who they truly are. Not based on some silly rumor to terrify children into being proper. You abandoned your family and left to start a life of your own, where you had the privilege to make your own choices. Though, nothing went according to plan. Third night of being in complete solitude, with nothing but the faint pale light of a full moon to keep you company, you had found yourself surrounded by beasts of the night. Ghouls and vampires alike, all frothing at the mouth like rabid animals.

You were sure you had met your maker, when out of the same obscurity appeared a small pack of wolves. Leaping from the wilderness both beautiful and utterly massive. Your saviors had either chased or mauled your captors, only when they turned to you snarling and barking you began to realize your relief was short-lived. At the head of the band, an enormous golden wolf with pearly grand canines and vibrant scarlet eyes. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at how bulky he was compared to the other wolves surrounding him, and how gorgeous he looked under the silver moon. His frame hunched as he gradually made his way toward you, lips pulled back with a thunderous snarl.

“W-Wait! Please!”

Your voice was hoarse with dehydration, your body shivered from the bitting cold and eyes swollen with how many tears you had shed throughout the whole night. You didn’t want to die like this, you refused to give up, even if you were far to frail to fight back. Your prayers must’ve been answered because before the blonde creature could pounce, a second voice boomed from afar.

“Bakugou wait.”

A crimson brute stepped around the blonde and stood in front of your trembling form. His audits pulled back in a pleading manner. Bakugou—was his name— was far from pleased.

“Move aside now Kirishima. Do not make me ask again. She’s a fucking wizard, she has to die.”

“Bakugou look at her, she’s dying. There’s no way she could cast a simple spell without killing herself. Spare her and let us help her.”

Bakugou sneered at his right hand man. Deep down he knew he had a valid reason, and when he peeked around his friends shoulder. You looked horrible, your clothes barely clinging to your rather boney frame, and you appeared to be severely malnourished. He couldn’t help but feel small pang of remorse just with a short glance.

“Please Bakugou, She needs help. Don’t be the monster they say you are. Prove them wrong.”

His scowl worsened, enraged by the Beta’s comment and his pack mates hostile and dissatisfied with the cardinal male. He jumped the at the male, puffing out his chest in a dominating manner and gave him a throaty growl. “You think I give a shit? Let them think what they want of me. Merciful or not, I’m doing it to protect you and the damn pack. My answer is final. No.” With a final snap of his jaws at Kirishima he turned his back on him, a deafening bark commanding the additional wolves to follow.

“No! I beg of you don’t leave! P-please..!”

The Alpha froze. Audits no longer dragged behind him in irritation but now rather set vertically upon his heavy cranium, clearly interested at the sound of your abused voice.

“I-I’ll help your pack. I can use my magic for harvest, livestock. I-I can heal your comrades! I’ll do anything! Just please... Don’t l-leave me to rot away here...” The other wolves became suddenly interested at your proposal, giving each other quick glimpses in question to whether or not you were trust worthy. Even so it was eerily silent with nothing but the weak chirps of crickets filling the void. For a moment everything seemed to freeze before Bakugou promptly padded toward your paltry physique, large paws mere centimeters from you when you felt his hot exhale on your cheeks. You gazed up at him locking into those bloody visionaries, pupils nothing but thin slits.

“Mark my words sorcerer. Attempt anything to harm me or my pack, and I’ll leave you to vampires to properly feast on. Do I make myself clear?” The emphasis he used on each word sent chills down your arms leaving you covered in goosebumps. You hastily nodded, receiving nothing but a firm grunt. Bakugou swiveled around once more and turned his attention to Kirishima, getting uncomfortably adjacent with his companion and repeating the same actions he had done with you.

“And you will be held accountable.”

Without so much as a second glance he sauntered away, his intimidating aura and the other wolves following along behind him. Kirishima assisted you as you climbed onto his woolly back and silently rested while you both made your way to what seemed to be a lions den. The clan was hostile and cruel towards you, you were certain that Bakugou would throw you to them like a damn bone once he was through with you.

You would have laughed if fate told you he would mark you as his mate and lover just weeks later.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Bakugou!”

You and Katsuki both bolted from slumber at the frantic yelp coming from outside the cozy teepee, small flickers of the flame lanterns shone through. You looked over at Bakugou who was adorned with nothing but coal cotton trousers, and you in a simple nightgown. He caught your gaze with tired yet alarmed optics, molding his large calloused palm into your slim silky hand tenderly. Giving your fingers a gentle squeeze he swiftly removed the fur blankets from his body and made his way to the the broad curtain and heaved it open. Revealing a bruised and evidently exhausted Kirishima, you and Katsuki gazed wide eyed at the male. It only took you a second to quickly scamper to your lovers side. Katsuki grabbed a hold of the red-head’s arm, who you now had the privilege to call a dear friend. “Kirishima? What the hell happened to you?”

“Bakugou... It’s the sorcerer’s village. They’ve come. Oh god Bakugou... They have killed so many of our own.”Kirishima wailed, heaving feeling as though his lungs would collapse any second. Your heart seemed to be running a marathon in your chest, terrified for what was to come between your former folk, your former family. Katsuki growled lowly, pivoting on his heel aggressively and stomping his way to seize his fiery red cloak. You sweat dropped with every action he took, you felt like bauling your eyes out when you came to the awareness of what Katsuki was going to do. He was making his past you before you roughly grasping his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

What a stupid question. You knew better than to be so simpleminded. You knew exactly what he was planning, but you wouldn’t let yourself believe it for even a second. The look he gave you said it all, it let you know that you were at the point where you could lose him. He was at his wits end with this war, and he was going to put an end to it once and for all. Even if it meant laying down his own life. You sobbed, squeezing his wrist impossibly tighter, praying that if you did he wouldn’t be able to leave, to leave you behind. Katsuki released a shaky sigh, he let himself incline down to your level and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. It was short, but by the way his eyes were clenched shut you could see he was resisting the urge to ravish himself in your beauty. He exhaled through his nose, nostrils flared when he turned away from you, lips tight lipped as he began to regain composure. He refused to meet your scrutiny, afraid that if he examine your beauty for a second longer he would have second thoughts.

“I love you (y/n). Please forgive me.”

“...What?”

He untangled his wrist from your sweaty palms, his once raging stare occupied with nothing but heartache and heavy sorrow. That all disappeared when he met Kirishima’s optics with a scowl and a stern nod. You trembled when you watched Katsuki clap his grip onto Kirishima’s shoulders, the former stumbling slightly at the impact.

“Take her as far away from here as you can, and if I don’t come back... You take care of my girl you hear me?” His profound voice trembled, and as soon he received a nod of affirmation from his friend he turned his back on him and you. Without so much as a sparing glance, and your heart dropped 50 feet below you.

“No! Katsuki no!”

You whimpered. You instantly made a run for your lover but before you get too far Kirishima grabbed a hold of your waist and pulled to back whilst you writhed in his arms, howling and sobbing after Katsuki.

“No! No! Let me go Kirishima! Let me go! Katsuki come back! KATSUKI! ”

Tears flowed your face without remorse, your throat ached as you screamed at the figure that disappeared into the trees, the silver beam of moonlight that broke through the tree line outlined powerful structure splendidly. Kirishima whimpered beside you, struggling to persevere in keeping you back as you howled and weeped after his friend. You eventually fell limp in his grasp, too weak to resist him any longer and only containing the energy to wail in agony. Kirishima’s knees wobbled, stifling his own cries he struggled to keep you upright and move. He failed. Falling to his knees all he could do now was mourn with you and whisper his apologies.

“Come.... We must leave before they get any closer.” Kirishima whispered after a few prolonged moments, his voice nasally and gruff. He carefully rose from his knees—which still trembled terribly— and grasped your elbows to assist you as well, but he froze when he saw he look on your face. An expression of renewed vigor and determination.

“(y/n)? What are yo—“

It was a plain graze to his bicep, but it was enough to send a sudden pulse through his body and his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he fell limp. A simple sleeping spell you had learned at a young age, yet it’s effects last only 10 minutes before he would awaken.

“I’m sorry Kirishima. I refuse to run from this.” You scanned his unconscious form a moment, and made a mad dash into the trees in the direction you last saw Katsuki. The bare soles of your feet ached, sprinting over twigs and sharp rocks. You would only falter when you got deep enough into the forest in which you began to hear the howls and hollers of both man and wolf, occasional screams and yelps as well. You kept running until you found yourself in a large clearing at the mountain side, and just a couple meters ahead you could make out the shapes of some senior mages you knew and wolves who seemed to be outnumbering their foes quite drastically, but were at a disadvantage in terms of power.

Cautiously, you made your way around the commotion and squatting behind the thickets. you had been an apprentice under your grandmother to become a storm mage like her, but even if you knew some fairly powerful spells it wasn’t going to be enough to take on a handful of far more experienced sorcerers. Adrenaline flowing through your system, pounding about in your chest and head as you struggled to come up with a plan of action. Your legs throbbed but you couldn’t remain hidden forever, peered over the small sprigs and leaves to search for a specific golden canine.

It was moments before you finally spotted him, farther into the clearing he was evading the attacks of a elder mage. Large orbs of energy being thrown at the Alpha male proved futile when he practically sidestepped each one, and the sorcerer was growing quite frustrated and desperate. Katsuki was too occupied with the man in front of him he failed to noticed another approach him from behind, bright amber flames flickering across his palm and a devilish grin across his lips as he got increasingly closer to the Alpha. In a split-second you took one great leap from out of the vegetation and sprinted in his route, the adrenaline surges through your body so fast you could feel bile rise to your throat and the sailva thicken on your tongue. But not for a second did you hesistate, as you got closer you flexed your fingers, feeling a piercing heat spread from your fingertips to your forearms. Once you had gotten close enough you pounced and tackled the fire mage to the ground.

You both fumbled, twisting your body so you straddled the man and before he could counter you gripped his head between your hands and let an intense wave of electricity through your palms. The male in return shrieked, falling comatose in your grasp in mere seconds. You unfurled your fingers from his cranium, taking quick huffs and slowly standing to your feet. You gawked down at the mage, your muscles slightly sore and weak from the exertion.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

A booming growl broke your trance, pivoting on your heels to look at the wolf who marched toward you furiously, the elder sorcerer lay mutilated behind him. “You shouldn’t be here! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” He snarled breathily, you appeared so frail in comparison to him, he towered over you even in his wolf form though he hunched over slightly to meet your (e/c) visionaries. You met his own crimson ones, completely livid. “You’re a fool if you really thought I’d let you turn your back on me like that. You’re a complete asshole!”

You pushed a finger to his woolly chest, your movements frantic as you hollered. Katsuki could only stand there dumbfounded, startled by your unexpected outburst. However he just wasn’t capable of resisting a smirk as you kept up your rambling about how selfish and moronic the ruffian was.

“Are you even listening to a single thing I’m saying Katsuki?” You finally ask and in response he unleashed a deep chuckle “Not a single word princess.” You growled and promptly pinched his blonde audit roughly which left Katsuki to jerk away from your grip with a small yelp. “What the fuck, you shitty woman?! The hell was the for? You know how much that shit hurts!”

You watched in amusement at such a dominant figure pussy away from a small nip, his ear now lopsided as he hopelessly to try and remove the stinging throb. You carefully amble toward him and seize his soft cheeks into your hands. “Because Katsuki, the fact that you sincerely thought you could just leave like that.. It breaks my heart. You do not get to abandon me once everything goes to shit, you chose me as your mate. I am not going to run, not from this and certainly not from you. Argue with me all you want, be a stubborn ass. I don’t care, I’m with you through it all.” You whisper, Katsuki huffed in defeat at your declaration and decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut. Threading your digits through the wild tufts of fur. Katsuki emitted a heavy purr at the action, his eyelids fluttered close.

His lids flew back open and his nostrils flared. The faint aroma of an unreleaved individual left him stiff, on instinct he sunk his canines into your night gown and launched you to the side. In an instant, all too familiar splinters of ice striked Katsuki head on, his form colliding violently at the base of a tree. “Katsuki!” You hollered after him, appalled at the motionless bundle of blonde laying in the fields of grass. You didn’t have the time to check if he was still alive when a figure stepped from the shadows.

“Mother?” You gaped at the woman in front of you, her once calm nature gone. She glares at you like an absolute savage, her mouth agape in a silent scream and her hands covered in frost from the use of her magic. Your mind all but clear, frozen to any movement you begged to take so all you could do was speak. “Mother.” you repeated and curled your lip, never had you thought you could so much resentment toward someone who had once meant so much to you, that was until now. Her scowl intensified at this, sneering in disgust as she began to circle you.

“Your judgement has been tainted by that demon! That... Devil! You’re not my daughter. My daughter would never allow herself to manipulated by such a beast. Allow me to be so kind and put an end to your misery!”

Her palms aimed toward you, a slew of words spilled from her lips and another wave of ice raced towards you. You still couldn’t move, and even if you could the rate the icicles we’re reaching you wouldn’t be able to evade it in time. On impulse, you raised your own hands. The same heat and prickles coarsing through your veins, and with your own mumbled words an enormous discharge of lightning boomed through the ice, tearing it in half and send shards flying all around you. The bolt of lightning didn’t seem to cease in momentum, charging rapidly toward your mother. All she could do was watch as the powerful fulmination surged toward her, and with a final screech it striked devastating blow to her chest. She soared backwards, her body disappearing back into the darkness of the forest. You stood triumphant, but in a great deal of pain.

Your arms where left severely burned and a furious red, the dull pounding made your head spin. Though you ignored the aching and immediately sprinted to Katsuki’s unconscious frame, small crystals of ice clung to his fur on the side of impact. As you neared his body you just about cried when you heard the heavy breaths that left his mouth, labored and raspy but a clear indication that he was still alive. You maneuvered tourist his large cranium upon your lap and assessed the damage done to him. You reached out to caress his coated chest, around the location the ice rammed into him. Katsuki began to whimper in response and you quickly retracted your hand. You choked on your sobs as you stared at him, you were far too weak to perform any healing spells on him. Even if you tried you would kill yourself before you would even be able to mend a single bone in his body. With that the tears broke out like water from a dam, you had never felt so powerless in your life, so weak. You knew you could’ve done more to insure his saftey but you simply were not strong enough.

Loud and boisterous howls sounded off behind you almost in a cheering manner in the direction of the clearing. You smiled crookedly, turning back to the wolf in your lap you cupped his cheeks once again threaded your insensate digits gingerly through the blonde pelt. “Katsuki, wake up. They did it. We did it. Wake up so you can see! Please..” You pleaded in a whisper to the unconscious male, fruitless attempts to soothe him through his suffering. Your heart clenched painfully with every passing second “I’m sorry Katsuki.. I’m so sorry..” You sounded like a fucking child , you were crying hysterically as you continued to observe your love’s trembling and broken form.

Thunderous pounding resonated behind you, gradually getting closer and without hesitation you roared in the direction of the sound.

“Over here! Katsuki’s badly hurt!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Come with me. I want to show you something.”

His voice was as inticing as ever, his hand outstretched for you to take. You gave him a gentle smile and intertwined his fingers into yours, peering back to examine the three miniature silhouettes outlined by the candlight covered in pelt and wool blankets.

“They’ll be fine, they’re heavy sleepers.”

You snorted at this, rolled your eyes dramatically as Katsuki led out out of the comfortable teepee and into the woodlands. “I wonder where that got it from.” You squeezed his palm teasingly, Katsuki grumbled lowly in reply. He escorted you through the forest, the warm milky glow of the moon lighting the way. “Where are we going?” You finally asked, huddling into his side and nuzzling your cheek into his bicep . “Weren’t you ever told that patience is a virtue? We’re almost there.” He stated with a click of his tongue, his stride never stalled for a moment as he continued to lead you through the trees.

It was minutes when he then guided you through some brambles and bushes, and the sight you had been graced with was absolutely breathtaking. There you stood on a grassy cliff side by the sea, the ocean vast and wide. The waves boldly clapped against the boulders and stones below and wafted the briny aroma to your nostrils. You could almost taste the salt on your chapped lips, though that wasn’t even the best part. The Moon was the utter show-stopper. The Moon stood enormously in the sky, hovering just over the sea and seemed like a mere arm stretch away.

“Do you like it?” Katsuki broke your attention on the scene in front of you, tenderly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his firm chest. You found yourself so entranced with the view it was getting increasingly harder to focus on anything else. “It’s incredible Katsuki… I love it.” You murmured, tracing soft lines on the arms that trapped you and relaxing in his hold. He ran the tips of his calloused fingers up and down your hips “I’m glad. It’s called a Super Moon, it only happens every couple of years, and I’ve been planning to show you this for some time.” You cackled, giving a small pinch to the mucle on his right forearm. “Wow, I’m impressed Katsuki. Who knew you could be so romantic.” You could almost feel the blood rush to his face, a crimson tint decorating his handsome face. “Tch, shut up.. It’s just my way of saying thank you.”

“Thank you? For what?” You brows furrowed in confusion, you focused your regard onto the the smooth ripples of the water. You felt Katsuki rest his chin on your dome, his pecs expanding on your shoulder blade when he sighed. “For everything. For saving me my ass, for giving me a couple of rebels for kids, and for loving me despite my reputation. You gave me something to live and strive for, so thank you.”

You grinned from ear to ear at his confession, biting your lip to suppress the intensity of your love for him. “I suppose I should be thanking you too. You gave me something to live for as well.” Katsuki gave a heavy chortle, leaning down slightly to indulge himself in your neck. His fiery breath against your artery sent tremors down your spine, nose nudging vertically up your collar.

Times changed, people along with it. His arrival in your life was unexpected and yet fulfilling to a great extent. You found each other in a place where darkness resides in, and together you and Katsuki illuminated a future you had both been blind to. You felt as though your eyes had been opened to new side of life. Surrounded in clarity, fullness and most of all, the beauty in love.

So you both stood embraced on the cliff side bathing in the pure rays of the Moon, who seemed to shine brighter than the brother Sun. Blessing the sky with her divine presence and joining the stars that freckled the black sky, the navy ocean acting as a mirror, reflecting the Moon flawlessly. She was the mother of the night sky, a goddess watching over every beating heart, because she is always there, close to our earth to keep us company while she can.

“I love you Katsuki.”

“I love you too princess.”

.•° ✿ °•.

“ тнe мoon тeacнeѕ υѕ тнaт darĸneѕѕ can’т нιde тнe вeaυтy oғ lιғe, ιғ we ĸnow нow тo reғlecт тнaт вeaυтy. “

- ᴅᴇʙᴀsɪsʜ ᴍʀɪᴅʜᴀ

╚═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╝

Tumblr really likes to test my patience (≧Д≦) I kept forgetting to save the draft and lost about 1,000 words each time, I honestly thought about deleting it out of frustration. That and I’m not really that proud with how it turned out. But here it is! Thank you for reading and requesting. You are more than welcome to leave feedback on my works. ♡

- 𝖑𝖎𝖟 ☾ ✩

𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 : (𝟔/𝟐𝟑/𝟐𝟎 - 𝟕:𝟓𝟖 𝐩.𝐦.)

#katsuki bakugou oneshot #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #boku no hero academia #katsuki x reader #werewolf katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha oneshots #mha oneshot

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zouisalmightie · 3 years

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every time i see the news talking about how amazing it is that these billionaires are going to space i start frothing from the mouth like a rabid creature.

#the unadulterated RAGE that goes thru my body

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theoscout · 4 years

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This is a continuation to a story that @bornoffireandwisdom wrote several months ago, and something I continually insisted I would try to finish, because I’m a “good” friend who is “responsible” and “mature” :,)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it when you find it. EXTREME tw for gore by the way.

It would be difficult to judge the safety of any open area through merely a glance. The sense of paranoia upheld by any hardboiled survivor typically choked them of any sense of true relaxation, even as it provided a vital alarm against the starving, bloodthirsty which by now far outnumbered them all. The infected did not seek new refuges away from the crumbling buildings, they had little to fear aside from their ever increasing hunger, or the terminating blow of a quarry too lucid to outwit. They typically continued their miserable existances in the clothing they died in, and it was a general rule of thumb among survivors to determine how long ago a zombie died through the condition of their clothing, as the dark force coursing through their contaminated veins always imprisoned them in a state which could only be described as a macarbe mockery of their former selves. Though this did not appear to be a component of common knowledge among survivors, the undead did not decay. The stench which revealed their prescence would waft off the layers of filth accumulating on their skin and clothing through the gory trails they left in their insatiable bloodthirst- . Too many times had this unassuming appearence claimed a life of an unassuming survivor short of realising the danger in a failure to check someone before a greeting.

The figure in the vast, swirling white void strained her eyes against the myriad of specs which clouded her vision and reduced her surroundings to vague silhouettes. If her gloved hands weren't preoccupied with training the battered rifle into the blustery, consuming darkness, she would have been gripping her scraped cloak to her seal the openings to which the piercing gales would stab at her skin. As the abandoned farmhouse began to loom through the icy debris, she quickened her pace.

Grant lay curled and shivering on the threadbare carpet, the remaining rooms had been stripped of furniture but this worn sheet was now all that was guarding his frail form against the cruel chill of the wooden floorboards. He convulsed, the necrotic hunger gnawing at him like termites at woods, twisting like a sapient blade into his intestines. Stifling a whimper, he covered his head with his trembling hands and gnashed his teeth. Everything hurt. The bruises he had sustained when falling from the staircase, how the pair he had hunted earlier had bashed his head to rob him of consciousness, the way the rope had cut into his wrists when he had lunged from them as he struggled against their snare, and of course, his final desperate attempt at chewing himself free upon realizing they were long gone. Zombies could not work knots any more than a cat or a dog could, so the complications Lacie and Bertrum had gone to in binding him were few, but they had taken the liberties of making the rope so complex it was nearly impossibly to break from it through pure strength. Still, the violent memory of his prior struggle hung in his thoughts like the festering bloodstains on his clothes.

Quivering from another hunger induced convulsion, the undulating Blurrier than the fish underneath the rippling surface of a pond, he remembered things that no undead should have ever known. Events that the creator and mastermind would have forcefully wrenched from his mind if he knew of, events which would have prevented him from killing another. While others were little more than meat to Grant now, there was something about this particular face that filled him not with hunger and rage, but pain and longing. His trembling fingers numb from the icy dryness and the lack of circulation which comes with laying on one's limbs, he unsteadily reached into the pocket in his jumper which had somehow been deeper and more secure than others. He didn't need to think about the action, it was a move rehearsed a myriad of times prior, in any emotionally distressing moment. He could find his wallet just as he had done so those times before, despite how he could no longer recall the vast majority of times he had consciously done so.

Months worth of bloody fingerprints were beginning to wear down on the photo's visibility, but a near subliminal calling had prevented him from licking off the residue as he had done with his clothes. He didn't want to risk ruining the only contact to the life he barely recalled, even as the reason behind why licking something could potentially deface it had long left his memory. The cameo had one of the faces scratched out, from how he had gripped the slip of paper, in times of grief or desperation. It didn't matter that one of the faces was slowly being rubbed away into the formless pale grey of the backing paper, although in a more lucid moment he may have noted similarities between the clothing and body proportions shared with the figure and himself. No, the one face he cared about the one that stood proudly and protectively to the left of the figure. Like a supporting pillar to his emotions. In the same way the exhileration had coursed through him while hunting in a pack... except less restrictive? No... this face had never harmed anyone. Never asked any violence either. And though it resembled the strange, fast creatures who's veins and flesh were bliss to rend and wolf, this face was not one of them. The thought confused him as much as it comforted him. He needed comfort, in a time when anything unexpected could spell disaster. When it could bring him ruin. The face. The creature it belonged to. He needed to find him.

And then, from an unseen corner of the crumbling hideaway, he heard something pointed and metal slam into something structural and made of wood.

The intruder did not pay special heed to delicacy or discretion. The next thud shook the building, a splintering of wood following closely behind. The wrenching of frozen fibres split and severed, the resounding crash and clatter of a door thrown to the house’s floor which rattled the windows of the room far above. With some difficulty, Grant struggled through his trembling to a crouched position. His knees bent to spring, his nails digging into the decaying mattress. The zombie tilted his head as a trickle of necrotic energy pulsated through his veins, listening intently. The prospect of quenching his hunger filled his mouth full of froth like a rabid dog.

The survivor tossed her bag to the floor and regarded the door with distain. “Piece of junk,” she spat and gave it another kick, slinging the ice pick over her shoulder. What, were ALL the houses going to have security as shit as this? At least the owners could have attempted some form of barricade, but the possibility that they were merely the early deaths in the apocalypse wasn’t something to be dismissed. Nothing was more effective at dowsing the excitement of a new hideout than the sight of a couple or more corpses bundled up in a bed somewhere, as had been in the previous abode.

The survivor unslung the snow encased bag and kicked it to the side of the doorway, when independent of her cumbersome entry there rose a scuffling from upstairs. She froze, and the ice pick slung over her shoulder found itself poised in her hands. Around the corner the noises ebbed and faded, then heavy footfall on a hollow staircase echoed in the hall. No longer muffled by walls or distance, the footsteps sounded clear and sharp on the verge of the doorway.

Counting since the thing was heard approaching, the survivor landed a devastating, calculated strike on the figure with the blunt of her ice pick before her eyes even had time to discern what it was. The blow landed Grant across his face, splitting the stillness with the shatter of bones. He barely had time to stagger back before the survivor twisted the weapon's momentum and struck again at his torso. The impact sunk the butt into his ribcage and killed his screams, she raised the weapon once more as he toppled over. His side and face in splinters, Grant's struggles to stand were cut out with a kick, the assailant swinging and embedding the pick into his chest like a fang. She pinned him with a stomp and extracted the pick in a spray of blood, swinging again. Swinging repeatedly. Not bothering to see where it landed. It took an instant to wrench it out and repeat the attack, the metal no longer grey but dripping crimson like a viper's fang. Grant's screams and struggles cut short with every blow.

Eventually, she stepped back and slung the ice pick over her shoulder to analyse her results. The feeble movements remaining in its limbs could have indicated it was attempting to move, which was strange. She deduced that zombies could not feel much pain, and besides, what threat could a hole riddled corpse with a heavily fractured skeleton pose to her? Blood gurgled in the mess which had once been it's mouth. She suspected it was trying to cry, but even if enough of its vocal chords remained to form any distinctive noise, the collapsed trachea

Retrieving her bag, she made her way past the dribbling lake of red and began to go upstairs, to a room which preferably was far away from the rest of the snowstorm. It seemed to have subsided somewhat in the time she had been dispatching her quarry, but the breeze was still intense enough for her to shiver. Cleaning the blood off her hands with a handkerchief, she made her way into the recesses of the house. There wasn't any fireplace, much to her irritation, but the upstairs bathroom had a window functional enough to open and a shuttered door in a convenient position to block away smoke but not all the heat, so it would have to do for now. Despite the general emptiness of the area, there were surprising signs that someone had lived here, if only permanently. Where the carpet had been peeling off the floor, an unknown had torn up a large slice and laid it on top of the others. A smaller chunk lay at one end, possibly reminiscent of a pillow of sorts. The edges of the makeshift 'bed' were crusted with blood. She stared at it distastefully before kicking it aside and dumping the contents of her bag on the ground. There were tissues and matches and her meagre supplies... There wasn't much furniture to break, but apparently there was a chair that the owners of the house apparently didn't believe was worth packing up. "Rightio, here's the fire then." It was so rickety that it only took a couple of swings against the tiles to break, although forming it into a suitable fireplace was proving difficult. No way she would waste the precious sharpness of her knife on shredding the waxed wood. After several attempts she cursed and threw the wood to the ground again in disgust, then began to reach for her tissues.

She paused between pinching the match to the matchbox, and cursed, getting up and retrieving her ice pick she began to make her way downstairs. No, actually, it would be a shame if these tissues were to be used on the fire. How was she to know that the wind wouldn't blow them out? Besides, they were something she might need later. She didn't know exactly what at the moment, but it struck her as important. There was time before nightfall, and she certainly had enough time to kill at the moment. The survivor headed back downstairs, ice pick slung over her shoulder. "No..." The protest was faint on the wind, but she caught it this time. It was more of an agonized gurgle than a word, she was surprised the zombie could speak at all. This was one of the more lucid ones that she had encountered. She wondered if that meant it could feel pain more than the others, or remember things.

The zombie was still on the ground. And against all odds, was still moving. It had attempted to roll over onto its stomach and was now in the process of feebly attempting to crawl away. At her approach, the zombie's movements began to quicken with a panicked frenzy, smudging the already ensanguined tiles with more clots of crimson. "No..." Fine, she was right. The thing was lucid enough to talk. And possibly have some degree of self preservation, unlike the others who were too far gone to know that attacking without any regard to their own injuries. Still, she couldn't bear to have the dumb boy making pain noises all night. It might disturb her sleep. The zombie didn't pose enough of a threat to use her pickaxe anymore, instead she reached for the serrated knife typically reserved for wood. It wasn't exactly sharp... but it was enough for her to execute what she wanted. "No-" the dead boy whimpered a split second before her boot crashed into the side of his head. He didn't cry out from the impact, but he curled on the ground like a dying animal and made a noise which sounded like crying. She kicked him again, directly in the neck. She felt and heard something snap. "Quit rolling around and hold still you son of a bitch!" ignoring the corpses protests, she yanked it upright by the hair and began to hack at its neck. The fact that the zombie could still move to push her arms away amazed her. Self regeneration? Possibly. Having the appropriate angle was difficult in the air, so kicking him back against the wooden floorboards, she forced his chest down with her heel and sawed as hard as she could. It's no easy feat to cut through material as sinewy as human flesh, especially as the ruptured veins make the blade slippery and lacerate the area rather than cut or saw. More blood. Great. Its struggled and movement of its mouth were possibly a hint that it was trying to scream, but who cared? She paused to fish out tiny specks of flesh and skin caught between the teeth of her knife, then continued. How far down were the vocal chords and how fast did they take to regenerate? Was making the incision deep enough to hit bone enough to not regenerate? Maybe it would be enough once she heard enough steel grinding on bone.

Once more, the corpse lay motionless in front of her. Satisfied with her handiwork, she wiped off her knife and hands with a handkerchief and removed her rubber gloves. There was something in its hand that it appeared to have dropped upon realizing she had entered the room. She bent to retrieve it. A wallet, its brown cover crusted with blood and filth and age. How odd. She pulled out the ID card. Grant Cohen. The kid was 17. No wonder it was so easy to kill, the young ones weren't always made of tough stuff. He was pretty skinny too. Another slip caught her attention as she was busy stuffing remaining slips of cash into her pocket. A photo, printed on cheap paper. It was a well thumbed photo.. of someone who looked like Grant standing next to a stranger. She regarded the bloodstains on the thing with disgust, holding it with the tips of her fingers to avoid contact with the rest. How old and disgusting. But it was a lucky find, this paper would burn very slowly and nicely. So back upstairs went the thief with her pillage, the last reminder of Grant's humanity turned to fire kindling.. and then smoke and ashes.

___

Grant didn't know how long he lay there. He didn't know how long he had been wishing for the pain to end, or why exactly his attempts to scream only ended in unimaginable agony. But in the frosty darkness, he could finally move his arms along the floor. Sliding it against the tiles, his fingers brushed the tattered, moist remains of his throat. The feeling sent a jab of lancing pain through him. He didn't swallow. It had taken a while to put away this learned reflex. But the urge to clear his throat of the liquid was great. Grant did not see the folds of flesh slowly creeping across the tiles and slotting themselves back into his limbs and torso. He didn't see the pools of blood falling towards him, growing smaller and smaller. But he could feel the change. So instead... he waited. Slowly repositioning himself. Arms folded across his chest. Legs together, body straight. It wasn't because of the cold, somewhere in the forgotten recesses of his memory there was still something which called to him. Told him that this was the appropriate position. The final resting position of those who would have fallen before the outbreak... the position they would forever lie in their slumber in dark beds six feet below. And here he lay in the coffin of darkness, his flesh slowly reforming. It felt strangely appropriate. A subliminal part of him felt like doing it forever.

With the return of his health, came the return of his hunger. And with it... revenge. He attempted to stand, but so much as rolling over or propping onto his elbows filled him with lancing agony. With a gasp, he fell back down. Climbing to his feet was no longer an option, instead he focused what remained of his energy into the opening of his swollen eyelids. His disorientation didn't prevent him from realizing the great white stretch of plaster 10ft away from him was a ceiling and not a wall, or that by some mystical force he was somehow pinned upright to the opposite wall. He wouldn't have come to the conclusion naturally, it had somehow been ingrained in him through some hitherto unknown mechanism. His eyes half open, Grant was surprised but oddly calm in accepting that he could now see in total darkness. There was no need to regain his coordination, unlike on numerous other occasions. Turning his head to his right... he located the wallet. No amount of pain could prevent him reaching the felt folder of comfort, and his muscle memory had been attuned to it so long that not even a 90 degree change in gravitational pull could have made him fumble. The blood filtered from the tips of his fingers unconsciously, and so did what sensation remained in flesh numb with necromancy and cold. He set the wallet down and waited in anticipation... now staring at his hands. Every vessel and artery was now exposed clear as day to him, he examined them with a morbid fascination yet without the surprise or wonder typical of such discoveries. seemingly, if he focused hard... yes, that's it. His flesh rolled back from his finger like the bread of a sausage roll, the white tip of his finger bone visible. Grant felt no pain as the tips of his other fingers did the same, only smirked in the darkness as he picked up the wallet. Now he would never need to worry about getting blood on his beloved photo again. He needed that photo.

But with the contents examined and emptied, his satisfactions drained faster than the blood could flow back into his veins. It was gone. Filled with fear, Grant started to his feet. Blood splattered around him as it was displaced mid flow, permeated by the silt and snow remaining on the floor beforehand. It was gone. He needed it. He frantically turned to search the floor. It was gone. He needed it. He struggled against an onslaught of emotions and confusion. It was gone. He needed it.

He rushed upstairs, in his mind a single goal. It was gone. He needed it. He rounded the corner and followed the scent of warm blood. It was gone. He needed it. He bolted into the room, his vengeful gaze falling upon the sleeping figure. It was gone. He needed it. His heavy footfall unsettling her slumber as the blood on the ice pick began to drip and slide off towards him. It was gone. He needed it. He rushed to grab it, the half healed gaps in his legs stabbing him with knifelike pain. His fingers curling around the handle as he recalled how it had once been used against him. It was gone. He needed it. Bolting over, bringing the pointed part down against her skull with a bone cracking smack, cutting off her scream of realization.

Grant stared at the lifeless body in front of him, then immediately dropped to his knees and began rummaging through the bag beside it. His endless drive for fresh corpses forgotten, the only void he felt any compulsion to fill or fix was the empty slot in something he would have once called his wallet. Slips of soft paper were in a packet... all white and blank. Tools which were familiar to him in some way, Holding back a sob, he pulled the great thick sheet covering his fallen enemy and shoved his hands into the smaller holes which were similar to the ones in the cloth surrounding him, the ones conveniently placed closest to his hands. His fingers itched for the thin, crispy material which had comforted him so many times before. Tears, suffused with blood, were beginning to dribble down his cheeks. They hurt his half healed flesh. He let out a cry and covered his face, hastily attempting to clean away the salt from his wounds. It hurt. Everything hurt. It hurt before. Now there was a phantom pain somewhere in him that no amount of rubbing or reaching could alleviate.

Still determined to find his photo, he ran from the room to where the terrible intruder had destroyed his makeshift bed. Possibly hidden beneath the covers? No, it remained out of sight even after they were thrown against the wall. Grant wailed and wailed, running through the rooms and frisking them bottom to top.

The undead had a very poor perception of time, so it must have been ages before he eventually gave in and retreated to his hideout to curl away. His face in his hands, weeping quietly and wishing he had given her the most painful death imaginable. By the time he recalled his agony of almost starving to death at all, the intruder's body had about frozen solid.

It was gone. He needed it.

#my writing #bornoffireandwisdom #my posts #zombies #tw: gore #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: sociopathy

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wygolvillage · 4 years

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i love castlevania so much its unreal *starts frothing at the mouth like a rabid creature*

#dont mind me im just in hyperfixation mode #the games not the show fyi

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bronze-echo · 4 years

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The anon walked up to the 15 year old mafia boss, and handed him a frog. “F,,,frog.” Froth was floating out of the anon’s mouth and you’re pretty sure that they’re about to pass out. “Frog for blonde d,,,donut man....”

HOL UP THIS FR MADE MY SODA GO OUT MY NOSE JAJAJA

Giorno looked mildly disturbed, despite dealing with such a being in the past. He reached into his pocket and slowly dialed a few numbers on his phone before smiling sweetly at the deer rabid anon. "Ah yes, a rat and a frog. Quite fascinating creatures you both are." He said taking the slimey frog from your hands. He then set the frog down on his desk and watched it run away as if their lie depended on it... Yikes. "Uhm- would you like some tea, dear anon?" He wasn't getting paid enough for this...

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

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The Viscount’s Muse (NSFW, Smut Ahoy)

Post DAI - Maria Cadash finds the Viscount’s smut and gets... inspired. This can also be found at AO3! Smut is under the cut. Thank you @tuffypelly for the inspiration!

“Sod it all.” Maria mumbled under her breath, collapsing in Varric’s desk chair. It groaned as if it too thought the situation hopeless.

“My lady?” The steward asked blandly, stopping his long recitation of matters needing her attention.

“Sorry, keep going.” She waved him on, glaring at her husband’s desk. “The Comte de Launcet wants what again?”

The steward continued his droning and Maria listened with only half an ear. Varric’s latest serial, The Murderous Magpie, had been more of a hit that anyone could have dreamed. His next Hard in Hightown, according to all the critics and a rabid fan base. Who couldn’t love a daring, rakish heroine from the streets framed for countless murders of mighty nobles by a shadowy faction with nefarious motives?

It was transparently based on Bea Cadash of course, but beyond their little circle, nobody else had made the connection. Bea herself actually picked up a copy, read the whole damn thing, then wrote a real honest-to-goodness letter critiquing it in detail. Maria herself usually got mere notes, laced with profanity, from Bea. A letter was nearly unheard of.

So, of course, both Varric’s editor and publisher were breathing down his damn neck for the next chapter. Because her husband, of course, didn’t have enough things spinning on his many plates. Ruling the city, managing both their affairs with the guild, raising their daughter, making sure the little operation trying to track Solas down at the Gallows didn’t collapse while Maria vanished into the crossroads for months…

She’d been gone too long the last time she left. Poor Varric must have been drowning in it all. She swallowed the thought guiltily and brushed aside the neat stacks of papers on his desk impatiently. She promised she’d read it before he sent it off but she couldn’t sodding find it. She was about ready to push it to tomorrow when she seized upon a neat stack of Varric’s handwritten notes in a drawer.

She lifted them triumphantly and let her eyes scan the page.

Mariele’s plump lips opened in greedy anticipation, silver eyes flashing dangerously beneath the black lace of her mask. Viktor already felt himself swelling to attention under her hungry, predatory gaze. She looked as if she’d swallow him whole. A lesser man would fall to her whims immediately…

Oh for the love of Andraste and all their bleeding ancestors, Varric must have finally given into Cassandra’s urging to write the next chapter of Swords and Shields. Set in Orlais, by the sound of it. Amused, Maria flipped to the next page.

Her nimble fingers undid his trousers before he could even protest and the bard dropped to her knees in a rustle of pale silk. The moonlight in the garden turned her skin to pearl and marble, turned her hair to flickering crimson flame. She released his heavy manhood into the night, wrapping slender fingers around it and letting her pink tongue dart out over those tempting, kiss swollen lips.

Viktor couldn’t help himself. He dropped his hand to the bare shoulders exposed by the wispy gown, traced his thumb up the pale, white scars accenting her silken skin.

“Mariele…” He shuddered under her expert fingers. “Sweet Andraste…”

“Oh,” The beautiful creature purred. “But I’m so much sweeter.”

Crimson hair. Silver eyes. Scars climbing up her shoulder. Mariele and Viktor. She wondered if she’d make it through the rest of the draft to find out Mariele only had one blighted arm after losing the other to freak elven magic shenanigans.

“My lady?” The steward asked, taking in her sudden, frozen posture. “Is everything quite alright?”

“Of course.” She answered mechanically. “Tell the Comte we can’t assist him at this time. Where is the Viscount at the moment?”

“Meeting with the shipbuilders guild, my lady. Then luncheon with some merchants from Antiva, contract negotiations with the city of Markham, and then you’ve both accepted an invitation to a dinner hosted by one of the Merchant Guild’s…”

Perfect. She’d been considering cheerfully murdering him, witnesses be damned, but a Merchant’s Guild dinner would be far, far worse than death. “We haven’t sent our regrets about not attending yet?”

“I believe your plan was to feign an emergency.” The steward remarked wryly. “Fire in the kitchens was next in your rotation of excuses.”

“We’ll save that for the next one. Please send a note to my husband stating we’ll be attending the guild dinner. I’ll meet him there.”

“Are… are you certain?” The steward asked, agog. Maria shuffled all the papers in the drawer into a neat stack and leaned back in Varric’s chair. She lifted her eyes to the steward and raised one eyebrow.

“Did I stutter?” She asked sweetly, the tone dripping honey and venom.

“No! No, ma’am.” He added, gulping nervously.

“And can you ask the Hawkes if they’ll keep my daughter for the evening? I think we’ll be returning late.” Maria lifted the first paper to her eyes in clear dismissal and watched with a rather large amount of amusement as the steward scuttled away.

Varric, Varric, Varric… she thought with no small degree of hidden fondness. If this had made it to his publisher, she’d shave his chest hair off herself, but deep down she knew it hadn’t. He’d been naughty, though. That wasn’t in doubt.

He’d missed her. So he’d written smutty literature starring them. She could already tell it was absolutely awful. And glorious. She couldn’t wait to tell Cass.

At first, Varric thought his wife had been kidnapped and the note sent under duress. After all, the only person who hated guild dinners as much as he did had to be Maria. After he’d managed to ascertain that, yes, she did indeed order the steward to send it, he’d assumed it was a joke.

Until he went searching for her and saw his finery laid out neatly on the bedspread, a command if he ever saw one. After that, he desperately tried to track her down, but as usual if Maria didn’t want to be found, nobody could find her. The only one who could, their precocious daughter, had already been shuffled to Hawke’s to spend the night. That, of course, meant Maria was indeed deadly serious about attending the guild dinner.

With absolutely no other explanation offered, of course, because she was the most maddening woman he’d ever met.

He took his time making it over to the quarter, showing up rather later than fashionable. Shocked, skeptical expressions latched onto him as soon as he entered the hall. Followed, immediately, by a bronto’s charge of dwarves in his direction. Complaints. Flattery. Threats. Varric reached for a glass of wine, immediately wished it was something stronger. He was going to absolutely murder Maria for putting him through this. Particularly since she was nowhere to be found. Clearly, she needed a distraction for something and decided this was the best one she could offer up.

“The price of parchment is outrageous!” A dwarf growled, spittle catching at his beard as he worked himself into a proper frothing rage. “The tariffs at the harbor are bleeding us all dry. If you can’t allow free trade, I’ll…”

“Surely the young mistress is getting a bit old to be unbetrothed.” A woman with elaborate, heavy braids sighed. “It isn’t good for a girl’s reputation to…”

Their Sunshine was barely five and not for sale regardless. For the love of…

“There you are.”

Oh thank fucking Andraste. Maria’s good arm slipped into the crook of his easily, her lips curved up in wicked, sinful amusement. “Having fun?” She asked, far too sweetly.

He shot her a pained glare even as her mere presence caused everyone to wisely take one step back. Despite the elegant gown and the pretty braids in her hair, Maria’s every move screamed lethal grace. No guild seat or crown could ever quite make her reputable in the eyes of the very worst of Kirkwall.

And tonight, apparently, Maria had no plans for appearing even slightly respectable. Her gown was nearly the same color as her hair, blazing ruby red among the dull, drab colors of the guild. It dipped scandalously low, displaying her cleavage with delicious perfection. The thin straps fell off her slender shoulders in wisps of chiffon. The silk bodice curved and clung to her wicked figure like a glove.

Varric’s mouth went dry as he took her in and he nearly forgot how annoyed he was. Nearly.

He dropped his lips to her ear and bit back the smug satsifaction at the nearly imperceptible shiver his breath sent through her. “This is not my idea of a good time, Princess.”

She laughed, low and soft, the ripples sending heat right into his belly. “Come dance with me then.” She challenged, tossing her head back proudly.

Anything to get away from this crowd of vultures, besides, he never could tell her no. “As my lady demands.” He smoothly slipped his other arm around her waist, admiring the way the silk warmed with the heat of her skin underneath it. The crowd around them parted with muttered, muted disappointment pierced with disapproving glares.

The ballroom floor itself was full of nothing but awkward, gawking teenagers. After all, dancing was for the young. And humans, of course. Certainly not for respected members of the guild and their stolid, unimpressed wives. The ones Maria outshone without any effort.

The youths scattered before them, ducklings before swans. Varric took Maria’s hand and stepped back, bowed over it, then placed a searing kiss on the back of her palm. Because he wanted to, (dammit he never could resist that red dress) he pressed another even more desperate one on her fingertips.

Her lips tipped up, amused in spite of herself, and then she slipped into the space between his arms like she was meant to be there, like it was made only for her. Her hand rested lightly within his and she pressed her delectable breasts against the silk of his tunic. “There’s a disappointing number of buttons done up on this shirt, Varric.” She whined quietly.

“Hey, you picked it. Thought you were trying to tell me to show some decorum.”

“Never.” She sighed happily. “How can I possibly flaunt you when you’re hiding your best assets?”

He chuckled, squeezed her fingers within his and dropped his voice low. “For fucks sake, Maria, why are we here?”

“We were invited.” She replied, gray eyes widening innocently in her face. “Ages ago, remember?”

“I tend to block out those invitations. Makes them easier to ignore.” Varric’s fingers traced the stiff boning of the gown at the flare of her waist. “You’re not going native on me, are you?”

“Dressed like this?” Maria asked, laughing as Varric spun her under his arm. He caught her securely and she pressed even more firmly against him, a predatory smile dancing on her lips. “The Guild wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

They never did. Fools, every single one of them. “You were awfully late arriving. Suspiciously late.” He pointed out.

“I was on time, actually.” She purred, delighted with herself. “You were the late one, serah. I took advantage of your appearance to extricate myself from a rather lascivious Master Dace and explore all the hidden little nooks and crannies in the garden.”

He groaned and dropped his face into the coiled braids framing her face. She smelled like honey, cloves, cinnamon. A unique and beguiling scent that clung to her no matter what. “So you sacrificed me to snoop around for something.”

“In a manner of speaking.” She agreed, nuzzling into his neck, her breath warm against his jaw. “I read something very interesting today and this was the only way to get to the bottom of it while ensuring the guilty party squirmed a little.”

“Nobody’s listening, Princess.” He chuckled and jabbed his chin at the empty dance floor and the disapproving crowd miles away. “Don’t spare the salacious details. I demand to be entertained if I’ve got to be shoved into this bucket of rats.”

Maria hummed lightly under her breath, her smile wicked and sharp as diamonds out of the corner of his eye. The music stopped, but he tugged her more tightly to his form and waited for the next song to strum up. As soon as it, Maria lifted her lips to his ear. “I’ll try to remember what I read. You’ll have to make allowances if it’s not verbatim. It got me rather… hot under the collar.”

Was it his imagination, or was there a slight, breathy undertone to that statement? It of course could mean that she’d been furious by whatever she’d discovered, some nasty little guild secret. Maria’s temper meant there was a pretty good chance he’d be needing to have blood cleaned up off of some surface…

But when she purred the words, he pictured a rather different kind of heat. One well suited to the red dress she wore.

“I was in the study upstairs.” Maria recounted quietly, little puffs of air against his overheated skin. “Looking for that next chapter of your serial, the one that definitely isn’t based on my sister. I never did find it.”

“That’s because it’s on the desk in the library.” He supplied less than helpfully.

“Good to know.” She laughed. “Instead… well, I’ll just tell you what I found at your desk.”

He made a mental note that he needed to remind the messengers, again, that guild correspondence went right into the rubbish bin. “All ears, Princess.”

“Let me think…” Maria trailed off, her thumb lightly tracing his palm as they glided smoothly, thoughtlessly, together. Easily in tune with each other, just the way they always were. “It started…”

He waited, eager and amused at her drawing it out. It had to be damn good if she was taking such care to tell the story.

His amusement vanished almost instantly as the words began to pour from her lips, hot and filthy in her sultry, smoky voice.

“Mariele had many a man in her time as a bard, surely. A woman of her exquisite beauty didn’t lack for lovers on cold, lonely nights. But Viktor was no fumbling knight. It had been years since he left his sinful, boisterous exploits behind him, but his deft, practiced fingers remembered exactly how to turn a beautiful woman into a puddle of pure, uncomplicated need…”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Forget the steps, Varric?” His wife teased dangerously as Varric very nearly stumbled to a stop in the middle of their dance. She took over leading, eyes sparkling with danger. “Your sinful, boisterous exploits a thing of the past?”

He was a dead man walking. She’d brought him here to torture him before she shot him. Probably with his own crossbow. “I can explain.” He protested weakly.

“I’m not done.” Maria’s imperious voice brooked no argument. “I forget the next part. But I clearly remember this bit…”

He groaned, tried to beg her to stop, but she didn’t heed him at all. “Viktor nearly forgot what it felt like to have a nubile young lady on her knees, but Mariele could hardly be called a lady, particularly with his steel between her perfect, plump lips. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ Viktor asked, twisting his fingers in the crimson braids she wore. The only answer was Mariele’s pleased, throaty moan…”

Maria twitched her hips to the side threateningly and Varric pressed hard up against her to hide the effect her words were having on his own cock. His filth spilling from her lips was… sweet Maker, he hadn’t known he could want her more than he usually did. “Maria…”

“My favorite part went…” Maria paused and brought her lips closer to his ear until he could feel their feather light touch as she whispered. “Viktor ripped the delicate silk covering her glistening mound, too crazed by her teasing grin and wicked silver eyes to do anything but plunge his sword into her snug sheathe and…”

His breath whooshed out, leaving him dizzy. His hands dug into the silk covering her hips and he struggled to think past the liquid arousal running through his blood. “How dead am I?” He asked weakly. He could feel her wicked grin against his neck.

“What happened to no kissing and telling, Varric?” She asked lightly. “Does Cassandra really need to know about the birthmark on my…”

“Fuck, it wasn’t for…” Varric couldn’t think. Her perfume was too heady, her eyes sparking, mouth curled up dangerously just the way he loved best, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his cock in her mouth, her warm wet heat…

“It was just for you?” Maria’s words sent shivers up his spine and she untangled her hand from his to twist her fingers through his loose hair. “Your dirty little secret when I’m gone? Dreaming up what Mariele and Viktor get up to in elaborate Orlesian gardens…”

“Yes.” He confessed as she rolled shamelessly against him. He could barely hear the music over the pure, screeching need thrumming in his veins. He missed her, Maker he missed her when she was gone. All he could do was spill out the things he wanted to do to her while he waited for her to come back and warm his heart, share their bed, send his entire life into chaos and…

She pulled away and beamed into his face, flushing prettily pink under her freckles. She traced her fingers from his neck, over his jaw, down his chest and hummed thoughtfully under her breath while her eyes sparkled with mirth and…

Lust. An inferno of roaring lust.

Maybe she’d kill him, but it would be the best kind of death.

She twisted her fingers with his again and turned, hiding his bulging cock strategically with her skirts while she dragged him off the wooden dance floor. Varric chuckled breathlessly as he followed her right through the crowd. Several guild members attempted to approach, but thought better of it as the Viscount and his wife slipped into the evening air of the gardens. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d seen Maria march into enough battles to know exactly what it looked like.

He wouldn’t get in her damn way either when she was a woman with one thing on her mind.

Thank the damn Maker that one thing was him.

She shoved him into a dark nook, one she’d clearly scoped out for this purpose alone. It was hidden by a tall hedge and the soaring walls of the mansion behind them. As soon as the shadows enveloped them, Varric reached for her like a man starving, pressed her hard against the stones looming above them. “Minx.” He growled against her lips. “You’re a menace, Maria. You brought me here just to…”

She brought her one arm up to her generous bosom and pulled something from the bodice, something dark and…

Lace. A lace mask just like the one in his filthy smut. Varric’s cock doubled in size and he reached out with unsteady fingers to pluck it from hers. Her grin was as smug and self-satisfied as a cat who’d eaten a canary, but his imagination was already on fire. “Turn around, baby.” He directed softly.

“Is Viktor rather bossy, then?” She asked, but she turned and he gently fit the mask over her eyes, tying it with a simple knot over her braids. He dropped his hand to gently run his knuckles down the line of her neck, lower over the dip of her spine. He dropped his mouth to kiss down her right shoulder, tracing the scars that were left there, the remaining marks of the anchor that nearly…

Nearly, he reminded himself. But she survived, she was here, and she was warm, willing, pliant under his large hands when they settled over her waist. She tipped her head to the side to look over her shoulder at him, silver eyes shining in the moonlight, framed to the best effect by the black lace just like he knew they would be.

She fluttered her lashes, the perfect imitation of an Orlesian coquette, and smoothly turned, dropping to her knees in one sinuous motion. His stomach knotted itself as her fingers reached to undo his laces with one efficient tug.

“And what information am I trying to seduce out of you, my lord?” She asked in an almost flawless Orlesian accent, ruined only by the hint of her reckless laugh under the surface. “I couldn’t quite glean…”

“I’ve got to admit, Princess.” He saw stars, fought to keep his voice even, as her nimble fingers circled his cock. “The plot was secondary.”

“Oh really?” She stroked him with her one hand, nothing but a light, teasing touch. “You know, some people read for the plot and skip these steamy scenes.”

Those people must not have a damn pulse, but before he could retort, her lips opened and the sheer anticipation made him groan, thoughts fleeing as his mind was erased by warm, wet, sweet, sweet bliss and…

“Shit.” He swore, one hand steadying himself on the stone above her, the other twisting in her elaborate braids. He watched her mouth stretch around his girth obscenely, her eyes flicking from the task at hand to meet his and hold them as she worked to take his cock into her mouth inch by torturously slow inch.

The sight alone was almost enough to make him cum. He ran his thumb over her cheek, voice unsteady, praise falling from it effortlessly. “You’re so beautiful. I love my cock in your mouth, baby. Sweet Andraste, Maria…”

She laughed, a little bubble of it that brought something warm and bright to life in his chest. She pulled back, cock slipping from her swollen lips, eyes wicked and teasing. “She may be sweet.” She answered pertly. “But I’m sweeter.”

His cheesy line from his smutty story. He laughed as well, but it tapered off into another long moan as she resumed her work. She slid him almost to the hilt inside her mouth, fingers wrapping around the last inch or so she couldn’t quite fit, slicking him with her saliva as she began to bob her head.

“Maker I miss this when you’re away.” He continued, watching with worshipful zeal as she licked and sucked. His voice trembled with lust and awe. “It’s all I can think about at night. All I want. It isn’t enough to imagine your lips around me, isn’t enough to think of warm and wet your sweet cunt gets…”

She moaned around his length and the vibrations had him seeing stars. He curled his hand against the stone into a fist and watched her, the great rise and fall of her chest, her shining eyes on his framed by the sexy black lace. She sucked eagerly and his heart thumped unsteadily, liquid heat pooling in his groin. He tugged gently at her braids. “I want you. I want all of you, Maria baby please…”

The wicked glint in her eyes resurfaced and she hummed around his length. Varric’s hips bucked in spite of himself and he tried, valiantly, to fight the urge to do it again and again until he spilled down her throat. She was ruthlessly driving him insane, playing into his fantasies, his desires, and he couldn’t…

She squirmed, shifting on her knees, and Varric knew she had to be as affected as he was, knew she had to be as needy and desperate. Perhaps more, in fact, since she’d been planning this little encounter all damn day without his knowledge. If Varric thought this would happen every time they came to one of these dinners…

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked in a low growl. “Reading all that smut, knowing how bad I wanted you, what I wanted to do to you? How hot under the collar did it make you, Princess?”

He could just picture her on their bed, legs spread, ass in the air and fingers dancing between her legs while she brought herself off to his words.

She pulled off of him with an obscene plop, her lips shimmering with saliva, his cock shining the same way. She smirked up at him, that crooked little smile that belonged only to him. “Maybe a little.”

Too far gone to be gentle, he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet, shoving her roughly back against the hard stone. Her fingers grabbed for the fasteners of his tunic, undoing them, sending at least one of them snapping, a button falling to the ground as she whimpered, his mouth devouring hers. She nipped his lip in sweet revenge and he began to pull up her skirts, rucking them around her hips and lifting her by her spread thighs.

“Yes.” She keened, nails gouging his shoulder as she arched her back, pressing the creamy tops of her breasts to his greedy mouth. He wanted them out of the bodice, wanted her naked and in their bed begging for him as a fair turnabout for this little trick, but first…

First, he was going to fuck her thoroughly against this wall.

His fingers felt the sopping wet lace of her smalls and tore through them in a moment, the shredded fabric falling in pieces to the grass. She laughed again, but he captured it with his mouth and her arm twisted around his neck, holding him to her as he thrust smoothly inside her.

Her cunt clenched down on him, muscles rippling with his sudden entrance, but her thighs curved around his waist, scrabbling for purchase, the hard heels of her boots urging him on as they pressed against the small of his back.

“Tease.” He growled, moving from her lips to nip lightly at her exposed throat as he started a bruising pace, making sure to thrust right into the spot he knew she loved so much. “Wanton little…”

“You love it.” She bit the lobe of his ear. “And you deserve it. Writing that terrible, amazing smutty…”

One particularly brutal thrust made her words drop away into a pure, animal moan of need, one that changed into his name as he tightened his grip on her ass. “Strong criticism from someone who wanted to reenact it.”

She giggled, caught out, pressing an almost sugary kiss to his jaw. “I had a thing for Viktor.”

Be still his heart. This woman. This amazing, wonderful, insane woman of his. He captured her lips with his own again, tenderly this time, even as his furious pace continued and Maria shuddered in his arms, muscles tightening, body going rigid.

“Wait.” He muttered against her lips, liquid heat pooling in his spine. “Wait, baby. Wait for me, please Maria…”

“Varric…” She half sobbed his name in desperation, but that was all it took. His movements became stiff, wooden, his cock swelling inside her. This tipped her over the edge and she half wailed her approval, milking him of his seed and burying her head into his shoulders, trembling against him. He thrust deep one final time and pressed his lips against her temple, mind going hazy at the edges as he spent inside her welcoming body.

He lowered Maria back to the ground, both of them leaning against each other, too drained to stand. The garden was quiet. No sound but their ragged breathing. Varric wondered exactly how many of the Merchant’s Guild illustrious members had heard them. At least, he thought smugly, it had been a fine performance.

And since they’d made a brief appearance at an event, they were free and clear of the guild for months.

“Do you think they’ll finally kick us both out?” Maria asked quietly with a satisfied giggle.

Varric huffed weakly in return. “Doubtful. They’d never risk making us so damn happy. Poor Sunshine’s gonna inherit both those seats and spend the rest of her days cursing us both.”

Varric bent to retrieve the scraps of lace on the ground, but she stopped him. “Don’t.” She ordered, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Leave them. I want to hear about their reaction tomorrow.”

He laughed and settled on doing his trousers back up while she leaned against him, unsteady as a drunk. He kissed her forehead sweetly and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I unlocked the gate back here.” Maria snuggled into his shoulder. “And I told the kitchen staff to leave the side entrance open.”

“You think of everything.” Varric murmured, smoothing her gown back over her hips.

“Not everything.” Maria smirked in the moonlight, rightfully smug. “This was, after all, your idea.”

Varric softened, pulling her tightly to his side as they wandered down the pristine garden paths in the darkness. “But you, as always, are my muse.”

#varric tethras #varric romance #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #cadash x varric #non-canon romance #shameless smut #fluffy as hell #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #post dai #post trespasser #cadash is a bit of an exhibitionist #varric digs it #varric and maria keep trying to get kicked out of the merchant's guild #the merchant's guild sucks

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wthtorke · 5 years

Note

What about a hate turned love AU with a big bad tough yautja and a super sweet kind outgoing Human female? Jealousy maybe? Do what you wish please and thank you! XOXO

You hated him. The way he seemed to hold himself above you like he was some kind of god. It made you sick. The worst part of it all was how he tried to pitifully befriend you despite his constant disregard of mankind.

He claimed to be some kind of hunter, an assassin. Though to you, he was no more than another monster come to make you miserable. Forced to live under the alien's constant eye and control made you resent them even more.

The night had been silent, more so than normal, alerting you to his coming presence. The soft creak of the side door opening made you stiffen as you turned expecting to see his looming presence silhouetted in the glow of the night. Though what greeted you was much worse. A Bobcat slunk into your home after having forced the screen door open froth leaking from its panting mouth.

Despite having lived in the country your entire adult life you had never come into contact with one of these creatures let alone a rabid one. Panicked you made to run for your bedroom planning to simply lock yourself away, though your sudden movement had it captured its attention as it let out a sickening snarl and bolted after you up towards the wooden stairway. You foot landed on the very edge of the bottom step and your sock-clad foot slipped from the smooth wooden surface making you crash into the steps roughly, knocking the wind from you.

Left gasping and crying you turned expecting to find yourself attacked by the animal. Though a large figure now stood before you. In his hand was the cat, dead and dripping blood into a pool at his feet. You were astonished and completely taken aback by his actions. Here you were convinced the alien was here simply to torment you and yet. He saved you from your own stupidity.

Quickly disposing of the now deceased animal he returned to your side helping you to your feet. You grimaced at the pain in your side from how hard you had landed on the wooden steps knowing it would be bruised soon. Scooping you into his arms the yautja carried your upstairs to your room and laid you carefully in your bed. His movements were slow and gentle almost as if afraid you may break under his touch.

When he turned to leave you began to sit up but he glared at you over his shoulder settling you back into your place. He did not say a word but his eyes seemed to give it all away. He was scared, worried for you. As he ducked out into the hall leaving you to rest alone in the dark. You began to rethink your opinion of the alien. Maybe you had misjudged him, maybe you should get to know your savior just a bit more.

(Thank you @windowgoblin for helping again,love you boo ❤)

#predator #yautja #alien #yautja/human #alien relationship #reader #human/yautja #yautja boyfriend #headcanon #my yautja boyfriend #request #assassin predator #ultimate predator #upgrade predator #ap predator #AP

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strangelittlestories · 5 years

Text

The Bear

A bit of Greek Mythology/Film Noir for y’all...

...

“You gonna go to the fight tonight?” said the first dockworker, grunting as she hefted a crate off a boat that had come in from the farming suburbs.

The docks were thick with the smell of oil and sweat and the faint scent of freshwater winds.

“You kidding, you think I’ll miss a fight with the Bear?” said the second dockworker, pausing their work to offer a hipflask to their colleague.

The first worker wiped the sweat off their brow, took the flask, and took a big slurp. It burned satisfyingly all the way down.

“I dunno,” she chuckled, “it was pretty vicious last time. Figured you might not wanna get blood splatters on your nice shirt again.”

“You kidding? That made it a collector’s item. I fenced that for 80 drachmae.”

“Shoulda got it signed.” The first dockworker huffed as she hauled another crate onto her broad shoulders. “You could’ve got half that.”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to meet her…” The second dockworker shivered despite the muggy heat. “...and I hear after the business with the Mayor that she’s got some anger issues.”

“You would too if the Mayor had got you kicked out of the Artemis’s biker gang.” She placed the crate down on a nearby cart with a thud. She cracked her shoulders.

“Y’know, if I were Callisto, I might at that…”

---

That night, the two dockworkers were on their feet cheering along with the rest of the crowd like rabid beasts.

“Bear! Bear! BEAR!” They yelled.

Callisto soaked it in. When the crowd were behind her and she could hear them frothing at the mouth, she could almost believe she was back on her bike with Artemis leading the gang on another hunt.

Sarpedon lunged in with a quick jab, looking to take advantage of the brief faraway look on her face.

‘The Bear’ smirked as she caught the jab on her gloves and stepped in to the clinch to deliver three punishing fists to Sarpedon’s ribs.

The referee forced the pair apart. Sarpedon staggered, sucking in ragged breaths.

Callisto had to admit it, he could take a punch. No wonder he was one of the prides of the Trojan district.

She’d heard a rumour that he was one of the Mayor’s kids too. Not that you could always trust what you’d heard.

After all, they’d said that she’d had one of those brats too. And she’d never touched that old lech.

Sarpendon darted in again with a feint and then a cross to get round her guard. She caught a glancing blow to the temple and idly wondered what this poor asshole’s sad story was that had got his family caught up with the Mayor.

Probably best not to think about.

Best to think he’s just another of the Mayor’s golden boys, given an easy ride through life because his daddy’s in charge.

She let the roar of the crowd mix with the rush of blood through her head and drive out all thoughts.

As she swung her fists with all the fury of a bear’s claws, she imagined it was Zeus’s face she was pummelling.

Sarpedon would remember this fight for the rest of his life. It was one of only two times in his life he would be afraid. The next would come a year later in the chaos of the Trojan riots.

---

In the dressing room, Callisto ripped the boxing gloves off her hands and threw them across the room.

She hated this, sometimes. Hated the beast they’d turned her into.

She punched the locker hard and it crumpled around her fist.

“It’ll be okay.”

Callisto turned, her fist throbbing and bloody. Behind her stood a figure in a long overcoat with just a hint of a flawless black gown. A wide-brimmed red hat covered her face.

“How will it be okay?” She spat. “When he has my child and I’ve become this … animal.”

“We all become what we must, when we are scorned.” The woman said, her voice sad but steady. “Believe me, I’ve made many a monster in my time.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It was the only way. After he claimed your child as his own, you never could have stayed what you were. Where you were.” The woman held out a damp rag to Callisto. “Neither Artemis nor I could let an insult like that stand. I doubt you would have either, in the end…”

Callisto took the rag and wrapped it around her bleeding knuckles. She sighed in relief as the ambrosia-soaked cloth soothed the aching bones in her hand.

“You have no idea what I am capable of doing.” There was a growl in the back of her throat.

“Indeed I do not.” The woman’s voice hid a smile that made Callisto’s teeth grind. “That’s why I made you into my Bear. My fierce, unstoppable creature.”

There was a flash of movement and suddenly Callisto was across the room, flinging herself at the woman and holding her against the wall by her throat.

“Careful.” The woman continued, her regal poise barely disturbed. Only the faintest strain in her voice. “If you kill your sponsor, you’ll never get your shot at him.”

“I’m no closer to him now than I was when I started…” Callisto snarled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Win a few more fights and he’ll be the one giving you the trophy.”

The Bear loosened her hold on the woman’s throat.

“He will?”

“Oh yes. And then you’ll get the chance to get your vengeance. And you and Artemis can have your child back.”

Callisto carefully took a step back, turning away from the woman in disgust.

“And you’ll just let me walk away?”

“Oh, I imagine I’ll have to have a show trial or banish you or some such. After all, I can’t exactly let my Bear get away with killing my husband, can I?”

Callisto turned back to reply, but the woman had vanished.

---

A few months later, Callisto ‘The Bear’ won the Los Sirenas Title and was given the belt in a grand ceremony.

Zeus did not attend, however, and instead sent his young ‘son’ Arktos to present it.

No-one knows for sure what happened to either Callisto or Arktos. Some say one killed the other. Others say The Bear was shot down during an attempted kidnap.

But some say they were both seen fleeing together on Callisto's old motorbike. Maybe they even made it out of the city?

Maybe.

#writing #flash fiction #short story

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cyberneticlagomorph · 6 years

Text

She waits for you in the castle garden. A pulsating pustule of evil, in the form of an eerily massive flower bud, tightly closed around the horror it so carefully gestated in its unnatural womb. Reports from Cheshire and your guards state that it appeared sometime during the night, and all attempts to remove or destroy it have been in vain. No one can get close to it, or else fall prey to the potent miasma of adoration that the loathsome thing oozed like slime. The ground around the bulb is blackened and dead, never to host life again, strewn with the kneeling wide eyed bodies of your guards and any foolish enough to dare tamper with the flower. Their faces stretched to the limit by hideous grins and half lidded eyes, steadily crying blood onto the lifeless earth.

They have to be dragged away, pulled to a safe distance with lassos on long steel poles, like stray dogs caught by animal control. The bulb's range is a short one, so you hope that given enough space and time, they'll be alright. By the time you get there, the last are being cleared away on makeshift stretchers, you need medical supplies and actual doctors here badly. Ada can't handle a job like this alone, and you feel terrible for asking her to help so often. Everything around you is a constant state of dangerous chaos that threatens to swallow all you love, and every attempt to distance yourself from one conflict ends with you falling into the frothing maw of another. It's exhausting, you hate it, more than anything else, you hate it.

The bulb senses your approach, petals bulging like flesh or rubber as something presses against them from the inside, you swear you see the palm of a hand or an eyeless face with its mouth stretched wide in a soundless scream. The whole thing shudders violently and begins to unfurl, releasing more of that choking adoration fog that saps your will to fight and end this once and for all. Your knees tremble, and every thought suddenly vanishes from your head, your fear, your pain, your worries. They all disappear and you are left with nothing but adoration for the Queen. Your Queen. Your everything. You are the dust beneath her feet, she is the air you breathe, you are the dog at her heel, she is the benevolent goddess that spares your life just one moment more. You want nothing more than to please her, you'd slit a thousand throats just to see those obsidian eyes alight with amusement. You'd slit your own throat to see her smile, hear her praise you...

The wretched bulb blooms into an unfathomable rose, stolen blood dripping from the spread petals. The stench of blood baking in summer sun coats your tongue and makes you gag, your consciousness fighting to claw through the Queen's control. Within the rose, a figure is curled, coated in blood and chlorophyll laced mucus, but otherwise naked. She doesn't so much as get up as she is jerked to her feet like a puppet on frayed strings, wearing the body she fashioned from your blood. She takes the watery first breath of a newborn, staggering like a reanimated corpse towards you, the rose dissolving into a blinding cloud of petals that coalesces into a dress for her, a crown of thorns and bone atop her head. You stare into a face too much like your own, you're starting to bleed now, from the eyes and nose. It trails down your face and slithers down the back of your throat, making breathing an impossibility. She holds you fast, a deer in headlights awaiting the oncoming truck with sheer animal stupidity. You see her draw the sword, black and cruel, winking red in the sun as it arcs towards your body.

You dissipate into a swarm of blue fireflies, curling back and around to reform behind the Queen, drawing the Vorpal sword despite your evident disorientation. She scowls at you, raising her hand. The bloody ground boils and seethes, the tortured roots of that ugly rose rising from the earth to become thorny snakes the size of trees, each tipped with the smaller sister of that first rose. Single black eyes with white heart-shaped pupils stare accusingly from within their petals, smaller snakes end in bulbous mouths lined with row after row of needle teeth. Mouths not meant to chew and consume, but to tear and crush their victims into horrid puddles of pulpy gore. She flicks her finger with a sneer, a solitary toothy snake lunging at you with jaws wide and dripping with strands of green spittle. You slash with the Vorpal blade, cleanly severing mouth from wriggling stalk. Both spasm disturbingly, like an animal in pain, trailing ropes of green gore before seizing and going still. The Queen thinks you distracted and sends another vine careening towards you, its mouth foaming and rabid.

Your hand raises without your permission, a consciousness nestling beside yours with almost practiced ease. The vine begins to squirm and writhe, curling and flailing in pain as purple-black streams of smoke swirl from it to you, spiraling up the darkening length of your arm. You watch the plant wither and die within moments, its life force settling heavily within your chest as you approach the Queen, your eyes burning red and blue, sickly dribbles of that same smoke trailing from the tips of your dagger-sharp claws. Within your mind, Moira grins.

"How... adorable." you drawl in a voice that echoes itself, your tone full of boredom and venom that leaves a taste in your mouth as plain as the Irish accent that colors your words. The Queen scowls, then smiles, unleashing more thorns than you can counter or drain, you're left helplessly dodging blindly against the shuddering plant-based hydra. You tumble headlong over one limb, only to see another hurtle towards you at high speed, too late for you to escape. The sound of plant flesh against unyielding earth is finite and deafening, but not as chilling as the peels of laughter that claw themselves free of the Queen's throat. Moira's mind and yours are instantly disentangled, her flung almost painfully back into her body back home. Something else, someone else, oozes from the darkness and fills your mind with an endless shrieking hivemind, nearly drowned out by the hissing and groaning of some diabolical machine. A voice calls to you over the buzzing, screaming din in your head, inky and cold

"Because I owe you one, now let's dance doll..."

A dark, spreading pool leaks from beneath the great limb, and the Queen nearly mistakes it for blood before she remembers that yours is luminescent and blue. She strikes too late, you're already upon her, forming a new self from the terrible ink. Your skin is black and gray, trimmed with white, all of you dripping ink onto the ground below. Your lips curl into an unnatural smile, as you speak without moving your mouth in a voice that rings out a dozen times over.

"Surpriiiiiiissse..." you hiss, summoning limbs and misshapen shambling things from the dark pools around you. The Queen shrieks, pulling the strings on her creature, making it lash out against you. The Vorpal sword becomes an ink pen in your hands, its nib razor sharp and gleaming. You prune the plant-beast with ease and resume your assault on the Queen. She can't touch you like this, the moment she thinks she has you, you draw on another friend's mind to break the shaky hold of her miasma. Bendy, the ink demon with his black well of souls, does this the best. She can do nothing but throw physical attacks at you so long as he's here. His hivemind is deep and disorienting, the longer he stays with you, the more you feel yourself drowning in the churning sea of noise. The hydra swats you aside like a pathetic fly and sends you to splatter against a nearby wall. Bendy leaves the moment you pull yourself together. The rose winds itself around the Queen, becoming a vicious looking fortress with glaring floral eyes and snarling mouths. Two more minds brush against yours, longing to throw their hats in the ring.

The first is giddy, gleeful to be out and causing mayhem rather than confined to her cell back in Arkham. Her agility is astounding, the vines can't touch you, and any too slow to draw back become crushed pulpy piles of vegetable mess on the already sticky ground. The Vorpal sword makes a wicked warhammer, paired with Harley's acrobatic and you're the cheeriest tank Wonderland has ever seen. A vine strikes low, you jump high and perch on the stem just behind its drooling maw, one of its brethren darts for you, sinking its teeth into the flesh of its kin with no remorse, you take off running as the vine starts to spasm in panic. Others try to do you in, either to be bashed with your hammer or left snapping at empty air. You spot an opening in the shivering thorn wall, and dive through. Harley reluctantly retreats from your mind and another consciousness takes her place. The Queen strikes with her sword but is left slicing the space between a churning cloud of blue moths, she reorients herself just in time to receive a merciless kick to the teeth.

The Red Queen staggers back, bleeding the same green as her monstrosity. All six hundred years worth of Jeanne's whiskey-soaked rage courses through your veins, stoked white hot by sheer proximity to the Queen. You give her no time to attack, drawing your guns, putting her back on the defensive. Blade and bullet clash, gun-heels unleash devastating assaults, yet she refuses to die. Every limb lopped or shot off grows back in an instant, but it's nothing you can't handle. The Queen drops the thorn barrier in desperation, searching for any space she can put between you. You could almost smile at her stupidity. You step on a discarded limb and slip, one of the larger thorn vines hits you full on as you stand and sends you careening away. You hit the ground, bounce once and roll for some feet. Jeanne is reluctant to leave you, but you force your bond apart. It hurts to breathe, many things are definitely broken. Good.

You play dead as the Queen tiptoes near, face splitting in a smile. She chuckles darkly, her sword dragging in the blood and muck as she waits to crave your heart from your chest and your fool head from your shoulders. You draw on one last person, feeling her pain and panic as she enters your mind. Your magic manifests her abilities and you feel your wounds start to heal, though you keep your breathing as shallow as possible. The Queen raises her black blade, your strength returns just in time to roll away and spring up as her blade comes down.

"Why. Won't. You. DIE?!" she snarls, half mad with frustration. You wipe blood from your lips and straighten up, your blonde hair falling over one eye.

"Haven't you heard?" you half whisper in a voice accented with German, skin glowing as your wings unfurl, carrying you off the ground, "Heroes never die."

Somewhere in the back of your mind you think you hear Angela laugh, slightly manic and panicked but a laugh just the same. It makes your heart flutter as much as the wings on your back bearing you so proudly upwards. The Queen screams like a damned thing, flinging the whole of her beast at you, as bloody and weak as it is. Its attacks are pathetic and sluggish, vines falling apart midair as you climb higher. Those few still healthy enough to do damage meet the business end of your scythe, true its not the weapon of an angel of mercy, but you aren't feeling very merciful today. You swoop low and take a vine out at the base, watching it crash down on its sister-shoots, pinning them to the ground.

"Now!" you shout to the pair in the shadows, Rewind and Bub, the two who have been watching this fight since it began. They take the Queen by surprise, trapping her in a bubble of time as chains of shadow bind her wrists and ankles. You don't stop hacking and flying until the rose hydra is nothing more than sickly green mulch melting into the abused earth beneath. When the time bubble drops, so does the Queen, left screeching and flailing as tears well up in her black eyes. Her tantrum continues as she is dragged to the castle dungeon to stay. You slump, exhausted on the grass and let Angie go, promising to thank her in person the moment you got the chance.

#action post #ic #ask to tag #blood #rewind #bub #diamour #queenie #worldsbestdoc #littledemoninkdarling #mxthshadxws #feral clown #starryeyes dirtyhands #vorpal sword #all hail the queen

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houseofwater · 3 years

Text

Entry 23: The Most Gruesome Nightmare of My Life

Last night I had the most gruesome nightmare of my life. Nothing I have ever seen or read or imagined comes close to the level of repulsion I experienced. I don't even want to write it down. The influences are obvious: body horror, the monstrous feminine (monstrous birth in particular), extreme gore, my previous nightmare of a couple years ago regarding slipping out of one's skin, shape-shifting narratives, my readings on the philosophy of disgust, revolting sex, sexism, homophobia, cannibalism, true crime documentaries on netflix, an article on BBC news about a premature baby with translucent red skin, and of course the infectiousness of the coronavirus pandemic, the paranoia regarding the virus described by some journalists at a conference I attended yesterday... I really have never witnessed somethings so awful. I think I was so agitated that the cat intervened to wake me up - she was meowing loudly and putting her paw on my mouth, though by then it was already too late. The narrative had come to a conclusion. I had dreamt something that should not be dreamt. I wouldn't even know where to begin to actually describe it - are there words for such things? Glistening, pustulant, moist? Depraved, perverse, viral? If I could scrub my mind of what it has conjured, I would.

This monster in my dream, for whom fucking and eating bear no distinction... It seemed female at times, male at others. It was difficult to tell if the scene I was witnessing was real or an illusion it had conjured to seduce its victims into participating. Sometimes the image would slip and reveal something awful - an amorphous mass of white grease, the kind you find on the edge of a steak, but quivering, pulsing, wrapping itself around men and women with expressions of lurid ecstasy like something out of a renaissance painting. Those it fucks, it impregnantes or dissolves. I see people's faces lifting from their skulls, like bubbles being blown from the inside out. Their enemy is either a hare or a rabbit or some combination of both - I saw the creature only briefly. The brown-auburn-gold of its fur looked soft and thick, as if it had been painted with thick strokes of oil paint by a master of claro-oscuro. It hopped behind a tree and became a young woman with a bow and brutal eyes. She fired arrows into everything that moved - as monstrous in her delight as the monster itself.

A little thought on the imagery reveals the symbolic content; what is this amorphous white spoom but a stand-in for sperm and vaginal discharge? What is the image -the horror of it- but the tyranny of the cell? Beneath all the human images of marital beds, of equal coupling, beneath the performance of human connection, a depravity that isn't even animal but cellular, molecular. A hunger that isn't even hunger; beyond all comprehension; simply MORE. Duplicate. Divide. Conquer. Breach. Consume. Over and over beneath the veneer of civilization, beneath the veneer of instinct; the true puppeteer. Aphrodite but not the goddess or the flesh, but the surf, churning endlessly, the spittle of a unrelenting ocean, foaming, frothing, rabid. What is the huntress but another allusion to this same figure? What is the rabbit but a symbol fertility? What is an arrow but another form of penetration?

But wait, there is another dream. Less monstrous, altogether of a different kind. It is a dream about a place and two sisters, the sun and the moon. It is about a tower that has fallen low, eroded by the years into the semblance of a house. It is about exile - the moon is exiled, I am the moon and the ocean. I am trying to re-light the light in the tower that no longer exists. I am in love with a man I cannot touch. We meet in secret and whenever we are on the brink of being caught, I throw myself across the sea-barrier into the ocean and sink. I think I die every time. Not metaphorically. Literally. As if I have to drown to regain my divine communion with the water.

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demonhuntersuggestion · 6 years

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fic title: "hunter becomes the hunted"

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

Well, ain’t this a bitch?

His heart beat violently in his chest. Regularly sprinting on uneven ground did that to a person, and he’d been at it for quite some time now. Aurelio felt the creature behind him, snarling and frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal. It was more agile than anything he or the other hunters had ever encountered, and all the more deadlier for it. Only a fool would go after it alone.

Just gotta get out of the forest, he reassured himself, You just keep running, and you’ll be fine,

Duck, Azazel warned him, and he dropped into a slide on the forest floor just as the creature and its ferociously sharp claws lunged harmlessly at the air above him.

“Thanks,” he accidentally said aloud, firing a couple rounds from his rifle into the thing. The bullets embedded into its flesh, and it recoiled in surprise. Other than that though, they had little effect–apparently it was bulletproof too–and the creature growled and pounced at him again.

Aurelio rolled out of its way, scrambling back onto his feet. He fired a few more shots at the thing, skittering away from it all the while, until his gun let out a few empty clicks, then he plucked the empty magazine out of the chamber and flung it at the creature (It bounced off harmlessly, but had to count for something).

He turned tail and kept running through the forest, frantically sliding a fresh magazine into his rifle. He shoved his way through the underbrush, nimbly danced around anything that got in his way and darted a little faster every time he felt the hot breath and spittle of the creature behind him.

Keep running, Azazel warned in his head, and Aurelio responded with an exasperated “I know!”

At the edge of the forest, Aurelio burst through the foliage shouting a stream of curses, his legs ready to give out from under him. The creature exploited the lull in his stride, and it was on him immediately, clawing at anything it could reach. Aurelio desperately kicked and struck at it, earning him a long enough respite to roll onto his back and raise his gun and catch the monster’s maw as it lunged onto him again. Its teeth clenched around his rifle, and he wrestled with the thing, fighting to keep it from ripping his throat out.

BOOM!

An explosion tore through the air behind Aurelio, and a chunk of the creature’s flesh exploded into paste. It recoiled immediately, crying at its enormous wound. Aurelio craned his neck to see behind him–barely catching a glimpse of a squad of four hunters armed with various rifles and one with a shiny revolver–and the air went loud with weapons fire. The characteristic cracks of various automatic firearms blew from the area behind him, drowned out every couple seconds by loud booms that could only come from God’s revolver. In front of him, the creature screamed and cried as it was riddled with bullets and something more, and it died a violent, bloody death. Aurelio, between the hunters and the hunted, curled up into a tight ball on the ground, the air around him filled with lead.

He only uncurled himself when the shooting stopped less than a minute later, and rolled onto his back in the dirt. “Exhausted” couldn’t begin to describe how he felt.

A shadow passed over his vision. “You okay?” Francis Pendleton stood over him, one of his Exalted Magnums smoking in the hand he wasn’t offering to Aurelio.

Aurelio sighed, taking his hand and letting him pull him back to his feet. “Just peachy.” He glanced at the monster that had been hunting him for past ten minutes. It looked worse than it sounded when hew as on the ground: dozens of entry and exit wounds of various sizes oozed dark blood onto the dirt beneath it. Some parts of its body had been blasted off entirely. The creature, which had been violently stalking him through the forest less than minutes ago, now lay still on the ground. Dead.

If Aurelio had the energy to spit on its corpse, he would.

He felt Francis place his hand on his weary shoulder. “You did well today.”

Aurelio scoffed, “Yeah, I did,” he gives the man a frustratedly playful shove. “But next time, one of you can be the fucking bait.”

#ask games #guns tw #writings #Anonymous

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saralaurensmagalona · 7 years

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The Embassy A Thorki Fanfiction by Magalona

Loki knew that moment would come. Almost all his life, he knew that, one of these days, he would be confronted to his own blood. It couldn't be otherwise. They were too set against one another... If only he had had a little more time...

They looked both like rabid dogs, only with more constraint. They knew that if Thor's warrior bodyguards suspected any aggression towards their master's new paramour, they would immediately take action. They were giving them tiny infuriated peeks, hoping they would get the message and get lost. Helblindi and Býleistr had momentarily forgotten that they were not in their own palace and that they would not be attended to all their little whims in this place... When they realized the bodyguards were not to leave, they looked uglier in their growing, powerless rage. “Don't think this is over...” Helblindi growled. “You have ruined everything and now you will face the consequences.” “I have ruined nothing, brother.” Loki hoped his voice wasn't too trembling. He had to remain perfectly serene. “The plan goes as it is. I have the Crown Prince's favor and...” “His FAVOR ?!” Býleistr shrieked and then lowered his voice from fear of being spotted. “What use is his favor to us, damn it ?! You were supposed to ...” He stopped. “To what ?” Loki coldly asked. “To seduce him, sleep with him and then scream rape so that our parents could impose their conditions to the treaty ?” “Exactly !” Helblindi snarled. “You were supposed to be a good little bitch and nothing more ! And now, we are set with a big load of NOTHING ! Just because you refused to do our duty to us like some stupid slut ! Open your legs and shut your damn trap, is that so difficult for you to understand ?!” Loki heavily breathed. This was the last straw. Had they been a little more patient and a little more calm, Loki would have still believed them. He would have still forgiven them. He wanted to believe, he wanted to forgive. He still wanted to think that he always had a family after all, that they cared for him deep inside... That all of this was Asgard's fault. That they were acting like this because of their fear of the Aesir. They wanted out of this war and they were desperate. They were not doing this to him because they didn't love him but only because they were scared for their homeland.

Their attitude indeed reflected fear. But only for themselves. Not even for their parents or Jötunheim. They wanted to save their sorry asses because Frost Giants were not holding the stronger hand in this game any more... Nothing more, nothing less.

What Helblindi really wanted was to secure his position as future Jötnar King. And Býleistr probably wanted the same because he knew Helblindi had no brains and would be permanently dependent on him. Meaning HE would be the real King behind the curtains. Until Helblindi probably got himself killed (with a little help...) and the throne would be Býleistr's. This was more than a simple theory to Loki.

All this time he had hoped but hearing how little they cared, that hope was gone. And Loki was left with nothing but anger and emptiness.

“Charming, brothers...” Loki said, with a voice he barely recognized as his own. “I didn't know you only saw me as a 'bitch' or a 'slut' or other delicate nouns you use to refer to me... I didn't know that my sole purpose in life was to 'open my legs' and 'shut my trap'... Thank you for the enlightenment...” The two Jötun took a step back, looking dumbfounded, taken aback. The wretched crippled runt dared to talk this way ? Unbelievable ! Loki never discussed anything, never raised his voice, never stood up to anything. This was new. Unexpected and unacceptable. Helblindi lost his temper first. Again, he was the hot-bloodied one. Things went very fast. He raised his fist in an obvious attempt to strike his insolent younger brother. Býleistr tried to prevent him, not out of brotherly affection (he had none, not even for Helblindi), but for fear they would create a scandal. The Einherjar bodyguards, being no fools, were already drawing their swords and Loki was about to throw a dangerous explosive spell when a voice cut through all the mess.

“What is happening here ?!”

All stopped, frozen in their tracks. It was Frigga. Her son was standing next to her and she had to grab his wrist. Thor was about to let Mjölnir speak its brutal, universal language. Once again, Frigga had to be mother, queen, headmistress, diplomat, coach, and soldier all at once. Sometimes, she wished her son would marry so that she could retire. And sometimes, she knew he was capable to choose someone as childish and vain as he was and it would be a catastrophe...

“Your Highnesses, you are supposed to join the All-Father in the Realm Gathering. Not to fuss around the halls like children !” This was pure diplomatic hypocrisy. All of them were about to go at each other's throat, even Frigga was barely containing her mouth-frothing son, and she was keeping a playful tone, as if scolding unreasonable children. When in fact, everyone knew she meant : “ Everyone is going to go their own way and forget the incident. If not, consequences will be dire.” And if Odin was the most powerful male being in the whole universe, Frigga always made sure she was known as the most powerful female. She never let the Frost Giants forget that she had a considerable amount of their own passed through her sword in her days as shield-maiden and Valkyrie. Those two, with all their machismo and bravado, knew it. Býleistr made his best obsequious smile. Loki had seen it many times without thinking more about it. Now, it just made him want to vomit. “We are on our way, Almighty All-Mother.” And he curtsied. And what he meant was : “We're going so stop fretting, you meddling old cow.” Not something you say to the queen, in front of her thunderous son. They went both their ways to the Great Hall. It could have ended like this, but Helblindi, being Helblindi, couldn't let it go this way... He made a threatening glare to Loki who was careful not to let anything be seen on his face. It was discreet enough but Thor didn't miss it. He did a silly gesture of male dominance. A long time later, Loki would be still mad at all this display of testosterone at his expenses.

Thor grabbed Loki by the waist and literally snogged him the most indecent way possible, making Loki bend backwards.

Loki wanted to pull him away and slap him but deep inside his seething anger, he knew Thor was trying to do the right thing. He was actually protecting Loki. What made Loki mad was that the one that was saving him from his family's selfishness was the very one that terrorized him not so long ago. That it was this very mouth that had insulted his brothers on the battleground, calling his kinsmen “cowards,” “monsters” and “brutes” that was now plunging into his own, making him open his lips against his own will and was forcibly exploring it. That those hands burning on Loki's waist held the hammer of death that destroyed those of Loki's race.

And to Loki's shame, he was almost glad for it.

Only Frigga's furious voice made them break the spell and go back to their senses. But Thor had made his point. Any gesture against what was to be considered as his would be fatal. Loki owed him now. He owed the creature he feared most than his own terrible family. Curiously, he both liked and disliked it.

****

The rest of the day was really busy and Thor and Loki had barely a second to be alone. In fact, it was better this way because Loki was in a massive rage against Thor, not knowing if he had to strangle him or kiss him... Loki was still afraid of him, his eyes that had been lit with a crazy fire that day, his hands that were tainted, that monstrous thing he kept carrying around... And in the same time, he knew he owed his life to him. There was no mistake that his brothers went from simply discarding Loki's existence to wishing for his death. Loki was conscious he would be now fighting for survival. And without Thor's help, it would be far more difficult.

At the end of day, there was the customary banquet. It was starting to wear Loki down, all these futile ceremonials. Being sat next to Thor and having his hand inside of Thor's large grip was tearing him between the need to hold on it for dear life and rejecting it with disgust. It was exhausting. Luckily there would be no ball afterwards and Loki would have a chance for privacy and calm. But what of tomorrow ? The treaty was to be signed and the Embassy was to leave the same day. What would happen then ? Would they let him back to Jötunheim like this ? Or would they likely execute him for treachery and bury his body in the Icy Moors where no one would find him ever ? Loki felt the cold sweat dripping down his back and unconsciously pressed Thor's hand, the only warm, reassuring thing in his life right now.

The feast went on. Loki heard a huge barking laugh. Helblindi. Drunk already. He was waving his cup as if it was a flag of victory and making silly jokes to embarrass the servants and nobles that were sitting next to him. Loki noticed that Býleistr was not making any move to remind him to behave, as he usually did. He was actually indulgently smiling, as if Helblindi was a big kid, goofing around... That was particularly unusual. They both looked fairly at ease... In control in a way. That was when Loki knew they were up to something.

By the end of the feast, everyone was expecting Odin to say the closing speech, wishing all good night and see you tomorrow, as he was supposed to do. When Býleistr stood up in the middle of the room, demanding attention. Loki felt his heart stop. Now was the time he would know of his fate. Of this he was sure.

“Almighty All-Father...” Býleistr started embracing the whole room in a display of pretended respect. “ On the behalf of my noble brothers, my royal parents and our beloved country, let me say our deepest gratitude and respect for the many kindnesses you had offered us. We want to publicly proclaim our delight and great relief for the peace that is about to settle down between our realms....” Býleistr was exasperatingly appreciative. He was making a show and Loki knew no one believed it. Yet all had to play the part... “... And to make sure this peace will be an everlasting one, a crow came today from my royal father. It brought amazing news of wealth and prosperity for both our countries and will ensure our long going fraternity for centuries to come !” Býleistr made a theatrical move of his cape. Loki wanted to rip his head off. “My noble father has learned of the Mighty Thor's sentiments towards his younger son, the delight of his realm, and has agreed to give his hand to the powerful God of Thunder ! May they be blessed with many healthy children !” Having dropped the bomb, Býleistr raised a golden goblet of wine as a mockery of a toast to Loki and Thor, turned into stones.

****

The rest went in a fast forward and confused blur. People had made quite a ruckus but Odin kept them still. The All-Father had gone all red and his wife had palled as much. Loki thought the walls were crushing on him and he didn't dare see the look on Thor's face. All he knew then was that Frigga dismissed the whole assembly, pretended to rejoice and reassembled the concerning parties in her private salon. Loki remembered he had been almost dragged to it by Thor who was holding him up...

Once Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki and his brothers were on their own in the middle of Frigga's beautiful golden boudoir with its inner fountain and birds, the tension was palpable for this comfy room was supposedly made for the peace of mind. The presence of two scornful Frost Giants in it was completely out of place. Loki was back to his senses, hearing Odin's stern voice. “I want an explanation and I want it now.” Býleistr smiled, his attitude no longer deferent and obviously insolent. “My, All-Father. My King is accepting your offer for your son and heir to marry the flower of Jötunheim, of course ! There is nothing more to explain!” Odin clenched his teeth. “I made no offer of the sort !” Býleistr exploded laughing. “Of course, All-Father ! But your son provoked it with his outrageous behavior !” Thor jumped, teeth bared, but Frigga prevented him from causing another massacre. “He has made quite a show in defiling our precious little brother. As pure and innocent as he was, he had been probably thinking that pleasing the Heir of Asgard was a good thing to do... Except that the rules of our country are strict and that any royal showing off that he had had carnal knowledge of another royal, must marry said royal...” Loki was about to shout that there was no such laws but he wanted to hear it all out. “So, the only honorable thing to do is to make our little brother, the shiniest jewel of our beloved father's crown, his very own Royal Consort... and mother to his heirs.” Býleistr was barely containing his laugh. This was a last taunt. Being a male, it was impossible for Loki to give birth. “My father is ready to agree to any terms your Majesties would demand tomorrow. No one will make any objection... At the condition that Prince Thor and Prince Loki's marriage will be celebrated the same day !”

A long silence followed this piece of news. Odin gave a look at Frigga whose neutral face was impossible to read. And then came the answer Loki both feared and hoped. “So, be it.” Odin said. Loki closed his eyes. It was over. Thor wanted to protest but Frigga silenced him with another look. They were all proceeding to go. Loki stepped forward, stopping his brothers and looking at them right in the eye. “I wanted to thank you first, brothers, for I think we will have little time to talk on our own tomorrow. So I thank you now, for this amazing turning point in our lives...” His brothers were smirking, though not understanding the meaning of those last goodbyes. Loki was sparing his effect. They were thinking they had done a pretty trick on their bastard brother, on the Scourge, his mate, his offspring and his damn hellhole of a realm. Forcing on the prideful Thor a useless barren marriage with his worst foe's son and making the runt live a life of misery near that monster. What a good joke ! That would teach them a valuable lesson. “I will endeavor myself to be Asgard's best Royal Consort, under Queen Frigga's guidance... I will bring my knowledge as a sorcerer worthy of us and my new homeland.” Býleistr immediately stopped smiling. Helblindi looked at him then Loki, not sure he heard right. “For a start, I will bend my body and change my gender. Just long enough for me to bear the next Asgardian Heir. That child will be formidable having both Asgardian power and Jötunn's strength ! Not to mention my magic and Thor's might. The next Asgardian Royal will be the conqueror of all !”

Loki could laugh out loud at his brothers' shock and horror. They had totally forgotten it. Loki's powers. They have just sold their biggest asset to their worst enemies. Well, the biggest asset after the Casket of Ancient Winters that is... Except that Odin had laid his hands on it and it was now sealed in his damned vaults. Useless to Jötunheim. That was the reason of the forced treaty. The day Loki had seen Thor for the first time had been the day it had been stolen. And with Loki's gone, the Casket gone, their only sources of magical powers were also gone... And if Loki said the truth, if he was able to breed, thanks to that same magic... Býleistr didn't know if he had to laugh or cry, or scream...

To put it in a straightforward way, he had fucked up big time.

Loki took no little comfort seeing the maelstrom of conflicted emotions on his brothers' face. Býleistr then exploded with a terrifying laugh. It was both unnerving and thrilling. It didn't sound natural at all. “Well done, brother mine !” Býleistr exclaimed, calming down. “You have positively swindled us all ! Good luck with your new life, you'll need it if you are to be made a breeding mare.” He put a hand to Loki's shoulder. It felt like a cruel serpent on Loki's skin “Well, let me give you a first wedding present. Remember the two little runts you used to fool around with ?” Loki took a quick breath. Memories of Sigyn, Angrboda and him, playing chess in the snow garden with pawns made of ice assailed him. “Well, they've been disposed of the day they left. They didn't have your luck, being a royal bastard. No one was here to protect them. They were useless sluts since their births. So what was the point of letting them live ?” Sigyn trying a green silk dress Loki had made for her. Angrboda, crying with happiness on her birthday because Sigyn had given her her favorite gold bracelet. “I slashed their throats myself. Don't worry, it was quick and painless...” Sigyn's crystalline laugh. Angrboda's sarcastic smile...

The last thing Loki saw and heard before passing out were his own screams, Frigga's and Thor begging him not to kill those two miserable scums.

****

Loki woke up and recognized Thor's velvet canopy. Thor himself was standing near. He looked very worried. “You're up, Little One ? Are you all right ?” Loki tried to swallow down the tears that threatened to spill... He remembered everything in one second. All the blissful oblivion was gone. “Where are my brothers... My intended ?” Loki calmly asked. Loki had decided to be a proper spouse to Thor for many reasons. This marriage was not a bad idea after all. It gave him a certain amount of respect and freedom he had never known. Being of Aesir size, he would never be a runt in Asgard. People would fear him, as he was still a Jötunn, but being the Royal Consort of this country, they would be forced to give him proper respect. Once Thor would be on the throne, Loki would be second only to him. Particularly when he would turn female, get pregnant and deliver the Heir, making his position definitely secure. And then, he would plot his revenge on Jötunheim and his brothers, the swines. It would be slow and painful... To the bitter end. “They are gone to Father's Office Hall, beloved. They want to set the last details of the treaty made. After our... After the ceremony, tomorrow, they will leave and they will never bother you again...” Loki simply nodded. He had all the time in the world anyway. They would pay, whatever the cost. But not right now. Loki had a sad flash of Sigyn and Angrboda singing and laughing on their favorite sunny spot in the snow garden. He had to stifle a moan. He would not show any display of emotion in front of his future husband. He was intended to be the perfect consort and that implied not revealing any weaknesses. Thor sighed and took Loki's hands in his. “I am sorry, Little One.” Loki forced a calm smile and not to betray any jolt of disgust or unease at Thor's touch. “I don't understand how we got into this... I can't say I am unhappy having you at my side but...” Loki accentuated his smile. “There is nothing to worry about... My intended. I look forward to tomorrow.”

Hearing this, Thor raised his head to meet Loki's eyes and Loki's heart skipped a beat. He looked very angry. Loki couldn't see why. Wasn't he compliant and docile ? “Stop this.” Thor said, not very calm. “Stop this, right now.” “What ? My intended...” “I HAVE A NAME !” He yelled. “Why can't you say my name ? Do you hate me that much ? We are stuck in this, both of us, and we have to make the most of it. I know that and you know it too so why can't you simply trust me ? Why am I so repulsive to you ? Don't you dare thinking that I am so stupid I wouldn't notice how much you don't like me !” Had things been a little less hectic, Loki would have not lost his temper. But the day had been terrible since the beginning and Loki was exhausted. “Do you really have to ask ?” He sighed. “Do you know in what circumstances I saw you the first time ? Do you really want to know ?” Thor nodded firmly, though this question didn't bode well. “I saw YOU...” Loki hissed. “The day your armies invaded our palace ! I saw everything, Thunderer !” Thor looked at Loki, obviously at lost, trying to understand what Loki meant. “Oh, you are not stupid, THOR ?” Loki raged. “Well I am not either ! I saw you, or have you conveniently forgot what you did ?” “What in the name of the Norns are you talking about ?” Thor asked. “What am I talking about !?” Loki could have strangled him. “ With that damned hammer of yours, you BURNED an entire hall with Jötnar soldiers and civilians in it ! You burned them all to the crisp and then you LAUGHED about it ! You LAUGHED as if it was the funniest thing of all ! You were totally insane ! And I am now bound to a murdering MADMAN !”

Thor was mouthing the words “hammer,” “burn,” “hall”... Trying to make sense of it. Then, while Loki was biting his tongue in anger and self-disgust (he had simply and purely ruined his tiny chances with Thor), Thor's expression went from puzzlement to realization. “You... You saw that ?” Thor said, seemingly amazed. Loki nodded without speaking. He didn't dare to say more. He had done it too much already. “Oh, beloved...” Thor said it in a very sorry tone. “It wasn't me who destroyed that hall... And it wasn't my thunder, nor fire...” Loki was all hears, barely hoping for his answer. “YOUR kinsmen did. They used that weird blue box to stop me from entering... Except that they didn't seem very skillful with it and it simply exploded. It killed everything within its range and I was spared because I hid underneath the window... Later, I told Father about that weird box and we took it away. It seemed so dangerous, even for your people... I was laughing for the cruel irony of it. Certainly not because I was on a bloodbath ! It wasn't me, Little One I swear !”

Loki took a long time to realize what Thor was saying. It made sense. There was only one “weird blue box” that could “explode” and “kill everything within its range.” It was the Casket of Ancient Winters. It had to be. Loki has studied the Casket for his apprenticeship in magic and he had discovered that the device could be out of control and so, had to be handled carefully. But, of course, who would believe the royal cripple ? They had used it in an inappropriate manner, despite all his warnings, and that had provoked this horrible butchery. And finally, Thor's only crime had been to be there. Thor was a soldier and a soldier fights in battle, nothing else. Yes, it made sense. Or instead, it made none. This whole war was a farce. In the end, Loki was glad it was over and done with. Even if it was with a marriage with a complete stranger.

“I am sorry Thor, I didn't know...” Instead of overburdening Loki with guilt, Thor made the most joyous smile Loki saw on a face. Except his dear dead friends, no one smiled at him that much... Loki started to notice the waving blond hair, the blue eyes, the pearly teeth... He was already handsome when Loki thought him to be a psychopathic killer. He was even more when Loki discovered he was none of this. “Let's not talk about this, Little One. We should think about what to do next...” “What to do next ?” Thor smiled sadly. “You don't really want to marry me, right ? You want to be free, from your family, from your brothers, from me...” Loki thought quickly. “Thor, we cannot step away from this wedding. The peace depends on it now. Trying to snake our ways out of this would only deepen the conflict and start a new war.” Thor cast his eyes down. “But I don't want to be married with you for that... I don't want you to hate me for that. I only want your happiness.” “I am not hating you, Thor.” Loki sincerely said. “In fact, I am really grateful. I had no future in Jötunheim, except being a commodity to sell to the highest bidder. Here, at least, I will have a goal, a purpose in life.” Loki tried a brave face. “I'll do my best, Thor. I won't disappoint you, I promise ! First thing, after the wedding, I'll change into a female and I will...” He had no time to finish his phrase for Thor kissed him the same way he did in front of the brothers.

A moment passed. Loki lost his sense of time. It was easy to give up his control. Thor knew how to kiss and please. For the first time in 48 hours, where his life had been totally upside down and changed forever, he felt very good. He felt heavenly in fact... Needless to say, the only one to make him fly that high with touches had been Thor all the time. But when Thor broke the kiss, Loki realized he was crying. The reason for it was simple. He was safe, warm, almost happy... While his dearest friends were dead, the Norns knew where, rotting under the earth or devoured by the ice beasts... It broke his heart to be alive, instead of them. To be savoring life while they were gone forever. Sigyn and her gentle soul. Angrboda and her bright mind. They had deserved a life. He wasn't sure he had the same merit. It had been unfair since their birth. They had been doomed since the start. Such short lives and for what ? He felt Thor's gentle hands on his face. He was drying his tears. That kind gesture made Loki felt weak in the legs. “We will avenge them.” Thor quietly said. Loki looked at him, totally taken aback. “I don't know who those people your brother killed were but he has slain innocent lives only to make you miserable. Treaty or not, he will pay for what he had done.”

In that instant, Loki's heart melted. Thor was not a monster anymore. He was more sensible and kind that many that Loki knew or had met. Maybe he had inherited more of his mother than people thought. For these kind words only, Loki was ready to do anything for him, this very minute. He then took Thor's face with both his hands and kissed him on his own. Thor let him do it with a surprised jolt. Still holding Thor, he made him lay down next to him. Thor was all red with confusion. “Do you wish to anticipate on our wedding night ?” Loki asked as a half-joke. Thor opened his mouth that has turned wet and red. “But... Little One, are you sure ? It seems a bit... We are in no hurry, I can wait...” Loki caressed his face. It was the first time he touched someone like this. All his fears were gone. He was more confident than he ever was... Or so he thought... “I've never been so sure...” Loki smiled.

****

He wasn't that much sure of himself once he was totally naked and he had to behold the sight of the Thunderer stark naked. He had actually seen male and female nakedness many times, even Sigyn and Angrboda when they went to the royal baths together but he wasn't attracted to nudity or to anything else for that matter. Even his own body felt dirty. He had been so shamed about himself he couldn't even imagine what could be shared between two people. And Thor's presence was overwhelming. He was sculpted to perfection, every muscle marvelously defined and toned. He was so different from any Frost Giant and yet so close to Loki, though bigger. Loki was lost. He had no idea about his own wants and feelings. Thor shook his head, embarrassed by Loki's confusion. “Little One, you are not ready for this and we have plenty of time...” Loki, on his back, grabbed Thor's shoulder to pull him towards him. “No, Thor, my intended, my Lord, my husband, my whatever you want me to say...” Loki held Thor close. It was warm, though very heavy... “I do not want to wait right now. For all you've done for me, you deserve this...” Thor was unconvinced but complied. Everything his beloved wanted, he would get

Thor's mouth was as hot as fire. Loki heard noises he didn't know he could make. Sensations he had no idea they could exist. He came first in Thor's mouth and apologized profusely. Thor only laughed and told him there was other things to discover.

Loki almost screamed when Thor put his tongue in.... THAT place. Loki shivered for what seemed like centuries when Thor used to slowly abused that soiled entrance with his tongue. Loki managed to warn him with a shaking voice that he was not going to kiss him until he cleaned his mouth after he was done. Thor laughed again and told him this was just a necessary beginning. Loki shouldn't make promises he wasn't sure to make...

Thor used his fingers. Loki was paralyzed. It took him several minutes to be sure Loki was ready. He asked again if he was really alright with all of this. Loki wasn't certain of it but he wanted Thor. As surprising as it was and though he was embarrassed beyond words at his newfound lewdness, he wanted to go all the way.

When Thor slowly took him, it felt like an internal tear at first. It made Loki cry despite Thor's gentle care. When Thor managed to move, it was a little better but not that great. Until Thor touched something deep inside and that made Loki tremble from head to toe.

When they fell asleep together, at the end of this insane day, Loki felt lighter than he had ever felt. In body and mind, he wouldn't be the same anymore.

****

The wedding took place in the morning. Loki's brothers had insisted on it. It was a very quick, formal and private thing presided by both Asgardian and Jötunn justices of the peace. It had to be so the wedding contract could not be compromised. It was a depressing absence of grandeur and protocol. Thor was a little sad. This was not how he had pictured his own wedding. Not to mention that the wedding night occurred before... Nothing was done properly. But as his mother had promised him there would be something more public and dignified later, that this was only for diplomatic reasons. It was a relief for Thor. Loki deserved better than this depressing affair. The treaty was quickly signed afterwards. It was made as fast as the wedding. Loki felt like a knot in his chest that has been there for centuries was being slowly untied, letting in a smooth and clean air.

But only as he saw his brothers disappearing on the Bifröst, as he felt Thor's heavy and tender arm on his shoulders, he felt truly and well free.

#thorki #dubcon #Thorkislashfanfic #smut

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