#Captive hunting

[plethoraworldatlas]

A Vaughn man pleaded guilty Tuesday to two federal wildlife felonies for running an illegal operation to clone the world’s largest horned sheep and breed hybrid sheep that he sold to game ranches in other states.

Arthur “Jack” Schubarth, 80 pleaded guilty to a conspiracy charge and to one count of violating the Lacey Act, which prohibits people from selling, transporting, or buying wildlife through interstate commerce if the transportation or sale violated federal law.

Schubarth was charged last month by federal prosecutors after entering into a plea agreement in which he agreed to cooperate with an investigation into the operation. The U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Montana said Schubarth conspired with at least five others in the operation between 2013 and 2021.

According to court documents, Schubarth illegally imported part of a Marco Polo argali sheep killed in Kyrgyzstan into the U.S., a species that is internationally protected, is listed under the Endangered Species Act, and is prohibited in Montana. He paid to have a lab create cloned embryos from the animal’s DNA, which he then implanted into ewes on his ranch.

One of the embryos, a genetically pure Marco Polo argali, was born and named “Montana Mountain King,” whose semen Schubarth used to impregnate hybrid sheep by breeding them with other types of sheep that are banned in Montana. The U.S. Attorney’s Office said the group wanted to create bigger and more valuable sheep for captive hunting ranches, primarily in Texas.

He and the others forged veterinary inspection certificates, according to court records, and Schubarth also sold the pure sheep’s semen to other breeders.

Schubarth also bought parts of wild-hunted Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep in Montana, a violation of state law, and sold parts of the animals to people in other states.

“The kind of crime we uncovered here could threaten the integrity of our wildlife species in Montana,” said Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks Chief of. Enforcement Ron Howell. “This was a complex case and the partnership between us and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was critical in solving it.”

[silver-peel]

Celebrating new year and ending of the quest:)🕯️🎄🪓

product of my recent green knight reread on holidays, save me erotic hunting scene...... Happy new year, hope everyone have a nice starting of the year!

for hardcore fans yes lady bertilak dress lowkey reference form manuscript (feat. burrito gawain)

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[sainteclectic]

I feel like Mind could never work retail or anywhere where he'd need to be polite because he is autistic as hell and just keeps calling people morons

oh mind is NOT a retail worker he could never do a customer facing job. he has no customer service voice because clearly he is always right and he shouldn't need to sugarcoat it. he's a college student

[renshengs]

Hi!! I see you post occasionally about cdramas. I went to China this summer and I learned a little Mandarin (like enough to say, “I don’t speak good Mandarin.”) Would I be able to muddle through cdramas with captions? (Also any suggestions on which ones to watch and where to watch them?). Thanks so much <3

ooh i hope you had lots of fun there! with subtitles i think you could absolutely make it through most cdramas; it depends on how good the subs are, honestly, because alas translating mandarin chinese to english (or any latin-based language, for that matter) is i think one of the most difficult language translations possible because the chinese language is just so rife with chengyu (idioms).

as for recs, i do have a handful i watched recently enough that i feel more confident in trusting my own taste LOL. i almost exclusively watch historical dramas, so these are definitely going to be very skewed to my personal preferences.

also, this will be long because i love my cdramas. bear with me!

word of honor/山河令 (2021)

episodes: 36

genre: wuxia (chinese martial arts fantasy; think of crouching tiger hidden dragon), dangai (cdrama adapted from a chinese gay romance novel), adventure, political intrigue

arguably the most explicitly gay cdrama that's come out in the last decade despite censorship issues in chinese tv broadcasting

a lonely ex-assassin retires and begins a slow 1-year suicide by poison, but his death plan is interrupted by a flirtatious (& dangerous) man with a mysterious background + a newly orphaned kid he accidentally becomes responsible for. cue politics and drama!

if you don't mind dealing with low-budget CGI—though the show is so immersive it hardly makes a difference—the story features: fascinating & subversive themes about life & morality, a well-written cast of bloodthirsty women, an incredibly charming found family, and an absolutely fantastic, dramatic, devoted slow burn between the two male leads

if you prefer more mature romance—lots of flirting & sexual tension between two highly intelligent & capable men who are 1) attracted to each other from the get-go 2) constantly trying to outmaneuver each other & figure each other out... this is the one!

if it means anything, i am recommending this one first because it's my all-time favorite cdrama! especially if you are queer like me :)

you can watch it subtitled on netflix or fully free & subtitled in HD on the official youku youtube channel

the double/墨雨云间 (2024)

episodes: 40

genre: historical, romance, political intrigue

if you too are tired of stories about shallow, badly-written girlbosses with no dimension... this is the show for you!

protagonist is a happy woman who gets framed for adultery & buried alive by her husband—she survives and returns to enact revenge upon those who hurt her & her loved ones by assuming the identity of the young woman who died saving her. she makes many enemies and allies along the way + catches the attention of the emperor's notoriously cold & keen-eyed right hand man, duke su, who eventually becomes her very supportive love interest <3

high stakes & a plot that makes you hold your breath, GORGEOUS cinematography

a long list of complex and important female characters, most of them nasty and corrupt, all of them sympathetic and interesting. the show is good at making you assume at first that their characters won't be done justice, but just wait :)

from your resident het romance skeptic: excellent dynamic! protagonist and her duke are both confident, calculating schemers always trying to outsmart each other, but eventually join hands against common enemies. extremely slow burn with lots of tension and a refreshing lack of miscommunication

you can watch with subtitles on netflix, youku, and definitely some p/racy sites for east asian dramas

mysterious lotus casebook/莲花楼 (2023)

episodes: 40

genre: wuxia, adventure, mystery

a heroic & famous swordsman suffers a defeat at the hands of his nemesis and vanishes and is widely presumed dead. timeskip a decade, he's been living in disguise as a doctor to escape the burden of his identity when the past he's been hiding from starts to catch up to him when he scams a talented & stubborn young swordsman whose past is connected to his

if you like sly 30 yr old protagonists, identity shenanigans, & mystery-solving with gay polycule undertones, this is the one for you!

as for potential shipping: if you like age gap stuff and/or devoted puppyboys and/or "A has idolized B (adult) since they were a child; now A is grown-up and wants to protect B" trope. OR if you like 30 yr old nemeses who act divorced. the 3 main guys all have chemistry; pick and choose your ship at will!

to save text, last year i made a passionate powerpoint post explaining the whole show, spoiler-free, in more detail!

you can watch it with subtitles on iqiyi for free or on aforementioned [redacted] sites

love between fairy and devil/苍兰诀 (2022)

episodes: 36

genre: romance, xianxia (chinese high fantasy), adventure

high budget CGI? in MY cdrama? it's more likely than you think!

please ignore the horrendous english title. a translation of the original chinese would be "the parting/goodbye of canglan", canglan being the main characters. the story is tragic but ends happily!

on the surface appears like an old-fashioned good girl x bad boy love story, but is far more emotionally interesting & 100% deserving of its sheer popularity

brave & kindhearted low-ranking 1,500 yr old orchid fairy spirit accidentally soulbonds with a 30,000 yr old demon lord war prisoner who just happens to be the nemesis of her realm, except she reaps all the benefits and he just suffers (hilariously)

very star-crossed, VERY funny bodyswapping, & with far more heart and consistency than many people assume. the romance is difficult in ways that make sense! genuinely thought my picky ass would not be charmed by this show and found myself fully crying by episode 8

oh, and gloriously stunning costuming. everyone looks good, all the time, even when they're covered in blood <3

if you're interested, here is the powerpoint post that convinced me!

you can watch with subtitles on netflix, or iqiyi & viki for free!

a journey to love/一念关山 (2023)

episodes: 40

genre: historical, romance, adventure, political intrigue

also female-centric! an infamous and deeply complex assassin protagonist hellbent on revenge against the people who framed her finds herself making a deal to train a timid princess into becoming a political force of nature, ft. her supportive and equally capable male love interest, his group of incredibly lovable and memorable best bros, a gorgeous cutthroat young marquis with an oedipus complex & a complicated backstory (who absolutely steals the show whenever he shows up), & a headstrong tomboy princess with a sweet and loyal heart

a fast-paced plot that never drags + excellent soundtrack + incredible action scenes + a genuinely convincing crossdressing plot where the female character actually passes as a man

unreasonably funny considering the political drama. i truly cannot understate how Fun this was to watch, especially if you like deadly domineering women who are badly socialized and hilarious, and female characters establishing positive and meaningful bonds with each other.

if you've never watched a cdrama, i will warn that most of them Do Not Pull Their Punches when it comes to making viewers cry. this one has shakespearian tragedy levels of death, including of major characters

you can watch with subtitles on iqiyi, and i'm sure some [redacted] sites also

hoping this list can be of help to you, anon! i cannot state how happy it makes me to see anyone express an interest in watching cdramas. i grew up on them, their long dramatic storylines and star-crossed romances, and they shaped my taste in fiction in more ways than i can say. if at any point you get around to watching any of these, feel free to yell in my inbox about it, and most importantly have fun and enjoy! <3

[hold-him-down]

finally got my hands on em 😿 if you don’t see me for 3-5 business days you know why.

[lost--in-a-haze]

Run my little bunny, as fast as you can, as far as you can. It doesn't matter where you are, or how hard you try to escape me, I will always find you. And when I do I’ll tie you up right above the fireplace as my masterpiece, just as any hunter would. Only I get to pull you down whenever I need relief, and for that matter whenever my guests need relieving. To be blindfolded, gagged and tied up, unable to breathe fully or see anything. Unable to move without rope tightening up and pinching you. Taken from a human, and diminished into a piece of art to be judgingly stared at, and poked and prodded at relentlessly. What a pathetic existence you'll have to endure, little bunny. Don't worry though, I'll make sure you can never go back to the life you once had. You’re my favorite artwork afterall, don't you think everyone should know about it. 

[christiangeistdorfer]

JAMES HUNT and technical director HARVEY POSTLETHWAITE at the 1975 BRITISH GRAND PRIX

[inkblot22]

The Same As Always

So I can already hear it. If I'm so scared of Rook, why am I always writing about him? That's because fear makes me nut, and I'm horny on side (this is not my main blog lmao) Also I'm so sorry, I cannot remember who made this divider since I downloaded it a few years ago, so if it's yours please let me know and I will credit you! This is kind of a reimagining of events based on that very loose series I have floating around on my page (He Begs Not For Petulance) so I hope it comes across as well as those.

Who is this fic for? I tried to keep it very gender-neutral, so hopefully anyone who can handle it. I apologize, since Rook does use the masculine version of most pet names in this (cheri instead of cherie, etc) but it's less feminizing than him referring to the reader as "ma biche" or "ma coccinelle", so that's just how that goes. It is a shame, but I also stayed away from "mon nounours" because that is also a bit too gendered. Very cute, though.

Anyways, this fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. It's not as dark as my usual stuff, but that's not saying much. TW for noncon (touching and sa), knifeplay, blood, head injuries (accidental), captivity, and yandere. Also rusty, probably incorrect French and Rook Hunt, of course. I don't add translations because I feel like if the reader doesn't know all or any of what he's saying, it adds to the creep factor.

You don’t like it here. You think you don’t, at least. It’s hard to explain.

It’s winter, it has been for far too long. Maybe you’ve been here for a bit too long as well. It’s hard to keep track of time, since the sun seems to never rise wherever you are.

You can’t exactly remember how you got here. You remember the wagon. You’d needed quick travel through the mountains, but you also can’t remember where you were traveling. You remember everything going dark, waking up to see a blood-stained stone before you, feeling the warmth on your forehead and wondering where the wagon had gone. Your first thought was that you were now in a survival situation as it began to snow around you, the snowflakes dancing in the wind that found its way inside your loose clothing. You stood there for a moment, maybe, and then you started walking, and from there it all goes black. 

You can definitely remember the first time you saw him. You were lying in an unfamiliar bed, something snug around your forehead. A candle cast a warm, quiet light into the room, and it burned through your eyelids, your vision a murky orange-pink until you opened your eyes and came face to face with… him.

Flaxen hair, a soft smile as he reached forward to caress your cheek, and most of all, those intense jade eyes. You jumped and immediately felt woozy, but you were confused enough to pay that little mind.

The man shushed you, gently pulling you back into a relaxed position and cooing at you as though you were a small child, “Ah-ah, fear not, mon cheri, you are no longer in death’s grasp. Do you remember your name or how you’ve gotten here?”

You couldn’t answer him at first. His eyes narrowed, the rest of his face still a pleasant mask, and he eased you onto your back, your head against the pillow.

“Fret not, mon petit. How about I tell you my name, and then you can decide if you’d like to tell me yours?” His voice was quiet when he spoke to you, and you noticed that there was a large knife sheath snug on his thigh.

You were still bewildered. You couldn’t connect any of the dots that had led you to this moment, and it was making your heart beat a bit too fast for your liking. The stranger smiled wider and squeezed your trembling hand.

“Je m’appelle Rook Hunt, le chasseur d’amour. I found you wandering aimlessly in this forest, the life pouring from your head like a faucet. You passed out in my arms, and brought you here.”

You didn’t remember wandering around. You could remember getting up, but you didn’t remember wandering around. Your hand comes up to your forehead, the soft bandages rubbing against your fingertips. When you looked back at Rook, you tried to figure out what you should say. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

“I… I’m kinda thirsty.”

Rook smiled ever wider and stood, and you got the chance to look around a bit more. You seemed to be in a small log cabin, the bed in a sort of nook, away from the rest of the cabin. You could see Rook from where you were, his back facing you as he poured you a cup of water. The kitchen area was open, but small, a table with three chairs right next to it, and you could sort of see a pretty ornate looking rug, but as you were looking at it, Rook returned and helped you into a seated position.

He held the cup for you as you drank. When you finished, he placed the cup on the table and stroked your cheek, still smiling. His actions towards you were awfully familiar, as though you were old friends or something.

“Where am I?”

“A little cabin in the woods.” Rook didn’t remove his hand from your cheek. His gloved thumb was so gentle against your cheek. “Why don’t you get some rest? You lost quite a bit of blood, cheri.”

You did feel tired… and even though you were confused, it was almost as though a spell was cast on you, lulling you back to sleep.

You’re almost certain you don’t like it here. Although he never said anything to you about it, it became somewhat clear that you couldn’t leave once you felt well enough to move around again. At least you were moving, though.

It was also at this point that Rook began leaving the cabin often. It left you bored, not that his form of entertainment was a good one, and you started cooking to alleviate that boredom. You couldn’t really recall if you were good at it before, but you were decent enough to make basic stuff, so you did. For some reason, Rook had an icebox, not a refrigerator. You didn’t know what it was at first, and you felt like it was rude to open random cabinets in a strange man’s cabin, so you left it alone until he informed you that there were usually fresh vegetables inside.

You’d sit next to the potbelly stove and sip tea as you stared out the window at the snow. This winter was going on for far too long, and it always seemed to be dark here, but you didn’t know where “here” was.

Rook would stomp back in, snow caked along the feather in his hat and melting off the brim, and he’d cast you a smile before swishing into the basement. When he’d return, he’d guide you back to the bed and sit at the table himself, writing furiously… until recently.

Last night, he’d led you back to the bed after checking your wound and changing the bandage, but instead of taking a seat at the table and writing, he slipped into the bed beside you. You didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the precedent for the rest of your life.

“What are you doing-”

“Shh, shh. Relax, cheri. I will recite a poem for you.” He curled his arms around you, holding your aching head to his chest as he whispered.

“What?” You were fatigued, still recovering from your injury, but you struggled to break out of his hold anyway.

He shushed you again, his deceptively slim arms keeping you immobile, and then he began to speak, quiet and steady, “My darling is silent. Quiet as the night.”

“R-Rook…”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “Mon orilles sont pauvres faute de sa douce voix.

As I look at that sweet face,

Beautiful as a flower, as the moon, as the blood in our veins,

Je me sens seule dans ma peau.”

You… are not amazing at French. A small English to French dictionary was left on the table whenever Rook left, but reading made your head swim, pangs of pain so bad that you had to rest immediately. But, from what little you understood, the man who had saved you from a cold death outside seemed to have something worse planned for you, if you were in fact this “darling” he spoke of.

You definitely do not like it here. You’d made the mistake of pushing Rook’s increasing affections away every chance you got, resulting in him reading your reluctance to be around him as hostility. You’d gone to cut some vegetables and found that all the knives were replaced with children’s safety cutlery. While you could very well still cause damage with them, you couldn’t do anything life-threatening without a lot of effort and no fighting back. The serrated plastic edges were only good for cutting through the flesh of fruits and tender meats, and the rounded tips meant you couldn’t really pierce anything.You couldn’t even skin a fish that Rook came back with, he did it with his hunting knife after watching you struggle for an irritatingly long time.

And then there’s the cellar. You had taken a nap after trying to read and woken up, the sky dark as usual and a terrifying grinding, clunking noise coming up from the basement. You felt like you needed to hide, so you did. You crawled under the bed and waited, the basement door flying open and a few more candles getting lit echoing as the grinding noise- the sound of something big and heavy being dragged- moved further back towards the area of the cabin that you didn’t go in usually. There wasn’t much over there except for a wardrobe, and you didn’t like opening cabinets here. It stopped being about politeness a while ago, and had turned into the fear of finding something you didn’t like.

When you heard the front door open and close, felt the frigid rush of air that entered the cabin, you felt like you were frozen as well. You couldn’t move as you heard the sound of water being poured, and you worried for a while that you would start to feel the wooden floor beneath you grow cold and wet. Instead of wet floors, however, you saw Rook’s feet- you could only tell because of the freckle that peeps over his sock on his left leg and the fine blond hairs prickling from his skin- in your narrow window of vision from where you were cowering.

“Cheri… come out from under there.” 

You did, but you did so slowly. As soon as you were no longer under the bed, Rook pulled you to your feet and looked at your face. He’d never made such a serious expression before, not that you’d seen, and it made you feel a bit panicked.

“R-Rook, what was all that noise?”

His face smoothed and he let go of you, then he waved towards the dark corner of the cabin.

“I’ve run a bath. The water is warm, lapin, so you’d best get in before it cools.”

You did feel grimy, and since you were okay with standing and walking around for longer periods of time now, as compared to the first few weeks you were here, you jumped at the prospect of getting clean. You quickly undressed, knowing it was dark enough that Rook probably couldn’t see you, and climbed into the warm water. You couldn’t see if there was any soap, but as you were squinting into the darkness, kneeling in the tub as you leaned forward over the side, you felt something brush against your back. When you turned around, you shrieked like an owl and had a very intense internal dilemma.

Rook was seated in the tub behind you, or in front of you now, since you were facing him. He produced a bar of soap and began washing himself, dipping his head under the water so he could wash his hair as well. You couldn’t help but blankly stare at him, eyes wide as he acted so casual. This had been a problem for a while, actually, but never so severe as this. Rook was overly familiar with you, he touched you as though you had been married or were close friends, and apparently now he thought it was fine for you to share a bath. His eyes met yours in the dark corner, and he possibly smirked. You couldn’t quite see, but you could hear it in his voice.

“Ah, mon cher, did you need the soap? But you can’t see very well, can you? Come and let me wash your supple skin.”

A moment before he said that, you were debating if you should get out of the tub or something. You couldn’t tell if it’d be better to be ogled as you dressed or if staying under the water would give you a bit more modesty. After he said that, his arms reaching for you, you began to stand up. Although it was dark, you still saw his eyes flash, saw a slight movement in his wrist, and you were brought to your knees. It felt as though vines were wrapped around you, and you tilted forwards into your captor’s chest as your balance failed you in the dark water of the tub.

This man was a mage. You didn’t think you’d ever met one before, but you couldn’t remember. You wailed and begged for him to let you go as he began to gently wash you, but he simply shushed you and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You absolutely hate it here. As you chopped carrots for the stew you had decided to make, you wondered where you were from or where you were going, and hoped someone knew you had never shown up and was looking for you. You didn’t think that was the case, however.

“That does smell divine, trickster.” Rook said, walking up the stairs from the basement, “Et vous êtes terriblement mignonne, portant ce petit tablier adorable et préparant le dîner…”

“I can’t cut the meat well with this. Can I have an actual knife, please?”

Rook didn’t answer, leaning against the wall and watching as you chopped the carrots with some difficulty. He looked pleased, though whether it was with you or the situation remained to be known. When he finally pushed off of the wall, he wrapped one arm around your front, burying his face in your hair as his other hand slid down your thigh.

“Get off of me!” You tried to slash his arm with the knife, but it barely even scratched his skin, and the hand that was resting on your waist came up to crush your dominant hand so you’d drop the knife.

Panic spiked through your veins as he slipped his hand up your leg so he could slide it in the waistband of the pants you were wearing. His hand that was crushing yours lowered to hold your wrist against the counter.

You’d never tried this before, but when his lips pressed against your neck, you felt your breath hitch and you let out a desperate cry for help. 

Rook laughed in response and nipped your neck, his teeth pinching your skin between them. His hand in your waistband smoothed down your pelvis to gently massage your sex, and you screamed again, thrashing and flailing so he would let you go.

Despite him never quite showing this side of him to you before, Rook was something of a strategist. As far as you could tell, it hadn’t been that long since you’d gotten here, if your head injury was anything to measure time by.  

“Relax, ma crevette. You are still recovering, no? Allow this lowly hunter to take care of your body.”

Your head hurt and you felt dizzy as he stoked your arousal. A disconnect between your mind and body grew into a chasm and you began to bawl as a pressure built up in your core. Your head was spinning, it felt as though your brain was throbbing, and you shuddered and wept as Rook peppered kisses on your cheek. He had you pressed solidly against the counter, his body keeping you more or less still. His breath was hot on your skin, and you felt like you were in hell.

“Come, trickster. The soup can wait. Je dois t'avoir.”

“No!”

Rook paid you little heed as he dragged you backwards towards the bed, and while you were expecting him to just throw you onto it before he assaulted you, he gently swept you off of your feet and laid you down. That was where his mercy ended, however, if it could even be called mercy here. That knife that was pressed to his thigh, still warm from his skin and him doing whatever he did in the basement, was quickly unsheathed and trailed lightly up your sternum.

“Not struggling any longer, mon petit lapin? I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” His blade slid back down and he used a finger to help hook it under the hem of your shirt, cutting through the fabric as though it was nothing, “And I am sure you must be confused, but a little… exercise is good for your condition.”

You wanted to vomit, but Rook’s gloved hand cupped your chin. His knife felt cold against your now bare skin, and your breath hitched as you sucked in and held it, your eyes looking down at where Rook had his knife.

One of his leather-covered fingers tapped your cheek, and you looked back up at him. He smiled sweetly and sat up a bit, his blade still pressed flat against your stomach, right over your navel. He caught the fingertip of his glove in his teeth and yanked that glove off, tossing it to the side and passing the knife to his now bare hand. As he leaned forward to hover over you once more, his knife pressed under your chin and his gloved hand slipped into your pants, shifting lower than your crotch to prod at your poor ass. You closed your legs tighter in panic, and Rook tutted at you as though you were an unruly child.

“Come now, cheri, you should relax.” He whispered, leaning closer to press a kiss against your forehead, where you’d hit your head and how you’d gotten into this whole mess. “Plus vous êtes tendu, plus la douleur est forte…”

“D-don’t do this, don’t-” Your voice sounded so shaky, and you realized that you were trembling. Every time you made the slightest movement, you could feel the sharp edge of Rook’s hunting knife against your chin.

“Open your legs, Trickster. I’m not touching you for my benefit… although your faces of bewilderment and pleasure are quite sweet.” His finger circled the tight ring of muscle around your anus and you slowly relaxed.

“Wh-why are you d-doing…?”

Rook smiled sweetly and removed his finger from your anus slowly, instead dragging your pants down your legs and relaxing his hand with the knife against your neck. When your lower half was mostly bare above the knee, he pressed two fingers into your ass and slowly massaged you from the inside, tilting his head as his face fell.

“After I graduated from NRC, I did not think I’d see your darling little form again. It was a welcome surprise… but I don’t suppose you know what I’m talking about.” He mused, reaching over your head to grab something. He opened the little bottle with one hand, the slippery liquid cold on your asshole as he resumed his gentle fingering, “You don’t remember me in the least. Do you?”

You felt so woozy and scared, but it explained so much if he knew you… but that didn’t matter. He was still a stranger to you, and one who was currently preparing to do more terrible things to you.

“Heh… I did think so.” Rook quickly unbuckled his pants and tugged them down just enough to free himself. He pulled back away from you to seat your thighs on his own, his cock slowly inching into your poor hole. His knife slid away from your neck but remained in his grip as he slowly slid his hips forward, his opposite hand holding your ass.

Your vision was white for a moment, and when it returned it was blurry. Were you crying? You could hear loud, shuddery breathing, and it took a moment for you to figure out that it was coming from you. Rook sighed peacefully, as though this was a walk in the park for him. 

“Aw… I do not enjoy harming you, trickster.” Rook murmured, his hips slowly beginning their undulating motion. He shushed your pained sounds, “This is my love for you. You’ve only grown more beautiful these past few years.”

You winced and pushed against him, your feet shifting so you could try to kick him away, and his knife came back to rest against your collarbones. His hips rocked a little faster, every pump leaving a burning stretch that only felt like it doubled over onto itself.

“Did you know? How I felt for you, how I longed for your touch all those years ago? These three on my own… they have been l'écrasement de l'âme. I’ve had far too much time to- Putain, tu n'es pas du tout détendu…” Rook wheezed and grunted, dark and low.

You felt a pit in your lower belly, and you grabbed the wrist that had the knife, your watering eyes wide as you looked up at this man who apparently knew you.

“Please, petit, you have to… fuck- you must unclench, or this will not last much longer.”

His demand was probably one of the most ridiculous things you’d heard. You couldn’t relax. He had a knife to your throat, he was rearranging your guts, and he had chosen just now to inform you that he was aware of at least a portion of your past. You made this strange whining shriek noise, and Rook’s hand holding the knife slipped ever so slightly.

It was unclear as to whether or not he did that on purpose, especially since he removed the blade from your skin and lasciviously lapped at the small cut on your collarbone, his lips trailing up to your ear.

“Préparez-vous, car je vais déposer mon amour dans votre estomac en attente.”

The sentence itself was honestly quite jarring, but Rook groaned loudly into your ear and nearly folded you in half as he came inside of your ass. It felt hot and sickly, and the musky smell of Rook’s skin and sex permeated the room. Your head panged, woozy throbs that made your stomach churn. Rook dragged his body up and gently teased your sex with his gloved fingertips, his murky green eyes glued to yours. 

“Wh-”

“Did you truly think I would not give you the same bliss you have given me?” He mumbled, “You really don’t remember me, then.”

As he pulled out of you and stroked you to your own orgasm, he smiled sadly.

"Don't worry, trickster. You will remember in time."

[burnmyloveaway]

I was thinking about Franz as one of the very first people with Capek who saw the twins as newborns and there's something, idk, so intimate in seeing those newborns for whom he, in his own way, felt the strangest form of love, for the first time again in years as adults.

[serickswrites]

Compass

Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, hunting, sadistic whumper

Whumpee trembled in the back of the truck. They had tried to slip the cuffs around their wrists for the last half hour as Whumper drove deeper and deeper into the woods, but it had been to no avail. They were stuck going to wherever Whumper wanted them to go, doing whatever Whumper wanted them to do. 

The truck suddenly stopped and Whumpee slammed into the rear window. Whumper chuckled as they climbed out. “Whoops, was a little eager to start our fun early.”

“Please,” Whumpee panted as the world spun around them, “let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Please,” they begged. 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the back of their neck suddenly. Their grip was hard and bruising as they began to fiddle with the cuffs on Whumpee’s wrists. As Whumpee struggled, Whumper squeezed tighter and tighter until Whumpee squealed with pain. 

“Quit it, will you? I’m trying to get these off you!” Whumper growled. 

The cuffs suddenly dropped from Whumpee’s wrists. Whumpee pulled their bruised wrists to their chest, their sudden freedom no longer welcomed. Before Whumpee could say anything, Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s right wrist and pulled. 

“Open your hand,” they ordered. 

Whumpee complied lest Whumper break their wrist. “I don’t understand. I--”

“You’re going to need this,” Whumper cut Whumpee off gruffly as they dropped a small compass in their hand. 

“I don’t understand. Please, let me go.”

Whumper smiled as they stared down at Whumpee. “I am.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the words tumbled from Whumpee’s mouth. They could not believe how lucky they were in this moment. 

“You have an hour, Whumpee. I’m letting you go for an hour before I go after you. You escape in that hour, that’s your freedom.” Whumper smiled pleasantly. “However, if at the end of the hour you’re still here,” Whumper’s eyes grew dark, “then I will find you. And I will hunt you down like the animal you are.”

“Please! I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” Whumpee had no idea where they were. Or even what direction safety was. How were they going to get out of there?

Whumper checked their watch. “You have fifty-eight minutes now. I’d get running if I were you. The closest town is about twenty miles due south. You make it there, you’re safe, Whumpee. Run, run for your life.”

Whumpee scrambled from the truck bed and started running. They had no idea where south was. And they had no idea how long it would take them to go twenty miles. But they had to get out of there. Had to before Whumper hunted them down. 

[sylustra]

Sylus saying "...don't run" to MC when they're finally being openly honest about their desire for one another and their trust and shared spaces.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Drugging, 5. Kidnapping, 17. Hypothermia, 20. Dehumanization Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: You wake up to find that you have been drugged, tied up, and taken to the middle of the woods on a cold, snowy night. The two men grinning down at you scream trouble but you are about to discover it is worse than you could have possibly imagined... Word Count: 5523 TW: Drugging, Kidnapping, Tied Up, Frostbite, Forced Undressing, Language, Mentions of Murder and Mutilation, Hunted for Sport, Getting Off on Thoughts of Violence/Death, Bradley is Taller than Reader, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @loverhymeswith and @green-socks for all of your help!💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Series Masterlist

Something cold and wet lands gently on your cheek. Though very light, it’s enough to rouse you from your sleep. As you shift, trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in, your head pounds painfully in time with every beat of your heart and you moan softly. You must have had a few (or more) shots before leaving work last night because you can’t remember getting home…or how you got home…or even closing down the bar. How much did you have to drink?

It’s cold—much colder than it should be—and you vaguely wonder if your heater crapped out again. The last time that happened, it took your landlord almost a week to fix it so you really hope that isn’t the case. You try to reach for your blanket, wanting to just curl up in a warm cocoon to sleep off this headache, but your arms seem stuck or tangled together somehow. Could you have fallen asleep in the middle of taking off your shirt again? It has only happened twice but both times were when you were blackout drunk so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities…

Reluctantly, you force your eyes open so you can figure out what stupidity you have gotten yourself into this time–only to freeze as your vision comes into focus. 

You had expected to see your bedroom ceiling or even possibly the ceiling of the bar’s break room above you, but instead, you open your eyes to see a man leering down at you, his face twisted into a sort of predatory grin. 

Though the gleam in his eye is giving you the creeps, you try to remain calm even as your heart begins pounding in your chest. There could be a thousand perfectly innocent reasons this man is here looming over you like this and it’s best to not jump to conclusions until you know what’s going on. Besides, there is something vaguely familiar about this burly brunet. You know you have seen him somewhere before, though your groggy mind can’t quite place him. However, as soon as a second man (this one blond) steps into view, it all comes rushing back—these two had been at the bar earlier.

You hadn’t interacted with the first man very much, just took his order, poured him his drink, and topped it off once or twice when he got low. However, it hadn’t escaped your attention that he never took his eyes off of you the entire time you chatted with his buddy. And while the brunet had kept his distance, this blond had bent over backward trying to capture every ounce of your attention all night long. You had been bartending long enough to know exactly what kind of guy he was and what he was angling for, but you had to admit, those mesmerizing green eyes and the way that cocky smile curled around the toothpick he was chewing on all night did make you a little weak in the knees.

However, all of that quickly flies from your mind as your eyes settle on the large hunting knife the blond is currently spinning in his hands as he licks his lips, grinning at you. 

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Get out now! A wave of terror clears the remaining fog in your mind as all of your instincts scream at you to flee. But as you try to scramble up off your back, you finally notice the thick rope wrapped around your wrists and another around your ankles. And to make matters worse, you seem to be lying in a small metal box of some sort. Your body has been crammed and twisted at a weird angle in order to fit, and the way it resembles a coffin makes a fresh chill run up your spine. 

As you release a shuddering gasp, you realize that though restrained, your mouth has been left uncovered. Instantly, you begin screaming as loud as you can, alternating between “help” and just a wordless high-pitched shriek as you thrash around within the box. Pain shoots through you as your knees collide with the sides of the box and you hit one of your funny bones, but you ignore it and just keep screaming. 

After a moment, you catch sight of your kidnappers’ faces and your heart sinks. They are expecting this. And what’s worse, based on their sadistic smirks, they are enjoying this. Which means they’re not concerned about anyone hearing you, no matter how much noise you make.

Though terrified by this realization, you force yourself to fall silent and lie still, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of watching you continue to beg for help. 

Seemingly satisfied you are done with your freak-out, the brunet pulls himself up the side of the box until he looms over you, his broad frame filling your entire field of vision. His gaze travels down your prone form, lingering on your ass, breasts, and lips before he finally locks eyes with you. His lips curl into a sickening grin as he says, “Well, hello there, sweetheart. Ready to have some fun?”

Without waiting for an answer, he looks at the blond and jerks his head in your direction. Suddenly, everything around you begins to shake as you hear a metallic thud followed by the loud thumping of boots, and the blond appears towering next to you. He gives you a wink and a small click of his tongue before his hands slide under your shoulders and he lifts you up. As he does so, the brunet grabs your feet and you are roughly hauled out of the container.

As they lift you out, whatever insolation or protection the box had been providing you disappears and you are hit with the full chill of the late winter’s night air, causing you to instantly start shivering. For the first time, in the light of the electric lanterns the men had placed around the area, you get a good look at yourself and realize that while the men are dressed in heavy jackets layered over the flannel shirts they had on at the bar, you have been stripped down to your underwear and the thin tank top you were wearing that night under your uniform. At least you had opted for your boyshorts tonight instead of your thong, but you still shiver once more—and this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

There is no telling what these men did to you while you were unconscious. Obviously, you must have been manhandled to some degree if they undressed you, tied you up, and stuffed you into a box, but was that as far as they went? Or did they have a different kind of fun with you while you had no way of fighting back or saying no? Tears sting the corners of your eyes as a hundred different scenarios play out in your head, and you hope it just appears like your eyes are watering from the cold. You would hate for these two to think they have broken you already.

As they stand you up on the snow-covered ground, your bare feet sink in the soft powder almost up to the top of your ankles. You gasp as you try to bounce from one foot to the other in an attempt to provide your poor feet any relief from the cold, but the rope around your ankles causes you to almost topple over. The only thing that keeps you from crashing into the snow is the brunet who reaches out to steady you. Silently, he bends down and unties the rope, though once he’s done, he walks away without touching the one still wrapped around your wrists. 

Now able to bounce more steadily as you try to keep your feet from going completely numb, you begin to take in your surroundings. Glancing over your shoulder, you see a big, black, lifted pickup truck with an open metal toolbox in the bed—which explains why you were so cramped in the box. Looking past the truck, all you can see is rows and rows of trees. They seem to go on forever until disappearing into the void of darkness just beyond the glow from the lanterns. No wonder these men hadn’t worried about your screaming. There are enough woods outside of town that you could currently be ten or fifteen miles from anyone who could help you.

There’s no one but you and the two men who brought you here.

You don’t know what their plan for you is, but you decide the best course of action is to just be as agreeable as possible until the situation changes. So, forcing yourself to give them a lighthearted chuckle even as another shiver shakes your scantily clad body, you try to make your voice as positive as you can. “Hey guys, I don’t know what’s going on here, but if this is your idea of a joke, I don’t find it very funny. So why don’t you just untie me and we can all head back to town.”

“Oh, this is no joke—it’s a game. And you are the missing piece we were looking for,” the brunet says and your forced smile slowly fades. “What do you remember about tonight?”

Still willing to go along with them for now, you close your eyes and try to search through the cloud of fog and fear that is filling your mind. “I…I went to work like usual. Then you two came in an hour or two into my shift.” You nod at the brunet. “You were drinking whiskey, neat.” You nod towards the blond. “And you were having old fashioneds. You sat at the bar for a few hours talking to me in between customers. Yo-you mentioned you were waiting for a couple of friends to make it to town, but they never showed up. Then…” Your memories get fuzzier the later in the night you try to remember. “Then, you left after I announced last calls. You said…you said you’d be seeing me around…”

The two men exchange excited glances as the brunet nods. “You remember more than most….good. It’s more fun when they remember.”

The blond takes a few steps closer to you and reaches out to slowly drag his finger across your lips. “I wonder if you also remember the taste of my tongue in your mouth.”

You flinch away from his touch, diverting your eyes as you feel your stomach threatening to heave. Yes, you remember that too. Against all of your self-made rules and instincts, you had allowed yourself to be charmed by one of your soon-to-be-kidnappers towards the end of the night. 

He had bet you a kiss that he could hit the bulls-eye on the dartboard without looking and you had taken him up on his offer, never imagining he could actually do it. But when he threw the dart behind him, his eyes locked firmly with yours as he did so, and it hit the dead center of the board, he had taken his prize. More than that, you had allowed him to get to second base while he shoved his tongue down your throat. In the moment, you enjoyed it—a lot. In fact, you had even considered asking him to meet you out back once you closed down, but now even the slightest brush of his skin against yours makes you sick to your stomach.

As you cower into yourself, the blond’s grin grows even wider, his green eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “Fuck yeah, you do remember. I gotta admit, if you hadn’t downed that shot so quickly, I was going to try to postpone this whole thing once I got that taste of you. Fucking delicious. I can only imagine how sweet the rest of you must taste. Hopefully, I’ll get a chance to find out later tonight.”

The feeling of nausea rolling in your stomach intensifies and you can feel the bile burning the back of your throat. Swallowing it back down, you choke out, “The shot? What shot?”

“The other part of our bet. Remember?”

Thinking long and hard, you try to recall what else you had agreed to in your bet. When it suddenly comes to you, you gasp, “I agreed to one drink. You put something in it!”

“You made it so easy,” the brunet says, practically purring with delight. “Usually, I have to really struggle to find just the right moment to slip our little concoction in when the target isn’t looking, but you were so preoccupied with your makeout session, I could have injected it straight into your veins and I doubt you would have noticed. And you made it easier still by choosing Fireball. The flavor covers all traces of the drugs unlike vodka shots so I’m not surprised you didn’t have any clue what had happened. That is the point, after all.”

“To get me out here to play your game?” Both men nod. “What kind of game?”

“The rules are simple,” the brunet explains, the electric lights casting sinister shadows across his face as he stalks closer. “You run, we chase. If you make it out of the woods or stumble across anyone else to help you, you win and we disappear into the night, never to bother you again. But if one of us hunts you down before you escape, that person wins the game and their prize is the right to do whatever they want to you as long as they finish the job before sunrise.”

Their prize is the right to do whatever they want to you as long as they finish the job…. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” you spit, all attempts at fake pleasantness abandoned as you are hit by the reality of how epically fucked up this situation truly is. Both men seem slightly taken aback by your drastic shift in tone and you straighten up to your full height as you continue. “I am not a fucking toy for you to play with o-or a prize to be won. One of you will win the right to do whatever they want to me? I don’t give you that right and I’m the only one who has a say in that. You can’t do this!”

“I hate to break it to you, but we can and we have and we will again. This is our game, and we’ve never lost.” The brunet stalks forward until his chest is just a few inches from yours and he sneers down at you. “Do you really think we haven’t heard all this before? Please. We’ve been playing this game once a month for over a decade. ‘Oh, please let me go. I have kids who need me.’ ‘I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me!’ ‘If you let me go right now, I promise I won’t tell a soul what happened. No police, I swear.” His voice switches between various high-pitched mocking tones as he imitates their past victims and your heart aches for the hundred or so women who found themselves in this same situation over the years. 

Returning to his normal voice, the brunet leans over until you are enveloped by the visible cloud of his breath in the cold air. “No. The moment we chose you, your life was over. You belong to us now and we are the only ones who have a say in what happens to you now. And tonight…tonight we say you are a fox and we are the hounds who intend to chase you down and rip out that beautiful throat of yours. You are the prey and we are the predators; the hunted and the hunters. And the sooner you accept that the better this will be for all of us. Do you understand?”

You understand. You are about to die out here in the darkness of the trees, hunted down like an animal and subjected to God-only-knows-what horrors before you are finally murdered in cold blood. And while they are pretending to give you a way out, you have lost all feeling in your feet long ago, you can barely bend your fingers in the cold, and you are shivering so much you can barely see straight. In other words, you don’t stand a chance.

The brunet continues to look at you for an answer so you slowly nod your head. Satisfied, he straightens up and walks back over to the blond. 

But before either of them can say anything, you ask, “Why me?”

The brunet turns around. “What?”

“Why did you pick me?”

“Why not?” the blond grins. 

The brunet chuckles softly and shakes his head at his friend. However, he then decides to give you a real answer. “Well, first of all, you’re gorgeous which doesn’t necessarily affect the game but it’s a little of an added incentive to win the prize. Second of all, watching you dart around behind that bar all night, lifting boxes of alcohol, and holding your own against a few unruly customers made us think that you could hold your own out here, at least for a while, which makes things more interesting. And third of all, we could tell you have some fire in you. We like fire. That means you won’t just roll over and give up.”

“Yeah, we do not want a repeat of Des Moines,” the blond groans. “That chick just curled up in a ball crying and wouldn’t even leave the clearing. We finally had to just put her down. It ruined the whole trip.”

“But she’s not going to do that, are you, little fox?” the brunet purrs at you. “No, you’re gonna be one of our fighters. Like our girl outside of Austin. Oh…she was a wiley one.” He traces one finger over the scars littering his face and neck that were partially covered by his scruff. “Fought like a hellcat until the very end, scratching and biting and making sure to leave her mark. But I made her pay for each and every one of these. Just something for you to keep in mind once we start.”

“Oh, damn, I forgot about that.” The blond lets out an impressed whistle. “When I found you two, I didn’t even realize it was at first. I thought you had killed a coyote or a deer or something. And even once I knew, I could barely tell that mess used to be human. You were riding that high for weeks.” 

The two men begin talking over each other bringing up their favorite hunts in the past, each one more horrible than the last. Each story you hear adds a new fear of what might happen to you before the end of the night. However, it also adds fuel to the anger building in your belly. How these two men had been getting away with this for so long, after doing this to so many women, was incomprehensible. Surely someone must have noticed over a hundred women disappearing over the past decade and started to investigate. These two didn’t seem like criminal masterminds by any means, so how had they managed to avoid detection for so long?

As you continue to watch them go back and forth with tales of past hunts, you shake your head and softly murmur under your breath, “Who the hell are you two?”

The two men stop reminiscing and turn to face you. You hadn’t meant for them to hear your question, but apparently they had.

“Have we not introduced ourselves? Aw, where are our manners?” the brunet asks, taking a step closer to you. “You can call me ‘Rooster’ and that Casanova over there—” he jerks his head towards the blond “—is ‘Hangman’.”

“Rooster and Hangm– What the fuck kinds of names are those?” 

“Well, you see, our boy here—” Hangman comes over to wrap his arm around Rooster’s shoulder and slaps him on the chest “—he’s a crooner. Loves to crow when he catches his prey so everyone knows he won. He’s a bit of a showoff. And me…let’s just say my name’s a bit more self-explanatory.” 

With the hand not draped across Rooster’s shoulders, he shifts his arm so his jacket pulls back to reveal a length of rope ending in a noose tucked into his belt. “As much as I love a little foreplay with my knives, it can’t compare to watching someone gasping and struggling for air as they flail wildly three feet off the ground. Then seeing that moment when everything goes still and the light softly dims in their eyes?” He shivers with a small “whoo” of delight. “There’s nothing like it in the world. It’s even better than sex.”

Just when you think these two can’t get any worse, they somehow manage to top themselves. Your voice dripping with disgust, you ask, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Hangman shrugs. “Because we are killing time until we can start the game and then, in an hour or two, it won’t matter that you know. Plus, it’s nice actually getting to share our accomplishments with someone else for once. That’s the worst downside to having an illegal hobby. You can’t tell anyone about it besides the few people who were there when it happened.”

Suddenly, Hangman’s pocket lights up and the muffled sounds of “Slow Ride” fill the air. Rooster glares at the sheepish blond as he pulls his phone out and glances at the screen. But any contrition he seems to have quickly evaporates and he answers the call as a wide grin splits across his face. 

“Hey, you almost here? We’ve got a real spitfire this time. It’s gonna be one hell of a competition.” Hangman listens for a moment then his face falls. “Damn. Yeah, no, I understand.” Glancing up at Rooster, he mouths ‘not gonna make it’ before turning his focus back to the phone.

With a heavy sigh, Rooster looks down at you. “Sorry, little fox. We weren’t lying before. We were supposed to be meeting some friends who wanted to play too. But it looks like it’ll just be the three of us after all.” 

That predatory gleam you had seen on his face when you first woke up returns as he leans in until his lips are practically brushing against the curve of your ear. In a soft whisper, he says, “But it wouldn’t have mattered. You’re mine, baby girl. I’ve known from the second I laid eyes on you in that bar that I had to have you. Hangman might get to you first and slice you up a little bit, but at the end of the night, it’s going to be me with my hands around your throat as the light leaves your eyes and you take your final, desperate gasp of air.” He leans back with a moan as his eyes flutter closed and his tongue runs across his lips. “Fuck…I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

You have never felt such deep, burning feelings of disgust or anger like you feel towards Rooster. But using that fire coursing through your veins to give you strength, you clasp your bound hands together and drive them into the side of Rooster’s head. Because his eyes are still closed as he revels in the idea of your murder, he never sees it coming. 

Your fists slam into his face and you feel the crunch of his nose behind your force. Both of you topple sideways to the ground but you instantly try to scramble to your feet before he comes to his senses. However, you struggle to use your tied hands to push yourself to your feet in the soft snow and just as you are starting to figure out how to stand, Rooster’s elbow drives into your right temple.

Collapsing like a ton of bricks, the soft snow cushions your fall. Darkness begins closing in until there is just a single circle of light swimming in the center of your vision. Waves and waves of pain are radiating throughout your body and a low moan flows from your lips. 

In that small dot of light, you see a blurry Rooster come into view. There is blood flowing from his nose and a hungry rage burning in his eyes. Leaning in close, he spits, “Be glad the game hasn’t started yet. Otherwise, I would be cutting off each of your fingers one by one before shoving them down your throat. But don’t think I’ll forget this once the hunt has begun.” 

Ignoring his threats, you press your aching temple deeper into the snow, using the cold powder as a sort of ice pack to ease the pain a little. It is the first time all night you are thankful for the freezing snow surrounding you. However, you can also feel it soaking into your tank top and underwear, and you know that being wet in this environment is just going to make things a hundred times worse. But seeing as there’s nothing you can do about it, you just try to focus on the slight relief the snow is providing your pounding head.

Distantly, you hear Hangman end his call and hesitantly approach where you lay. Rooster spits a wad of bloody saliva onto your cheek before rising and turning towards his friend. “What happened?”

“There was a big snowstorm just east of here and the roads are coated in ice. Even the truck can’t make it through for at least a few more hours. So it looks like it’ll just be us this time.”

“Just like the old days.”

“Just like the old days.” Hangman glances down at you. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Rooster says as he wipes the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand. “She wanted to start the game early, but I made sure she’ll follow the rules from now on. Isn’t that right, little fox?” He nudges your side with the toe of his boot.

The pain throbbing in your head is still overwhelming despite the slight relief provided by the snow and your vision has yet to clear. However, you lift your head slightly and glare at the man towering over you. With all the viper you can muster, you hiss, “Fuck you.”

Rooster’s face splits into a cruel grin, made even more sinister by the blood still staining his face. “That’s my girl.” Then, turning to Hangman, he says, “Well, if they aren’t coming, I guess we can start. Get her up.”

Hangman walks over and hauls your limp body to a standing position. Though you are still unsteady on your feet, you manage to stay upright. Then to your surprise, Hangman pulls out one of his knives from earlier and cuts the rope binding your hands. Your arms ache from being held in the same position for so long and your wrists are rubbed raw from the rope burns, but it is still a relief to be free once more. You immediately shove your numb hands under your armpits in an attempt to get some feeling back to them, but you can already tell it won’t do much good. The rest of your body is too cold to provide much relief.

Grabbing your elbow, Hangman leads you over to where Rooster is standing next to a pile of supplies in the middle of the clearing. He positions you so you are standing facing Rooster and then he goes to stand next to his friend. 

Satisfied everything is set, Rooster says, “It’s time for the game to begin. You have a five-minute head start to get as far away from here as you can. Once your time is up, we start the hunt. The only rules are what I said before: If you find help or civilization before we catch you, then you go free. If one of us finds you before then, the game is over and the winner gets to claim his prize. And your time starts now.” He presses a button on his watch and you hear a soft beep. 

Five minutes. That’s potentially all the time you have left in this world. You know you should take off and try to put as much distance between yourself and this place as you can, but if these are your last moments of life, you are going to give these two psychos a piece of your mind before you go.

“You two are so pathetic,” you snarl. “You see yourselves as these great hunters and killers but you’re shooting fish in a barrel and then boasting about your prize. You drug these girls, strip them down, send them off without a way of even trying to protect themselves, and then brag you are mighty warriors when your victims can’t even put up much of a fight. And the only reason you don’t give anyone a real chance is because you know you might actually lose.”

Hangman nervously glances at Rooster as he shifts uncomfortably. Your words have had their intended effect as doubt settles in on him. However, Rooster doesn’t seem the least bit phased. Instead, he smirks at you as his eyes narrow.

“Nice try, but we’re not falling for it. Now, get going while there’s still time on the clock. We want a challenging game but don’t think for one second we won’t kill you right here if you haven’t moved when the timer goes off. We’ve done it before.”

“At least give me my jacket or shoes or pants or something! I’m gonna get frostbite or hypothermia before either of you can catch me, and then where does that leave your game?”

“What did I just tell you? We’re. Not. Falling. For. It,” Rooster growls.

“I don’t know, maybe she’s right.” Rooster turns his glare to Hangman who shrinks back but continues speaking. “I mean, we’ve never done this in the snow or the cold so we might need to adjust slightly. Plus, her lips are already starting to turn blue and she’s shivering really hard. I don’t want this to turn into another environmental death like last time when the girl fell off the cliff or that time in Reno where the girl got bit by the rattlesnake. If she’s gonna die, one of us should get to be the one who does it, not the cold.”

Rooster sighs as he considers this, his hand scrubbing across the short scruff along his jaw. He turns back to stare at the truck for a long time before he finally nods. “Fine. She can have her jacket back. But that’s all.”

Relief floods through you at the thought of any kind of warmth, but your smile fades as Hangman jogs over to the truck and pulls your jacket out of the back seat. You had forgotten which one you wore to work today. 

While it did have the added benefit of being one of the warmer jackets you owned—a thick hooded jacket with fuzzy sherpa lining that falls to the top of your knees and has several pockets to warm your hands in—it was also a light burnt-orange color that will stand out like a beacon amongst both the pure white snow and darkness of the night. Rooster smirks at you and you have a feeling that he didn’t forget about the color. The olive branch he had extended was in fact covered in thorns.

Yet, as soon as Hangman tosses you the jacket, you quickly pull it on, zip it up, flip the hood up over your head, and jam your fists into your pockets. You are still completely bare from your knees down, but at least the coverage from the snow and the warmth you can already feel melting the chill in your upper half is a vast improvement. You just wish you had been given your boots back as well. Your feet have been completely numb from almost the minute they sunk into the deep snow, and the idea of trying to run miles and miles like this terrifies you. 

But what choice do you have?

Glancing at his watch, Rooster says, “You now have…three minutes forty-eight seconds. Time is ticking.”

There’s no point in wasting any more of the time you have left, so you pick a direction and start walking towards the wall of trees at the edge of the clearing. 

When you pass him, Hangman winks at you, runs his tongue over his lips, and whispers, “I’ll be seeing you real soon.” 

At this point, you aren’t really sure which man you are more frightened of tracking you down. But then your mind flashes back to the pure pleasure on Rooster’s face as he talked about watching the light leave your eyes, and you know who you would rather have find you.

As soon as you leave the clearing, you take off into the dark woods as fast as your frozen feet will allow.

Part 3 coming soon!

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[highdefinitions]

i fear that i might be watching some flyers hockey this season…………….

[nostalgia-tblr]

loki/william rufus fic, where bill explains that as the second son he has inherited england while big brother bob only got the duchy of normandy, ha ha ha.

[ninicaise]

damen: hows your paranoia going my love

laurent, through gritted teeth: i always respond appropriately to happenings and situations