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pettyelves · 5 years

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becoming duskbringer

In the morning, Eilithe was hardly surprised to find she hadn’t the time to sleep. It was not yet dawn when Eilithe gathered her sleepy brigade of children on the sofa in the main room of the manor.

“Listen to me, very closely,” she said, repeating what words she had to in the tongue which was most familiar to her middle child, Karkah,

“Today, your Uncle and Aunt are marrying, there will be a ceremony, it will be boring to you. Know now, that I don’t have sympathy nor do I care.” A mother’s tone was understandable in any language to say the least.

“You will bathe, if you refuse you will be bathed regardless, but by myself or Dianoara. You will dress in what was chosen for you, if you refuse-- you will be dressed regardless. You will keep yourselves neat, until the ceremony. You will stand, quietly, with your father during the ceremony and you will clap when it is done. After, have fun, dance, sing, eat all the sweets you want at the reception. But you will on pain of being switched behave at this wedding.”

A glance was passed over each of the children, they were too tired or too afraid to protest. “Your cousins will be staying here tonight-- your father and I will be late, Dianoara and your cousin’s caretaker will be here. Do not destroy my house, and do not do anything stupid.” With the last, she gazed sternly in Threshad’s direction, he merely gave her a nearly defiant, shit-eating grin.

“Now, go back to sleep or don’t-- you’ll be roused in two bells time regardless.” This would go as smoothly as she could manage it.

Leaned against the door frame of The Inked Moon Eilithe dragged on a cigarette watching as No’Vindere and Feril worked together to repair Hector’s arm, both the spot where the tattoo had been removed and the ink, and enchantment itself.

“You’re certain?” she asked him.

“Positive. There for four ships in the bay as we were unloaded. If they knew they were followed, I didn’t hear it. But there had to be another way out of that bay if we didn’t see sails on the horizon. Meaning,” Hector insisted.

“Meaning some of them could have ran, meaning some of them are going to return to port eventually.” Eilithe pinged her cigarette out the door and into the street. “Good, I left them something.”

Hector grinned at that.

“Nothing to anyone else about this,” she said, looking at Feril specifically. “Not to Reveria even, until after she’s returned from her post-marital trip. I will take the heat-- I merely don’t want this weighing on her mind when she should be celebrating.”

Hector nodded once, wincing when Feril pulled the needle over fresh skin. “You’ve my word.”

Mid-day came and there was still no call of The Queen’s Gambit on the horizon. In part, she expected that Kurel wouldn’t show at all--it was a wedding, and it was a party, and it was social. Romantic. These were all things he steered far from typically. But she had hope.

And so she sat with Reveria, smiling all she could manage at her future-sister’s painted visage. For all her carnage the night before, Reveria looked soft and lovely to Eilithe surrounded by attending women who brought her--her every desire and treated her like a queen, braiding her hair and manicuring her nails.

Admiration often bordered envy, and today was one of those days where -- while every ounce of her was ecstatic for her best friend, just one small piece of her was envious. Not for the pampering,not for the lovely white dress that Reveria looked stunning in. Not for the way people fawned over her and rushed to congratulate her. Eilithe’s envy was seated simply in one small place at the bottom of her stomach-- the place that, whereby the when moon had risen, Reveria would hold the name of her beloved.

Not even something as powerful as envy could have stopped Eilithe from being happy for her. After this year, Reveria.. everyone deserved a piece of happiness.

Kurel’s arrival was as surprising as it was relieving. Eilonwy had been the first to run for him-- though stopped when she noted he was still covered in grime and dried viscera. Even that didn’t stop the fearless girl from shouting, “Ah’vey! You’re all dirty!” with a chuckle.

Much to the Captain’s surprise, Wheel of Fortune, had been converted, temporarily, into a bridal suite-- being as there was little space for all the shit needed elsewhere. Jokes began quickly of him needing a bath, and Eilithe-- ever in her slyness gave an open suggestion to the horde of women in varied ages available.

“Two of you go upstairs to the tub and heat a bath for Captain An’Diel,” she said, looking with a smirk to Reveria. It was a long standing joke that for the lump sum of 100,000 pieces no whore in Dead Sun would be brave enough to lay a finger on Kurel An’Diel. That seemed to be a blanket statement to the tenders as well-- but to, old biddies volunteered as planned.

Kurel was none too happy, which amused Reveria as it did Eilithe-- and the Captain made certain to wave a finger at the women, telling them not to touch him.

“WHY IS I’ ICE FUCKIN’ COLD!?” Came the bellow from upstairs, followed by Martha, the boldest of the two old women, cackling. “You didn’ wait for me to heat it!”

That gave a great laugh to Eilithe and Reveria both-- even the children laughed at their father’s misfortune.

Eventually Eilithe was charged with being his tender-- which she did so in earnest whilst Reveria finished changing and last minute preparations. Naked on the edge of a steel tub was uncomfortable at best, but in duty she washed Kurel clean of the last evidence of horror from the night before.

With clean hands, Kurel laced her dress up the back and patted her on the bottom once before she was released to Reveria once more. And she was a sight, in the center of the wheel-- surrounded by children in a pure white dress. A radiant bride.

The sisters shared quiet words, secrets and promises that were only for the two of them.

“You ready?” Eilithe asked her at the end of it. And after a slow release of a breath, Reveria nodded. “I’m ready.”

Ceremonies were not Eilithe thing, as they said. But if anything, she hoped having a spotlight would help Reveria realize that she mattered. Shal’Thera tied hands, probably more often than a typical Kaldorei, it wasn’t marriage how humans understood it but that was their tradition.

Tradition had slowly become a bad word in Eilithe’s vocabulary. For now, she focused though-- on the task she’d been given in the ceremony. The handmaiden tied one cord, with the highguard tied the other. With Feril, her brother’s chosen highguard, Eilithe did her duty and receded to a corner to watch the closing.

With a release of rose petals over the crowd, with the roar of ‘Ya’Til-anath’, and claps, she smiled wholly when her brother and best friend kissed as husband and wife. And envy was far from her mind, as seeing that moment made enduring all of her family members gathered in one place tolerable.

Even her mother.

In hindsight, Eilithe might’ve pressed Kurel nearly to anger on purpose. For an excuse to slip away from the reception to quietly reflect at the water’s edge. It was over tradition, specifically of Tanari men only marrying once. It was certain that there was no touchier topic than that between the arbiter and the admiral.

They had nothing left to fight about at present-- and volatile as they were, they grasped at that last thing left.

“I used to slip away at these too,” came a voice from behind her, raspy as her own. Meridianna Duskbringer had a blacked eye and busted lip, fresh-- and it wasn’t unusual for a friendly fight or two to occur at these after parties.

“Who got you?” Eilithe asked, only having glanced at her mother’s injuries.

“Carmaelia. Mean bitch with a mean right hook.” She said with a laugh, sparking two cigarettes and offering one to her daughter as tribute.

“Mm.” The tribute was taken, signaling that Meri was now, officially on the clock-- her time in which Eilithe would tolerate her nearness ticking down.

“Your brother picked well-- that one’s not to be fucked with. Though, I ..”

“Were surprised to be notified?” Eilithe finished, looking in Meri’s direction flatly.

“Ei’lithene,” the name came soft, and it was so rare to be heard that it did-- only for a moment, touched Eilithe’s cold heart. “You know I won’t ask you to forget your hatred-- you know that. But I am sorry--and I am thankful for today.”

“I don’t hate you, mother.” Eilithe corrected. “No, it’s far worse than that. I envy you in the freedom you stole for yourself-- in the freedom you took while the Shal’thera needed you, while An’Set, Saeron, and I needed you.” She looked to Meri sharply, “But I don’t hate you.”

Meridianna was already turning to leave-- but stopped at that. Leaning for just a moment, she touched temple to temple with Eilithe. “I never wanted to lead either, kal’allah,” she rasped out before taking off and back to the party.

If the spat with Kurel hadn’t garnered a few of her tears-- that had, though they were brief and returned to silent reflection until Kurel-- until her shelter came for her.

“Wha’ you doin’ all the way out here?” He asked-- and she gave him an honest answer that was close to an apology. Her guilt was bare, and something in Kurel recognized that apology without ‘I’m sorry’ ever being uttered.

"How abou'. We both be assholes an' we spen' tonigh' a' tha' Fallback I still own in Pandaria. We'll sneak away. Go through Half-Hill. Pick up somethin' to eat for the mornin'. Mute our comms. Leave the girls here... forcin' Reveria an' An'Set to keep'em."

That got her to laugh, and she explained that the children were already taken care of-- which did nothing to dash his spontaneous mood nor the promise they could leave right now. He earned himself a slow and gentle kiss after that, and her quiet answer:

“Take me away. Right now.”

[ @theshalthera @revthepunchbear @kurel-andiel @deadsunharbor ]

#Reveria Duskbringer #More Duskbringers #Meridianna Duskbringer #we take it all

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funkypoacher · 6 years

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by @evilbunnyking (thanks hun!! <3 ) tagging @sirladysketch (srry for tagging you constantly :P) @manicparadox @biggreenfeet and @redinkofshame. I really cant remember which of my ‘to-tag’ lists of people are writers/are actively writing. If you are writing but I didn’t tag you, tag me with your WIP and I’ll add you to my list!

I got... just... so much shit I really need to get done.

The Lunatic At Large (chapter one of Shenko series)

“Let’s just get to Mars first; follow through on what Hackett wants. Then we’ll see,” Kaidan advised pragmatically. He added, quietly, “can’t imagine planning three steps ahead is going to do any good in a war like this, anyways.”

Previously focusing on getting her greaves in order, Shepard stared. “Am I hearing Kaidan Alenko—Kaidan Alexis Alenko—suggesting anything other than a Plan B will save us?”

In response, he smiled almost bashfully.“No, no; not—not necessarily. I’m just saying we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Count our chickens, and all that. We’ve got to trust that the brass knows what they’re doing.”

Shepard laughed loudly. “Sure! And maybe if they refuse to acknowledge the Reapers again, they’ll just go away. Say ‘sorry, pal’, pay the bill for damages, and hoof it back to deep space.” Her good humour fell away. “C’mon, Alenko. You can’t have forgotten what happened the last time the Alliance got wind of Reaper activity, can you? Actually”—and she knew bitterness was pointless, but she still hurt—“actually you could have forgotten, couldn’t you? In fact, you did forget, as I recall.”

Let’s Play (chapter three)

Carefully disrobing the paddy like a lover instead of imitation-beef served by hair-net toting vorchas, Shepard put it to her lips, inhaled deep, and took a large, slow chomp. Chewing, swallowing, she licked the corner of her mouth and sighed.

“Mmm. So good. I swear I haven’t sat down or eaten since I saved a certifiably fertile krogan female, thus basically curing the genophage. So it’s been a while.”

“Uh huh,” Kaidan grunted.

Shepard measured his total disconnect from reality and absolute preoccupation with her food. It was bad. Sinking her teeth in once more, she moaned as the meat hit her throat, consuming with relish the burger that had no relish.

But Kaidan’s pitiful expression—complete with nearly salivating lips—finally made Shepard laugh hard around her food. The spell was broken.

The Major’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing me,” he realized, voice raw with betrayal. “You’re doing this to torture me!”

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed.

Shepard plunged a hand into the take-out bag and presented Kaidan with his very own.

“Got you two,” she said. “And there’s fries.”

The Mystery of Pain (chapter four)

It might’ve been another lifetime ago, and it might’ve been five minutes. Since Kaidan last walked the Normandy, Commander Shepard had been in The Shit so often it was hard to scrape off. When she thought of hauling the Major’s ass from the Mars archives to the ship’s medbay, it seemed like the latter: five minutes ago. Which, although unrealistic, the man usually bounced back like a rubber ball, so why not?

As she looked at him now from a step behind, it felt like five minutes ago, too. She recognized the familiar stance and cologne; heard his unchanged soldier’s gait as boots scraped over the grating. Not only did the weeks since leaving Earth melt away, but the years before, too. Walking beside him seemed as natural or mundane as the passage of time; the passage of, say, five easy minutes in which they’d maybe even razzed each other on the elevator about grey hairs and worse-for-wear crow’s-feet.

When Kaidan looked Shepard straight in the eye, however, it was different. Worlds different. It was painful. It was a lifetime. She lost a lifetime looking at him, and it had been a lifetime since he’d last been here.

“C’mon, Hes,” he’d scowled, saying her name like it was the last time. “Look at us. This can’t end well. Just… put it down.”

She tightened her grip on the gun. The rattling, clicking sound was only slightly thicker than her resentful, pain-stricken reply. “Would I do this if I weren’t that certain, Kaidan? Would I?!”

He’d had a gun on her. For minutes. For the length and breadth of bargaining in which she’d convinced Kaidan to stand down. He’d trained his pistol-sights over her heart while they both begged, equally salient, for the other to come to their senses. They could have pulled their triggers and it’ve been just another mess in an immensely unjust war. They could have pulled their triggers, and he could have goddamn shot her.

Five minutes; a lifetime: these were nothing to the ten seconds it took to realize that professionalism didn’t mean shit when it all came down to stand-offs between allies. She’d been busting her hump trying to forget their history for the sake of bigger fish and fighting for the galaxy, but now, walking the hangar with him, Shepard was exhausted, jittery, and confused to the point that it was manifesting in a splitting, disconcerting headache.

She stared at him and tried not to.

She Does Not Brave The War (Solavellan prompt for ‘kiss in a dream’)

To come here was to face spring waters once the frost had fled. To feel through the Fade for this moment was like tempting thin ice with sure footing. Each solid step was an offering for which one might be rewarded with the swallowing cold; every tiptoe, though traded for courage, something to be repaid by faltering, fracturing ice.

“When did you know?” he’d asked.

It wasn’t grit that got into her limbs and gave them life beyond her sense. It wasn’t daring that did away with caution and carried her further than she ought. She experienced no heart-in-throat ecstasy of walking carelessly over a faintly frozen pond. She felt no bravery—only a chill.

“Maybe I didn’t,” she answered.

Solas and Ma’ven stood some feet from one another, empty, dead air between. It was her own fault, she figured, because this was her dream: winter without remorse; details mangled or missed by a livid body. This memory—accessible due to Solas’ past lessons—was less than a moment while disregarding definition wholesale. It was of Solas standing pensively sometime ago, yet that was all: context had been washed like the dirt off one’s hands. At the time she’d been too flustered, her heart so hurried, that the only impression left on her mind had been that of Solas looking thought-filled. And here she came in her weaker moments, years later, when alone with courage crumbling.

Usually she spoke to the thing. Usually she paced around the visage of Solas, talking of her ineptitude, as it stared straight on. Never she did kiss it, and, naturally, never did it kiss her back.

Until today.

Solas scolded playfully. “A dozen times you’ve dreamed of this place and never deviated from your custom. You depart directly after speaking with the spirit. Today, of course…” He seemed afraid to even name what had passed between them. Instead, he let a small smile bloom across his lips and asked again, softly, “when did you know?”

Hitched (Blackwall/Lavellan smut prompt for ‘pretending to be married’)

The wind was a whining. It rained. The downpour, neither bluster nor mild, steadily promised to sop the body and freeze bones as it birthed streams, bogged creeks, and bloated rivers like a corpse.

Pushing against the barn door with a bruised shoulder, gritting his teeth with quiet complaint, Thom kept their alms close: blanket, lamp, bread; wine. Bad wine, most likely—gone orange and sharp with age—but he hadn’t expected more from a Marcher called out of bed at midnight during sowing time. So he’d said his thanks, pressed four more coins into the their palm (plus rent for the night’s roof), and left.

Pushing open the barn door still hurt like a bitch, though.

Inside, it was clean: a cow shed repurposed to hold hay-piles which would have been better-off sheaved, but that wasn’t for Thom to say. Across the barn’s expanse lay a tall, thick carpet of yellow grasses dried in the sun which still smelt decent. Collapsed in its midst, arm and legs sprawled, was his companion.

By the time he was closing the door, Thom saw that he’d startled her. Her reaction cooling as he came in proper, she stubbornly refused to shiver, so her body was rigid with compunction.

Carefully taking the lamp from his loaded arms, she placed it on a stool. He’d be the one lighting it, however. Their flint had taken to mocking her one-armed attempts at finding a flame.

“Just the one, huh?” Vinya asked, admiring the fleece blanket that had been laid out for the sake of drying before they tried for shut-eye. “Going to be a cold night for one of us.”

“We can take turns,” Thom suggested optimistically, shedding his cloak. His gloves came off, too. “Would prefer one of us on watch, anyways. That tavern outside Markham… Well, it left a lot to be desired, let’s leave it at that.”

He was rubbing his hands when she brought him the loaf. Breaking it down the center, he handed her half.

#my writing #WIP Wednesday #long post #someone kick me in the ass and get me publishing stuff #i mean i have more #i was going to post it but deleted it #some sebastian/hawke stuff #some dawn/deacon stuff

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darkdoings · 7 years

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— Sadistic Enigmas: 3

Note: Finally done and I apologize a million times over for the delay! Some possible triggering content to be aware of is an attempt at rape, profane language, and bloodplay. Again, I am thankful for the positive feed back and support I have gotten on each segment of this short story. All constructive criticisms are still welcomed and if you see a mistake please let me know so that I can fix it straight away! Enjoy! :)

An extended period of time had passed since your intimate encounter with the Night Stalker and you considered that the time apart was a period of peace. You had avoided your dependence on drugs to help counter your varying levels of stress and you had even taken to healthier alternatives to coping with your anxieties. Even when you had discovered a handwritten note from the Night Stalker in your mailbox, you were not troubled and you instead found yourself looking forward to the inscribed details of the message he had left for you. He had apologized for not paying you a visit sooner and swore on Satan in his letter that he would visit you the night of the day you received his letter. In the Post Scriptum sanction of his letter, he had requested for you to wear something appealing and you could not help but splurge on a piece of pleasant attire to satisfy your serial killer lover.

In front of a slender mirror, you stared at your flattering physique that was delightfully adorned in a black lace set of lingerie and you had decided he would enjoy it as much as you did. You wanted to keep it a surprise for him, however, by wearing a dress over top of the lingerie that matched well with the black stockings. After the sun had set, you could barely conceal your excitement and to pass the remaining time before his arrival you sat in your lounging room with a book in your hands. You read the words but you were not attentively following the story as you could have been because you kept glancing up at your windows in the hope of seeing him sooner. Finally, your doorbell chimed and echoed throughout your home.

You excitedly leapt off of the couch; dropped your book onto the floor; and briskly scurried towards the entrance door to your home. Around the chilled door handle, your nimble digits grasped the metallic surface and twisted the knob while simultaneously opening the door to reveal a silhouetted figure. Your eyes required a moment to adjust to the darkness outside and once you could properly view your visitor you noticed an uncharacteristic attribute about the guest you believed to be the Night Stalker.

“That’s new.” You commented with a smirk and while reaching out to touch the ebony mask that concealed the visage of your visitor, “Being extra cautious with a—“

Without having the opportunity to conclude your keen observation, the masked man had transitioned from a welcomed guest to a vicious assailant who was unknown to you and in an abrupt movement he had hit you over the head. You were hit hard enough that you did not recall descending to the floor and as you motionlessly lay the intruder hastily invited himself inside. In his haste, the man made sloppy work of securing the entrance and as a result he left your door slightly ajar so that a possible passersby could come to your rescue.

The faceless man’s advances on you continued and in your state of disorientation you could do little to fight back. You watched as his shadowy physique straddled you at the waist and he attempted to garner your attention my gripping your chin to force you to look at him. While you came out of your painful daze to listen to his words, he marveled at your appearance and he shamelessly bragged about the intentions he had for you. You were forced to listen to the intruder’s desires for you inside of the walls of your home and just outside of your home the oblivious Night Stalker took his time walking up the cobblestone pathway to meet with you as he had planned.

Upon seeing your door left open ajar, the Night Stalker paused in his steps outside of your home and he wolfishly smirked as he rationalized your slightly opened door as a sign of your eagerness to meet him a third time. He began to ponder a way he could theatrically enter your home – possibly by using a window instead – but his thoughts were cut short once the shriek of a terrified woman filled the warm air. The Night Stalker immediately recognized the voice as belonging to you and his long legs abruptly propelled him forward to infiltrate your home to investigate the reason for your screams of terror.

Still unable to escape the advances of the intruder, you began to violently thrash your body in an attempt to fight off the man and to slow the progression of his cravings you began to scream. By the good graces of Satan Someone had heard your screams and you watched as a second intruder discreetly stalked up behind the attempted rapist. Your eyes widened once seeing the glinting of a familiar blade being pulled out of the pocket of the second intruder and you closed your eyes to avoid watching the inevitable. Within seconds, the sound of blood spluttering resounded and a warm, crimson liquid spilled out from the rapist’s sliced neck onto your torso.

The Night Stalker had murdered the initial assailant and he proceeded shoved his dying body off of you so that he could die a pitiable death on the cold floor where he belonged. You did not linger to watch the man die and as soon as his weight was shifted off of your body you crawled several feet away. When the shock had finally settled in, you ceased all physical movement and remained on all fours while retching, sobbing, & breathing in inconsistent gasps. The murder had become the most nauseating experience you had ever endured and the Night Stalker showed little remorse for your eruption of emotions. He had decided you were ruining the kill for him and to savor what little enjoyment of his that remained he approached you with ferocity in his eyes as tears filled yours. As you sobbed on your knees the Night Stalker coiled his long, gloved fingers around your biceps and he hauled you to your feet while aggressively pushing you against a wall.

“Shut up.” He hissed and you yelped as he tightened his grip on you, “You keep up this bitching and someone is going to call the police. Shut up.”

Astonished by his lack of empathy, you were successfully rendered silent and when he was satisfied with your compliance he released you & created space between both of your bloody forms. He took one more look at the mess you had become, chuckled, and left you against the wall as he nonchalantly jaunted into your kitchen towards your fridge. Short breathes continued to escape you as the adrenaline was leaving your system and you peered around the wall you stood against to watch what he was doing. You were surprised to feel animosity brewing within you while he rummaged through your refrigerator for something to consume while you were in a clearly damaged state — physically and mentally.

The Night Stalker returned several moments later with a bottle of soda and he proceeded to ignore your entire being as he walked past you to sit on a piece of furniture. Your blood had begun to boil at his carelessness for you, the dead man on the floor, and the overall state of your home. A faint & short hissing sound broke the silence of the room once he unscrewed the cap of his drink and it was quickly followed up with the sound of him swallowing the contents thrice. You took advantage of his negligence by shuffling towards the dead man’s body and reaching to grab the blade that was still protruding from his neck. With the lustrous weapon sitting in the palm of your hand, you rose to your feet at an even pace and you fiercely glared at him.

“Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Get out of California.” You muttered in a cold whisper while pointing at your door.

He tilted his head and a smug smirk manifested on his face, “I thought I told you to shut—“

“Get the fuck out!” You shrieked loudly and suddenly pointed the knife at him.

The act of defiance that you had displayed was enough to make his smirk disappear from his visage and through the cowl of darkness you could see his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth together. He was angry and you had made the reckless mistake of underestimating his anger. With the blade still pointed at him, he stood from where he had been sitting and he grasped the glass bottle of soda by the thinnest section before rotating his wrist to empty the remaining contents onto your floor. He then smashed the opposite end of the bottle on the hard surface of a nightstand so that shards of glass laid amongst the spilled liquid and for opposite end of the bottle to have several sharpened ends. With one foot in front of the other, he stepped over the glass and he approached you with his makeshift, glass weapon in hand.

In an attempt to diffuse his anger, you began to talk him out of the bloodthirsty plans he may have had in mind, “ . . . You cannot hurt me. We have a deal with Satan, remember. If you wanted me dead, you should have let that human filth finish me off.”

“You don’t get it, do you? I couldn't let him bring harm to you.” He reassured while scowling down at you, “This is my territory, you are my territory. He infringed on my territory and he had to pay for it and he did pay for it. I didn’t save him because I care about you or because you may think you are special to me. I made this my territory, I made you my territory — I do not share my fucking territory.”

Visibly, you had been trembling subsequent to his jurisdictional warning and as a result you both new that he had prematurely ended the standoff. He was thoroughly satisfied that his words were able to render you silent once again and while the pair of you stood in silence his dark eyes wandered off to your quivering hand holding the blade. An idea had began to take form in his mind and just like the ideas he had before he knew he would have absolute obedience from you once again.

“And now look at you, threatening me after I saved your life.” The Night Stalker accused and situated himself so that the tip of the knife that you desperately clung to was touching his firm chest, “If you have it in you, kill me now. But I suspect that without my help you will have a hell of a time covering up my mess over there. By the looks of it, you will be seeing the inside of a jail cell long before I ever will. Your choice.”

You hated to admit it yourself; however, you needed to admit that he was right. Without the Night Stalker to assist you, the evidence of the crime looked damning and without a proper cover-up it would appear as if you killed a man in cold-blood. You lowered your hand that held the blade and you dropped the bloodied blade to the floor as a sign of your immediate surrender & obedience.

“Then help me so that we can be done with this.”

The Night Stalker hesitantly nodded in agreement, “You can get away with claiming you were a victim of an attempted rape and you fought off your intruder which resulted in having to kill him out of self-defense. Killing is killing but out of ‘self-defense’ it seems like an ‘okay’ thing to do in the eyes of the public. Are you following along?”

“Yes.”

“Then take off your dress. This scene we are going to create needs to be of an attempt at rape. We will stage it so he tore your clothes off and fell back onto the torn fabric once ‘you killed him’.”

The request he was asking of you instantaneously reminded you of the lingerie you were wearing underneath the dress and given the drastic turn of events throughout the night it became a little embarrassing for you to be wearing lingerie. You could feel your cheeks heat up with blush and you mentally thanked the darkness for concealing your rosy cheeks from the deranged Night Stalker. As a result of your delay, he extended his hand to prompt you a second time to remove your dress and in response to his beckoning you shook your head,

“That does not make sense. Even if I would have killed him myself, I would have still gotten his blood on me regardless. This step is for your gratification, only.”

“Listen to me, there needs to be a sign of struggle. This is how were are doing it.” He explained to further assert his methods.

“ . . . Fine. But wait here.”

You could hear him exhale through his nostrils with clear impatience and despite his irritation you took a few steps away & rounded the corner of the wall you stood against. From around the corner, you pulled your dress up and over your head to reveal your lingerie-decorated physique. You then reached around the corner to hand him your dress and he hesitantly took it from your hand.

“Don’t bother putting on new clothes.”

“Why?”

“Because we are not done yet. And I don’t know why you are hiding. Sooner or later, I will have to see you. No point in delaying what is inevitable.”

The worst part of the entire ordeal was having to agree with everything he was requesting of you; he was the expert on such dark matters as this and you knew you needed to oblige if you were going to come out of this as an innocent victim. Shortly after the Night Stalker took your dress from you, you waited silently and listened as he tore the fabric of your dress to make it seem like you had it torn from off of your body. You took this short span of time to build up your confidence and as his back was turned to place the remains of your dress beneath the dead body, you crept around the corner to rejoin him. It made you feel uneasy seeing how he was emotionless around a dead body and you secretly commended him on his sinister bravery.

By time he turned around to face you, your arms had been crossed along your chest as a show of timid embarrassment and he quirked a brow upon seeing you dressed in a sensual style. His expression displayed clear amusement and also intrigue while he tried to reason out why you had been wearing an expensive set of attractive, black lace undergarments. As he approached you and analyzed every angle of your body as if you were a piece of art in a museum, you eventually distracted him from further scrutinizing you by speaking,

“What’s left to do?”

“Put up a struggle.”

At first, you expressed obvious signs of confusion and when he ascended his right hand that was still tightly clasped around the neck of the previously shattered soda bottle you finally pieced together the second step of his plan. You knew that a woman of your stature would have not been able to fight off a masculine predator and without needing to offer your permission the Night Stalker began to select divisions of your flesh that he was most enthusiastic about carving into. The first location he selected was just below your neck and without providing you a moment to prepare yourself for the first incision he glided a sharp, glass edge along your skin. His free hand traveled to the back of your scalp and with a fistful of your locks of hair he pulled your head back which roused a gasp to escape past your lips. It was apparent he intended to derive as much pleasure as he could out of etching scratches into your flesh and he began to whisper sweet nothings as he watched a miniature river of your blood trickle down your chest & along the valley between your breasts.

He suddenly released the handful of your hair and detoured his hand from the back of your head to the front of you face where his thumb & index finger took hold of your chin. With a decent amount of pressure applied, the Night Stalker tilted your head to the side and upon feeling the coolness of the glass slicing along your cheek you bit down of your bottom lip to mute any further sounds of discomfort. He delighted in seeing you make attempts at masking your suffering and decided to present you with a temporary moment of solace by turning our head back to face him so that he could press his lips to yours. Surprisingly enough, locking your lips together provided you with enough distraction that you had barely felt the Night Stalker glide the sharp edge of glass along the curvature of your spine next. Your warm blood from the freshly embedded wounds drastically contrasted with your quickly paling skin and on sensing your impending weariness as a result of your physical exertions he reassured you that only one more incision was necessary.

To support you through your tiring loss of blood, his free arm snuggly wrapped around your waist to keep you balanced and he then took his final position behind you. His chin rested on your shoulder and your lids fluttered shut over your eyes as he concluded by engraving a slice along your midsection to complete your bloodied canvas of flesh. By the end of it, you still remained webbed within his slender arms and he explained he would stay with you for an additional few minutes to ensure you would not slip into unconsciousness before you had the opportunity to call the police. He held you close to his frame and together the pair of you sank to the floor to rest . . . mostly for your sake & well-being.

With your back against his chest, you leaned against him and you rested your head on his shoulder which he used to his advantage so that he would kiss your bloodied cheek. You cringed at the sudden contact he had with your facial wound and he chuckled sadistically at your reaction while he proceeded to lick the residue of your blood off of his full lips. Soon after his brief attempt at expressing affection, his attention turned back to the plan and he passed onto you the broken glass bottle with instructions following thereafter,

“Make sure your prints cover the glass, it is the defining moment of your self-defense. Just tell the cops you were hanging out on your couch with a drink in hand and a madman broke in. Make sure they know you smashed the bottle so that you had a weapon to defend yourself.” The Night Stalker articulated while allowing his gaze to wander off to the dead man’s body situated on the floor mere meters from where you both sat, “Then insist a fight followed; tell them it was your life or his. Express that you got pretty beat up and they’ll feel sympathy for an injured, pretty girl.”

You nodded in agreement and instead of replying in response to the topic, you asked him a question that was burning in your mind, “Did you mean what you said about ‘territory’?”

“I am a killer, not a liar. A liar can pretend to love, I can’t.” He simply answered and as if he was bothered by the question he paused to stand up before continuing on again, “Maybe I’d consider you as something more if I wasn’t who I am. But because I am who I am, don’t get too attached. You’ll be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

Consequently, the answer he gave to your inquiry stung and you considered yourself a fool for ever expecting a different answer out of him. You sat alone on the floor in silence as he made his way to your front door and before his departure he took one last look at the man he had murdered. A sinister expression contorted his visage and he appeared truly satisfied with his bloody deeds. He had one foot out the door and just as he was leaving you caught sight of his bloodied knife on the floor not too far from you. Without hesitation, you crawled to the blade and cried out for the devil himself to wait,

“You are forgetting your knife!”

“Keep it.” He called back to you while he continued to walk down the pathway away from your home, “I might come back for it later.”

You scoffed at the carelessness of his answer and shortly after he had vanished into the shadowy overcast of the night you pushed yourself to your feet to put an end to the night’s fiasco. While you were still adorned in your blood-saturated lingerie, you calmly tucked the Night Stalker’s blade away into a drawer and you waited by your phone for several minutes before dialing the police. You purposely elapsed time so that he would have enough time to escape the area and exit onto the nearby freeway to make it possible for him to evade the authorities. Whether or not he was serious about returning for his weapon, you knew you still had to uphold your swear on Satan and as a result you had single-handedly let the dangerous killer slip away once again. —— Do you ever feel ashamed? Do you even feel a thing?

#The Night Stalker #Richard Ramirez #TC #True Crime #TCC #True Crime Community #Sadistic Enigmas #Writing #Story #Self-insert #Attempted Rape #Bloodplay #Thank you for being patient with me on this one <3

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everything-you-mist · 8 years

Text

Remember Who You Are

No matter what I tried, Israva’s words kept bouncing around my head, her final jab repeating over and over at the smallest suggestion.

“You’re as demon as I am.”

I told myself from the start that it didn't matter. She was an ass, I didn't like her, why give a damn what she thought about me? But every time I started to believe myself, this nagging doubt would wonder, ‘but what if she’s right’? It bothered me. It really, really did.

I stayed by dad’s bed the entire day after the fight, refusing to shift out of owlcat. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened, and I was sure that if he could see under my feathers, he’d know I’d been hurt. Dad didn’t like my refusal, but he let me do my own thing like he always did. It’s pretty rare that my dad pushes anything. I appreciate that. More than he knows, I think. Never have been good at expressing shit, especially gratitude. There’s a fine line between gratitude and grovelling and I sure as hell ain’t finding where it is.

That first day was complete shit, Israva echoed in my head more and more as the hours passed. I didn’t want to reach out to my dad for help, I didn’t want him to know Israva had kicked my ass to the curb, and that made at least part of her assessment true.

“You refuse to let people get close to you, refuse to let people comfort you.”

Well, so what? I’m Mer’Catharn! Fel, I lead it! That means strength, and I have it. I can stand on my own, I can deal with my own problems! Well, except when Dararoo got involved. Or Ricky, or Anara, or.. Or Pengfei… Dammit, Pengfei.

I couldn’t do anything. Pengfei’s death was instant, I couldn’t heal a corpse, even with the proper training I didn’t have back then. He was there and then.. Then he wasn’t. It usually goes that way when I let people in, even a little. Thalae was a bitch, but she raised me. I killed her before I even knew what was happening. I didn’t mean to, I never wanted her dead! But it happened, and I didn’t know anything about healing. No use there. I couldn’t even find Essie, the druid that started to teach me in Val’Sharah. I have no idea when she died. All I know is I couldn’t find her, even after Xavius was dead. Even my dad has nearly died several times. Every bone in his body broken one time, left to slowly go mad as parasites ate away at him slowly and painfully another.. Even one time I really thought he’d died by a blade in his throat. Every single time, I had to sit there and pray to a goddess I don’t even believe in that he’d stick around. Useless. Every single person I’ve considered anywhere near family… It’s too dangerous to give anyone that label. So okay, mom. You’re right, I refuse. There’s only so much of this I can take.

I had nightmares that night after the fight, nightmares I haven’t had in a long time of fire and blood plaguing my sleep. I woke up cold, drenched in sweat, with an ache in my paws. I spent that night pacing, trying to calm down. If I still had any access to fire, I’m sure I would have been engulfed in flames with how much my hands ached. Almost.. Missing it. It was a lot like one of my earlier breaks, pacing in the water below Ricky’s house in Pandaria, trying so hard to control the fury that threatened to bubble over at any moment. I remember my blood singing in my veins, begging to ignite back then, just as it did now. Around dawn, I left and didn’t come home.

I’m not sure why I went to Pandaria. Flying over the Peak of Serenity was painful, memories of Pengfei’s death made fresh by the fel-scarred plateaus and the inactive spires of the Legion’s portal here. The peaceful continent hadn't been spared any more than anywhere else. My shoulder ached where I had fallen, the constant beating of my wings refusing it’s every attempt to heal. I slept as little as possible, trying to escape my nightmares that were rapidly evolving with me. They were filled with flames that were no longer red but tinted green, my double’s familiar empty smile only made worse by taking on Israva’s features, the horns and scaley skin.

I made good time to the northern shore with only a few naps, landing on the roof of what had once been Pengfei’s home. My chest hurt, being here. It’d been quiet before, but with just me here, it was so much worse.. I wanna say I broke in, but the door was unlocked. There was a thin layer of dust over everything, but all the perishable food was gone, moved out by someone. Whoever it was made sure nothing would rot, but left the house be otherwise.

Far as I could tell, nobody was living here. I hopped up on the bed, looking around and just.. Thinking. It’d been only months, and he was gone. All around me, his old paintings of Xuen stared at me. The tiger was faded, kept in the lonely house all this time, without the care his owner had provided to him. If I was any kind of poet, I’d probably have something to say about that. Still sad though, somehow.

I let myself flop back on the oversized pandaren mattress, staring up at the ceiling to avoid the painted eyes, and I had just started to drift off into another nap when I heard someone step onto the wooden porch outside.

I was up in an instant, slinking to the floor on my paws to investigate. As I looked out the open doorframe, there stood a very confused and surprised Anara.

“Hi. I wasn’t expecting to find you so fast.” We both kinda stared at each other in silence. I mean, I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? What was she even doing here? “Er.. That sounded foreboding and menacing. Of which it’s supposed to be neither! So, uh.. A friend would like to talk to you. Said it was important and you needed to hear it. And Chiori isn’t letting me sleep until he ‘stops bothering her’ so…” Her voice trailed off, and she held out her hands, looking nervous. I shook my feathers out, preparing to shift back to a form I could talk in, but Anara continued without giving me time. “Don’t worry! Time is wonky there and we shouldn’t be gone long! And if something foreboding happens, I’m ninety percent sure I can get us out in one piece!” Without another moment, dark inky shadows poured from her hands and quickly enveloped the two of us as they filled the room. I screeched, an owlcat cry of terror, but the shadows were gone as quickly as they came, taking Anara with them. I was alone in the dark house, nothing different but a strange purple tinge to everything.

I spent a few minutes looking around, trying to understand what had happened, but before I could really get into my search, I heard the sand outside being thrown by something slamming into it.

I turned immediately, keeping myself low to the ground and returning to the doorway to investigate. Out on the violet-tinted beach stood a creature, skin cracked and filled with bright fel. Great spines sprouted from it’s back and long claws fingers grasped at the air as it stares at me. It was more demon than elf, but I knew that face. Israva. And she was angry. Under my feet, I saw the sigil too late, bright blue forcing me back into my helpless elven shape. I scrambled back into the shade of the doorframe, and she had the gall to laugh as she began to approach. I was trapped. I couldn’t fly away, I couldn’t outrun her in this shape. I could only sit there on the ground, my small knife as my only defense.

“Time to meet your end, demon of mine.” she hissed, an unearthly low echo to her voice as she reached the stairs. I opened my mouth to scream, to insult her, to do something, but then, something landed on the porch, blocking most of my view. A pandaren, in dusty orange clothes. Impossible.. With a swift strike from the pandaren, Israva was thrown across the sand, paralyzed at the shoreline. I could hear her growling furiously, but it was me the Pandaren addressed.

“Child.. Have you forgotten who you are so quickly?” He turned as he spoke, looking at me with those familiar sad eyes. “To conjure up such a visage.. I would wonder if you remembered anything I taught you.” Visage? I glanced around Pengfei’s side, Israva was gone. Had she just been an illusion?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, still staring at the sand. “You died..”

“Who are you?”

I looked up at Pengfei, offended. How could he forget? But the look he gave me.. That quiet disappointment, the same look he’d given me when I woke up in his house the first time. He hadn’t forgotten.

“I’m.. I’m Allaea. You called me Lee, the last time you saw me.” My voice shook, a lump in my throat. Pengfei shook his head, settling himself on the floor and continuing to watch me.

“That is not what you told me. Who are you?” I quailed under that steady gaze. I didn’t know what to feel. I was angry, and hurt, and heartbroken, and filled with grief. He was dead, what was he doing here? I didn’t even get a hello? Just.. who am I? And where was Anara? Pengfei seemed to sense my frustration, reaching gently to the dusty cooking pot beside the door in silence. That’s what he meant..

“You mean.. That whole empty cup thing?” The words tumbled out as I thought them.

“You are Allaea Stagthorn, but what else?”

“... That’s not fair. I said all that stuff before! Things changed, things got more complicated!”

“You are Kaleala Farrunner, are you not?”

“Stop it! I don’t want that, I don’t want anything to do with her!”

“Lee..” Pengfei looked disappointed. Not angry, just.. Sad. “You are so much more than this. You’re holding onto your hatreds, your hurts, just as you were when you came into my care. Did you truly learn so little?”

“Pengfei, she abandoned me.”

“So did Haldreth.”

“Wha--” I was shocked. How did he know anything about that? “That was different, he came back.”

“So did she.”

“N-no. Pengfei, that’s not fair, look at her!”

“I am.” I looked at Pengfei in confusion, about to retort, but he continued. “A woman willing to change herself for another, not always for the better. She made choices she regrets, but she fights on anyway. A woman forged in the fires of war--” I realized where he was going. I recognized the line, the same dramatic wording I’d said so long ago.

“Stop it, that’s not fair!” I screamed. I stood, yelling in his face, but he wouldn’t stop. He kept going.

“A woman forged in the fires of war, that someday wishes to be happy.” I lashed out. I was still locked out of my forms from whatever that illusion had done, but I swung my fist at him anyway. Without much effort at all, Pengfei reached out and caught it, holding me there. Israva’s words were at the forefront of my mind, practically screaming in my ear.

“You’re as demon as I am.”

“I have already taught you everything I can, Lee. You know the truth, and you try to drive it away and refuse to look it in the eye.” Pengfei was as serene as always, his words cutting through the din like it was nothing. “Empty yourself of hatred. Let it go.” Pengfei let go of my hand with a gentle push, sending me back a few steps as he got up and walked outside.

Without looking back, Pengfei left me there on the front porch. He stepped across the sand, and onto the water like it was nothing, walking to the far shore, where two figures were waiting for him. I thought I was alone again, but the creaking of the bottom step drew my eye there, where an elf sat with her back turned to me.

“Hello..?” I stepped forward carefully, not knowing what to expect. The elf stood up silently, turning toward me. Her general shape was familiar. I recognized her face, but just about everything was off. Israva lacked the horns and cracked ridges that had been her defining features. She looked at me with the most sad eyes.. Eyes just like mine. We just stood there in silence, eyes locked. I didn’t know what to say.. I didn’t know what to do. As we stood there, the world around us melted away, the purple tints running together like paint being washed away. As it faded, so did she, leaving me there on the beach.

I let myself drop down to sit on the porch, leaning against the doorframe. Anara had somehow reappeared on the beach now that things were back to normal. In the pit of my stomach, I could feel distant anger. I should be pissed. I got tricked into whatever that was, and it had to have been Anara’s doing.. She seemed to know that too, her posture was tense and ready, defensive. But I was so tired.. I just kind of looked at her.

“So, that was…?”

“Hopefully something you needed to hear? I was hoping you’d tell me, because I was on the shore instead of the island because my brother is a jerk. Hopefully it went well? Also, would you like me to-...” She pointed to my shoulder, relaxing a bit. “Or give you a lift back to town?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Barely even hurts.” I shrugged casually and instantly regretted it. It actually really hurt. But a weird part of me wanted it to heal on it’s own. “I uh.. I got lectured about my mom. What about you?”

“Lectured about ‘eavesdropping’ and sparred with my brother. I think I’d take the lecture over that.”

“Heh.. friggin family, right?”

She laughed, brushing hair from her face, “It was good to meet you so soon, Aly. I hope you learned what you needed to. If you need anything else while you’re here, I’ll be at the temple.”

“Nah.” I shook my head, slowly getting to my feet. “Think I’m ready to go home. I’ll uh.. Send a postcard or something? You gonna be out here a while?”

“That depends on how long it takes for me to find what I’m looking for.” She smiled, turning her back to me and whistling sharply. From the opposite shore, wherever it had been hiding, a full-grown red cloud serpent came soaring over the water to Anara. Without even stopping to land, Anara was able to grab on and hoist herself into the saddle, the pair flying off toward the distant mountains. I took off not long after she left, returning the way I’d come, back to the portals and the mainland.

I spent the rest of the week in Stormwind. I wasn’t really ready to go home, I had lied to Anara, but I didn’t want to be alone anymore either. I roosted above the Watchers whenever they were grouped up, listening to the chatter as I thought to myself quietly. I’m still not sure if I’m okay. Probably not, actually. I haven’t seen Israva perched on any of the rooftops since I got back. I think she finally gave up. Probably for the best, really. I wasn’t ready to face her, after everything. If I’m honest, I don’t think I ever will be.

((Not as powerful as the last one, it was a hard one to follow up. But I had to stabilize the druid for Marquis events, and I had just watched Lion King soooo... return of dead mentor~! @crazyprophet-box-o-plots for Ricky and Haldreth mentions, @library-of-the-forgotten for Dararoo mentions, aaaaand @oldwornjournal for help with the Anara cameo (<3 ) ))

#Allaea Stagthorn #Israva Farrunner

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