#Roseate House

[roseatehouse]

Shopping Experience - Roseate House

Roseate House is the perfect haven for a travel weary soul. The property provides a well-deserved reprieve to the urbane traveller with its seven uber luxury brand boutiques sprawled over 1500 square meters of space.

[aladork]

you’re wound up too tightly, so frayed and unsightly pulling on your own strings, you’re unraveling

[yangcherie]

play chase

pairing: ascended!astarion / spawn!tav (reader.)

content warnings: female reader, dubcon, briefest references to age gap (c’mon, he’s 200 years old), power imbalance, forced dependency, abuse. cunnilingus. mentions of death. references to cannibalism. abuse. ascended astarion things, except he’s a bit nicer.

sypnosis: astarion has been having an immensely difficult time taming you; his newly-turned bride-to-be. he believes a lesson about obedience is well overdue. so he fucks you before the honeymoon.

author’s note: ugh. this was messy. like immensely messy im so sorry i just lost interest in this fandom but thought id still finish this up. hope you guys enjoy btw tav is feral here like Kinda i guess? ignore the plotholes or i rob ur house angry face emoji here

“Little one.” Astarion carolled, hoping he sounded just genuine enough to coax you out of wherever you’ve tucked yourself into like a feral animal. You’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Sweet thing. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s time to put an end to it.”

He hopes the restlessness doesn’t bleed through his voice; having walked and stalked through what felt like the very entirety of his former master’s palace – now claimed by none other than himself. It only felt right to do so after his ascension, in the same vein he claimed you as his own. The manor is a wretched thing – but so were you. He would come to love it in time; as he had with you.

He felt like a fool right now with the way he was practically just going to rot away waiting for you to either crawl out or hiding spot (which was never) or to hear you slip up, shuffle around or screech just loud enough that he could catch the sound in his fingers and hunt you down.

You’ve fallen into much troublesome, teasing habits, including hiding away from him or viciously teething and ripping at whatever caught your eye — and Astarion doesn’t have the slightest idea on why or how — but he could excuse it. Decades of cruelty have also taught him mercy, despite having lacked it.

All the furniture you would violently break apart into splinters? You must’ve been teething, and this hideous manor desperately needs a renovation, anyway. The troublesome amount of tear and rip and fray of fabric in curtains, clotheswear and sheets alike? You’re simply due for a trimming on your claws, and again, the manor needs a renovation. Your incessant disturbances of racket and noise during the occasions he’d bring nobles over? His poor, needy wife must’ve been feeling neglected – and that alone is a perfect reason for him to usher away any unwanted guests.

(It honestly did him more good than you knew.)

Astarion could not only excuse and enjoy it, all your petty, feral little acts of disobedience – but he’s also dedicated nearly half his time to provide you gratification. You needed teething? Fine, expect to be fed with ambrosian blood; be it by kegs of it at your bedside, or drunkards thrown at your feet, paralyzed with alcohol and terror, all but open for you to forcefully dig and tear out their throats and drink in their dwindling life. He’d even dab at your face with a handkerchief after.

Couldn’t control your claws? He’s provided you toys to rough up and chew into — himself included, of course; if the never-bite marks beneath his collar were anything to go by. And if you were good enough, willing to paw at and prop your chin on his clothed thigh to prettily stare at him with roseate, cherub eyes; he’d take you hunting with the given main course or prey being deers, goats or nobles who couldn’t be swayed to his upcoming reign.

And if his other efforts to be of no avail, he could always do with his last but favorite method of calming you down; exerting his dominance with his own fangs wounding the muted skin of your throat to keep you still as he gives you a good fucking – just hard enough to keep you content from acting out for the next few days.

Astarion had done his utmost to be considerate. You were a fledgling; still adjusting to the intricacies that came with your newly-gifted vampirism. He was all but destructive during his first years as a spawn, as well. He could excuse it, all this disrespect, this ingratitude to his affections. Really! It just had to be a good day.

And to the fucking Nines, today was not a good day.

Right now, he was nothing short of frustrated. Frustrated with his idiotic thralls, with having to deal with posh aristocrat fools to establish his reign over the Gate, with the fabric of his shirt – all of it! And now he has to be frustrated with you, as well? All he yearnt for was to be soothed by none other than you, but even this you would pettily keep out from his reach?

The manor is stretched far and wide, generous; much unlike the fraying thread that is his patience. He licks his teeth, brows furrowing – legs aching just the slightest. You couldn’t behave for just today, could you? Always needing to test him to keep you in line.

You could’ve simply drained and massacred the enthralled nobles in his dungeons, or lay waste to yet another room in the palace and he wouldn’t have given much of a damn, but no, instead, you’ve decided to play hard to get and hide yourself away from him when he needs you most.

“Dearest.” Astarion grits out, an exasperated groan stuck in his throat. The heel of his boots thudding against the cobble is all he’s heard for hours, in his search of you. He might just raze down the entire manor if it meant you’d come out. “I am in no mood to be entertaining your tantrums.”

A wearisome ache begins to swarm his temples, coaxing a sigh from him. He can just envision it, in whatever hole you’ve tucked yourself in lays the ripped ivory tulle fabric of yet another gown alongside the vast amount you’ve already ravaged. It’s all you’ve been tearing at since he’s arranged your bethrothment with him – and his enthralled tailors aren’t very willing to oblige him and sew another.

He swears on the fucking ragdoll he will make out of you once he finds you that this time, you will not go unpunished. He has been lenient, and he was no fool; he could tell instinct and intent apart. Whatever game you were playing at, Astarion would let you know he didn’t like it in the slightest. First, you deny him of your presence and then you deny him of his right to wed you. What a little demon you are.

But it seems even you were getting restless in your own petty little game, he thought so smugly, as a hiss so unmistakably yours laden with offense and the impact of ceramic against the ground bounced off the opulent hallway making him sharply turn his body around to follow the sound. You never quite had the knack to keep quiet as a rogue like himself could, even before the feral inanity that clouds you now. It’s not long before he’s behind yet another bedroom out of hundreds in the palace and twisting the rusted doorknob.

It creaks open, Astarion pursing his lips as he steps inside – just to be hit with the pungent stench of blood and a mess littered that told him you indeed were in the room. A good hint; the hint being a gutted body of what he could only assume was a servant crumpled on the floor, who with no doubt you hurled actoss the room once you had forcefully drained your fill of.

His nose wrinkled at the sight. He ought to teach you something about manners on not playing with your food, after he catches you.

“Little pup?” He stalks through the room, briefly kicking the body aside and glancing at the two puncture holes on its neck. If you were hungry, you simply could’ve asked.

It’s a dreary scene, the room a relic of neglect worth centuries. Moth-eaten curtains spotted with fresh blood, rusted chandeliers rickety with dust. Dreary as it was, he had no doubt this is one of the rooms he’s used to bed many a victim.

He briefly wonders if you even bedded the servant before draining him.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are...”

There’s a subtle shuffle, a little, pathetic bleat of a hiss to his call, just below the old, yellowed canopy bed in the very center of the room. The space between his brows pinch as he approaches the dingy canopy and drops to his knees to peer below, batting at the dust that assaults his senses.

Craning his neck downwards, peering below the bed, he’s fixed with your beady, red stare – and it startles Astarion more than he’d like to admit.

Something weary between a growl and a sigh comes out of him when he wills himself to tear his gaze away from your unnerving eyes and across the entirety of your body; you’re filthy, with flaky remains of gore and scratches, cobwebs stuck to your hair and soot stuck to your skin. He quietly groans, filled with just enough irritation that your beady eyes bat him a blink so innocent and faultless that he’s rather tempted to bend you over his lap and paddle you —

But it was futile to scold you. He knows it, that you wouldn’t understand – had made sure your senses would dwindle, like a honed knife being whittled to dullness. Slowly but surely being to forced to rely on base instincts. He always thought you to be too smart for your own good, and he couldn’t have you thinking you could leave him in the dust, no, no.

(And, well, if you ever did, he doubt the ghouls that follow his word like law would let you through any door out, anyway.)

Futile as it is it to scold you, it’s easier to let his irritation roll over him in waves sear him like boiling water.

“You insolent brat, you.” Astarion hisses, batting his hand in a motion that tells you to get out and up. It’s with an infuriating obedience that you follow, one that casts something bitter to brew in him. Where was that earlier? He roughly wrenches you out by your wrist, dragging you up to your feet to meet his infuriated eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you, you fucking–?”

You hiss at the touch, nose scrunched and teeth bared enough to show gums – your free hand flying out to grip his wrist to dig your untrimmed nails into his skin just as he did with you. He raises a brow, unamused. Perhaps he should have felt offended the way you thought you could just behave like an animal and disrespect him like that. Perhaps he really should go and dig the heel in, let you sink in the fall from pride to humiliation of being paddled.

“You think you’re hilarious, hm? Quit acting like an animal.” Astarion huffs indignantly, disregarding a small part of him wanting to croon at you in the same manner one would with a feral thing. You need discipline and gods damn him if he did not provide that. He wrenches his wrist out of your clawed fingers, glaring. If you were some stranger, he’d feel inclined to spit on you. “Or I’ll drain you like one.”

It’s a lie, a petty one at that, and you seem to know it as it only pulls another one of those sounds out you; one more grating and animalistic than the last, one that makes him bare his own teeth at you. The threat is as petty as it is tragic, a reminder of what you’ve given up to him beyond your blood – your soul, your mortality.

He’s had his fill of you since the night you turned, since he sunk his teeth into the very marrow of your being and drained you for all you were worth. He swallowed you with a hunger that could burn out even the sun itself. You could not believe that on that night, the night he had killed you, the soft, benign hands keeping your head from hitting the hard floor were of the same body with the mouth and teeth that snuffed your light straight out.

(You died being held in his arms; whether it was to keep you still, keep you there unable to jerk away from death or to keep you comforted, you never found out. You didn’t want to.)

When you awoke, it was no longer his teeth that speared through you next but loss and hunger, a mind-numbing, mingling pit in your stomach. You woke up with grief knowing you were no longer who you once were.

Astarion has an intimate relationship with hunger, true and daunting hunger. And no nobles’ blood, no sheep, bear, boar nor lamb can fix it.

It will not leave him, and it will not leave you.

“I’ll have you know you look delectable right now.” He hisses through his teeth, something burning all hot, ugly and hungry in his stomach. It’s the way he says it that has you backing down, meeting his eyes with a glare of your own before tentatively softening; allowing him to touch you. In a time before now, he would have said it teasingly, as your lover, your man. Near a warm fire, pinned to the ground with your hair splayed and a summer solstice grin.

But now, he is more hunger than man.

(You suppose you are too.)

He stares you down, the dip of your collarbones, the slope of your hips, the slightest cinch of your waist, your lips, all doused in some servant’s blood. The scent of it with yours wafts out and beckons to him. Spanning his fingers over the stiffened slopes of your bare shoulders, he finds the knots he’ll have to work and ease over with floral oils later on during bedtime.

In your feral head, it feels as if he’s fondling the meat on your shoulder. Prodding at the softest spots, finding which would taste best.

His fingers leave your shoulder in favor of returning to your wrist, pulling taut at it to lead you out the dryrotting room and into those intricate halls, turning left, right, right, left, straight until you’re stumbling into his personal chambers, his soft canopy bed and sinking into his mattress with enough space between your parted legs that he takes the chance to crawl towards and tuck himself in.

He pushes his lips to yours, kisses you dizzy, tongue fighting a battle with yours. The bed is downy soft beneath you when you melt into it and dig your nails in, heeded by instinct as he pins you against them with ease. The air feels hotter, when he pulls away with silken strands of spit between you two, splitting when he dips back downwards to lay his head on your stomach, circling his arms around your hips to keep you still as he noses around the softness of your stomach.

“Stay still.” He rasps, throaty enough you feel inclined to begrudingly listen and settle down with a growl stuck behind your teeth. “This is just something to make you relax.”

It’s not entirely a lie, he thinks to himself. Nowadays, he only ever beds you if he sees you need to be put into your place or to be sedated. You’re not exactly as smart as you used to be.

He kisses his way down; trails little licks and bites over your stomach, lowering to the jolting of your hips, to the swell of your thighs. Moves a hand to fondle your calves and returning it to join the arms still locked around your hips, using his head to gently nudge your legs a bit wider and teeth to lift up the chiffon dress pillowing around your legs, lingering on your calf; to settle his lips on your clothed mound.

A protestant, breathy noise comes out of you when his mouth ghosts your clothed clit, and he grumbles at it; tugging at the flimsy fabric until it delicately finds its place on the floor.

The cold, dusty, evening air wraps around your clit, the muscles in your legs tightening with the amount of whatever strength you have to use to avoid clamping around his head when he kisses it briefly but so sweetly that an uneasy expression makes home on your face.

A dreadful shiver shoots an arrow straight through your spine then, when that one intimate kiss at your bundle of nerves turns into two, then three, until all that fight and spark in you has been stomped out and worn out into the dirt. Despite that senseless fog that clouds your head, you remain soft and still, legs open and unclamping around his head with the indomitable fear he’d do something less... gratifying than this.

That kiss turns into stripe licked up your clit, a shaky breath forced out of you once again. He gently pulls you closer, just a breathswidth from your fluttering entrance.

You wonder if he feels the way you stiffen under his hands, if he mistakes the way your hips rock as wanting more instead of trying to run away.

“Be good,” he murmurs, breath hot and voice lazy. “and everything else will follow...”

A spawn’s desire to follow their master is something even the likes of you cannot help but submit to, and so with a rough grunt, you finally let loose your tense muscles just enough to let Astarion pull you gently down, to fully ease you on his mouth — so he can really give you that relaxation.

He runs the tip of his tongue over your clit, laving around it and allowing himself a lazy glance up when you abruptly sit up and thread a hand through his hair, chest stuck in a growling air you struggle to take in. Rough as it is, it also sounds lewd – and it’s music pretty enough that he hums and closes his eyes shut, rewarding you with flicks and sucks on the sensitive little thing that only makes you tighten your grip around his perfect curls and dig into his scalp.

A moan can’t be stopped from slithering its way out your mouth, your shoulders working itself lower and the crease between your eyebrows letting up. He wasn’t lying, it feels good, you begrudingly think and huffing in an effort to hide your moan and keep the current of anger from diminishing under pleasure. You find it easy to keep grappling onto it when you feel him crookededly smile against the flesh of you, as if the idea of you adamantly resisting was theatrical and hilarious.

His tongue leaves your clit, delving into your hole and squirming against your walls in a way that has your ears ringing, hand still in his hair. Your eyes shut tight.

You hate him, you think. Hate how he makes you feel this way, makes you feel so alive despite being anything but. And you especially hate yourself for the sharp heat that tugs at your stomach, a thinly-veiled frenzy arching over you.

Ever since the undeath of you, you’ve lacked control; and it’s no easy feat to defy the oncoming slaught of pleasure about to wash over you. Not when his tongue laves around your slick clit in such a way that it makes you throw your head back and dig your heels into his back. So with a moan caged low behind your throat, you convulse, coming in his mouth when you wished for anything but.

“See what being good gets you?” He pulls away and coos at you with his teeth and lips shining, savoring you as if you were just the sweetest pomegranate out there. Your chest heaves as you come down from the high, so weakly throwing him a glare that attests to your damaged pride.

Your eyes flicker around his face and his hands, expecting him to move back and let up, having had his fill of you. But he doesn’t move back, no, he stays smiling at you, lets himself be busied by the frantic pattern of rise and fall by your chest — by the fact you breathe by habit even when you no longer need to.

Your throat bobs; his eyes are quick to narrow and trace the movement.

“You,” you rasp, you speak, the conciousness you fight to grapple on a rope so quickly fraying. Astarion’s smile stretches into a mean, mean grin that makes your skin crawl. “You’re done.”

Your head tricks you into thinking you lack the breath to make the questioning lilt in your words, so it comes out as a demand. One you’re not very sure he takes to kindly.

“Adorable!” He giggles, tapping the tip of your nose. “Silly. No, we aren’t.”

“And you,” Astarion coos again, meaner, reaching out with slick fingers to dig into your cheeks whilst ignoring your flinch and bared teeth. He squeezes your face and patronizingly moves it around as if afflicted with cuteness aggression, like an owner unable to believe his pet wants him to stop giving it pets. “You don’t get to make the demands around here. I–”

He pulls your face closer, his breath fanning your face.

“I do.” He snarls. You give him one back twice as malicious, sharp fingers flying to grip the hand that holds your face captive. “I make the fucking demands around here and you– you listen, and you do what I tell you to do because I—”

He inhales a sharp intake of breath, the fingers on your face digging in just further enough it starts to hurt.

“Honestly, dear.” He laughs like the idea of you having command over him is the funniest thing in the world, but the sound is so taut and forced. A display of theatrics. “If there’s anyone out here worth listening to, it’s me!”

Astarion doesn’t let go much to your dismay, watching you so keenly, drinking in your pain – and you start to hiss when his fingers don’t cease the tightening grip on your face, forcing you back into that instinctive, protective shell. It’s all a blur when you plant your two feet on his chest and kicking him with all your force, knocking him back just a mere distance away, still on the bed but further. He merely scoffs, moreso annoyed than pained, quick to get back on his knees and crawling towards you yet again. His hands grip the comforter, fingertips digging into the softness as he grits his teeth.

“No– no, no, don’t you dare.” Astarion brattily tugs at you, like you’re his favorite toy, until you’re situated beneath him once more, scratching and squirming about. “You will not not run away from me!”

“Not when I’ve been so kind to you,” he spat. It’s between a grit and tease when he says it, and now that he’s between your legs again, he grinds his clothed hips against your cunt. “And I’ve been busy making dresses for you, you know, when really I should be making leashes.”

He offhandedly mentions with a sneer and as if to help visualize the collar, his strong hand goes to wrap around your throat – squeezing just hard enough your breath leaves you all at once. Your mouth gapes open then, floundering to claw at his wrist.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs, mean, mean, mean. Another hand goes to unbuckle his belt, the leather of his pants sliding off and making brief but chilling contact with your thighs. “Would you prefer it with a chain?”

Black dots around the edges of your vision, with the hand on your throat and the dwindling air in your chest, you cannot muster any disapproving sound to his words – and as if to punish you for your silence, he tightens his grip until you’re sure that the skin would be bruised purple and pretty underneath for days. And he watches you, like you’re some form of entertainment, floundering and wincing about for merciful air, distracted enough you don’t notice the heat of his cockhead pressing against your pulsing opening.

Distracted enough you don’t notice with how you’re squirming about for air, you’re grinding yourself against his cockhead.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Whilst you’re busy thinking if this is it, this is the fucking end of it all; you’ll be found dead on the master’s bed in the morning, indecent, monstrous even without a stake in your heart but with blue and purple around your neck instead, Astarion’s attention was charmed like a moth to flame with how you don’t seem to notice you’re still so alive despite having sunken his teeth into your neck and given you his blood.

How you don’t seem to notice that in being undead, you do not even need to breathe anymore. How still you look for the air even unneeded.

Entertained, Astarion hums and releases your throat, settling his hands on your knees as he watches you sputter and cough as the air hits you like debris. The pain in your chest as you take in the missing air is pure catharsis.

“Yes...” He whispers moreso to himself than you, nudging his cockhead against your opening – slick with his spit. “Perhaps a chain would look better than jewelry.”

And with that, he pushes into you with a low hiss, moving slowly enough that you feel the veins and the pulsing of him even as you focus on gasping for air, the pit in your stomach dreadful and the crawl up your spine pleasured. When it feels like he’s snug inside your guts all buried inside, he leans forward and catches your lips into a terribly one-sided kiss. It makes his cock nudge further inside and you flinch from the dull, familiar ache of it all.

“Fuck,” Astarion gasps hot against your mouth and pulls away with a string of spit, slowly dragging his hips and pulling back to watch his length move out your cunt. He slams it back in and you want to shriek but you bite your tongue instead, hating how he deep he is inside of you and how slow he is – like he’s trying to get your walls to take his shape. “—I wish you were always this good for me, little mouse.”

Pleasure is so cruel to you, bowing heavy against your spine as it forces you to arch, forces your legs to spread and take in his cock deeper. Something groaning guttural crawls its way out your throat as you clench your eyes tight and twist the sheets in your fist as you’re thrown gracelessly into the ever-tightening jaw of ecstasy. Your legs shake with a tremor to it, feeling his hand ghost over your hip.

He pulls back again; and slams back inside. Over and over and over again until you feel like you’re turning mad yet again, sweat beading at your forehead and sounds not so easily beckoned now tumbling out your mouth.

You once foolishly thought that with being undead comes the death of sensation in your body – the way your body flinches and burns so alive with every strong nudge of his cockhead into you just proves you so wrong. Sparks fly across your body like rocks trying to make fire when with every collision of his hips against yours, the base of his cock grinds so deliciously against your sensitive, reddened clit.

One particularly rough slam of his hips has you keening; the soft curls on his base bumping your bundle of nerves in a way that has you keening into him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him down, closer and closer until you feel so utterly consumed by him in the same way you did that wretched night.

Another sound, one so feral and from the heart is forced out of you when his hips stutter teasingly, a moan so out of place from a voice unused and locked away when your stomach all but tightens when that thrust forces your hole to slacken and his cock to nudge at something so soft and delicate inside your walls. And you shriek like a murdered woman when he laughs so mean and thrusts even meaner.

He continues to thrust, thrust and thrust like some bully to that one little spongy spot, groaning st your little moan-shrieks. Your mouth stretches into a scowl as your teeth mash together in an effort to sweat through the pure pleasure that swarms your head and makes you see dots, only vaguely aware of the slick foam that runs down your thighs. All purely and humilatingly your arousal.

“A-Astarion,” You raspily grit out, locking your bruised knees around his hips and feeling a pleasant soreness bloom amongst yours when he gives you a response by driving in harder, tracing your throat as you throw your head back. “Astarion.”

Smooth fingers trace your neck before running up your cheek, dragging at the chub of it until your lips are apart and no longer are you scowling nor your teeth gnawing. “What?” Astarion murmurs, slurred and drunkenly kissing away the sweat that’s gathered like freshwater rain on your throat.

You open your eyes, blinking away the sting of tears and sweat mingling – and Astarion looks so godsent, romantic with his own teeth gritted and sweat down his arms as he piledrives into you.

You won’t last – you feel it the way your body is twitching with the exhaustion it takes to build up an orgasm, core burning even with the friction of slick inside. Astarion doesn’t need to be told, so very familiar with your body even in its death; so he dutifully lifts a hand from your hip and gently snakes it towards the in-between, towards your warm pussy until he finds your sensitive little button, circling the pulsing bud immediately and fondly laughing when your legs uncoil around his hips, and you shriek, squirming like you’re about to get murdered a second time. Your mind is fucking melting.

“Astarion,” you choke out, again, this time, more desperately, hand flinging out to grip at his wrist between your legs. His thrusting stutters as your voice breaks and your pretty eyes roll behind your head. “Y-you’re gonna fucking kill me, oh—”

“Don’t be a c-coward, darling.” Astarion is breathless, brows furrowing. He’s close too.

You pant.

You’re about to pop at the seams.

Your tongue lolls with every breath that heaves your chest, the ring of your entrance so tight around his cock as your body trembles with every feverish snap of hips and rub of his fingers against your red, abused bundle of nerves. The sound of slick flesh on flesh so obscene, you feel your body trembling as you throw your head back to the undercurrent of an orgasm — so strong it has white flashing hot behind your eyelids and a final, ragged whimper coming from you.

It only takes a few moments for him to catch up, his hips chasing your clenching as he throbs, pulsing once, twice against your walls until he’s spilling into them with his own warmth, contentedly sighing into the crook of your neck whilst you wince and whine lowly with satisfaction.

You both stay there, unmoving, until the warm semen that runs down your thighs turns cold enough that Astarion feels he should move, slipping out your hole and letting his member hit the cold air as he hisses, sensitive. And apparently, you’re rudely startled awake out of your pliancy with the sound, tensing up like you’re about to run again. He notices before you can and kisses you stupid, lips smacking noisily with yours in a way teasing lovers would do so, before pulling away with a grin and setting you still on the bed with the weight of a blanket on you.

“Oh, no, no, none of that tonight.” You try to wrack a hiss out your scratchy throat – but it comes out as a humiliatingly feeble cough. Astarion, endeared, smiles at it and pecks your forehead, bringing the blanket up to your chin by habit as he once used to when you were sleeping in tents, under nights and by fires. “You’re always running away, you little hellion, you.”

He’s tucking you in.

He’s tucking you in.

He’s an asshole, you think. He must be teasing you. With being undead comes the inability to sleep a wink – only being able to go as far as meditation. And by the gods, you do not want to be stuck thinking of how you just let the man you despise drive his cock and seed into you – and how he’ll do it over and over again if it means you’ll stop acting out for a night or two.

Astarion eyes you, giving you a once-over as if to size up if you’d take your chances and run away. You don’t budge, narrowing your heavy eyes at him and blinking blearily, shifting in the sheets, unwilling to admit to yourself how you like the molten warmth you feel when he looks at you attentively, the warmth that runs down your inner thigh and the warmth of the blankets tucked so nicely around you. He smiles again, smoothing a hand over your hair and lowly murmuring something about cleaning you up later at night where you’re more awake and hopefully, preferably not a bat hanging off the ceiling staring at him with beady eyes.

He hums then – reassured, standing up from the bed with a creak and reaching into the drawer beside his bed for a flimsy pair of thin, reading glasses he wears.

“Be good, and stay here, okay?” He lowly coos, like a husband leaving for war wishing his ill wife goodbye, walking towards the old mahogany door and twisting the knob open. You twist your fingers and clench your eyes shut, enraged and fulfilled all the same. “I’ll see you later, I have work to do, sewing your wedding dress and all.”

The door closes, gently, and you turn to bite the pillow and scream into it.

[trancylovecraft]

can i have yandere kokushibo with a oiran fem reader who is very talented when it comes to singing dancing and arts i want like uh heian period hehe lets just jump back to heian era. sooo here oiran reader likes sakura blossom since kid because it always remind her of her dead mother and when kokushibo kidnapped her and locked her forever in the house he found the oiran reader will also tried to plant sakura blossom outside his house to keep her calm and know that she is still safe or whatever she's still fine

whenever she sees a beautiful sakura blusom (i know this is so random but this is my first time requesting T-T)

(KNY) YANDERE! KOKUSHIBO x READER: Renewal Season

Turn. Left foot. Right foot. Spin. Stray.

The movements of the girls body seemed to flow throughout the crowd like water. Her hips swayed along to the roaring music of the festival.

The people inside bustling crowd around her couldn't help but stop and stare as she danced past them, Only leaving a faint scent of Cherry blossom in her wake.

She gripped a branch of Sakura blossoms, Which in the dance she was doing would usually substitute for Wisteria instead. However the flush pink of the petals set her apart from the other dancers making their way around the festival.

Not to mention her soft voice singing along to the music, Of which one could only hear as she passed by.

The celebrations roared in honour of the announcement of the Heian period. Named after the city the festivities took place in, Heian-Kyo. The capital of Japan had been moved by the emperor Kammu.

So of course the party was in full swing. The courtesan houses that were hosted in the more scummy part of town of course had to take full advantage of this. They sent some of their workers to perform out in the streets to try and attract business.

This included [F/N], The respectable Oiran of the Haruka-House. Who was known for her particular finesse with a koto, Her enticing voice that resonated within your stomach and her particular adoration of Sakura.

She was beautiful, Both in looks, personality and movement. Her hair was decorated with bejewelled pins of all colour, All tied up into a beautiful style pinned up at the top. Her kimono was lined with gold twine and coloured a deep red which swayed about like a hypnotists watch as she moved.

The stares burned into her figure, Warm stares. The made her shift uncomfortably and tried to avert her own gaze away from theirs. She exhaled. You're an Oiran, You should be use to this by now, [F/N].

Push through it, [F/N]. You know exactly why you're doing this.

She swayed around again, Moving throughout the crowd swiftly. The stares only intensified as she went along.

She could pick out a particular stare from wherever it came from, She couldn't tell.

While the crowd's stare was warm, A light boil that made her squirm. The stare she could pick out was hot. Burning hot.

The kind of stare that made a shiver crawl up her back and make her shoulders tighten up in disgust.

She felt uncomfortable from the feeling. As soon as she took another turn she pulled the cherry branch up to her dolled up face and inhaled, Letting the subtle aroma invade and take over her senses as she closed her eyes. Letting the smell swallow her whole.

☆♡☆

The delicate breeze blew over the roseate coloured forest in the neigh afternoon. The light cold wind brushed over the woman's porcelain skin and ran through her hair, Making it sway lightly in the wind.

She examined a branch of the sakura tree's lining the forest and surrounded her families house, Which sat in a clearing on top of a valley overlooking the entire woodland. The house of a modest size, It's windows were open so the spring breeze could envelop the inside rooms and bring about an uplifting mood to the entire family living in it.

There was a rocky stone pathway leading up to the front steps of the house. The rocks that were lodged into the path were jagged and rough. Showing that they haven't been tended to in a good long while.

"Mum! Mum!" A young voice called out in the distance.

The woman looked up from the branch to see her daughter clamber down the porch steps and sprint over to her mothers position at the edge of the hill.

Her mother turned around just in time to see [F/N] jump onto her, Giving her mother a rather aggressive hug.

"Ah! [F/N]" Her mother exclaimed. She looked away from the sakura to look down at her daughter.

"Did I scare you? Did I scare you this time?!" [F/N] giggled. She shook her mother a little in excitement.

Her mother was graced with a small smile and she nodded. "Yes, You got me very good. Gave me the fright of my life, Sweetheart." Her mother laughed and [F/N]'s face lit up with achievement.

"Yay!" [F/N] cried and jumped down from hugging her mother who stumbled from the unexpected movement. The sakura branch she was holding was tugged along with her, Causing her mother to gasp.

"Careful! [F/N]. You almost made me break a branch off." Her mother tutted and went to examine the branch for any damage.

[F/N] pouted.

"I don't get it, Mum. Why do you like the big pink trees so much" She huffed, Stomping her foot.

Despite her mother's constant love and affection [F/N] couldn't help but feel a little envy towards the plants. Her mother adored them and was always the first one out of the house to look at the blooming roseate leaves. Not to mention her kimono was patterned with cherry blossom designs.

Her mother hummed.

"I don't really have a reason why, [F/N]. I don't really need one." She said. Not taking her eyes off the blooming leaves.

"Still! What do they even do?" [F/N] scoffed.

Her mother finally looked away from the leaves and gave her daughter a knowing smile, She sighed and crouched down onto one knee to look at her daughter straight in the eyes.

"Well… The reason they are here is to bring forth spring. As the sakura appear and go they will leave behind green leaves. That's a use, Without them you wouldn't be able to play in the fallen leaves which I know you love so much" Her mother explained. She booped [F/N]'s nose to which she giggled.

"I know, I know! But still. Is that really all?" [F/N] asked. Her mother shook her head.

"Well they also mean things too, [F/N]" She said. [F/N]'s face scrunched up in confusion, But decided to listen along.

"As the blossoms come and go they can symbolise life and the short time we have here." Her mother started, She turned back to the leaves.

"As the sakura tree's disappear in favour of the leaves they come back just as strong the next year meaning renewal." Her mother finished, Her voice filled with wonder.

[F/N] looked up at her mother. The same sense of wonder she felt seemed to rise in [F/N] as well.

"Just as strong?" [F/N] asked.

Her mother nodded and looked down at [F/N] as she smiled.

"Now come on you little rascal, Your father needs to head out to work soon and we better go prepare him breakfast." Her mother laughed and grabbed [F/N]'s little hand. Helping balance her on the heavy rocky pathway she set off.

She stumbled a little on the pathway, Lightly pulling [F/N] in her movements. She sighed.

"Better fix this pathway soon. I swear.. One day me, You or your father will have such a bad trip that our heads will be spinning for days" She complained softly to her daughter.

"Is that something we can do together?" [F/N] asked, Looking into her mothers eyes for the answer.

Her mother smiled.

"We'd be better off to wait until the summer. The petals from the cherry tree's will be an issue when they get onto the path." She explained. [F/N] tilted her head in confusion

"..That means yes, Sweetheart." She confirmed.

"Yay!" The young girl sqeaked.

[F/N] giggled. She followed her mother back to their house as sakura leaves fell from the tree's behind them.

☆♡☆

The festival had ended not so long ago.

While celebrations were still occurring their intensity wasn't as big as it was earlier. [F/N] felt so very tired from the performing, Her muscles ached and her only desire right now was to get an early nights sleep.

Her usual makeup and hair-do she wore was lightly ruffled from the events of the night.

With the calming down of the festivities [F/N] had long ago returned to the house of which she worked. As she entered she couldn't help but notice the rather large crowd at the entrance.

Her performance had done well, Really well. Both her flowing movements and her god-sent voice had attracted a large amount of men to her house, All more than willing to pay for their time with her.

[F/N] gripped the sakura branch tighter. The men had noticed her arrival and had rushed up to her. [F/N] stumbled back from the sudden intrusion as the men crowded around her and started yelling.

"Me first, I got here early and missed out on half the festival for this!"

"No way. I got here way earlier man, Back off"

"Liar!"

One of the men raised a fist and was about to swing it at the other. However a tutting sound rung loud from the far side of the room making the entire crowd drop silent.

Haruka-sama, The woman who owned and managed the house had quieted the crowd.

Haruka-sama was a small old lady who had a rather grouchy face and a greed stronger than any other. Her beady little eyes looked around at the crowd with an opportunistic glare, Similar to how a fox would glare at a defenceless rabbit.

"Step away from the girl now.. Step away!" Haruka said, Pushing her way easily through the crowd of men she grabbed [F/N] by the hand and pulled her out.

She dragged [F/N] to the front of the house and started positioning her body to be straight and proper. As she did [F/N] felt beads of sweat build up on her forehead and her jaw trembling.

Haruka-sama finished dolling [F/N] up. She seen the nervousness on [F/N]'s face before shooting her a warning look. One that [F/N] recognised well.

Pull yourself together, You're the Oiran of this house. Steady that jaw and wipe off the sweat and make me some money.

Despite [F/N]'s dear want to stand up to Haruka-sama, The want to deny all of these men and go to bed. She couldn't, Her contract could be revoked in a moment. She couldn't afford to lose it for a moment.

So instead of speaking up, She clenched her jaw and lightly wiped off the sweat from her brow. Her lips wrenched themselves into a lovely little smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She clasped her hands low and stiffened up her body, Giving her a more mannequin look than human.

Haruka hobbled round to the front of the house and faced the crowd of customers with a wide smile.

"Alright, Alright! It may be closing hours but I'm sure our lovely Oiran here can spare another session, But to decide who gets the slot we'll start a bidding. How about we start at about… 20,776 yen. Any takers?" Haruka called out to the crowd which went wild on the announcement of the bidding.

"25,970!" One of the louder men called out.

"27,701!" Another yelled.

The crowd kept shouting out higher and higher numbers, [F/N] felt her body shake despite her constant effort of steadying herself.

Voices yelled even higher than the numbers as the crowd grew closer to the front of the house.

The customers eyes burned into her like hot coals and she was scrutinized by all in the room. Her clasped hands built up sweat, Her breath steady yet heavy. She tried to look away when the sound of the shoji doors to the house slid open.

"500,000 yen."

The room went silent.

Haruka-sama's beady little eyes widened in shock to the man who had suddenly appeared, The money waved in his hand. Haruka's jaw opened slack.

"Sold!" She screamed, Pointing her finger to man standing in the doorway with the most giddy joy she had felt in years.

[F/N]'s body went rigid. Her mind went wild at the number, 500,00?! Who is this man? Who would want to pay that much just to have a single session with her of all people.

The man was tall, Taller than anyone else in the room. He wore a loose purple nagagi kimono with a intricate hexagonal pattern woven into it, It looked expensive which [F/N] figured. He also wore a dark hakama and a white uwa-obi as a belt tied fit around his waist which also held a katana and sheathe.

His hair was tied up into a pony-tail with spiky tips that faded into red at the ends. She looked to his face, However she was unable to see it as he wore a rather large kama, The typical hat a samurai would wear, That covered his face entirely.

He stood there in the doorway waving the money. And despite his face being covered [F/N] could still feel his stare through the thing… It felt hot.

[F/N] shivered as she remembered it was the same hot feeling from earlier, The man must of been the one looking at her during the festival.

All of crowd from earlier was hushed out of the house by Haruka-sama, Muttering curses to the final bidder who didn't seem to react to any of their words.

Finally when the house was evacuated. All there was left was [F/N], The man and Haruka-sama.

They sat in total silence. [F/N] stared dead eyed at the man, Who seemed to look back at her with that inferno of a gaze. She squirmed under the weight of it.

Suddenly a hand clapped out of nowhere.

They both turned to Haruka. Whose usual grouchy, Scrunched up face was contorted into a wide grin.

"Well then.." She said.

Haruka hobbled over to the sliding shoji door and pulled it open, She bowed down in respect to the man.

"After you."

☆♡☆

The tension in the air was thick, So much so that you could feel it seep into your skin.

The room the pair sat on was located on the highest floor of the courtesan house that towered over the other buildings around it. The room was home to a balcony that looked out over the dark night in Heian-Kyo, Only lit up by the paper lanterns from the long gone festival and the stars looking over the bustling streets like eyes.

The room was home to a small centre table, A dresser with a polished mirror on top and filled to the very brim with Sakura themed decorations. From paintings, To bedsheets to the very plant itself potted on the furniture. It was everywhere. Even the light scent resonated in the air.

It however, Just wasn't enough to calm the girl down as [F/N] nervously tuned the delicate strings on her koto from across the table. A single bead of sweat rolled down her side brow. Her eyes stead set on the knobs to avoid the hot gaze from across the table. Hot. She recognised it, He must of been the source of the scorching stare from within the crowd somewhere. It didn't help her situation in the slightest as it just made [F/N]'s figure freeze up, Her body on guard.

Ever since Haruka had lead them to [F/N]'s room he hadn't said a word, Just went to sit down on the tatami mat, Unmoving. The Kama overshadowed his face, Making it impossible to see his expression.

Was he sad? Angry? Or was [F/N] just overthinking things, It had been a long night after all and she was prone to a little paranoia now and then.

The sweat bead dropped to the floor and hit her kimono sleeve. Her lips twitched as she managed to drag her gaze up to the man, Whose large hat still covered his eyes. Twisting her mouth into the usual smile you'd see on an Oiran, She spoke.

"..If I may ask sir, What is a man like you doing around here? Samurai don't often come around these parts, You know." Her voice was light in tone. A tone that was friendly and gentle in nature, Enticing him on.

The man didn't make a move to speak however. Just sat there. Staring.

Her face quirked, Only for a moment.

"What about your name, Sir?" She tried again, Her voice only lilting in tone to a slight.

Again. Nothing.

[F/N] felt her hands on her koto clench up, Her eyes following the movement. The feeling felt-

"Kokushibo."

[F/N] looked up. The surprise pulsating in her chest as she realised the man, Now Kokushibo, Had spoken to her. Her previously ridged form fizzled into a more relaxed posture, The awkward air in the room dissolving just a little bit.

"Kokushibo.. What an interesting name" She said, Letting the name roll on her tounge. She stopped tuning her koto and thought for a moment, Pondering over the spelling

"I believe the kanji for that can mean 'Black Death'. If I am correct." She asked. The reason why a mother would name their child such a macabre title eluded her.

Kokushibo simply nodded.

"And yours is.. [F/N]. Yes?" He spoke. His voice was gravelly and deep that held a commanding undertone that made a shiver run down [F/N]'s back.

Stilling her form she nodded.

"While I do not understand the kanji.. Of your first name. I do believe your last name can mean.. 'Poetic Voice'" He said.

[F/N]'s brows raised. Her last name, Kotone. Did in fact mean those exact words. However that wasn't the thing that surprised her so much.

"How did you know my last name" She asked, Tilting her head to the man. Who sat in silence for a second.

"Your chaperone woman.. Mentioned it on the walk here." He said. [F/N] internally groaned. Of course the old woman had told him on the walk up here. She was always so talkative to the high-paying customers, It was her strategy. She'd talk to them about anything and everything relating the courtesan the customer had bought out, All to try and make the customer feel attached so they'd come back for more.

But something else seemed to click. Even if Haruka had mentioned her last name how could he have known the exact kanji spelling of her name. Was it a good guess or something more? Sensing the look on [F/N]'s face, Kokushibo piped up.

"If I may be honest.. I have been.. Infatuated with you, Your voice, for a long while now.. I learned the spelling from asking around.. I apologise." He explained. His head tilted down, His kama following the movement. Was he shameful?

No. He was shy. [F/N] felt a cordial smile creep up on her face, It explained a lot. His silence earlier wasn't due to any negative emotion or disturbing pathology but instead just a bout of stage fright.

"I see. I suppose you've been told of my talents from asking, too." She decided go along in a playful voice, The one she'd usually harness to tend to customers. Despite how much she felt uneasy using it, It did bring about tips.

"Yes.. In fact, It is the entire reason.. I have decided to come here in the first place." Kokushibo remarked. His hands previously positioned on his knees moved up to the tea-set placed on the table separating the two and poured himself a cup.

"I want you to play.. A piece on your koto for me." He said, Bringing the tea up to his mouth still cloaked by his hat. And took a sip. [F/N] nodded.

"Anything specific you want me to play?" She asked. Moving the koto in front of her body she finished the tuning process and rested a hand on the strings.

"One where.. I can hear your voice. One where you can sing." His voice contained a low tone of wonder, Seemingly reminiscing on a thought.

"Alright then.. Let's see here." [F/N] trailed off, Her mind wandered to her catalogue of songs. Trying to pick out one that she thought the man would enjoy.

Neurons connected. She'd gotten it.

Her carefully manicured hand ran over the spindly strings of her koto, Sounding out the first few delicate notes of her symphony. The strings resonated against the neat and polished birch wood of the koto. A rhythm started to form.

Kokushibo's shoulders seemed to relax at the soft tune, While she could not see his face she could tell he was entranced.

Her lips opened to annunciate the first lyrics to her malady, As soon as she did Kokushibo's relaxed figure stiffened up. The grip on his teacup tightened, He took a shaky breath.

The lyrics flowed out of her like running water, The chords on her koto harmonised with her heavenly voice and the music ruminated throughout the room and echoed from the wooden walls. Drowning out the noise of the street below them and replacing it with concentrated vocal artistry as she sung out the words.

"Well hello world, Wouldn't you know. Your nails were yellow and mine a miracle blue.." The first lyric to the chorus was announced and Kokushibo seemed to melt. Her voice sounded like a morning cardinals call, Like Benzaiten's being had graced her vocal chords in that single moment.

She seemed lost in her music, Too. Her eyes were closed and her body focused on moving along to the beat of the strings. A small smile lit up on her face as she went along.

"If you knew what I knew, You would too.." The final note on her koto rung out through the room, The song ending. It was such a short song, But as both [F/N] and Kokushibo were in drawn into the iron grip of the rhythm it had felt like an eternity.

[F/N] inhaled deeply for air, Her shoulders retracting. She set down her koto beside her with care.

"A beautiful song.. It is one of my favourites. I hope it was up to your standards, sir?" She asked, A playful tone masking her genuine and sincere question.

Kokushibo in turn put down his half-drunken cup onto the table. "It was.. The most beautiful song I've ever heard .." He proclaimed, His voice was ripe with wonder and awe which made [F/N] take in a deep breath, Taking in all of his praise she smiled wider.

"I am glad you liked it sir. Please, Would you like me to do anything else for you?" [F/N] offered. She went to the tea-set in front of them both and picked up the kettle.

"No.. But. I would wish to ask a question. If that is alright with you." He responded.

[F/N] gestured for him to continue on.

"Completely alright with me." She confirmed. She poured herself her own blend: Sakurayu. She filled the cup up with steaming water and mixed the little flower petals around.

Just as she brought the sweet smelling liquid up to her mouth he answered her.

"How much exactly.. Does your marriage contract cost?"

[F/N] choked on her tea.

The question had came out of left field making the tea she had just made burn her throat. She coughed and covered her mouth, Preventing any loose drops spilling out from her lips.

Kokushibo passed over a tissue, To which she gratefully accepted.

Once [F/N] finally churned out the last bit of tea out of her system she wiped her mouth. Careful to reserve her lipstick.

"T-That was a rather blunt way of asking." [F/N] said, Her throat still hoarse.

"I apologise.." He said. However his voice remained monotone, Sending mixed signals back to her.

"No, No. It's fine. In fact, I feel flattered that you would ask about that." She started, A nervous smile appearing on her face.

"But unfortunately my contract was bought out by another samurai only a day ago. I do apologise, If you were intending to buy." She explained, Her voice apologetic as she bowed her head lightly.

Kokushibo froze up.

His previously relaxed shoulders and lain hands both seemed to stiffen up. The warm look he used to gaze at [F/N] seemed to return to that hot, Boiling stare. The one from the festival, The one from before. Noticing the glare she had regressed to how she'd been at the start as well: Awkward and uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry sir." She blurted out.

Kokushibo's kama lowered down to follow the movement of his head. He was quiet, Silent.

"Would you like me to play another song for you?" She asked. Trying to destroy the buildup of uneasy air.

Kokushibo shook his head, Making [F/N] feel just a little nervous down by his response.

"No.. I do believe.. That I have heard enough." He said. For some reason the way he said it made [F/N]'s lip twitch, But shook it off when Kokushibo got up from sitting down.

She followed him up, Fixing her kimono and her hair-do she bowed down to him in respect. A polite gesture to thank him for his civilised behaviour.

She figured that his session with her had decidedly ended, That was good. While she did enjoy his company and the song she sung for him it didn't change that fact that she was exhausted.

"Alright then. Please, Let me get the door for you." [F/N] said. Passing by the man she moved over to the decorated shoji doors and grabbed the handle. Sliding it open she went to-

SMACK!

[F/N]'s body fell to the floor, Her knees hit the tatami mat followed by her head which got hit off the wooden doorframe.

The hilt of Kokushibo's sword moved so fast that [F/N] couldn't even sense it crashing into the back of her skull, Leaving her dazed and barely conscious on the wooden floorboards. She was confused, Dizzy and completely unaware of what was going on, All she knew was the feeling of her fight or flight instinct kicking in.

She whined in pain. Her arms weakly extending out to try and get up, To get away, To run from the opposing danger looming over her. To survive.

But it proved futile as Kokushibo leaned down to pick up her seemingly weightless body into his arms.

She tried to scream, To yell and call out for any other courtesan in the area. Anyone who might hear. But it only came out as babbles of incoherent language as her assailant flung her over his shoulder with an inhuman strength.

"Please, Sir.. Why… What are you.. What are you doing?!" She groaned, Her vision cloudy and her head the raging storm that throbbed painfully in the place of impact. Kokushibo only let out a low hiss through his teeth.

"Quiet!" He spat. His previously shy behaviour now broken and replaced with an aggressive demeanour. His presence now dangerous and coupled with the vicious tone in voice made [F/N] shake.

"Please.. I.." She whispered as he carried her over his shoulder and made his way to the open balcony doors. She pushed at his chest, Kicked, Flailed about in his grasp all to try and get him off of her. But it didn't work, He never budged or even moved in the slightest. Only squeeze her tighter and tighter as a warning.

He had made his way out onto the balcony porch. Looking out over the sea of buildings and crowded life flowing up from the city below he walked over and put a single, Sandal-clad foot onto the balcony railway.

[F/N]'s eyes expanded in horror in realisation of what he was doing. She wailed out into the cold night air as Kokushibo put his final foot on the railing, Effectively balancing on the thin wood.

His figure wobbled on the railings, They dangled over the street below which was filled with people making their way around, If she fell it would be at least 90ft drop. She wouldn't survive that height.

[F/N] at this point was sobbing, Kokushibo's grip may have been strong but as she was faced with the height of the tower she felt like she would slip any moment, Fall the entire distance and hit the street with a loud crack.

She cried out.

"P-Please! Somebody! Help me!" She screamed out into the crowd below, Her voice cracking as it went.

"Quiet. NOW!" Kokushibo growled like a feral animal, She cried out at his tone

The feet on the banister spread out and his knees crouched down. [F/N] realised what he was doing and tried harder and harder to push away from his grip.

She yelled louder and louder at the people below. Screaming for help but it was useless. They were too high up for anyone to hear them.

And then, He jumped.

Going through the air at unnatural speeds her hair lashed all over her face like whips. The wind ran through them both as they went. She realised this was it, She was going to die. She closed her eyes tight in anticipation of the fall but-

The wind died down. [F/N]'s hair fell over her face.

Kokushibo stood strong on the tiled roof of the building adjacent from the courtesan house, His ponytail waved in the light breeze that now accompanied the two. He was unfazed.

"Wha.. What?" [F/N] choked out. The height even from the courtesan house to here was enough to severely injure someone, Yet he came out without a single scratch. She looked back at him.

She yelled at the sight of him, Finally breaking out of her dizzy stupor. His face. His bloody face had six eyes. Six eyes, Six. They were all red and strained, His pupils were golden and glowing. He wasn't human, He was a demon, An oni. And he was kidnapping her.

"No.. No no no no!" She wailed out, Her eyes were fixed onto his. She couldn't look away, Looking into his eyes was like looking out into a terrible accident. Blood, Guts and broken bones, It was horrible yet she could never bring her eyes away.

Her previous yells for help amped up into a panic attack as she struggled in his grasp. Punching, Kicking doing anything to escape.

Kokushibo made a noise in his throat speaking agitation and anger.

Bringing a single, Clawed hand up to the back of her neck he lunged it forward. Pinching a nerve point [F/N]'s entire body stopped moving.. Then went limp on his shoulder.

Her eyelids failed to lift, They were too heavy. Everything seemed to stop in time and nothing mattered anymore.

She faded into the dark haze. Going unconscious on the shoulder of the demon kidnapping her.

☆♡☆

The pot bubbled hanging over the fire. It crackled every now and then, Spitting up drops of water that fell down around it.

Outside the moon hung over the lush roseate forest, Only clothed by the young build of clouds forming in the sky.

Moonlight illuminated the rustling branches of the trees, They danced in the wind letting a few petals stray from their grasp and fall onto the overgrown grasslands that surrounded the family home on the hill.

Despite the cold air of the night the house was warm and lit up with life. The house was filled with noise of cooking. The pot boiling, The sound of knife on cutting board and the spark of fire all mixed together to create a lively atmosphere. The kitchen especially.

Inside, A man was currently facing the kitchen counter chopping vegetables with precision. [F/N] sat beside him on the counter swinging her legs back in forth. She huffed.

"Papa I'm booooooored.." She whined, Puffing up her cheeks she looked at her father.

"I know, Sweetheart. But you've got to be patient. After you've had your dinner your mother can take you outside, Alright?" Her father said, A soft smile coming across his face, He shook his head at his daughters antics and focused his attention back to the vegetables.

"But papaaaaaa I wanna do something now.." [F/N] groaned folding her arms with a dramatic flair.

Her father chuckled lightly. He paused his movements for a moment and set down the knife he was holding. Picking up a couple of onions he held them out to her.

"Well if you really want to do something, Then how about you peel these onions for me?" He said.

"That's not what I meant, I don't want to peel onions!" [F/N] groaned. Her father only responded in kind, Setting down the pair of onions beside her.

"Alright then! If you don't want to then I won't force you." He smiled knowingly, Turning back to his knife and veg.

As he continued cutting [F/N] kept eyeing the onions beside her, She tried to drag her eyes away from the pair but eventually the boredom took over. With a dramatic sigh she picked up the pair of onions and got to work.

"I thought you didn't want to peel the onions, [F/N]." Her father teased, The smile on his face victorious.

[F/N] just hummed.

"Making cooking go faster so I can go outside quicker!" She explained, Her tone suggests that her father should of already known this, While he did. [F/N] didn't notice.

"Now who wants to go outside?"

[F/N]'s head snapped around to the source of the new voice, It was her mother.

Stepping out from another room in the house her mother appeared with a sweet smile on her face. She carried a basket full of laundry in her arms and balanced it as she walked out into the kitchen.

"Mum! Mum!" [F/N] giggled, Raising one hand to wave wildly at her mother as she came over to set down the laundry basket.

Picking [F/N] up she raised her daughter up high, To whom only laughed harder in her grasp.

"Now what are you doing on the countertop, Sweetheart?" Her mother teased.

"She's helping me make dinner, Aren't you [F/N]?" Her father said.

"Really? Are you helping your father to make dinner?" Her mother smiled.

[F/N] grinned back at her mother.

"Yeah! I'm peeling the onions, See!" [F/N] exclaimed, Pointing down at the half-peeled onions with a proud expression. Her mother gasped.

"Oh, Wow! You've done such a good job!" Her mother said back. She brought her daughter down back onto the countertop. Turning to her husband she gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"How's dinner going?" She asked, A short smile appearing on her face.

"Just about done with the vegetables. The pot seems ready so all I need to do is get the bay leaves." Her father responded. Copying his wife's smile.

"Bay leaves.. Are you sure we stocked up on those?" Her mother asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Erm.. Yeah, I went out to the village and bought some last week, Remember?" Her father said. Her mothers expression turned into a look of doubt.

"Really? I thought you went out for those vegetables and rice. No offense but you do know how bad your memory is right, Kyuusei?" Her mother answered.

"Yeah! It was the veg!" [F/N] confirmed, Swinging her legs on the counter.

Kyuusei finished chopping the vegetables and stood still, Trying to recollect his memories.

"I.. I'd need to go check to make sure." Kyuusei said. Setting down his knife on the counter he was about to go and check before being stopped by his wife putting a hand on his shoulder.

"No, No. It's fine. I'll go check up on the bay leaves and you just focus on boiling the veg, Okay?" She told him, A reassuring smile on her face.

Kyuusei nodded.

"Thanks, Seishi." Her father said.

"No problem. Just make sure not to overcook the veg this time." Seishi teased with a grin. Kyuusei rolled his eyes and promised not to, Concealing the copied grin on his face.

As his wife walked off towards the door she previously came out of. Kyuusei collected the chopping board in his hands and moved over the steaming pot.

Readying his knife he loomed over the pot, Scraping the freshly cut vegetables into the boiling water they hit the surface with a splash.

The ripple created little droplets of water that flew up from the impact with a rather big one going up and hitting Kyuusei's bare skin.

He yelped and dropped the chopping board in his hands, Letting the unscraped vegetables scatter onto the floor with him following quickly behind. [F/N] yelled out and jumped down from the counter, Running over to her father.

"Dad? Dad! Are you alright? What's wrong?" [F/N] cried, Latching onto his wrist.

"Argh..!" Her father seethed, Looking down at the place where the water burned. The space had already started to create colour contrast and it stung badly.

The shoji door slid open and out rushed Seishi, Alerted by her husbands yelp and tightly clutching a few clovers in her hands. She gasped, Ignoring the spilled vegetables she stepped on she and hurried over to her husbands side.

"Kyuusei! Dear, Are you alright?" She worried and grabbed his burnt hand to examine the damage. Kyuusei nodded

"I-I'm fine.. Ah. It's just-" Kyuusei gestured vaguely to the floor below him "Dinner is ruined, The stuff in the pot isn't enough for all of us and we don't have anything left in the house. What are we gonna do?" He sighed.

Seishi pondered, Her eyes wandering away as she tried to work up an idea. Out of nowhere she snapped her fingers brining both her husband and daughters attention to her.

"The rice! You bought rice last week, Right?" Seishi exclaimed.

Her father slowly nodded, Getting the idea.

"Yes! Right, I left the bag in the shed down the hill. I'll go get it, Do we have enough Bay leaves? We can use that in the rice." He asked.

"No, I'll go down to get the rice. I haven't counted the bay leaves so you can stay here and do that" Seishi replied.

"Really? I can go get the rice no problem, Are you sure?" Kyuusei asked.

"I'm sure. Plus, You should make sure that hand's okay." Her mother smiled, Rubbing circles into her husbands hand. Kyuusei smiled, His other hand going over to rest on his wife's.

"I wish I had your quick thinking, Seishi. I really do." He muttered.

"And I wish I had your rice cooking skills." Seishi responded. Her eyes glinted like the stars outside, Capturing her husbands gaze into them.

He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips up to hers. A short, sweet kiss that's warmth lingered on the lips when he pulled away to beam down at her.

"Thank you, Dear." He said. Their faces still rather close, So much so that their foreheads touched.

"It's no problem." She chuckled. And with that she moved away and over to the front door.

[F/N], Who spaced out the entirety of her parents interaction, Finally clocked back into reality when her mother started turning the doorknob.

"Mum! Where are you going?" [F/N] called out, Tugging on her mothers sakura-woven kimono.

Seishi looked down to her daughter, Her hand still on the doorknob she kneeled down to her daughters level and rested her other hand on her head.

"Just going out to get some more rice for dinner, Alright? I won't be too long." Seishi said, Lightly brushing back loose strings of [F/N]'s hair.

"Can I come with you..?" [F/N] pouted, Trying to produce the best puppy dog eyes she could muster.

"I think it would be better if you stayed here.. After all" Her mothers tone grew into a whisper between them

"Your dad will need a lot of help, His hand hurts a lot and I think your gonna need to take care of him." Her mother muttered, Raising her hand as a barrier so it was only between them.

"Really?" [F/N] said.

"Really. You better promise to take care of him alright?" She said. Raising a single pinky finger up to her daughter, Beckoning her to take it.

Slowly, [F/N] raised her own pinky finger up to her mothers and wrapped it around her mothers larger one.

"Alright.." [F/N] spoke, A hint of disappointment still lacing her voice as her mother got up from kneeling down.

"Be back soon!" Seishi called out to Kyuusei who shouted back a goodbye from another room. Opening the door she stepped out into the night.

"Bye mum!" [F/N] said. Just as the door closed tight.

☆♡☆

[F/N]'s body felt limp.

The room she lay in smelled old, Reminiscent of dust filled air and a strange pungent smell of iron. She couldn't hear much, Only the settling of wood and insects occasionally buzzing around her at times.

She couldn't move her body. Everything from her head to her toes felt like it was too relaxed to get up. This extended to her eyelids as well as they felt like weights were hanging from her eyelashes, Tugging them closed every time she tried to open them up.

Her mind felt dazed too, A dull and throbbing pain pulsating through the back of her skull. She could barely render anything around her as she could only fixate on her overrelaxed body.

She tried wiggling her fingers first. A few small twitches going into the fingertips, It was a start.

From her fingertips it went to into her hands, Then her feet then her lower legs. All until she could move freely with only a leftover feeling akin to a sleeping leg.

Finally wrenching her eyes open she blinked a few times to try rub the feeling off and stared up towards the ceiling, Though hard to see in the darkness.

Her previously weighted eyelids shot open, A shock ran through her body. Where was she?

She felt around with her hands, She seemed to be laying on top of a futon

Panic coursed through her system along with the events that occurred some amount of time ago. How long has she been out?

Despite her breaking out of her bodies numb state the hangover feeling was still present and in full affect.

Bringing her shoulder back she tried to swing her body round onto its side. Failing the first few tries she landed straight back to where she was.

She breathed in and out to try and calm herself. Turning to the other side of the futon facing the wall she built up momentum, And in one swift move her body swung over onto its side to face the rest of the room.

She smirked triumphantly and finally let her gaze survey her surroundings.

The room she was in a long rectangle shape. It was old, Definetly, The cobwebs and dust particles proved the fact. Despite not being able to see well in the very dim lighting in the room [F/N] could see It was rather empty as well.

Housing only a rickety closet with doors barely hanging on its hinges, A dresser covered in dust with a couple of the drawers missing. There was also a rather ancient rug stretching the entire length of the room that seemed to have patterns on it which faded over time. As well as the strange lump laying on the far end of the ru-

Oh god..

Oh good god..

She screamed

[F/N] felt bile rise in her throat. Rising so high that her high pitched scream turned into choking and gagging noises until she finally keeled over and belched out the vomit onto the wooden floorboards, Sputtering and spitting out the rest.

She let out a loud wail. She stared wide eyed at the scene, At the mass of which she previously thought was a lump.

A human corpse or what remained of it lay scattered on top of the blood-stained carpet. It was mangled, From the limbs to the torso to the spilled innards it was mangled.

Limbs lay tossed around the dismembered torso, Barely holding on by the stringy tendons keeping them hanging from the ligaments.

The bits of flesh still kept on the bone seemed to have chunks ripped out of them, Torn off roughly from their structure. The mans organs and intestines were lain out like a buffet platter, Neatly ordered from largest to smallest in front of him.

And the head, Good god, The head. It sat facing her, Eyes bulging out of their sockets and dark pupils staring right at her, Bloodshot and strained. She stared back, Eyes almost as wide as his.

The worst part? She recognised him. It was the man who bought out her marriage contract, She had only met him once but it was him.

His heart was lodged into his mouth, Stuffed right down his throat and stretching his jaw so wide it creating a permanent look of horror on his visage. Maggots and flies had already started to infest his remains, Attracted to the corpse like worms to rain.

[F/N] screamed, Yelled and cried with her throat still suffering from the burn the vomit made.

She burrowed herself into the corner of her futon, Desperately trying to get away from the unspeakable horror laying only a few feet away from her. She pushed herself further and further into the corner, She buried her hands into her face trying to get the sight out a she flailed around.

Her mind was already racing with questions: How did this happen? Why was she here? Why is this happening to her? The questions were the roadblock her train of thought crashed into and the mangled body was the wreck she couldn't look away from.

She was so preoccupied that she never noticed the overshadowing presence grab onto her wrist and pry her hands away from her face. She looked up, It was him. All six eyes glaring down at her.

She yelled, Tears shot out of her face and she tried to get away. She kicked and struggled in his iron tight hold as she tried her best to push him off of him.

"Stop.. Struggling!" He hissed, Trying to wrangle her into being still. It proved no use however, No matter how hard he tried to sheperd her into a docile state she was inconsolable. Her cries were broken only by hiccups and his presence just made her heartrate skyrocket.

"I SAID STOP!" He hollered. Baring his shark-like canines at her she didn't need to realise how the chunks got ripped off her never-to be husbands corpse. Her choked sobs dissolved down into coughs and quiet cries of agony.

"P-Please.. I.. I.. Don't kill me please! I-I don't wanna die.. Please just bring me back to the courtesan house.. I-I need to go back there.. You don't understand I need.. I need to go back.." She bawled.

Kokushibo's nose twitched at her words.

"Silly girl.. I have no intention of killing you." He growled like a feral animal, His previously commanding voice progressing into a primal sort of wild grumble resonating deep within his throat.

[F/N] shook her head in a rapid movement, Confusion mixing into her previous terror.

"T-Then why.. Why am I alive.. I-I don't.. I don't understand.." She babbled. Her fingers digging into her scalp harder she tugged on her hair.

"If you haven't.. Figured it out by now then.. Let me clear the fog for you.." He muttered. His face moved closer to [F/N]'s who tried backing away further into the corner, However she was stopped when his hand lunged to the back of her head and forced it closer to his. So close that their foreheads touched.

"From now on.. You are to be my bride.. My wife." He proclaimed in the faintest of whispers. All six of his eyes focused on hers of which spoke terrified confusion.

"Y-You want me to be your wife?!" She spoke with a tone wobbling in pitch. She didn't understand, She couldn't understand.

His nose twitched again, His expression unreadable.

"Yes.. My wife." Kokushibo confirmed with a slight nod of his head, Finally pulling away from her terrified visage.

"W-Why me.. Why me of all people?!" She whimpered. Her head lightly shaking back in forth, A futile effort to cope.

"Ever since that day I heard you.. All those months ago when I heard that voice.. That beautiful voice hum such a beautiful malady.. I couldn't get enough.." He seemed to stop in place, His vision seemed far off. Gazing into a far away memory to reminisce.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, He was following her for months. She had no idea, How could she not know he was stalking her? She was terrified.

Her mind seemed to be scrambled and misplaced like an unsolved puzzle. She felt one of the pieces of the puzzle in her throat, Taking only a very small peek towards the cadaver, She tried to put it down.

"T-Then what about.. H-Him.." She pointed a shaky finger at the rotting corpse behind him.

"Y-You didn't need to.. Kill.. Him. You could of just took me.. Why..?" She asked.

He didn't even look back at him, As if the mangled body was absolutely nothing to fret over. Instead his face seemed to grow dark and angry.

"It is a great dishonour.. For man to steal another's wife.. It is only right what he got." He hissed, A great venom running throughout his voice when he spoke about him and it terrified her. [F/N]'s form shook at his towering form overlooking her. Despite it all a rush of hubris ran through her, Only a small bit.

"I.. I am not your wife." [F/N] whispered so very quietly, But it was enough.

His nose twitched for a third and final time.

"Repeat that..?" He uttered.

"I-I am not your wi-"

He grabbed her by the jaw and roughly pulled her up to his level, Effectively cutting off her speech and fizzling out what confidence she had before and turning it into absolute terror.

"If the corpse of that vile man lying by your bedside.. Isn't warning enough. Then I'll tell you one thing.." He slowly moved his clawed hand from her collarbone, Slowly up to her throat. Pressing it in only enough to draw a single drop of red onto his fingertips. [F/N]'s breath grew heavier as her eyes went fixed onto the clawed nail, Begging not for any further pressure.

"You watch your tongue around me.. Or I won't hesitate to cut it out" He whispered.

Letting go of [F/N]'s jaw she fell back onto the futon and let out the biggest breath she didn't know she was holding. She shook in place, The words looped inside her head and ingrained themselves deep within her.

He brought his hand up to his mouth, The one he threatened her with. He lolled his tongue out of his mouth and licked the blood off his finger. [F/N] gagged at the sight.

"It seems that you need.. To be told of how things will work around here.." He said so stoic, As if he didn't threaten his captive only moments ago. [F/N] frantically nodded, Grabbing her throat to try and examine the damage.

"As my wife I expect you to follow the rules.. I set for you, So listen well.." He said, Beginning to slowly pace to and fro from one end of the futon to the other. [F/N] watched in scared anticipation, Intently watching for his next action. He stopped pacing and held up a single finger up to her.

"Rule number one.. You will perform your duties as my housewife. Cleaning the house.. Doing the dishes.. Be there to greet me at the door.. Along with polishing my swords. And if you even think about trying to use them to escape then.." He relaxed his free hand on his sheathed sword hilt. She didn't even need to know what he would say next, She got the message.

"Rule number two.. Every night before I come back from my.. Job. You will cook the meat that is left for you in the kitchen. Do not add anything to it.. Spices, Salts, Herbs.. Nothing." He emphasised the last point, Raising a second finger. Confusion spiralled in with her terror. Put nothing in it? She had no time to dwell on it however as he raised a third and final finger.

"Rule number three.. You are not allowed to leave this house… Though at night I will permit you to enter the garden.. Only at night. Once the sun comes up you must return inside immediately.." He finished. Lowering his fingers his eyes started to roam over her form.

"Do you understand me?" He asked.

[F/N] tried to steady herself on the mattress and steel her face.

Wiping the sweat off her face she nodded.

"Y-Yes.. I do." She replied.

Kokushibo hummed with a deep reverberation in his throat. When it stopped they were left in silence, Staring back at one and other with a wide split of emotions. The quiet was deafening between them.

And with that, Kokushibo turned away.

He walked towards the closed old door at the far end of the room, Walking with near silence. [F/N] felt her heartrate pickup, She called out.

"W-WAIT!.." She cried out.

Kokushibo held the doorknob in his hands. Although he stopped at [F/N]'s plea he faced the doorway and didn't look back at her. She sniffled.

"What about… him..?" She breathed, Only a touch higher than a whisper. The body of her dead fiance lay rotting still on the floor.

Kokushibo finally turned his head around to her, Only so all she could barely see was his left set of eyes staring her dead on.

"Rule number one.. Start cleaning.."

☆♡☆

The meat sizzled on the pan. The bloody raw juices burnt along with it, Creating an earthy aroma that filled the small kitchen it cooked it.

[F/N] sat crouched in front of the fire the pan hung from,

Occasionally poking and prodding at the meat with a stick to make sure it came out tender enough.

The professionally done makeup she had adorned before had degraded into smudged lips, Pudgy foundation and poorly done eyeliner. Not to mention her hair which looked like a wild animal got into it, Went berserk and was proceeded to be tied back up into an Oiran's usual up do.

Her charming personality couldn't save her appearance either. Her eyes that use to hold an enticing sparkle had dimmed into a dull gaze, All weighed down by the deep bags under her them from crying late at night. Her beautiful smile that could stun anyone was long gone and replaced by a permanent frown.

Since she had been swept away to her prison, It had been about two.. three.. Maybe four weeks? She couldn't remember, She had lost track after the first and after that it all had blurred into one, Hellish nightmare.

Even then she couldn't remember much of the first week, Not the first half anyways. She remembered the rules of course, And the awful man charading as her husband but everything that came after seemed to be a blur, After that all she knew was the red stain on the bedroom carpet that seemed to appear all of a sudden, How it got there was a mystery to her.

The second half of the first week was much more clear to her. It consisted entirely of a "Settlement Period" as that monster had put it. Do the dishes.. Greet him when he comes home, God save her if she didn't greet him.

One night she had completely forgotten to do so. She was so tired that night from all the cooking and cleaning that she didn't even notice him come home. He became unbelievably furious at her and had locked her in the bedroom closet for a good amount of hours. He didn't let her out no matter how loud her wails and screams became.

Before the settlement period ended he was much more distant, Per se. He kept away from her, Didn't speak much. As long as she did the rules set out for her he didn't interact with her at all. But he did stare.

Anywhere she went when he was home she could feel his eyes on her, That hot glare could melt ice with its intensity. It only served her to be more scared of him, To fear his next move, To flinch whenever he did.

After the period had ended however is when he started to get closer. He'd force her to lay with him at night in the same bed, Nothing came of it but the absolute inconsolable fear that resonated from within her every time he dragged her to their shared futon every time the sun came up was absolutely nauseating.

That was another thing, He goes out at the first show of the moon and comes home just before the wake of dawn. You figured it was a demon thing, It probably was. But this small little fact changed her sleep schedule to make her nocturnal, Which annoyed her greatly.

He'd start to try make light conversation if you could call it that, It was more of him asking questions such as 'What did you do today'. To which she had no answer, She was kidnapped. She had spent the entire day doing what he had forced her to do. However the only thing she could say to appease him was "Nothing much honey? What about you" while they sat over the meat she slaved away at.

The meat, She didn't want to think about the meat. She had no idea where it came from, Just that it restocked when she fell asleep.

When they ate together, When he forced her to she couldn't quite place the taste of it. It wasn't like anything she had tasted before and the closest thing she could place it to was pork, However seemed to be more sweeter and a just a little more stronger than any pork she's had before.

She didn't want to know what kind of meat it was, She didn't want to ask. It was probably better that way.

All she focused on was cooking it, Making sure that it turned the golden brown it was suppose to be.

To cook it she was given a simple pan and a few pieces of wood to make friction with. She wasn't allowed anything sharp so she had resorted to bamboo sticks and her bare hands to cut and prepare it.

The kitchen wasn't much help either. When she finally brought up the courage to venture into rooms other than the bedroom she discovered the absolute abandonment the rest of the house was in.

Like the bedroom which was bad enough the kitchen was horrendous. The wooden floorboards and structure were rotting. Cobwebs were infesting every little crook and cranny of the kitchen, So much so that it looked like clumps of yarn had been stuffed into them. Not to mention the tiny web landlords she found in them that she had to chase away with rocks.

She had to slave away day and night to even make it somewhat hygienic to cook in.

Apart from the kitchen she hadn't dared to go into any other room in the house. She didn't want to think about what was in there if the kitchen was this bad. The only rooms she went in and out of was the bedroom, Kitchen and bathroom.

Apart from that she hadn't explored any other room, Luckily enough it seemed like her captor didn't care if she didn't clean the other rooms. As long as the kitchen, Bedroom and bathroom were clean he didn't say a word about it.

But there was another area she loved to explore.

Outside of the house, When she was permitted she would enter the garden. While it was unkempt like the rest of the house with flowers and rye grass growing wild, [F/N] thought that gave it charm.

There were a good few amount of large tree's casting shade around the small field the garden covered with lush green leaves covering them. Unfortunately she couldn't escape as the gardens were fenced off by large walls covered head to toe in a rather severe form of poison ivy, If she tried to climb them she'd be writhing on the ground in seconds.

The flowers were vividly coloured and bloomed in a wide spectrum. They radiated such a beautiful fragrance, With her favourites being the pink ones as they reminded her of her beloved sakura blossom.

But despite the beautiful aroma coming from them it just didn't have the same smell of her cherry blossoms, Leaving the lovely smell bittersweet instead. Besides, The tree's in the garden just weren't the type to produce the blooms.

She'd find a way to escape. When she does she'll find her way back home, Back to him.

A loud sizzle of the meat on the pan snapped [F/N] out of her reflection.

The meat had turned into a rich brown, Signalling it's medium rare condition. [F/N] groaned and wiped the sweat off her brow that built up while she daydreamed.

Slowly poking the meat over the side of the pan she pushed it over onto a plate to collect it. Scraping the last bits of the slabs off onto the plate she got up from her perched position on the floor while stretching her aching legs.

Wobbling in place she moved over to the old kitchen countertop and set the meat down to cool off. She sighed and leaned back onto the counter beside it.

She realised she'd started cooking the meat too early as the moon outside usually rung of the time her captor got home. This gave her time to herself.

For a normal person this would be a good thing, However to [F/N] it just meant more time for her and her thoughts. She didn't want to think anymore about her situation as it would just make her overthink more. She needed something to do.

Looking around the small main room for an opportunity she came up barren. She recalled all the books Kokushibo had occasionally brought back for her, She had read them all at least fifty times over and had basically memorised every word so she supposed that was a no go.

Clean the house again? Both the kitchen and the house were both as spotless as an abandoned house could get, There would be nothing to clean. Though, The other rooms in the house were abandoned and unexplored, Bound to have some dust in there.

She didn't even like cleaning, Not in the slightest. Though she figured her situation had brought on new hobbies despite how depressing of a hobby cleaning is.

Though as she looked at the door she recalled back to all of the disturbing traits of her imprisonment: The mystery meat, The carpet stain, The infestations. Who know if these are the only the things she found in three rooms then the rest of the house must host only the Gods knows.

She eyed the door as if she was a rabbit to a wolf. Slowly, She shuffled over to the shoji door. The inside birch handle seemed to resemble a open maw to her. The scolded herself in her mind.

It was just a door, It was just a room. Why are you afraid of entering a dusty old room? You shouldn't be feeling like this, It's totally irrational [F/N]. Pull yourself together.

She exhaled, She knew she was right. It was just a room. She never had this problem before, Maybe her kidnapping has shook her up more than she realised. Go in, You might even find something that could help you escape. Just rip the bandage off.

Steeling herself with the hope of escape she grabbed the open maw handle she roughly pushed it open. Instantly she was met with a dust cloud that made her cough and cover her mouth with her kimono sleeve as she desperately tried to waft the air away with her hand.

When the cloud finally settled she lifted her head up to peek inside the room.

Peering around the corner she looked inside to see a storage room of sorts, Or at least that's what it looked like.

The inside dimensions was of a rectangular shape with a high ceiling. Like the rest of the rooms it was completely covered in dust and cobwebs, [F/N] could also see the scuttling of tiny bugs running around the floor to which she squirmed.

There was a large table in the middle of the room, On top of it sat pots and pots of dead old plants of a wide variety, [F/N] wasn't surprised, With the large biodiversity of the garden outside she should of known the previous owner of this place had a green thumb.

On the far side of the wall was three storage cabinets, They were built with 'Swing open doors' and luckily had no locks on them. Noticing this [F/N]'s curiosity was piqued, The possibility of escape tools was tantalizing.

She took a few steps into the room, Deeming it not to be of any danger. Looking left and right to confirm this she tiptoed over to the storage cabinets and reached the first one.

She ran her fingers over one of the hinged doors, Collecting a layer of dust while she searched for the handle. Finding the rise on the surface she gripped onto it and turned. Swinging the door open she peered inside to see the contents.

Inside there were several glass jars, All of them were of different sizes and shapes but in the end they all contained lots of kinds of herbs and spices, All of which were strangely still fresh.

Grabbing a few of the jars she examined them. The bottle's necks had a thin tag attached to them.

Paprika, Bay leaves, Cinnamon, Oregano, Brahmi, Tumeric, Nutmeg, Pepper.

All of which she recognised. While none of the contents appeared to be of any use to her escape plot they did give her something to use with the meat, Though Kokushibo didn't want any in his it didn't mean she couldn't season hers at all.

She slid the containers back into their cabinet and closed the door. Feeling somewhat satisfied with her finds she moved onto the next one.

Opening it up she looked inside to find.. Little colourful pouches. The pouches were scattered within the cabinet. They were a wide range of colours from blue to pink, They were there. All of them had little floral patterns sowed into them with care.

[F/N] raised an eyebrow. The pouches were just laying there without any holder like the spices, No nametag either. She also doubted they would actually have anything in there that would assist in her get away.

But she couldn't be lazy, She needed to check.

Collecting the pouches she scooped them up into her palms and brought them to her chest. Surveying their condition and rubbing a few of their contents through her fingers she found they all contained different textures. Finally deciding to check them she pried open the mouth of them and examined the contents.

And there were.. Seeds.

The outside colour of pouch she had opened was yellow and the insides were sunflower seeds.

[F/N] hummed, Only mildly surprised. She continued on to the other ones.

Blue? Ocean lilies. Red? Roses. Black? Dahlia's. Each of the small pouches had a colour corresponding to their contents. She put the opened ones back inside the cabinet and sieved through the rest.

Putting away orchids and tiger lilies she finally reached the final pouch.

It was a baby pink with silver threads adorning it. Testing its weight, She tossed it up into the air and it landed back with a light thud into her hand. It wasn't unlike the others, Not at all.

Pulling open the string around its neck she opened up.

Inside of the little pink pouch were seeds. Big and round, Resembling something like a walnut. There were a total of four in there.

Her eyes expanded to that of saucers. Her jaw went slack open. She recognised them, How could she not? They were cherry blossom seeds, Yoshino to be exact.

She felt her heartrate rise up in her chest, A pounding sensation filling her entire body. She felt as if an exfoliating light was rising up from her palms, A glimmering hope in the darkest days of her life, All radiating from inside the sack in her palms.

[F/N] squealed at the sight and couldn't help but rapidly stomp her foot being unable to contain her excitement.

She swiftly clawed out one of the little nut-like seeds and felt in around in her hands. A burst of giggles erupted from her and she spun around in place at the sight of it. Without any thought she knew what she had to do.

She stuffed the pouch in her her obi and rushed out the room with a new found speed. She needed to plant the seeds, She needed to grasp onto the cherry blossoms, She needed to smell them.

Completely forgetting her previous escape plan and ignoring the amount of time it would take to grow the tree she took no time when she ran out into the main room towards the main door.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Standing in front of the wide open door stood Kokushibo. He glared straight at her, All six of his eyes scrutinizing her entire form.

[F/N] froze up, Her previous excitement dying in her throat. Her fault hit her like brick and made her head spin round and round. She forgot to greet him.. She forgot..

Her knee's almost buckled under the weight of her mistake. She tried to speak, But no words came out.

Kokushibo looked at her, Then around the room. He moved his clawed hand and she flinched.

"The meat has gone cold.." He commented, Pointing at the left out meat.

[F/N]'s lip trembled. Suddenly building up the courage to speak she let it spill out.

"I.. I'm so sorry I.. I.. Lost track of time.. Forgive me, Please.." She spoke fast and stuttered as she went. Her eyes started to water at the prospect of being locked back in that small, closed off space.

Kokushibo was unfazed. Looking straight through her.

"Its.. Fine.." He said and with that, He turned away and trod off down the hallway.

[F/N] felt herself instantly relax as soon as he left the room. While the meat wasn't hot anymore and she'd need to heat it up, She wasn't punished or yelled at for failing to both greet him at the door and making the meat how he liked. She thanked whatever kami was looking over her.

However she noticed from the small crack of the closed door that the sun was rising. She wouldn't be able to go outside into the garden to plant the seeds.

At least, Not while Kokushibo is aware.

☆♡☆

It was the early hours of the morning, Only a few hours after [F/N] got a hold on the cherry blossom seeds.

Like every night before then her captor had dragged [F/N] back to their shared bedroom and had forced her onto the futon. As usual nothing came of it. It was just him facing away from her towards the wall while she looked the other way.

Normally this would end with her eventually falling into a dreamless slumber, But today she had a plan.

She decided to wait for Kokushibo to fall asleep, A task which she assumed would be boring but easy. But had turned out to be the complete opposite.

She herself had stilled her breath and relaxed her movements, Trying to make it seem that she herself was deep into REM. But this seemed to work a bit too well as Kokushibo bought into it.

She felt him run his claws through her hair, She had to steel her nerves just so she wouldn't squirm away from him. He kept moving around in bed, Too. Repeatedly repositioning himself to include her in his sleeping position: Wrapping his arms around her waist, Resting her head on his shoulder, Spooning. All of which made her want to vomit.

I should of just waited until night time to plant it. She thought. She was right as well. It would be much more convenient if she did wait, But her mind tossed it like a used cigarette immediately. She needed to plant the seeds, She needed her cherry blossoms.

In the end however he couldn't find a comfortable position, So he just reverted back to the original stare-at-the-wall form.

She had waited another two hours after that, Just to make sure he was asleep. Once she finally felt sure she had put her next step into motion.

Literally, She had to be extremely cautious in her steps as the floorboards had a tendency to creak. One single move could ruin everything.

Getting up, Slowly, Carefully. She swung her legs over onto the floorboards and pressed her feet down softly.

She waited.

No sound came. She was in the clear.

Fully getting up from the bed she creeped ever so sluggishly towards the main door, Carefully making sure not to touch any of the floorboards that were particularly old.

Reaching the door, The hardest part had came around.

The doorknob, The accursed doorknob. Every time [F/N] would turn it around to leave the mechanisms inside would create such a churn of noise so loud that you could hear it from the kitchen.

As gently as she could she relaxed her hand over the doorknob. Gripping it she began to gradually turn it, So slow you could barely see it move. The mechanisms from behind the door started to sound out too, Lowered and muffled by [F/N]'s sluggish pace but still enough to make a low scraping noise on the wood.

She winced at the sound, Her pace going even slower until she turned it around the entire way.

She pulled it open gently, Her hand still on the doorknob. The threat of the mechanisms reversing hung over her head like a guillotine, The sharp blade seeming to lower every time the noise jolted in volume.

She let the knob go. Glancing back at the slumbering demon, She found him still dead asleep on the futon.

She grinned, Wild and toothy. She was free to go.

She walked off down the hallway towards the front door. Pulling out the small baby pink pouch from her obi she confirmed it was still there. The adrenaline of the situation ran through her and the raw excitement of her find elated her so much so that she felt she was floating.

Reaching the door she swung it open and rushed out into the garden. It was early morning. Though you couldn't tell due to the thick blanketing clouds, So thick that it didn't even let a single crack of sunlight dawn through. As she ran barefoot, Stomping on the wild overgrowths of grass she noted that the soil seemed dry today.

[F/N] frowned, These weren't good agriculture conditions. But that didn't waver her stride nor did it shake her determination in the slightest, She was confident in her goal.

Running past the wild bursts of flower growth and foliage she reached the heart of the garden: A little rocky hill with a clearing at the top, The perfect position for a Yoshino blossom tree to be perched.

She swatted away hair strands blowing in her face from the light breeze, Tripping only once or twice on the way up she reached the top.

Falling to her knees, Dirtying her old kimono in the process she brushed away the grass to find the perfect spot.

Finding a small little dip located in the exact middle point she deemed it good enough to dig in.

[F/N] started to claw and scratch at the dirt with her bare nails, Pushing away soil left and right not caring about the mess she made. She knew she needed a hole at least a few feet deep.

She tossed the pouch to the side of the hole, Seeds rattling around inside it.

She dug further and further down, Soil was building up beside the dip that soon turned into a crevice. Soon enough though her nails hit a harder part of the soil and began to be proven useless.

[F/N] near-growled at the impasse. Thinking quickly, She extracted one of the sharp-tipped hairpins from her messed hair. Ignoring the hair flopping over from the removed support she raised the pin high up above her head.

Bringing it back to gather momentum she quickly brought it back down-

She froze. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck.

She didn't need to turn around to know about the katana only inches away from her neck, Ready to pierce her skin at any moment.

"What exactly.. Do you think you're doing?" Kokushibo hissed. He was angry, He was so angry. His entire being shook with it. The blade he pointed directly at the back of her neck shook along with him.

[F/N]'s heart seemed to stop beating and her jaw lay open. His kimono wove in tandem to the wind and was brought apart from his rage. The hairpin she held dropped to the ground with a clang!

"I.. I.." She sputtered. She didn't dare turn around. She didn't dare turn around to see his bared teeth, His wide eyes scrutinising every atom of her, His free hand twitching around itching to dig into her skin.

A sound similar to what a feral animal would make rose from within his throat. The blade inched closer.

"An answer.. Now." He spat, Taking a step closer.

Despite his words he didn't wait for one. Alternating his blade to his other hand he reached down beside her he grabbed the pouch. [F/N] gasped.

"W-Wait!" She exclaimed. He brought the pouch up to his face to examine it. [F/N] tried to grasp and grab at the pouch but was nonchalantly shook off by Kokushibo, Who paid her no mind.

He wretched the mouth of the sack open and brought out one of the walnut-like seeds, Holding it with two claws up to his middle eyes. He ignored [F/N]'s protests, She felt her entire being break. Her one chance of comfort destroyed before her.

She broke down into quiet tears, Her retaliation growing weaker and weaker until she just slumped over on her knees.

"What.. What is this?" He asked, Not taking his eyes off the nut. "It's a cherry blossom seed.." [F/N] muttered through her soft cries. Kokushibo looked down at her, His face cooling off only a singe. He lowered the seed down to instead clutch it in his hand.

"You came out here.. To do gardening?" His voice sounded off, Like he was deep in thought. [F/N] nodded.

"Why?" He asked. The question seemed to elude [F/N]'s response. A war waged on in her mind, One side fighting to stay silent the other to just tell the truth. She shook it off, Going for the third party.

"Does it matter to you?" She said, Her voice a tone of defeat. In her somewhat right mind she would of never spoke to him with that level of audacity, But now it just seemed futile.

Kokushibo sucked in air through his teeth and huffed as if it was a stupid question.

"You are my wife.. I expect there to be no secrets hiding from me." He answered so casually.

"I am not your wife.. I've told you this before. There was no marriage, You kidnapped me." She sighed. Every inch of fear she had seemed pushed to the side now.

Kokushibo lowered his sword, He took a step forward closer to her. "..Why do you like them so much?" He asked, Ignoring her previous remark which would get her reprimanded. Her eyes narrowed, This brought on a sense of confusion to [F/N].

"Why do you want to know.." She repeated her previous question through her sniffles, Still looking down at the grass.

"Back at that courtesan house.. Your room was filled to the brim with those flowers. I had assumed it was a theme… That wretched old woman gave you to make you stand out.. From the other Oiran's in the area.." He explained.

"But I was proven otherwise when instead of escaping.. You came out to plant one of the tree's." His voice was filled with puzzlement.

[F/N] had nothing to say at his words, Nothing at all.

"Let me make you a deal." He proclaimed, His voice finally making [F/N]'s head rise up from the ground to look up at his looming figure. A deal? Her face scrunched up in confusion while she awaited his response.

"If you explain to me.. The reason for your love of sakura blossoms.. And start refering to me by my proper title.. I will let you plant this seed here.. As well as bringing you back whatever you desire when I leave the house. " He laid the bargain out in front of her. It wasn't the deal that puzzled her to no end, But instead his unyielding determination to know why she adored the blossoms.

"Why do you even want to know about it? It doesn't matter to you at all." Her final question escaped her lips. He stood quiet for only a moment as he pondered her words. Kokushibo's expression seemed to grow light as he looked at her.

"Because despite your silly beliefs.. I care about you. And I wish to know about you, To be a good husband for you" He said.

This pierced through [F/N] harder than anything his katana could of done. Her shoulders loosened up and she nodded.

"Alright then. I accept the deal."

☆♡☆

[F/N] layed by the boiling pot hanging over the fire, Swinging her legs around and fidgeting with her hands.

The clouds that had barely obscured the sky earlier had grown into a raging storm, One that neither she or her father predicted. The rain was heavy and came down like bullets along with the wind which was harsh and unforgiving. Outside the cherry tree branches hit each other back and forth creating loud rustling noises.

Along with the semi-boiled water she could smell the rain mixing with the wildlife from the halfway opened window. She kept glancing out it to see if she could catch a glimpse of her mother returning with the rice.

Her dad had commanded her to keep an eye on the water, And for the first ten minutes she did. However eventually her young mind grew bored and wandered off to other things.

[F/N] groaned and flopped her arms to her side.

"Dad, When's mum gonna be back?" [F/N] exclaimed with a lilt of annoyance.

Her dad stood over by the kitchen counter clutching a good few clovers of bay leaves in his hands.

"Don't know, Sweetheart. You know how your mother is with taking her time." Kyuusei replied. He shifted through the bay leaves and got to the very last one, Staring at them blankly for a moment he sighed. He turned back to his daughter.

"Be right back, [F/N]." He called out to her before turning away and walking towards the shoji door. [F/N] watched him slide it open and walk through.

Once he shut it closed, She perked up from lying down on the floorboards and got up.

Ignoring the boiling pot of water she rushed over to the open window. Gripping onto the frame she tried hauling her small self up onto the ledge, Failing twice before finally being able to pull her little body up onto the frame.

She looked out into the wild weather of the night and took it as nothing big. Jumping down onto the other side she pranced out into the rife atmosphere in search of her mother.

She ran off onto the rough stone path, Tripping both from the heavy winds and the jagged rocks. She had to pause just to regain her balance, However when she did she took off further down the path.

[F/N] ignored her soaked kimono and the hair whipping around her as she carefully maneuvered the stones. Lightning echoed out in the distance, But the noise didn't rock her from her path.

The warm light of her house grew farther and farther away, The cold chill of the night grew stronger the more she went.

Eventually reaching the peak of the ledge they sat on she looked out over the forest below. Her hair blowing around in her face made it hard to see below. When she finally gathered it all together she finally got a look below.

She saw the small shed there, Lightly rocking back and forth on its structure. The candles weren't lit inside implying her mother wasn't there.

[F/N] groaned, But suddenly she spotted her mother through the rain and wind.

She lay unconscious at the bottom of the hill, Her arms and legs spread out on her stomach. The bag of rice was spilt out a little way beside her. [F/N]'s eyes widened, Panic rising up into her chest. She heard her father yell out from behind her, But she ignored him and his calls.

"Mum! Mum!" She yelled out over the storm noise. Carefully, She made her way down the hill to get a better look at her. Climbing down onto a lower rock she narrowed her eyes to-

She wasn't unconscious

She wasn't unconscious.

Seishi's neck was twisted 180, Her broken neckbone dug out from her flesh making her head look barely attached. She lay in a thick puddle of blood diluted only by the rainwater. She had fallen on the path.

[F/N] screamed.

"MUM! MUM!" She wailed. Running down the path not caring about her stumbles and wobbles as she went.

She reached her mothers corpse, Her head was facing up while her body faced down. Her visage excreted fear, A final terrifying sculpture. [F/N] gripped onto her body and sobbed, Pulling at her kimono and burying her face into her mothers shoulder.

"[F/N]!" Her father had finally reached the scene and stood still at the top of the hill. He looked down on the rest of his family and he yelled, A loud guttural yell.

He rushed down the pathway and quickly enveloped his daughter in a hug, Shielding her away from the corpse of her mother. [F/N] latched onto her father and sobbed inconsolably.

"S-Seishi.. Seishi, My love.. It should of been me.. It should of been me.. I'm so, so sorry." Kyuusei cried, Looking upon the cold dead look of his wife. [F/N] cried along with him, Crying out for her mother to come back.

She shut her eyes tight, Hoping that when she opened them she'd awaken in her mothers arms. Wanting to be lightly scolded for staying up too late.

But when she opened them that never happened, Just the cold rainwater and the shaking arms of her father hugging her tight.

She cried. The last thing she remembered was the faint scent of her mothers cherry blossom perfume, Fading out into the iron smell of her mangled corpse.

☆♡☆

It was a sleepless night.

The morning after, The storm clouds dispersed away. Bringing in the warm sun shining over the revitalised forest.

The irony stung the both of them, As today was the day they'd need to carry her mother's cadaver to its burial site.

Her father had held [F/N] the entire night, Trying to find the words to console her when he knew none could comfort either of them. So instead they sat like that until the first eye of dawn.

After that they made their way back down to the death site. Picking up Seishi's cold body he pulled her close to him, He tried his best to put on a strong face for his daughter but he couldn't help the silent tears and hiccups erupting from his throat as he carried his wife's body through the forest.

[F/N] tailed behind him, Repeatedly calling out for her mother in small sobs. She repeatedly wiped away her tears with her sleeve yet they kept flooding out anyways.

They decided on the massive weeping sakura sat in the core of the woods as Seishi's final resting place, It was her most prized tree as it towered over all the other ones around it.

The digging of the grave took a good few hours for her father to complete, During that time he never said a single word and never for a second took his eyes off of his task.

Once the grave was finally done he had looked into his wife's eyes for a final time and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He softly apologised to her, Professing his guilt over her death and how he loved her so.

He lowered her body into the grave and shut her eyes. Once both [F/N] and him said their final goodbyes, He got to filling the grave with a sombre expression.

After that her father had grown sad and bitter, The previous light and warmth that his presence radiated had grown cold. Most days he wouldn't leave his bed. He never said anything either, Not much anyways.

Unlike the cherry tree's symbolising life and renewal, Her mother had not come back to them in the spring.

This went on for years, It never ended. His depression had grown so severe that he had lost his job, Both for his horrible attendance and his sombre attitude. This had left the sole provider to be [F/N]

Her mothers death hit her terribly, She had broken down crying for weeks on end afterwards. She'd lay by her grave for hours on end, Only straying to go to sleep. Even then there were some days she'd fall asleep by her grave.

When the money ran out however, Is when [F/N] was forced to pick herself up and start providing for the both of them. She had to, For both her survival and her fathers.

To make money she had came up with a custom kind of tea blend made out of the sakura leaves surrounding her house. A sweet yet earthy blend that a lot of the younger and elder women seemed to love. It brought in money, Not a lot but enough to get by.

Everyday she'd travel out from the forest down to the village, Go door to door trying to advertise her blend of Sakurayu to the villagers. Then come home to make dinner for her and her father.

This cycle went on for years until she was a young woman. If it wasn't pity, She knew some of the villagers criticized her for being the one to take care of her parents. It didn't matter though.

She needed to take care of her father, Cause if she didn't, Nobody else would.

However one day, Years later. The village nearby had made merchant deals with hers. Trading food, Clothing the exact same sakura tea blend that [F/N] worked hard to make.

Unfortunately the villagers loved the imported tea more than [F/N]'s homemade blend, This had absolutely destroyed [F/N]'s income and instantly threw her into a panic.

The money she had made before had suddenly disappeared. So when she heard gossip from some of the younger girls at the village about the courtesan houses in the big city, She knew what she needed to do.

The next morning she kissed her father on the forehead, Leaving a letter and the last savings of money to keep him going while she was gone.

With that, She stowed away on a carriage ride going all the way to Heian-Kyo. In search of a better life.

All while she rubbed the soft pink petals, The same ones that always told her she was safe. Safe in the arms of her mother.

☆♡☆

[F/N] was crying now, Tears rolled down her face as she spilt out her past for her captor to hear.

"After that I just.. I found a house with vacancy and they took me in.. Then I just.. Worked my way up until I was Oiran." She choked out, Her face dug deep into her own palms.

Kokushibo held her close in his arms, He had started doing so once she had broke down at the explanation of her mothers death. He showed no emotion on his face, But his actions seemed to speak loudly enough for him.

"I-I sent money to my father when I could.. I haven't seen him in years.." She cried, Nuzzling closer into his chest. They were so close that she was basically sitting on his lap. She didn't care anymore, She needed the comfort and if it meant ignoring the morality of the situation to get it then she would never think another thought about it.

"Please.. I don't know how long it has been but I need to go back to the Oiran house.. I need to get the money for him.." She looked up at him, Tears in her eyes.

Kokushibo hummed, Moving an arm up to her shoulder he rubbed circles trying to provide comfort.

"I am unable to bring you back.." He said. [F/N] looked away from him, Sniffling. She knew it wasn't a matter of him being unable, It was a matter of he didn't want to.

"But I will be able to provide the money you seek." He finished. She looked back, Her eyes wide and full of life.

"What..?" She asked, Seeking confirmation of his words. He only nodded.

"If money is.. what you need then I can provide it.. It is no hassle for me" He proclaimed, Looking back into her own eyes.

[F/N] smiled, A wide, Genuine smile graced her face. A light blossoming within her like the leaves of her sacred tree.

"You.. You mean it?" She whispered, Looking deep into his eyes which only held the truth.

"Of course.. I do. As part of our deal.. Whatever you want." He replied, His voice contained such obsession care that she just couldn't see before. She melted in his hold.

"Also as a part of our deal.. I do believe its time for you to plant that seed." He said, Bringing up the seed he had in his hand he presented it to her like a wedding ring.

She smiled wider and took it from his palms.

Turning around, Still in his hold she looked down at the half dug hole. Picking up her hairpin to start digging again she was stopped by a gentle grasp on her wrist.

"Use this instead.." Kokushibo said, Handing over a small dagger. "It would be better than a hairpin.."

She thanked him and got to work. Using the wide surface area of the dagger she dug at a much better pace, Kokushibo watched her every movement the entire time.

Once she had dug a big enough hole she examined the knife. Kokushibo presented his hand, Signalling her to give back the knife. She held the hilt tight. Looking once at his hand then to the knife.

She sighed and dropped the knife into his hands. He nodded and tucked the knife away somewhere she couldn't see.

"Alright then.." She muttered, Holding the seed up to both of their eyes she reached the final step.

"Just let it go.." He replied, The same quiet tone echoing back at her. She looked at the seed and remembered her situation. The kidnapping, The living conditions, The punishment. All of it came back to her.

It was an awful feeling, Something she wanted to push away, Something she didn't want to feel ever again.

Knowing she was too wrapped up in her own mind to make the last move he guided her hands down to the crevice. He rested his head on her own, Her back up against his chest from where they sat.

He nudged the seed from her grasp and it fell into the hole. She snapped out of it and looked down to see the seed had been planted. "That was not so hard.. Was it?" He asked, Though he did not expect an answer.

She shook her head, The frown on her face was barely visible. Slowly, She began to refill the dug out hole covering the seed so it could grow in the right conditions.

She felt Kokushibo wrap his arms around her midsection, A sensation she had jolted at. It was an action she did not expect, Leaving her stiff.

Once the hole was fully covered and the seed was set to grow she was left to her own thoughts as she was embraced by her captor now husband.

This was fine, It wasn't okay. Gods, it was not okay by any means or context that could be given. She had been kidnapped and tortured for an amount of time she couldn't even remember, But it was fine. Just fine.

If the only thing she needed to do to provide for her father was become this man's wife, Then she would do as she had promised.

Though as her mind wandered off to her now gone plan of escape, The torture she had endured during her stay here she felt that same, Horrid feeling bubble up inside her.

She hated it, She hated it so much.

She tried to recall the aroma of the cherry blossoms, Imagining the sweet subtle smell invade her senses and take over her entire being head to toe.

And suddenly, Everything was fine.

[hanayumi]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water. 

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes. 

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place). 

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them. 

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom. 

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife’), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk? 

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.” 

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night. 

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain. 

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one. 

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness. 

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers. 

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he— 

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice. 

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack. 

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey? 

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey? 

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret. 

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting. 

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers. 

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know. 

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?” 

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all. 

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze. 

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole. 

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.” 

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking. 

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands. 

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve. 

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away. 

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing. 

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.” 

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state. 

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

‘Losing Noah’s Ark’: Brazil’s plan to turn the Pantanal into waterway threatens world’s biggest wetland

As the evening sky turns violet, the animals of the Pantanal gather near the water. Capybaras swim in tight formation, roseate spoonbills add smudges of pink to the riverbanks, the rumble of a jaguar pulsates from the forest.

This tropical wetland is the largest on Earth, stretching across Brazil, Paraguay and Bolivia, and playing host to some of the greatest gatherings of animals anywhere.

Now, scientists say the survival of the entire biome is at risk.

“The Pantanal is like Noah’s Ark. It is home to animals that are disappearing … a place where those at risk of extinction can survive,” says Pierre Girard, a professor at the Federal University of Mato Grosso.

“That could be about to change,” he says. “The Pantanal, as we know it, could soon cease to exist.”

The 170,000 sq km (42m acre) wild expanse harbours one of the world’s most biologically rich environments, with at least 380 species of fish, 580 types of birds and 2,272 different plants. It is one of the main refuges for jaguars and houses a host of vulnerable and endangered species, including giant river otters, giant armadillos and hyacinth macaws.

But plans are under way to revive plans for the Paraguay River,one of the Pantanal’s main arteries, to be turned into an industrial shipping route for crops such as soya beans and sugar.

Political proponents say the waterway would reduce costs and time for exporting agricultural commodities to North America, Europe and Asia but critics warn that its creation – which involves building new ports, possibly straightening bends and meanders, and large-scale dredging – would cause irreversible damage to the wetland and its wildlife.

“It seems a high price to pay: destroying the Pantanal, one of the world’s unique systems, to reduce the price of grain,” says Carolina Joana da Silva, a professor at Mato Grosso State University. “It is a war – a war which risks extinction.”

Continue reading.

[whatsthebird]

Week of 14JAN2024 Answers

Answers hidden under the cut.

57 - Limpkin by @awkwardtypo

58 - Black-chinned Hummingbird by @amonrudh

59 - Black-throated Sparrow by @venerablemonk27

60 - Mourning Dove by @pinyonrice

61 - Weka by @little-korora

62 - House Sparrow

63 - Roseate Spoonbills by @floralstorms

How many birds did you get right? Consider adding correct birds to your WTB Life List!

As always, birding is a cooperative experience. Help your fellow birders out by discussing key features that help identity and distinguish a bird in the notes.

Finally, let's give a feathery thank you to this week's submitters.

Keep the game alive! Submit a bird HERE

[aliceismypixie]

The villain of my story ∥ All the way to the north

Summary - "The villain will always be the villain if the hero tells the story" or atleast that's what they say. No one knew why you became what you are. But you wanted your revenge on Isabella Marie Swan and you were ready to do anything to have it.

Pairing - Twilight x villain!reader

Pronoun - she/her (but can be read as a male reader or gn reader)

Warning - The reader is an immortal child, burning people, mention of dying (burning)

Words count - 1.43k~

Set - After Breaking-Dawn Part 2

Chapter 3 - Masterlist

"Soooo, is this what villains usually do all day ?" Redacted Renesmee asked, putting a red yellow on the piles of cards.

"Well, I don't think so. But your parents are taking too long to get you and you were being annoyingly talkative so I had to shut you up somehow." You replied, putting a plus four on the piles with a smirk and she glared.

"You're so cheating ! How come you only have good cards while I have almost half of the pack !" The hybrid weird kid exclaimed and you rolled your eyes.

"Life isn't fair child, I don't see why I should use some fair-play when no one was ever fair to me. Plus I love to see your face fall each time you take four cards." You calmly explained and she scoffed before throwing her cards on the ground.

"That's just rude and mean ! Why are you so mean to my family and I by the way ?! It's unfair. We did nothing to you !" Rikki Takki Tavi Renesmee pointed out and you glared at her with a scoff.

"Your mother specifically did nothing when we were younger ! She would never do anything ! Watch from the side or just ignore the truth ! I'm making her suffer like she made me suffer !" Your answer was cold and the kid frowned in confusion.

"My mom wouldn't just make you suffer for nothing !" The golden brunette defended and you rolled your eyes, feeling the fire slowly taking over your palms.

"Spoiled brat like you could never understand." You walked away and locked Renesmee's door behind you.

You could feel the flames wanting to burst out of your fingers as you reached the mail room of your lair and you immediately punched the wall in one swift yet hard motion causing the wall, as well as your cold stone skin, to crack.

You could feel the unshed tears in your eyes of anger as you remembered your childhood. It was horrible. Kids like Roseate could never understand the struggle of being in foster care. Kids like Renesmee were spoiled to the core and they thought that they were better than the rest because they were. They had the power, the looks, the love anyone envied. You never had it. Jumping from house to house but always ending up in the same mess every single time. You were lonely but then you got fostered by the Swans, then adopted by them under Isaella's request and then, she stabbed you in the back and never looked back at you.

You could feel your lips trembling as a few sobs escaped and you fell on the floor, broken, with a cracked hand and a cracked heart, not being able to let out those pained cries nor tears as you closed your eyes.

You were once again suffering.

And only by yourself.

They only had three more days. Most of the Cullens feared that something happened to their little treasure in the past week but Jacob's imprint link was still there. As long as it was there, Renesmee was still alive. And as long as she was alive, they had a chance to save her.

"Do we at least have any clues ?" Leah asked.

"We know that the scent of the stranger is their way of hiding. They smell like lavender and wet grass which makes them blend into nature and hide themselves but, we've got you three. As much as it pains me to admit it… your sense of smell is better than ours so we'll need you." Jasper started and everyone nodded, they were all around the table of the meeting of the Cullen's house.

"When we went out with Seth two days ago, he could pick up their scent going south but we don't know more as we couldn't track it after the river. But we have a lead." Alice explained and once again everyone nodded.

"But what if this was a fake trail, what if they have Renesmee captive but more toward the Canadian border ?" Rosalie asked and everyone took in her words.

"This… could be an eventuality but for now we will check the south. A small group will go up toward the Canadian border to take a look and we will alarm the others if we notice anything." Jasper finished.

Being an ex-soldier of the army was actually pretty cool, and very hot but that was Alice's point of view (and mine), in this type of situation. Everyone could be organized in a military way and knowing that their enemy was a child was just better. Why ? Because as a child you don't think like an ex-military soldier. So they had the upper hand.

They could take their enemy by surprise and for all they know, their enemy was alone while they were twelve. Whoever was targeting them stood no chance.

Or at least they thought so until Alice's eyes turned glossy.

Once again there were flames everywhere. But this time they were still fighting, or at least they were trying to.

In the middle of a battle field stood a little girl, fire bursting from her palm as she aimed toward Emmett who quickly moved out of the way.

Thought there was someone who didn't move behind the big vampire.

It was Rosalie.

And the blond Goddess fell on the ground, screams escaping her lips the fire took over her cold marble skin.

And Emmett turned back around, his expression fell as he saw his wife slowly dying and in his moment of weakness, the little girl shooted him too.

But then the vision changed.

Jasper and Carlisle were the one burning on the ground.

But it changed again.

Esme and Edward.

Seth and Alice.

Jacob and Bella.

Leah and Seth.

Jasper and Emmett.

"Every single duo sent to the north is going to die either way…" Alice trailed off her eyes still looking elsewhere and Jasper clenched his jaw.

"You don't see any alternative ending ?" He asked softly to his wife who shook her head.

"Then we're abandoning the idea." Jasper solemnly announced and Bella frowned.

"But we will need to go to the north eventually. Renesmee could be there !" The shield expressed and everyone turned their attention toward Jasper.

"We can not. Two lives for one isn't―"

"But we're not just talking about one random life Jasper. We're talking about my daughter !" Edward replied stubbornly and Jasper scoffed.

"And I'm not talking about two random lives either Edward. I'm talking about two lives of our family. And Renesmee is not dead yet. We can not risk two lives to save someone who doesn't need saving at the moment." The ex-soldier pointed out and Edward growled.

"Edward, you saw it just like I did. You couldn't possibly think about killing two of us in vain. You already know that the plan couldn't work. Why would you want to send two of us there ?" Alice harshly pointed out and her brother looked toward his tortured wife on the side causing Rosalie to scoff.

"We should have known. You were always like that anyways. Putting everyone's life in danger for a human and now because she's your wife you're ready to sacrifice two of us just for her." The blond beauty expressed with a hint of venom.

See Rosalie Lillian Hale was the perfect example of an anti-hero. The one who does good only if it serves their interest. At least that's what she was in Bella Swan's story. No one clearly tried to understand her point of view. See Emmett tried, but most of the time he simply sticks to his wife. Rosalie Lillian Hale was only on Bella's side when it benefited her. But on the other side, she was probably the most attached to the family after Esme, holding on to the last thing that made her feel human.

But we will not talk about that. Rosalie Lillian Hale was only the anti-hero of Isabella Marie Swan's story.

"Rosalie please…" Esme tried to sooth her first daughter as much as possible until a paper plane passed through the opened window of the living room and posed itself on Rosalie's lap.

"What is that ?" Emmett asked and Rosalie opened the paper, her frown turning into an horrified expression.

"There's not only two of us that will go north." The blond vampire announced putting the paper on the table for everyone to see the words written on the unfolded half burned paper plane.

'All the way to the north you go. Or all the way to south she falls'

Chapter 5

[proton-wobbler]

Duplicate Submissions

Alright, here is the list of duplicate birds that were submitted to this poll:

American Robin, Canada Goose, Dovekie, Eurasian Jay, Hoatzin, Blue-bellied Roller, Smew, Hoopoe, Dark-eyed Junco, Painted Bunting, Spoon-billed Sandpiper, Rifleman (Titipoumano), Archeopterix, Hooded Crow, Roseate Spoonbill, Northern Lapwing, European Starling, Steller's Jay, Great Auk, Eclectus Parrot, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Spotted Towhee, Resplendent Quetzal, Vermilion Flycatcher, Kaua'i O'o, Ivory-billed Woodpecker, Hooded Pitohui, Rainbow Bee-eater, Long-tailed Tit (Shima Enaga), Sunbittern, Varied Thrush, Pied Currawong, Rock Pigeon, Domestic Chicken, Northern Gannet, Diederik Cuckoo, Yellow-headed Picathartes, Temminck's Tragopan, Greater Lophorina, Parotia, Grey Butcherbird, Green Jay, Horned Screamer, Magnificent Frigatebird, Spinifex Pigeon, Gorgeted Puffleg, Zebra Dove, Common House Martin, Swordbill Hummingbird, Greater Roadrunner, Rufous-crested Coquette, Wallcreeper, Racket-tailed Roller, Himalayan Monal, Crested Pigeon, Inaccessible Island Rail, Brown Creeper, Tufted Titmouse, White Wagtail, Bobolink, Shoebill Stork, Australian Brushturkey, black-throated magpie-jay, Greater Blue-eared Starling, spangled cotinga

This list will continue to be updated, but I'm not going to pin it to the top since technically these guys are not the focus of the poll (I just think they're neat :3). The tag placed on pics of these birds is ELIMINATED, as someone asked about tagging them and I figured out how to use the Mass Post Editor >:3

[magnetothemagnificent]

My birding week vacation is over, so here are all the bird species I saw:

1. Little blue heron

2. Sharp-shinned hawk

3. Black vulture

4. Great egret

5. Sandhill crane

6. Mourning dove

7. Common loon (there were two of them just hanging out at a lake. We couldn't believe it but they were unmistakable)

8. Cattle egret

9. Great blue heron

10. Anhinga

11. Double-crested cormorant

12. Red-winged Blackbird

13. Limpkin

14. Wood stork

15. White ibis

16. Muskovy duck

17. Boat-tailed grackle

18. American crow

19. American coot

20. Common gallinule

21. Common grackle

22. Glossy ibis

23. Palm warbler

24. Osprey

25. American purple gallinule

26. Wood duck

27. Red-shouldered hawk

28. Pied-billed grebe

29. Royal tern

30. Eastern Phoebe

31. Roseate spoonbill (last year it eluded me, but this year I saw two at two separate locations!)

31. Black-bellied whistling duck

32. Tricolor heron

33. Northern harrier

34. Yellow-rumped warbler

35. Tree swallow

36. Swallow-tailed kite

37. Ring-billed gull

38. Turkey vulture

39. Mallard

40. White pelican (there were two just hanging out at an artificial lake in the middle of a residential area)

41. Red eyed vireo

42. Mulard

43. American pekin

44. Mallard/Pekin hybrid

45. Downy woodpecker

46. Grey catbird

47. Blue-grey gnatcatcher

48. Fish crow

49. Northern parula

50. Snowy egret

51. Chimney swift

52. Common yellowthroat

53. Bald eagle

54. Red-bellied woodpecker

55. Blue winged teal (we only saw these guys because we had to walk an extra 1.5 miles to take the long way back to the car because an alligator decided to block our short way back)

56. Great-crested flycatcher

57. Louisiana waterthrush

58. Laughing gull

59. Northern mockingbird

60. Mottled duck

61. Loggerhead shrike

62. White eyed vireo

63. Tufted titmouse

64. Northern cardinal

65. Black and white warbler

66. Ring-necked duck (I saw this lone duck from the car as we were driving past an artificial lake. From it's silhouette I could see it looked different from the other ducks common in the area, so we stopped the car literally on the side of the road so I could run out with my binoculars, and sure enough it was a new species to add to the list. And then when we came back a few days later, it was still there swimming around and diving, so I guess it lived around there.)

67. Carolina chickadee

68. Swamp sparrow

69. Ruby-crowned kinglet

70. Pileated woodpecker

71. Belted kingfisher (we visited the same place three times because my Grandpa saw kingfishers there a few times. It wasn't until the third and final time, while we were ready to give up and leave, that we saw it, perched on a sign post over the water)

72. House sparrow

73. Cooper's hawk

74. Carolina wren

75. White-throated sparrow

[roseatehouse]

Kheer, a fine dining restaurant at Roseate House New Delhi

Designed by Noriyoshi Muramatsu of Studio Glitt (Tokyo, Japan), creator of all Zuma and Roka restaurant interiors globally, Kheer, a fine dining restaurant at Roseate House New Delhi, offers the best Indian cuisine with a modern edge.

[haveyouseenthisbirdpoll]

List of Birds organized by Order + locations:

Accipitriformes:

Bearded vulture

Cooper's hawk

Red-shouldered hawk

Steller's sea eagle

Anseriformes:

Bar-headed goose

Barnacle goose

Black swan

Common merganser

Red-breasted goose

Snow goose

Trumpeter swan

Apodiformes:

Common swift

Ruby-throated hummingbird

Bucerotiformes:

Eurasian hoopoe

Cariamiformes:

Red-legged seriema

Casuariiformes:

Emu

Southern cassowary

Cathartiformes:

Black vulture

Turkey vulture

Charadriiformes:

Atlantic puffin

Black-headed gull

Black-tailed godwit

Killdeer

Northern lapwing

Ruddy turnstone

Ciconiiformes:

White stork

Columbiformes:

Common wood pigeon

Eurasian collared dove

Luzon bleeding-heart

Nicobar pigeon

Victoria crowned pigeon

Coraciiformes:

Blue-capped kingfisher

Common kingfisher

Cuculiformes:

Asian koel

Yellow-billed cuckoo

Eurypygiformes:

Kagu

Falconiformes:

American kestrel

Common kestrel

Galliformes:

Palawan peacock-pheasant

Western capercaillie

Gaviiformes:

Common loon

Gruiformes:

American coot

Australasian swamphen/pūkeko

Blue crane

Common moorhen

Sandhill crane

Sora

Whooping crane

Passeriformes:

American bushtit

American robin

Australian raven

Baltimore oriole

Barn swallow

Black-billed magpie

Black-capped chickadee

Black-throated sparrow

Blue-headed vireo

Blue jay

Bluethroat

Brown thrasher

California towhee

Canada warbler

Canyon wren

Cedar waxwing

Common blackbird

Common chlorospingus

Common raven

Eastern wood pewee

Eurasian blue tit

Eurasian bullfinch

Eurasian golden oriole

Eurasian jay

European robin

Goldcrest

Great-tailed grackle

Great tit

Hooded crow

House sparrow

Indigo bunting

Kirtland's warbler

LeConte's sparrow

Long-tailed tit

Painted bunting

Phainopepla

Pine siskin

Pin-tailed whydah

Pinyon jay

Pygmy nuthatch

Red winged blackbird

Rook

Saltmarsh sparrow

Satin bowerbird

Spotted towhee

Steller's jay

Tufted titmouse

Wallcreeper

Warbling vireo

Western tanager

White-breasted nuthatch

White-throated dipper

White-throated magpie-jay

Yellow-rumped warbler

Pelecaniformes:

Great blue heron

Great egret

Great white pelican

Least bittern

Roseate spoonbill

Shoebill stork

Snowy egret

Phoenicopteriformes:

Chilean flamingo

Piciformes:

Clark's nutcracker

Lewis's woodpecker

Northern flicker

Pileated woodpecker

Red-bellied woodpecker

Red-headed woodpecker

Podargiformes:

Tawny frogmouth

Podicipediformes:

Pied-billed grebe

Psittaciformes:

Australian king parrot

Citron-crested cockatoo

Cockatiel

Galah

Gang-gang cockatoo

Pacific parrotlet

Rose-ringed parakeet

Sulphur-crested cockatoo

Strigiformes:

Barn owl

Barred owl

Suliformes:

Anhinga

Blue-footed booby

Double-crested cormorant

Trogoniformes:

Elegant trogon

Locations:

Africa

America

Asia

Australia

Central America

Eurasia

Europe

North America

Oceania

South America

[butterfrogmantis]

Dirt Boi Committee! + Timber bcuz Miner’s bf. Minus Farmer because my human design is well established. 

Honestly for once I’m actually really happy with all 6 of these designs?? Asdjk the historical bros are especially cool for being bg characters. Anyway, notes!

-Miner has long standing Irish heritage and is pale anyway but coupled with spending half his time in sunless mines as soon as he emerges he blinds everyone in a 3 meter radius. You can use him as an emergency flashlight on dark nights /j However despite being pretty slim in order to fit down mineshafts, he’s far stronger than he looks and can wield a pickaxe like no other Smurf.

-Timber is the 180 body type. Tanned, buff and beefy and hairy. A bear, basically, with large arms for swinging that axe. Excellent hugger, if you don’t mind a couple of cracked ribs /j

-Cockney lad Sweepy! Born and raised in London, refuses to watch Mary Poppins on account of DVD’s bad accent, although does often sing Chim Chimney to himself, he can’t help it. Very lithe and small, one of the shorter men of the village, has to fit down chimneys of course.

-Sloppy, the bane of Tracker’s existence. Tho he’s doing better these days hygiene wise you’ll be pleased to know. That being said he’s essentially works as the village binman so everyone’s rubbish gets collected on time and disposed of properly and he still doesn’t mind being covered in it but he IS to take an immediate shower if he’s to step foot in Sweepy’s house. Owns a black shih tzu called Fly.

-Archie and Pal the reight northern blokes. Nowt they won’t discover and dig, aye. Like all northerners, they’re immune to cold and will be seen in shorts during midwinter. Archie is far more extroverted and Pal is a bit more socially awkward, but both can be very excitable when dealing with their points of interest in history. 

Now for mini doodles

-Not entirely sure what’s going on with Skelly and Archie. Are they friendly rivals, besties, vitriolic best buds, lovers, mortal enemies, a combo of all of the above? Who knows but whatever it is is hilarious. Having dedicated his entire life to the study of ancient Smurf history, to randomly one day have a living ….. uhhhh …. Reanimated ancient Smurf walking around is kind of a big deal to Archie!!

-Self-explanatory Sloppy redemption arc headcanon

-Yay angst w/ Roseate. She’ll be fine, albeit paralysed knees down. Song is ‘Not While I’m Around’ From Sweeney Todd which ironically is also sung by a cockney boy in that show.

-Archie and Pal employee the otherworldly skills of Nova on the frequent. That doesn’t stop them arguing about their finds tho.

Miner, Timber, Sweepy, Sloppy, Archie and Pal (c) The Smurfs

Skelly, Roseate and Nova are mine

[theroseandthebeast]

Yuletide Recs, Batch Three

16 recs for The Eagle, Earthsea, Emma., The Expanse, The Faculty, The Fall of the House of Usher, Fallen London, The Green Knight, The Handmaiden, Jane Eyre, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, and The Matrix

Between Two Rivers, Marcus Flavius Aquila & Esca Mac Cunoval

Two rivers. Two near kisses.

The White Ladies of the Ring, Penthe/Tenar

There was a sorcerer imprisoned in the Labyrinth, and Arha had told Kossil that she would kill him—but she did not want to. Perhaps she needed to ask someone for help...

My Queen Bee, George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse

Emma went on, brightly, “I have spoken with Harriet about it.” George blinked. He was fast losing his grip on this conversation. 

We aren't righteous (or: five times Amos did as Naomi asked, and one time he didn't.), Gen, Amos Burton & Naomi Nagata

For EdosianOrchids901 for Yuletide, who asked for Amos and Naomi and suggested something pre-canon, something about that dynamic where he sees her as an external moral compass, and how their friendship developed. This is mostly pre-canon, overlapping with canon in the last two parts. (Also it's been a while since I've seen this so apologies in advance if I've missed something in research and inadvertently contradicted canon on their immediate pre-canon backstories!)

Pyriscence, Gen, Amos Burton & Praxidike Meng

After the war with the Free Navy, Amos comes to see Prax.

What do you do when you survive a shape-shifting mind-controlling alien as a teen?, Stokely Mitchell/Stan Rosado

Twenty years later, Stokely and Stan arrive back in each other's lives.

the miraculous lustre of her eye, Madeline Usher/Verna

"If she wants Madeline fucking Usher, she's going to have to look me straight in the eyes."

a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Gen, Verna + Arthur Pym

Arthur Pym's first meeting with Verna.

The Margin, Gen, Verna + Arthur Pym

“We have to go back,” Arthur Pym said, teeth rattling in the wind. He clutched the ragged edges of his coat closer. “Ship can’t break through that ice. We’ll founder.” -- The first time Verna and Arthur met, on the Transglobe Expedition.

by such dreaming high, Gen, The Duchess + The Roseate Queen

It is summer, in a fallen city; and someone, somewhere, is doing something unwise...

The Half-Seen Door, Gen, Piranesi | Matthew Rose Sorensen + Sixteen | Sarah Raphael + Gawain

It’s a hard job, coming home.

leverage and its utility, Fujiwara + Original Female Character(s)

The three he smoked in the carriage ride here was nothing but a gamble. A roll of the die, a flip of a coin, a dealing of cards. Lucky for him, luck is in his favor.

lilacs out of the dead land, Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester

I had, within me, that rich world of imagination that I could always retreat to, and so I transformed myself.

All Earthly Happiness, Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester

Reader, I lied. Or, rather, I omitted. As the mother of daughters, who had openly declared their intentions of reading my autobiography, I was hesitant to paint a full picture of the course of my first engagement to my dear Edward. Although in many ways it did progress much as I described, discretion prevented absolute disclosure

When It's Worth It, Gen, Arthur + The Mage

The chilly air tasted of dust and lightning strikes and the faint iron tang of blood, and there were still all too many questions lingering unanswered.

dissolved girl, Neo/Trinity

What if Trinity came back wrong? A post-Matrix Resurrections fic about what happens if the body was rebuilt again, and again, and again, and in the remaking, became something new.

[gardnwalls]

(  özge yağiz,  cis woman,  she/her  )  —  🎬  just  announced,  nihan  ergenç  has  been  cast  as  cleo  şanverdi  (  cleo  sertori  )  in  the  upcoming  h2o:  just  add  water  reboot.  the  twenty  five  year  old  is  trending  as  people  are  debating  if  the  earthy  scent  of  rain  in  the air,  prickly  sense  of bare  feet  touching  uncut  grass,  hazily  waking  up  to  a  ray  of  sunshine  kissing  your  skin  and  roseate  hues  spilling  lack  of  sleep  that  they  are  known  for  is  enough  to  make  them  as  good  as  original.  a  quick  google  search  shows  that  their  fans  call  them  empathetic,  but  internet  trolls  think  they’re  more  imprudent.  i  guess  their  newest  interview  for  variety  where  they  talk  about  how  small  acting  gigs  were  initially  a  means  to  an  end  to  open  their  own  flower  shop  will  let  people  to  know  them  better. 

biography.

         despite  complications  ,  first  whimper  sparks  in  a  dimly  lit  room  ,  with  the  chilly  october  breeze  wafting  through  window  screens  ,  as  nihan  is  placed  in  her  mother’s  arms  for  the  first  and  last  time  .  through  finiancial  difficulties  ,  she  is  brought  up  by  a  single  father  who  more  than  makes  up  for  the  lack  of  a  maternal  figure  they  were  deprived  of  much  too  early  .

         so  far  as  their  loving  nature  is  concerned  ,  father  and  daughter  are  cut  from  the  same  cloth  ,  they  do  everything  together  from  house  chores  to  outdoor  activities  and  though  barely  getting  by  ,  he  tries  to  shelter  her  from  reality  by  making  ends  meet  in  less  conventional  methods  -  that  is  until  one  day  she  comes  home  from  school  to  patrol  cars  parked  outside  their  front  door  .  now  barely  a  teenager  ,  nihan  watches  kicking  and  screaming  as  her  father  is  torn  away  from  her  right  before  her  eyes  .  no  matter  the  kicks  and  screams  ,  she  is  given  no  option  but  to  be  taken  under  her aunt's  wing  in the states,  should  she  agree  to  never  contact  her  father  again  .

         a  new  chapter  starts  ,  with  the  person  she  loves  most  locked  away  and  and  estranged  family  members  willingly  ,  but  harshly  looking  after  her  .  bright  smile  fades  away  and  nihan  clams  up  ,  without  uttering  a  single  word  for  months  on  end  .  drowned  in  her  own  thoughts  ,  she  buries  her  face  in  a  pillow  every  day,  even  though  the  tears  dried  long  ago  .  instead  of  acting  up  ,  she  carries  the  heavy  load  of  grief  by  maintaining  an  apathetic  stance  towards  anything  and  everything  . 

         even  if  there  are  things  she  wants  to  get  off  her  chest  ,  no  one  is  willing  to  listen  or  at  least  lend  a  shoulder  to  cry  on  ,  which  eventually  leads  to  her  grades  ,  among  other  things  ,  tanking  .  that  is  when  nihan  decides  to  go  against  her  aunt’s  restrictions  and  secretly  write  a  letter  to  her  father  .  soon  enough  she  receives  a  response  and  the  resting  melancholy  starts  to  dissolve  ,  seeing  as  this  back  and  forth  serves  as  her  wake  up  call  .

         after  graduating  high  school  with  fairly  average  grades  ,  nihan  moves  out  and  into  a  small  apartment  in  east  hollywood  ,  taking  up  any  available  job  that  she  can  find  and  the  more  she  surrounds  herself  with  people  ,  the  wider  her  smile  grows  .  it  takes  a  lot  of  hours  of  hard  work  for  her  to  get  there  ,  but  her  dream  is to start  up  her  own  small  business  ,  a  flower  shop  .  there  is  not  a  job  more  suitable  for  such  a  kind  and  fragile  heart  as  taking  some  plain  soil  and  giving  it  life  ,  watching  flowers  bloom  and  taking  pride  in  each  and  every  one  of  them  .

in the midst of odd jobs , she happens to be walking past a movie set in desparate search of extras , to which she happily obliges . soon after , she is approached by a talent scout inquiring whether she would be interested in being managed and promoted as an actress . though taken as a light hearted joke at first , she dials number on the card given and just like that , auditions are piling up . small roles at first , but she gives all she can to each and every one .

as the roles get bigger and she starts gaining some fame , she realizes she can't leave acting on a backburner , while trying to maintain multiple jobs . nihan starts taking this seriously and makes guest appearances in a lot of popular productions , commonly known as the secondary character you take a little too much interest in and you wish you could see more of . her latest project is meant to be her biggest role yet , as cleo şanverdi ( sertori ) in the h2o: just add water reboot .

         as  far  as  her  personality  goes  ,  nihan  is  the  kind  of  person  who  brightens  up  your  day  ,  very  vibrant  ,  delicate  and  has  a  genuinely  kind  soul  ,  she  likes  to  give  love  no  matter  what  she  gets  in  return  ,  if  anything  at  all  .  that  being  said  ,  she  looks  very  fragile  and  sensitive  ,  but  after  everything  she's  been  through  ,  her  coping  mechanisms  couldn't  get  any  stronger  .

as  much  as  she  can  take  shit  from  anyone  ,  she  does  not  appreciate  people  who  try  to  take  advantage  of  her  kindness  .  relationships  that  go  beyond  a  surface  level  are  a  bit  tricky  for  her  ,  because  she  doesn’t  like  sharing  things  about  her  past  ,  it  all  circles  back  to  that  one  day  her  father  was  taken  from  her  and  negative  emotions  start  flooding  in  ,  which  is  something  she’s  not  willing  to  fully  come  to  terms  with  just  yet  .

         romantic  relationships  are  also  not  her  strongest  suit  ,  nihan  loves  delicately  and  tends  to  partners  like  she  would  a  plant  that  requires  minimal  effort  .  doesn’t  show  the  slightest  hints  of  jealousy  ,  because  she  is  genuinely  the  type  to  let  people  make  choices  of  their  own  and  if  said  choices  are  at  her  expense  ,  she  thinks  it  was  simply  not  meant  to  be  and  distances  herself  . 

that  being  said  ,  at  times  she  feels  envious  of  people  who  get  a  rush  of  adrenaline  and  fear  when  they  see  their  partner  close  to  someone  else  .  there’s  always  an  emotional  disconnect  that  doesn’t  allow  her  to  fully  embrace  the  relationships  she’s  been  in  the  past  ,  falls  fast  when  someone  is  kind  to  her  ,  but  doesn’t  know  how  to  develop  that  initial  infatuation  into  actual  real  feelings  .  she  wants  to  make  her  heart  available  ,  but  sometimes just doesn’t  know  how  .

however , she is the type of friend who will bring you flowers just to brighten up your day or go out of her way to walk you home just to spend time with you . a lot of kind gestures come to her naturally and she's very affectionate with friends and partners , which is why sometimes the line between friendship and romance can be a bit blurry with her without it necessarily being her intention .

wanted connections.

platonic  :  best  friends  who  drifted  apart  ,  we  can  figure  out  the  deets  but  it’s  always  a  dramatic  plot  and  i  just  need  this  kind  of  chaotic  energy  in  my  life,  frenemies  ,  a  classic  that  never  fails  to  crack  me  up  ,  nihan  is  not  one  to  pick  a  fight...  but  this  person  just  doesn’t  sit  right  with  her  and  they  get  the  less  friendly  version  ,  sibling  type  relationship  ,  just  a  very  pure  friendship  where  they’re  there  for  each  other  and  it’s  so  nice  and  wholesome  ,  drinking/partying  buddies  ,  ok  listen  nihan  is  not  a  regular  drinker  ,  but  this  person  could  just  trigger  something  in  her..  get  her  drunk  i  promise  it’s  gonna  be  fun!!!!

romantic : on and off , hear me out nihan is not an anti romantic </3 , in fact , she’s naive and gives second and third chances , which is why she always finds herself going back to that person , even if they both know it’s going to end with them parting ways again , unrequited love/crush , whether it’s on her behalf or the other way around… it’s just a cute concept okay??? esp when it’s one sided and makes me wanna ugly cry , enemies with benefits , because it’s sexy thats it .

misc  :  bad  influence  ,  basically  someone  who  pushes  her  in  the  wrong  direction  and  helps  erase  any  progress  she’s  made  so  far  ,  neighbors  ,  roomates  ,  besties  ,  slowburns  ,  exes  ,  a  good  old  partner  in  crime  would  be  nice  too!!!  get  her  into  trouble  and  drag  her  through  the  mud..  yuh

her pinterest board can be found here and i also have a plots sideblog for inspo that you can find here ♡

[photographybymichiale]

"My house looks like I'm losing a game of Jumanji"

(Roseate spoonbills at Ding Darling Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island, Florida)