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riddleswhcre · 17 days ago

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prince of darkness

the grim reaper doesn’t just take souls. he claims them. a dark, lust-filled Tom Riddle where obsession meets damnation. are you ready to give him your soul?

warnings: smut, DUB-CON, non-con elements, coercion, fear kink, power imbalance, gaslighting.

au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the air in the hospital room is wrong. heavy. stagnant. as if even the walls know what’s coming.

you grip your boyfriend’s hand—cold, lifeless, slipping further with every shallow breath he takes. his chest rises. falls. rises again. but each time, it’s weaker. less certain. the machines beep softly, filling the silence with their cruel reminders.

the doctors said there was nothing left to do.

you don’t believe them.

you can’t.

"please."

your voice is barely there, cracking, shaking, fingers tightening over his. you aren’t sure who you’re speaking to—a god? the universe? fate?

"please don’t take him from me."

silence answers.

your eyes burn, but you don’t cry. not yet.

instead, your mind drifts—grasping at something, anything. a whisper at the back of your skull. a thought you should have buried the moment it formed.

you could fix this.

it’s insane. impossible. the kind of desperate, reckless thing only a person on the verge of breaking would consider.

but you are breaking.

so, when midnight comes—

you go looking for something that shouldn’t exist.

the hospital chapel is cold. too cold. the candles flicker weakly, their glow failing against the press of the dark.

you step forward.

"if you’re real," you murmur, your voice barely holding steady, "if the stories are true—if there’s anything out there listening—i need you."

nothing.

the silence stretches.

you swallow, your throat raw. "death. the reaper. the devil. whoever you are, i’m calling you."

the air shifts.

the temperature drops, ice blooming across the stained-glass windows. the flickering candles shudder violently, their flames nearly snuffed out. the shadows stretch. move. the room bends, folds in on itself—

and he steps forward.

not like an apparition. not like a trick of the light.

like something that was always here, waiting just beyond sight, stepping through now only because he chose to.

tall. dressed in black, the fabric clinging to him like a second skin, sculpted over sharp, inhuman perfection. the world bends around him, unable to contain him. but it’s his eyes that trap you—bottomless, consuming, swallowing you whole.

he smiles.

"you called for me."

the weight of him nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

he moves closer, the air growing thicker with every step, as if the space itself is collapsing around him. you can’t breathe. you can’t move.

"did you think i wouldn’t come?"

you force your voice out, barely a whisper. "i—i need your help.

his smirk lingers, slow and knowing. "of course you do."

another step. you feel it in your bones.

"it’s my boyfriend," you manage. "he’s dying. the doctors can’t—" a breath. "but you can. can’t you?"

something flickers in his gaze. interest? amusement? he tilts his head, drinking in every desperate inch of you.

"saving a life is no small thing," he murmurs. "tell me, little one...what are you willing to offer in return?"

"anything."

the word leaves you too fast. too easy.

his expression darkens. not displeased. interested.

"you mortals," he says, stepping closer still. "so quick to make promises. so eager to throw yourselves at my feet." his fingers brush your cheek, cold as the grave. "and yet, you don’t even understand what you’re saying."

you flinch, but you don’t pull away.

his touch trails lower, his thumb ghosting over your pulse, feeling the way it pounds beneath his fingers. he hums, pleased.

"you’re terrified," he murmurs, almost thoughtful. "and yet, here you are. still looking at me like i’m your salvation."

your throat tightens. "can you do it or not?"

his smirk returns, slow and cruel. "oh, little one," he purrs, tilting your chin higher, forcing you to meet his gaze. "i can do anything."

the weight of his words sinks in. thick. suffocating. final.

"but," he continues, dragging the moment out, savouring you, "nothing is ever free."

you nod. "take whatever you want."

his eyes gleam.

"careful," he murmurs, voice dropping to something ruinous, curling around you like smoke. "a soul isn’t given, little one."

his fingers tighten. his breath brushes your ear.

"it’s taken."

the shadows move.

they devour the space between you, winding around your wrists, your throat. your breath catches. you can’t move. the weight of him—his presence, his voice—presses down like a vice, unstoppable.

"you belong to me now," he whispers.

the words sink into your skin. unshakeable. true.

your knees buckle, but he catches you—slow, deliberate hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer. your breath stutters as his fingers tighten, the fabric of your shirt twisting beneath his grip.

"did you really think," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "that i would grant you mercy and let you simply walk away?"

the candlelight flickers. the walls feel smaller, as if reality itself is shrinking to make room for him.

"you don’t understand," you whisper, panic creeping in. "i just—i just wanted—"

"to save him," he finishes, mockingly sweet. "yes, i know." his lips ghost along the edge of your jaw, not quite touching, just enough to make you ache. "and now i get to decide what saving really means."

your stomach twists.

his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, slow and possessive.

"how far are you willing to go for him?" he muses, his breath cold against your throat. "would you bleed for him?" his teeth graze your pulse. "break for him?" his hands tighten on your hips. "would you let me ruin you for him?"

the way he says it—ruin—makes something hot coil in your gut.

"i—"

he chuckles. dark. dangerous.

"shhh," he murmurs, and suddenly you’re against the wall, his weight pressing into you, shadows curling tight around your wrists. his hands move—sliding up your stomach, your ribs, exploring.

"do you feel that?" he whispers.

your breath catches.

"that little heartbeat of yours," he purrs, pressing his hips against yours. "racing for me."

you whimper—because it’s true.

his fingers move at the hem of your shirt, slow and teasing, tracing idle patterns against the soft skin of your stomach. his touch is cold—unnatural, seeping beneath your skin, branding you from the inside out. a reminder of what you are now. who you are now.

his.

"you’re shaking," he murmurs, voice smooth and rich, edged with amusement. "is that fear? or something else?"

your breath catches as his fingers slide lower, just barely dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, never quite touching where you need him to. he knows. of course, he knows.

"you don’t have to answer," he continues, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath freezing against your skin. "i can feel it. the way your pulse stutters. the way your body betrays you."

his other hand brushes along your ribs, inching higher. not rushed. not desperate. tom riddle doesn’t hurry. he takes his time. he unravels.

"you wanted this," he murmurs, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. "don’t lie to me."

"i—i didn’t—"

his hand tightens on your waist. not enough to hurt. just enough to remind you who holds the power here.

"you begged for me," he says, his tone dark, slow, merciless. "you whispered my name like a prayer, and now you want to pretend you didn’t mean it?"

your throat feels tight. "i just wanted to save him."

his laughter is low, knowing, cruel.

"is that what you keep telling yourself?"

his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice a whisper of death, of inevitability.

"that this was for him?"

his fingers move lower, slipping beneath your jeans, and your body betrays you completely.

a sharp inhale. your thighs clench.

tom hums, pleased.

"poor thing," he murmurs, dragging his fingers against you, feeling how wet you already are. "you don’t even realise, do you?"

you shake your head. "realise what?"

his fingers slide deeper, dragging through the slick heat between your legs, slow and taunting.

"that you were never here for him," he whispers, lips brushing against your neck, his voice sinking into your skin like poison. "you were here for me."

your breath stutters. his teeth graze your throat, sharp and deliberate.

"say it," he murmurs.

your eyes squeeze shut. "no."

a low, warning sound rumbles in his chest.

the next thing you know, his shadows are curling around your wrists, holding you still. his knee parts your thighs, pressing up between them, and the pressure is too much and not enough all at once.

"say it," he commands, fingers curling inside you, forcing another whimper from your lips.

you shake your head, biting your lip hard, trying to fight the way your hips are already rocking into his touch.

"you really think you have a choice?" his breath ghosts over your lips, and his fingers thrust deeper, slow and devastating.

your body betrays you again. a sharp gasp, the unbearable heat twisting inside you.

tom laughs softly. "that’s what i thought."

his shadows move—spreading your legs wider, pinning them open, holding you exactly how he wants you.

"so sweet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out, dragging against every sensitive part of you, each movement slow, purposeful, designed to break you apart.

"look at you," he croons, his free hand trailing up your stomach, your chest, curling around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze. not yet. just rests his fingers there, reminding you who owns you now.

"dripping for me already," he murmurs, his voice mocking. "and i haven’t even fucked you yet."

a flush burns through your skin. shame. desire. need.

tom feels everything. he always does.

"you hate that you like it," he whispers against your lips, his fingers slipping out of you just to drag through the slick wetness between your legs again, spreading it, teasing.

he brings his fingers to your lips. "open."

you hesitate. his eyes darken.

"don’t make me ask again."

your lips part, and he pushes his fingers into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, making you taste yourself. his gaze never leaves yours, watching as you suck, as your body submits without hesitation.

"good girl," he breathes.

heat coils tight in your stomach.

his fingers slip from your lips, dragging down your body again, shoving your jeans lower, letting them pool at your ankles. you shiver, exposed, helpless, trapped between him and the wall.

and then—he’s lowering himself.

your breath catches.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, slow, lingering, his lips too cold and too hot all at once.

"say my name."

you don’t know it. you shouldn’t. but the moment he says it, it’s already there, curling in the back of your mind like a whisper that was always waiting.

tom.

ancient. inevitable. the name presses against your lips before you even realise you’re saying it.

and the moment you do?

his smile sharpens.

"you knew me before you even spoke it," he murmurs, voice dark and pleased. "because you’ve always belonged to me. haven’t you?"

"tom—"

his teeth scrape against soft skin, sharp and deliberate.

"shhh," he murmurs. his fingers tighten on your hips, holding you still. "i’m not done with you yet."

and then, his mouth is on you.

a sharp cry rips from your lips, your body jerking against the shadows still holding you in place. his tongue cold, devastatingly skilled—fucks into you, slow and cruel, dragging against every sensitive inch of you.

"you taste like sin," he murmurs, voice vibrating against you.

your hips buck, but he doesn’t let you move.

he devours you, licks into you like he’s starving, like he’s meant for this, like he wants to destroy you with pleasure.

"you’re mine," he breathes against you, his tongue flicking just right, making your whole body shake.

your hands claw at the stone wall, gasping, falling apart too fast. he won’t let you go until he gets what he wants.

"say it," he demands, and his fingers slip inside you again, curling just right, fucking you with slow, merciless precision.

you break.

"i’m yours," you gasp, desperate, mindless, gone. "i’m yours. i belong to you."

tom hums, satisfied, his lips pressing against the inside of your thigh one last time before he stands again, towering over you, his fingers dragging your slickness down your thigh.

his smile is dark, knowing, victorious. "good girl," he murmurs.

tom’s fingers move lazily over his belt, unfastening the buckle with slow, deliberate precision, as if he has all the time in the world. his gaze never leaves your face, watching the way your chest rises and falls too fast, how your body shakes even as you press yourself against the wall like you can somehow escape what’s coming.

you can’t.

his smirk deepens. he likes that you’re still pretending.

he frees himself, the sight of it sending a fresh shiver through your already-ruined body. the weight of his cock presses against the front of his trousers, thick, aching, demanding attention, but he doesn’t hurry. he just watches you, drinking in your expression like it’s his favourite sin.

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice smooth and cutting, filled with dark amusement. "still pretending you don’t want this."

your throat is dry, your mind spinning. "i—"

his fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet his.

"careful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly, as if daring you to bite him.

daring you to try.

"you’re already mine," he says, voice a low, dangerous promise. "there’s no point in lying to yourself now."

you shudder. his presence is too much, his body too close, his fingers too knowing as they slide down your throat, along the curve of your collarbone, tracing the shape of you like he’s memorising every inch.

he leans in, his lips hovering just over yours, not kissing, just waiting, letting you feel the way his breath ghosts over your mouth.

"you begged for this," he murmurs. "do you remember?"

you swallow hard.

his fingers curl around your throat, a light squeeze—not to hurt, just to remind you how easily he could.

"tell me how you begged," he whispers, his free hand dragging down your stomach, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the mess he’s already made of you.

you let out a broken sound, hips tilting forward into his touch despite yourself.

tom smirks. "that’s right. just like that. so eager."

he presses harder, his fingers teasing you again, but not quite giving you what you need.

"tell me what you said," he orders.

your cheeks burn. "i—"

his grip tightens slightly around your throat. "say it."

your breath shudders out of you. "i said i’d give you anything."

his low chuckle vibrates against your skin, dark and pleased.

"and here you are," he murmurs, his hand finally slipping lower, fingers spreading you open, teasing the aching, sensitive heat between your legs.

"dripping for me. desperate for me. mine."

your eyes squeeze shut as he strokes you, slow and cruel, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, playing with you like you’re something fragile and breakable and already ruined beyond repair.

his cock presses against your stomach, hard and aching, and the realisation of how big he is makes something tighten deep in your belly.

he sees it. of course he does.

"you should be afraid," he murmurs, his fingers still fucking into you, slow and devastating. "but look at you."

his grip shifts, his free hand sliding down your waist, your hips, his fingers pressing against the softest parts of you, mapping you, memorising the way your body responds to him.

"you love this," he breathes against your lips. "the fear. the power. me."

your whole body burns. your pulse races beneath his hand, a frantic thing, a desperate, helpless thing.

he nudges your legs wider, forcing you open for him, the shadows around your wrists tightening just slightly.

"say it," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your slick heat, not pushing in yet, just teasing, making sure you feel every second of this.

you whimper. "i—i don’t—"

tom laughs softly, shaking his head.

"you still think you have a choice?"

his hips snap forward, and you feel him push inside, the stretch too much and perfect all at once, his cock forcing your body to take him, to open for him.

a sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers clawing at the stone wall. his shadows tighten around your wrists, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

his growl is low, pleased, satisfied, dark.

"fuck," he breathes, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you still as he buries himself completely inside you.

you feel every inch of him. the slow, devastating drag of it.

"you’re perfect," he mutters, his lips brushing against your jaw, your ear, your throat.

his fingers press against your lower stomach, right where he’s stretching you open.

"do you feel that?" he whispers. "how deep i am?"

you can’t speak. can’t think. your body trembles beneath him, every nerve lit with fire.

"you take me so well," he breathes, pulling out slowly, dragging every inch of his cock against your aching, sensitive walls, before snapping his hips forward again, making you cry out.

"fuck, that’s it," he murmurs, setting a slow, merciless rhythm, fucking you deep and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every deliberate claim.

"tell me who you belong to," he demands, his voice low and sharp, his fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely.

your eyes flutter.

"say it," he growls, his thrusts deep and hard and inescapable, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

"i—" your breath shatters.

his hand slides lower, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing just right, just enough, pushing you too close, too fast.

"say it, or i stop."

a broken sob escapes your lips.

"i’m yours," you gasp, voice wrecked, shaking, completely gone.

tom groans, thrusting into you harder, the sound of skin against skin, the wet, filthy noises of your bodies echoing in the dim chapel.

"that’s my girl," he breathes, voice raw and dark and victorious.

"you were always mine."

and then he makes you prove it.

his fingers press against your lower stomach, just above the place where he’s already buried so deep inside you.

"feel that?" his voice is low, mocking, dragging through the thick heat between you. "i’m so deep in this pretty little cunt, i can feel myself inside you."

you don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t.

you’re already falling apart, shaking beneath him, the stretch of him too much and not enough all at once. he’s big, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you, the slow, deliberate way he moves making it worse, making it unbearable.

"fuck, you’re tight," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely.

your nails scrape against the stone wall, trying to hold onto something, but there’s nothing to hold onto—only him, only the slow, punishing drag of his cock, only the way he’s filling you so completely there isn’t a single part of you he hasn’t claimed.

and he knows it.

"taking me so well," he murmurs, his breath hot and cold against your skin, dragging his lips along your throat, your jaw, your cheek. "look at you. a perfect little mess. so wet for me. so fucking eager."

you whimper, hips shifting against his, already desperate for more.

tom chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "i should have made you beg for it longer," he murmurs, his voice low and cruel, hips snapping forward just a little harder, making you gasp. "you would have. in the end."

he knows what he’s doing—knows exactly how to break you apart, how to push you closer to the edge, how to make you forget anything but him.

his pace shifts, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, his fingers slipping lower, spreading you open with every slow, devastating stroke.

"look at you, dripping down my cock already," he breathes, watching the way your body clenches around him, how easy it is for him to fuck you open. "so fucking good for me."

a sharp moan rips from your throat, your body shuddering as pleasure coils tight in your stomach.

he can feel it. of course, he can.

"you’re close," he murmurs, sounding so fucking pleased with himself. "come on, let me feel it. let me feel this pretty little cunt squeeze me when you come."

his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, circling just right, pushing you over the edge so fast you barely have time to breathe.

a sharp cry, your whole body trembling, the pleasure so intense it nearly pulls you under completely.

tom groans, thrusting deeper, fucking you through it, watching you fall apart with something dark and hungry in his eyes.

"that’s it," he breathes, voice rough and raw, fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he snaps his hips forward faster, chasing his own release now.

"you feel so fucking good," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, harder, deeper, inescapable. "so fucking perfect. like you were made for me."

his hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back just slightly, enough for his teeth to scrape against your throat, for his breath to ghost over your ear.

"you’re mine now," he murmurs, fucking you deep, slow, merciless, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every claim.

your breath shatters, your body still shaking from your orgasm, but it only makes him thrust harder, rougher, filthier, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you.

"fuck—" his voice is low, desperate, his pace losing rhythm, his cock throbbing inside you as he finally lets go, slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick and completely fucking inescapable.

his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you take every drop of him.

for a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, your body limp and ruined against the stone wall, his hands still gripping your waist like he’s not ready to let go.

then, slowly, his lips ghost over your jaw, your cheek, your ear.

"that’s it," he murmurs, voice rough and sated, fingers sliding down your trembling thighs, spreading you open again, as if admiring the way he’s left you dripping, shaking, completely wrecked.

"you look so fucking pretty like this," he breathes, his thumb swiping between your legs, dragging through the mess he’s made of you.

your body shudders at the overstimulation, but he only smirks, watching every little reaction, every twitch, every shiver.

"you’re not done yet, little one," he murmurs, low and dark and utterly unshaken.

his fingers tease you again, just barely. a warning. a promise.

"we’ve only just begun."

─────────────────────

the steady beep of the heart monitor is the first thing you hear.

soft. rhythmic. real.

you blink against the sterile white glow of the hospital room, your body aching, your head swimming. the chair beneath you is stiff and uncomfortable; your fingers curled around a warm, living hand.

his hand.

your breath stutters. your boyfriend lies in the bed beside you, chest rising and falling with a steady, even rhythm. alive. he’s alive.

his eyelids flutter before his gaze slowly meets yours. familiar. safe. confused.

"hey," he murmurs, voice weak and worn. "you stayed."

a strangled noise catches in your throat. tears spill over, hot and uncontrollable, as you lurch forward, clutching him too tightly, burying your face against his neck.

he’s warm. so fucking warm.

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget. trying to convince yourself it was just a dream.

the shadows. the ice in your veins. the cold weight of him inside you.

no. it didn’t happen. it couldn’t have happened.

you saved him. that’s all that matters.

you force yourself to pull away, swiping at your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. "i—yeah. of course, i stayed. where else would i be?"

a soft smile tugs at his lips before exhaustion takes him under again, his eyes slipping closed.

you exhale, shaking hands still curled around his, willing the weight in your chest to disappear.

it was nothing.

it was just a nightmare.

a breath. another.

you can almost believe it—until the air shifts.

it’s subtle. just a whisper of something wrong. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, your stomach twisting.

a shadow moves in the corner of your vision.

your pulse stops.

slowly—too slowly—your gaze drags to the mirror mounted on the wall beside you. the reflection stares back. the dim hospital lighting. the crisp sheets. your boyfriend’s still, sleeping body.

and him.

standing behind you.

your breath catches.

he looks the same as he did before—perfect and terrible and so impossibly there—watching you with those bottomless black eyes, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.

your chest tightens, throat constricting, fingers gripping your boyfriend’s hand too hard. but he doesn’t react. doesn’t see what you see.

because there is nothing there.

you squeeze your eyes shut.

"not real."

"not real. not real. not—"

a slow, quiet chuckle presses against your ear.

"sweet little liar," tom murmurs.

your lungs collapse.

you spin around, heart hammering, but—nothing.

the hospital room is still. silent.

your gaze snaps back to the mirror—but it’s empty.

just you.

just the bed.

just your boyfriend, alive and well.

your pulse thrums wildly beneath your skin, hands trembling as you pull them away from him, curling them into your lap. your nails dig into your palms, hard enough to hurt. hard enough to ground you.

it was nothing.

it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

the exhaustion. the grief.

that’s all.

you inhale slowly, pressing a shaking hand to your temple, trying to push him out of your thoughts.

but the burn of his touch still lingers on your skin.

your body still aches from the way he ruined you.

and somewhere in the deepest part of you, you know.

you can run. you can pretend. you can wake up to the morning light and convince yourself it was only a nightmare.

but tom riddle doesn’t grant mercy.

and when he comes for you again—

you won’t wake up at all.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭

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shiftythrifting · 8 months ago

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just in time for senior discount day

#thrifting #shiftythrifting #submission #glow in the dark #sex dice

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residences-of-the-darkforest · 16 days ago

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Dark Forest Residences: Witheredflame & Echoflare

Witheredflame

TW: transphobia, unaccepting parents

Aliases / Nicknames: Unwelcome Kit, Withered Thing, Flames, Beloved, Dear Brother

Gender: trans male (he/they/it)

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: Lightbloom (mother), Rubyclaw (father), Brightstone (brother)

Other Relations: Grainwatcher, Parrotsong, Burningdeer, Mossglare, Violetwing, Echoflare (best friends/codependent allies), Redgem, Darkdeer (crushes/kithood friends)

Clan: ShiningClan, former resident of the Teaching Island

Rank: Young Warrior (11 moons)

Characteristics: withdrawn, timid among strangers, angry, kind, loving, has bad C-PTSD, loyal, lives by 'an eye for an eye' (alive) -- missing an eye, an ear, and a paw, unable to speak due to his wounds, even worse C-PTSD, codependent on Echoflare (death)

Murder Motive: Fear for his life, anger at what was done to him

Number of Victims: 0 (in life), 3 (in death)

Number of Murders: 0 (in life), 3 (in death)

Murder Method: blind panic during an ambush, luring out of camp, then returning what was done to him tenfold

Known Victims: Lightbloom, Rubyclaw, an unnamed apprentice from the Teaching Island

Victim Profile: a kit who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, his parents

Cause of Death: murdered by his parents

Cautionary Tale: do not mistreat kits, even unwanted ones

Story:

Really, it was never his fault. He didn't ask to be born, yet his parents blamed him for it anyways.

The only good things he ever knew in ShiningClan were his brother, who showered him in all the affection he could ever want, and his two (at the time) best friends, Redkit and Darkkit.

Together, the four of them were all that was ever needed. Together, Rosemarykit always could smile.

Until his parents finally had enough.

He didn't think that confessing he wasn't really a girl would do anything, but it made everything turn horrible.

At least he still had his brother and friends. At least, until he was sent away.

The Teaching Island was a, well, island in the middle of the lake that bordered RockyClan, a place where parents would send their misbehaving kits until they were deemed 'proper warriors'. It was like a death sentence to Witheredkit, five moons old, and already being taken away from everything he knew.

The three weeks before Grainpaw found him were torture. Being so small and weak meant he couldn't compete against the older apprentices for food and shelter. He went to sleep starving and cold, huddled on wet rocks and hearing only the cries of the birds.

And then, a ray of light found him.

Grainpaw saw him, and took him to the shelter that he shared with his friends. There were six of them in total, and Witheredpaw made seven.

For the first time since this nightmare started, Witheredpaw felt happy.

Until that Star-Damned Rabbitpaw decided that Grainpaw was his.

Rabbitpaw was well known among the young cats. He was a bully who stopped at nothing to take what he wanted. Bluepaw and Grainpaw had originally been close to him, but after Bluepaw's mate was killed, the three had drifted. It was rumored that it was Rabbitpaw himself who killed Fernpaw, but nothing was ever proven.

Rabbitpaw was ruthless and angry, and he came after their group with no mercy. They all got away alive, but not without both mental and physical scars. Unfortunately, not all of their peers were lucky enough to escape.

Witheredflame was washing his paws clean of blood spilt during a fight that never should've happened when he was informed that he was being returned to ShiningClan.

Being brought back to his brother and his two crushes should've been a time to celebrate, but instead Witheredflame felt... hollow. His friends were alive, but none of them were part of ShiningClan. He was a a warrior at only ten moons old, but it wasn't worth it.

He felt empty and broken, and all he wanted was to see his friends again.

He knew, on some internal level, that he shouldn't go with his parents into the forest, but he still did. He wasn't sure if he cared enough any more.

So it hurt like nothing before when his paw was smashed to bits, then his face ripped open, then his throat and mouth slashed.

He never deserved this. He just wanted to heal. How dare his parents do this?

And so, he opened his eyes to the clearing he died in.

Echoflare

Aliases / Nicknames: Nemesis, Retribution, Burned Shadow, Beloved, Love, Echo

Gender: agender (they/he)

Sexuality: asexual-homosexual

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father -- (abandoned)

Other Relations: Violetwing (mate), Foxflight, Dogwoodbloom, Hollyheart (adoptive kits), Grainwatcher, Parrotsong, Burningdeer, Mossglare, Witheredflame (best friends/codependent allies)

Clan: FlareClan, former resident of the Teaching Island

Rank: Warrior (34 moons)

Characteristics: easy going, friendly, a bit socially awkward, very protective of his friends and family, willing to bend his morals to make sure justice is served (alive) -- newly realized C-PSDT, anger at the Clans, has a rather strange moral code (death)

Murder Motive: fury at ShiningClan, grief over Witheredflame

Number of Victims: 2+ (most likely affected the entirety of ShiningClan (aside from a select few))

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: Restraining the victims for Witheredflame to deal the killing blow

Known Victims: Lightbloom, Rubyclaw

Victim Profile: the killers of their best friend

Cause of Death: shot by a Twoleg

Cautionary Tale: protect the young, for they will remember everything you did

Story:

Echo was alone when they were born.

Of course, this is just an exaggeration, but it sure felt like it.

As soon as he was weaned, he was sent to the Clans. None of them wanted a kit who couldn't yet provide for itself, so off to Teaching Island it was.

At least Rowanmaggot was kind enough to give them the smallest bit of shelter from the cold, and to give them food if they were starving. But he couldn't do much. Nobody could. The kits and apprentices out numbered the full grown warriors five to one at their least crowded.

So, Echopaw found friends. It was only two of them, at first. A pair of loner siblings, Grainpaw and Parrotpaw. The three of them fit together perfectly, with space for more to join.

And join, they did. Mosspaw, a loud but lonely apprentice, Burningpaw, chaotic and carefree, and Violetpaw, loving and protective.

For moons, it was the six of them, and Echopaw loved every second of it. Even better, they could use their fighting skill to make sure nobody dared to go near what was theirs.

Then Witheredpaw was brought in, soaking wet and eyeing everybody warily. Echopaw didn't push him, but instead kept close at night, offering body heat. They saved pieces of their food for Witheredpaw, and always left space for them if needed.

In a way, they grew to see Witheredpaw as the sibling they never had.

So when Witheredpaw came to them, sobbing after a fight with Rabbitpaw's goons, they didn't ask a single question. They didn't need to know, because they had already seen the dead body.

When they were finally told that they would be joining FlareClan, they couldn't feel any joy, because they were leaving Witheredflame to the mercy of his parents. Instead, Echoflare promised that as soon as they could, they'd come find Witheredflame.

If only they weren't too late.

Hearing that Witheredflame had been murdered was bad enough, being told that they couldn't see their grave, and then being told that the leader had a hunch on who the killer was, but couldn't punish them just yet...

Echoflame left the camp, narrowly avoiding causing a war with ShiningClan.

And maybe it would've ended there, but they were greeted by Witheredflame's spirit in the forest, the ghost distraught at everything. Echoflare could only gasp at Witheredflame's appearance, because of how broken and bloody he was. In an urgent voice, Echoflare asked who did this.

Witheredflame's one remaining eye glanced to the side, and he tried to scratch shapes into the ground, unable to speak.

"Was it your parents?" Echoflare whispered after Witheredflame seemed to wear himself out. The younger cat nodded miserably, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Well, that wouldn't do at all.

Echoflare decided right then and there that they would... fix this. However they could.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @red-winter-is-coming

--If he had lived, Witheredflame would've gotten with both Redgem and Darkdeer!

--In the Dark Forest, the two are inseparable. To separate them is to wish for fading.

--The Teaching Island fucks a lot of young cats up, and a general cycle of abuse tends to be seen within families that grew up there.

--Witheredflame is usually assumed to be a serial killer, due to his very disheveled appearance.

--Echoflare likes to help out in the Daycare! Witheredflame doesn't help out in the same way, but he likes comforting the kits, even if he can't talk.

--Witheredflame had to create his own version of signing to communicate, because he's down a paw and ear.

--Sometimes, Violetwing, Foxflight, Dogwoodbloom and Hollyheart (and really, all their shared friends) get visits from the two of them within shared dreams. These are some of Witheredflame's favorite moments, and Echoflare loves the chance to be a loving husband again <3

--The audhd besties. they're very codependent and are aware of this fact, but they don't give a fuck.

--Base by Spadecraftt on DeviantArt!

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critical-quoter · 2 months ago

Text

A life in the dark can make the light sting.

Dark Submission - Kitty Wilder

#book #books #booklr #book lover #book quotes #literature #lit #quote #reading #novel #dark submission #kitty wilder

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year ago

Text

Dark Forest Resident: Moonsong

Aliases / Nicknames: The Raven, Moon

Gender: she/her

Sexuality: panromantic

Family: Beetlespice (mother), Flintstar (father), Crystalpool (aunt), Dirtwater (uncle), Grasspelt, (grandmother) Oceanclaw (grandfather)

Other Relations: Deadfang (mentor)

Clan: ThunderClan

Rank: Warrior

Characteristics: bubbly and kind, sneaky, clever, smart, and very determined and brave, can see ghosts

Murder Motive: vengeance for her mother’s death

Number of Victims: 2

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: tricking, fooling, crushing, slitting throat, luring

Known Victims: Bluecloud, Flintstar

Victim Profile: her friend who she needed out of the way, her father

Cause of Death: fell off a gorge

Cautionary Tale: just because you’re kin to the Clan’s leader doesn’t mean you’re above everyone or everything else, especially not the warrior code

Story:

Moonkit was the runt of the nursery; she had no littermates and was constantly picked on because of her size.

Her father, Flintstar, hated her because he thought that Moonkit's size, a contrast to his own as a cat, was proof that his mate, Beetlespice, had cheated.

“That can’t be my kit!”

“Yes she is Flintstar! Why do you keep denying it?!”

“Look at its size! When I was a kit, I was not that small!”

“She’s a runt! She’ll grow, Flintstar! And stop calling her ‘It’! Your daughter has a name and it's Moonkit!”

“That’s no daughter of mine…”

When Moonkit’s eyes and ears opened she met a blue tortoiseshell she-cat named Bluekit. The two instantly became best friends.

Over the time in the nursery everyone else’s father came to visit them except for hers.

“Mama? Why doesn’t daddy ever come to visit us? Everyone else’s dad comes to visit them, why not us?” She had asked her mother.

Bettlespice had let out a deep sigh and turned to Moonkit with a forced smile. “It’s because he’s the leader of ThunderClan, so he’s very very busy.” “Oh” Moonkit replied.

When Moonpaw reached six moons, she was apprenticed to Deadfang, a mean, short-tempered senior warrior named after his chipped teeth. He was harsh to her, never giving her a break until she had perfected what he taught her.

"I’m tired, Deadfang, and all the other apprentices left ages ago! Can we please stop for the day?” Moonpaw had whimpered

“No! We’re not leaving until you get this move right now, do it again!” Deadfang yelled back.

By the time she finally learned how to swipe correctly, she was beyond exhausted and could barely stand on her paws, which forced Deadfang to carry her back to camp. Everyone in the apprentices' den started calling her spoiled because of that.

One night, Moonpaw went out for a walk and encountered a transparent black cat with hazel eyes.

“Who-who are you?” Moonpaw had asked, her pelt beginning to bristle.

“I am Icylark. I used to be a WindClan warrior long ago.”

“Are you a StarClan cat?” Moonpaw had asked.

“No, I am merely a ghost," Icylark told her.

“If you’re a ghost, how can I see and talk to you?” Moonpaw asked. The ghost just chuckled, “ That's a question you should ask your mother…” then he was gone before Moonpaw could question him further.

When Moonpaw passed her warrior assessment, she was named Moonsong and her best friend was called Bluecloud.

Moonsong finally asked her mother about her ability to see and talk to ghosts.

“Well, you see Moonsong..it all started with my great-great-great grandmother, Willowlake. She had the ability to talk to ghosts along with your great-great grandfather, Bubblestone, and my sister, Crystalpool. I guess the gift has passed on to you. All you need to know is that this is a gift from StarClan," Beetlespice had explained.

The same night, Moonsong heard yelling and sprang to help, but when she found the source, she saw her parents arguing. Not a pleasant sight, but a familiar one--so familiar that when the initial alarm at hearing raised voices settled, all interest in the dispute left her and she returned to her nest, completely unaware that she had just left her mother to die after coming so close to helping her.

Moonsong was devastated to learn that her mother was dead. She refused to eat, sleep, or bathe. Because of her poor health, she did not receive an apprentice, unlike Bluecloud, who became the mentor to a tom named Rockpaw.

One day, when Moonsong was walking alone, she saw a ghost. A very familiar ghost.

“M-mother? Is that you?” Moonsong had asked, not believing what she was seeing.

“Yes, my daughter, it is me. It is Beetlespice.”

“Mother! I missed you so much! But why are you a ghost? Shouldn’t you be in StarClan?” She had asked.

“Not yet," Beetlespice responded. "I need you to do something for me so I can pass on to StarClan.”

“Anything! What is it?” Moonsong asked excitedly.

“I need you to kill your father. Flintstar caused my death, not a rogue.” Beetlespice explained.

Moonsong's whole world was turned upside down before shattering into a dozen sharp pieces that stabbed into her. “I- I can’t believe it… father killed you? But why?!” Moonsong wailed.

“He was scared of your power. That’s all you need to know. Now please, my dear daughter, my death…” then she was gone.

With that information from her late mother, she got to work.

First, she lead Flintstar deep into ThunderClan territory alone after having manipulated a group of rogues and loners to come and attack the leader. They managed to take only two of his lives before retreating, but that was alright. He also had two left.

Following the attack, Flintstar was paranoid. He was constantly on edge, and so worried that he would lose his remaining lives, even in the camp, that he assigned Bluecloud as his bodyguard to be extra safe.

That is, until Bluecloud was mysteriously attacked and made to stay in the medicine den. Moonsong became his new bodyguard after that--she had pretended to help him fight the loners and rogues convincingly enough that he did not suspect her.

When Flintstar and Moonsong went hunting, Moonsong pretended to spot a fat rabbit and charged after it. Flintstar tried to follow, but his age slowed him down and he struggled to keep up. He was exhausted, panting, and didn't notice that the tree Moonsong had stopped behind had upturned roots and was leaning--

Moonsong pushes all her weight into it, and that last nudge was enough.

But the tree was small. It didn't squash Flintstar completely. He still had his final life left.

Flintstar struggled desperately to dig himself out, to no avail. He looked at the daughter he had rejected and begged her to help him.

Moonsong had responded by unsheathing her claws.

“This is for Beetlespice...” She stated in an emotionless voice as she dragged her claw across his throat, cutting it open and killing him instantly.

Moonsong was about to head back to camp, but when she turned, she was was face-to-face with the day patrol.

They immediately charged after her after witnessing her murder Flintstar.

Moonsong almost escaped, until she was cornered on the gorge and the large piece of the edge she was standing on gave out, and she was hanging on for dear life until she lost her grip and plummeted her death.

When she awoke, a Dark Forest greeted her.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @moonsongsunpaw Welcome! Sorry for the long wait!

#dark forest submission #dark forest profile #dark profile #dark submission #moonpaw #flintstar #long post #warriors oc #wc oc #warrior cats oc #dark forest #dark forest oc #dark forest warrior #place of no stars #place of no stars oc #always greats to have new people!

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