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datesinredink · 4 months ago

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could you possibly write headcanons you have of how the rise yanderes would like psychologically manipulate/punish their darling? i’m all for physical violence but what do they do to mess their darling up in the head?

ty very much for reading this if you do :)

THANK YOU SO MUCH RAGHHHHHH!!!!! Since this is such a fun question to answer im gonna order these from most to least awful. The ranking is just my opinion and i would LOVE to see what other people think jhwhnwiurfj i decided to chug a soda to write this and i think that was a great decision because i immediately came up with smth for donnie because of it.

I decided to search up some ACTUAL psychological torture methods that have been/are used in real life and let normal manipulation take more of a backseat so that this didn’t end up too repetitive- honestly would recommend researching it, it’s a fun topic.

Trigger warnings: Very unfun use of technology in your arm, Drugging, More drugging, Even more drugging, Withholding of food/water (+ a more mild example of doing so but it still happens), Mild descriptions of gore, Mentions of blood, general yandere stuff like kidnapping, and likely others- please ask me to tag anything else triggering, because unfortunately I am not perfect.

1- Donnie.

This might be surprising to some of you. Yes, Leo is the manipulator- he’s the face man, the people guy, but I think that in terms of sheer awfulness- Donnie is going to win here simply because of the potential with his tech.

He’s a genius with access to mystic powers who has incredible skill with both designing and creating various machines and gadgets. I think that he’d be very creative, just considering how much he thought to fit into just his bō staff.

My first thought was that he could come up with a small device (which might be able to double as a tracker) to embed under your skin that could move around. It would skitter up and down your arm like a beetle (likely your dominant arm, just to be worse) and be a nice cherry on top of anything else he could come up with.

To pair with that, he could force some type of hallucinogenic drug down your throat- after some googling, LSD would be a likely candidate. While apparently it usually only causes “pseudo-hallucinations” (where you know that they aren’t real, whereas true hallucinations would be where you think they are), true hallucinations can happen, and the pseudo-hallucinations combined with the environment alone would be enough to cause a panic attack. Not even to mention the kind of drugs that the mystic city might have. (edit: i just found out about datura??? GODDAMN THAT’S A STRONG DRUG.)

Also, I think that Donnie would actually take decent care of you prior to any sort of escape attempt or broken rule. He’d hate for you to waste away in a dark room for the rest of your now shared life, so he would take you outside to some private space for a set amount of time everyday while you’re chained to him and probably gagged so you don’t call for help- you need time in the sun and exercise, after all. That’s why I think he’d also stop doing that if you broke a rule. You don’t want to be anywhere near him, and he supposes that he’s fine with that- but if you really don’t want anything to do with Donnie anymore, then you’ll just have to deal with losing all the luxuries that came with him being so caring.

He’ll lower the temperature in your room and take the hoodie that he so graciously gave you and waltz on out. He still brings you food and water, but now it’s less frequent and more random since now he’s prioritizing his brilliant inventions. Sorry dear, but weren’t you the one who begged him to leave you alone? Now he is. What’s the problem?

2- Leo.

Even if you haven’t done anything wrong (yet), being kept in his room would probably be a nightmare. I feel in my adhd soul that he would NOT be good at keeping it clean. It’d be living in a constant mess, and as someone who has lived in a perpetually messy house, it will definitely take a toll on your mental health. Not to mention the additional noise from whatever he and his brothers are doing. You wouldn’t be allowed outside of it either, not for a while at least, so you’d never know what day or time it is.

Other than the already constant sensory of his room, I think that Leo would mainly use threats- of which he goes through with. Not against you, though, but against your family, (what’s left of) your friends, and any other loved ones you might have. He’ll drag their unconscious body into whatever room he’s keeping you in, and wait with you for them to wake up.

While you two are waiting, he’ll lay out everything he’s planning to do to them in awful detail- and lucky you, he even left out some things as a nice surprise!

You’ll be tied to a chair and forced to watch as their guts fall to the ground from the clean slice in their now empty abdomen while Leo picks up and talks about their functions one by one. You silently wish that you never told him that you admired his skills as the team medic.

When he’s finally done rambling about the various viscera laying on the cold floor, he’ll force you to help him clean up- “so that Raph doesn’t get mad about the mess”, as he says. He’ll hold you in his arms when the two of you are done, whispering in your ear about how sorry he is that he had to do that, but you really did force his hand, and you know that, right? If only you had listened…

When the list of people you can bring yourself to care about finally has 0 names, Leo starts to instead take things away from you. He starts small, gradually taking and taking like the parasite you’ve learned he is until all you have left are the clothes you wear and him. He’ll even deprive you of food and water for periods of time, and you can no longer tell if you wish he would shut up for once or if you’re grateful for at least anything to distract you from the constant pain in your empty stomach.

Mikey and Raph landed themselves towards the bottom because I think that they’re both more lenient with punishments (Raph would be afraid of hurting you beyond repair physically OR mentally and Mikey has generally been shown to be very patient and forgiving with people he cares about), but I also think that they might be more exhausting to be stuck with GENERALLY, wearing you down slowly in day-to-day life rather than harsh punishments for breaking whatever rules might be in place for you.

3- Raph.

Raph would try to instill learned helplessness into his darling, to make them understand why he always has to be so careful!

It’ll happen the next morning after a particularly bad argument between you two, and when he’s suddenly letting you handle sharp objects again- but oh no! For some reason you feel so sluggish and dizzy today that you messed up and sliced open your arm. It’s ok- Raph’s here for you! He’ll either patch up your arm himself or take you to Leo, and after it’s taken care of he’ll scold you and say that it’s fine, maybe he’ll give you another chance next week. And he keeps his word- once again, you’re allowed to try your hand at chopping some veggies with him or Mikey- and again, you feel dizzy and accidentally cut yourself.

This will happen many more times- or not, if you give in easily enough- at least until Raph finally decides that he just can’t keep doing this. He brought you to the lair to keep you away from harm, and despite it being to teach you a lesson, he just can’t bear to watch blood drip down your pretty skin.

So instead, he further seals you away- locking you in his room and wrapping one of his hoodies around your head. He’ll keep you like this until you finally learn.

He won’t starve you, at least. He’d hate to watch you waste away after everything, so you’ll be fine physically, but it’ll be hell to not be able to see or properly hear anything. It’ll also be more difficult to breathe properly through the fabric, so I wish you luck with that.

He’s infuriatingly nice throughout the whole thing. Of course he’s angry when you argue with him- when you hurl insults and and completely unfounded whining (yeah right) at him. Sometimes he hurriedly leaves the room so he doesn’t do anything he regrets- but when he comes back- despite your wishes that he wouldn’t- he just wraps that damned hoodie around your skull and chides you for your hostility, leaving you to wonder if this could really be better than death.

You feel insane rambling to his plushies, of which you now know the individual names of, but it’s an admittedly nice bit of company to have when your only other option is Raph. Honestly, you’d rather deal with Ms Cuddles by this point, and she even managed to wring a scream out of Donnie.

At least it’s something you can actually have even an ounce of fun doing that he won’t take away for being “too dangerous”. As long as you can tolerate his absolutely smitten behavior when he finds you talking to them.

Be careful about how loudly you complain, though- it might just land you being completely swaddled in blankets and left to go insane on his bed.

4- Mikey.

I think that if you were to try and escape from Mikey, he’d conclude that his love simply needs to spend more time with him! Maybe if he shows them how wonderful life is with him, they’ll stop trying to run away!

Unfortunately, I doubt his sleep schedule is very consistent. He keeps you up late at night to try out new spraypaints, recipes, games, anything he can find to do with you will be done. You hardly get the chance to sleep well, and the peace you get in dreams is frequently interrupted.

When he does take a break, he insists on sleeping in the same bed, and it’s much harder to fall asleep with him staring holes into you, as though he were trying to memorize every single detail.

It takes a damn long time to get Mikey to knock it off, too. You have to guess that stubbornness runs in the family, if his brothers are anything to go by. Unfortunately, said brothers’ coddling of their youngest has resulted in quite the persistent guy, and you’re quickly losing the energy to refute him. You wonder how long you’ll need to sleep for the giant spider in the corner of your vision to go away.

When the box turtle finally does realize how much of a toll his shenanigans have taken on poor you, he decides that as the person responsible for you, it’s his job to make sure that you get plenty of rest- and if you refuse, Dr Delicate Touch and Dr Feelings are always here to make sure you’re convinced!

He does a sort of 180- where he once forced you to do everything, he now forces you to do nothing at all, even when your mind screams at you to get up and move. He’ll slip something he stole from the pharmacy into your food and carry your sleeping figure back to his room for your seemingly infinite nap.

In between consciousness, you’ve learned to just stay in bed, maybe draw or write something related to all the adventures you go on in dreamworld.

Fun fact, over sleeping has a couple negative side effects- it increases the risk of diabetes, obesity, headaches, back pain, depression (like you don’t have that already, being kidnapped and all), and heart disease! I wish you the best of luck.

When he finally believes your rest to be sufficient, everything will go back to normal. Except, of course, the lingering paranoia of when it’ll happen all over again will continue to haunt you.

Who knows, maybe he’ll continue drugging you just to keep you a little more complacent. Can’t have you running away all the time, right?

#yandere tmnt #yandere rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #yandere #tmnt x reader #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #sigh #yknow guys i still cringe while tagging characters #oh well #anyway as i have learned begging for asks WORKS #it's GREAT #i have more things to write but. you should keep sending me ideas #maybe i'll even sketch one of them #Strawberry's basket

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 10 months ago

Text

Datura Pt 2

Author's Note: I initially wrote Part I and 2 as one piece but it was too long, so here's the next part :) Not sure how long this fic will be, but buckle up 'cause it'll be a good ol' enemies to lovers, political intrigue fic for however long it takes for me to figure out an ending.

Summary: Something has been hunting you for your powers and it's finally caught up with you. A Rhysand x Reader UTM What If.

Content Warnings: Suggestiveness, a little NSFW near the end, before we get to the ANGST (we're gonna suffer but we're gonna like it); that red headed bitch makes her first appearance; bit of cursing; canon typical violence.

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All attempts at speaking fail, your mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. Your head spins, mind reeling. This can’t be real, can’t be happening. That tonic from the priestesses had to have something weird in it. This was a hallucination.

Yes. Hallucination, that had to be it.

“We can’t stay here,” says the male, his large hands still tight on your shoulders. There’s a coppery scent on him, something damp on the edge of his shirt sleeve, brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Blood. He’d been the thing those other guys were screaming at.

Your stomach twists, heart slamming in yours ears, sounding like drum beats again. No. No that wasn’t your heartbeat at all, that was the drums outside. Great, while the Spring Court was having a giant orgy you were lost in some sort of cave with… what even was this male?

Was he even fae? You still can’t see a thing in the dark.

You recover yourself enough to step out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice trembles as you speak, hands shaking at your sides. You’re defenseless out here, even with your own magic, you've never managed to control it enough to use it. “I can’t even see you.”

A mistake. You shouldn’t have admitted to it.

A flicker of light flares, glittering and spinning like…

Stars. There are actual, tiny, glittering stars swirling around his fingertips. The glittering light illuminates the walls, much higher overhead than you’d thought initially. There is much more room to move around in general, but the darkness had been so thick you’d mistaken it for rocks. The light doesn’t pierce all the way through though, only the space between the two of you, the darkness beyond still moving and shifting like a wall. Your eyes track it back to the towering male ahead of you, the darkness drifting off him like a mist. Not the darkness of the cave at all, but one of his own making. It moves on his whim around the two of you, a bit of it still caressing your spine, your bare legs, while the rest hovers like some sort of bubble. A shield perhaps, you know the High Fae can make them, but it is just as likely to be a cage.

You try to summon claws, focusing your thoughts into getting your hands to change, shift, but nothing happens. Nothing but a slight twinge of pain in your skull.

As if he knows it, feels it, the stranger reaches a star flecked hand out to brush a tendril of hair off your forehead, his callused hands warm against your flushed skin. You shiver despite yourself.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says. That voice is rich, low, a lover’s purr.

He is fae, not the monster you had initially suspected. You aren’t sure what people usually wear on Calanmai, but the dark pants, the loose fitting shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a swirl of dark ink across his bronze chest, and boots seems out of place. As if he’s over-dressed. Half a dozen rings glitter in the starlight spinning between his slender fingers, but you cannot ignore the blood that’s dusted over them.

“What happened to the others that came into the cave?”

A shadow passes over his face, dark brows furrowing. He’s a gorgeous male, by far the most handsome male you’d ever seen in your life, but that look, as the glow in his eyes dims, pupils expanding so there was nothing but endless darkness… it's like looking at the paintings of the Death Gods you’ve seen in your books. The shadow at your back writhes as if agitated, only settling once the look has passed and the violet returns to his eyes.

“They wanted to hurt you,” a low growl.

You shiver. “Why’d you call me out here then, if it’s unsafe?”

He tilts his head, a predator assessing prey, only cold calculations in that gaze. It’s an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “It’s not safe there either.”

“In my home?” You counter.

“In Spring,” he returns.

“Spring is perfectly safe, it’s practically the only place that-”

He moves faster than you can blink, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Don’t speak things like that in places like this!” He hisses. It’s not anger on his face, though, it is fear. You feel the chill of it seep through the bubble of darkness he’s created. His whole body shakes with it.

What do males with this kind of power fear?

It makes you nervous, wondering, but not as much as having a stranger put their hands on you. You sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm so hard you draw blood, and as he yanks his hand back, you move to run. Only to find the shadows blocking your path, no longer wisps, but solid, like adamant. You practically bounce off it.

“Let me out,” you order.

He stares down at his hand with a smirk, amused. “That was cheap.”

“I don’t like being touched by strangers,” you hiss. “Now let me out or I’ll really fucking bite you.”

He chuckles and the sound of it skitters over your bones, makes a whole other type of shiver run across your skin. Perhaps that’s part of the magic of Calanmai, the ability to remove the usual inhibitions and allow the souls to merge as the magic of the land demands. You quietly curse yourself for being so powerless against it. With enough training you should have been able to shield from it, but there’s no time for it now.

“What if I like being bitten, hm?” He teases.

“Then you’ll love when I rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.”

He takes a step closer and tilts his chin up, baring the full expanse of his throat to you. “I’ll let you, but then, how would your find a way out of the cave?”

“Bastard,” you snarl, but you can’t stop yourself from watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the way he grins at the roof, watching you, calculating what your next move will be. He knows he has you right where he wants you, it’s like watching a cat play with a mouse.

He slowly lowers his chin, still grinning. “It’s this way,” he gestures with a hand and the wall of shadows moves further into the cave.

You stare after it, than at him. “Isn’t the entrance the other way?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name, why would I trust you?”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, but before you can pull away from him again, he’s pressing your knuckles to his lips. They’re surprisingly soft against your skin; electricity shooting through you, as he says in a voice made for the bedroom, “Rhys.”

Rhys, Darkness Incarnate, apparently. His name was an answer to a question you’d been asking yourself the last couple of years. Strange as the circumstance are, he fits exactly what you’d imagined the voice that had hounded you would sound like. Putting a face to the voice was strangely comforting, like there was no longer some strange threat hanging around your head every year anymore.

“I’m Y/N.”

You’re sure you’re an idiot for telling him. It’s not like he’s dropping the shield and letting your run out, it’s still there, caging you in as you move through the cave, side by side. Just because he’s leading you somewhere doesn’t mean it’s somewhere good, this very well could be a trap. Your head hurts trying to figure out what’s real, what’s likely. You’re not entirely convinced this still isn’t a hallucination.

He tries your name out on his tongue, nodding to himself, like he’d been looking for the answer to a question too.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight. There is something lonely about him you can’t quite place.

“Has it really been you, calling me these last couple years?” You ask softly; you’re trapped down here with him, might as well pass the time until you get to whatever bitter end awaits you.

He nods as you take a sharp left and descend down further at a slopping angle that has you holding onto the walls for support. It’s colder the deeper you go, despite the budding summer heat the rest of the court is feeling outside. You’re trembling as the path goes from soft sand to smooth, icy stone, the rock seeping all heat from your body on contact.

“Yes,” Rhys confesses. He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side like he’s listening for something, more shadows leaking from him, slipping through the shield to do Mother knows what.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, sad. “It’s not safe.” He repeats. “I was trying to warn you.”

You run your hands over your arms, trying to get some heat back. Without a thought he’s unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over your shoulders. The move if effortless, gentle, so at odds with what’s happening you can’t do anything other than slide your arms into the too big sleeves and pull it tight around you on sheer muscle memory. Its warm; the scent of jasmine and citrus and the sea all over it. You strangely want to bury yourself in it, until that scent is burned into your skin, your lungs, until it’s the only thing you breath. Calanmai at work, you can only assume.

With a hand on your back he prompts you forward again, even as he continues. “I didn’t know what else to do, it was my only chance to reach you.” His palm takes up the expanse of your lower back, you are so small next to him.

“But why me?”

The swirling tattoos cross over his chest and back, leaving a small gap between his shoulders, like there’s something supposed to be there, some small piece of him missing in those gaps between the ink. The urge to run your fingers over them is almost overwhelming, you have to pull your hands into his shirtsleeves to stop yourself.

“You’re-” he pauses and you swear you hear claws scratching somewhere above you.

Instinctively, before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, you press yourself closer to him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to slide an arm around your shoulders and pull you against his side. He’s all sleek muscle, a warrior’s build, though he carries no visible weapons. Perhaps, with powers like these he doesn’t need any.

The shield shudders around the two of you as he draws it in so close there is no room to move away from him.

You don’t dare speak again, the stillness he radiates tells you enough.

Several long minutes pass before the shield moves outward again and he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze signaling that the two of you should press on.

“What do you know of your parents?” He says finally, loosing a sigh of relief.

“I don’t even remember them,” you say. “What do you know of them?”

“I fought against your father in the War,” he replies .

Your father was a soldier?

“He’s a very powerful male,” he continues but all you can focus on the choice of words, the current tense, as if your father is still alive. “As was your mother.”

Your head spins; he grips you a little tighter like he knows it.

“There are a lot of powerful people who would like to get their hands on your power,” he says.

Its an effort to swallow. “I don’t even know how to use them,” you whisper.

He winces. “You have no training?” It almost sounds like horror in his voice.

You stare down at your hands, like their the source of all your problems. “My uncle said they would just… click.”

“Cauldron boil me,” he curses.

“I take it that’s not what you were hoping to hear?”

The cave split into four directions, one way covered with stalagmites dripping a strange glowing liquid, another bursting with flowers, a third full of rubble, the fourth the only clear path out. You go to that one, cautiously, Rhys keeping his head tilted, listening to what dangers might lay ahead.

“You’re vulnerable, is all,” Rhys says softly. “And there’s not enough time to change that now.”

A sense of foreboding lands in the pit of your stomach. “How much time do we have?”

“I have to be gone by sunrise,” he answers.

Gone, the foreboding turns into outright anxiety, stomach now twisting in knots. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s nice having him here, you’re not ready to give this up just yet. “So there’s a reason you only call to me on Calanmai?”

He only nods.

“What happens if you’re still here by sunrise?”

He runs his tongue over his full lower lip, thinking.

“Are you like a vampire or something? Do you go poof?” You make an exploding gesture with your hands and he laughs, the echo bouncing off the shield. You’re not sure why it’s the laugh that makes you decide to trust him fully. Maybe some naïve part of you thinks if he meant you harm he wouldn’t be laughing at your stupid jokes.

“No,” he says, hand on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath. “Nothing like that.”

You watch the way his muscles shift as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue along the sharp planes of him. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to taste the jasmine and citrus on his skin if you did.

“You’re sure? Let me see your teeth?”

He flashes you a grin that makes your stomach do flips. “See? No fangs.”

You turn towards him, pressing in closer, teasingly assessing, like you’re unsure. Calanmai has made you bold, you have to admit. Even with the new time limit closing down on you, you can’t help but stop for just a minute to enjoy this side of the male before you.

“So what are you then? If you have to work under the moon?”

“I’ve been many things,” he says, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

“And right now, what are you?” You press.

“Right now…” he places a hand on your hip and pulls you flush against him. “Right now I’m all yours, Darling.”

You must be somewhere close to where the party is happening above, because you can hear the drums again, as if the music is beating from within the rocks of the cave walls, the reverberations vibrating under your skin. It’s too much, too loud, pushing you closer to him, the silence that fills your head when he touches you the only way to make the noise stop.

Perhaps this was the plan the whole time: Get you away from the crowds, somewhere secluded, get you to trust him, to embrace him, but you can’t stop yourself from stretching up on your toes to kiss him. Did it matter in the end? He groans as he deepens the kiss, one star flecked hand sliding into the strands of your hair, angling your head for him to easily swipe his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is demanding, but soft somehow, like he’s desperate for it, you, but not holding so tight that you can’t pull away from him if you want.

The shadows return, dancing over your skin, skittering higher and higher up your thighs, across your waist, your chest. You let your own hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, skin silky and warm beneath your fingertips.

If this was the plan all along, you don’t care. This is good.

He tastes like starlight, like the night chilled wind across a calming sea. It conjures one in your mind, gentle waves lapping at a moonlight shore; there’s music floating across the water, the sounds faint and distant but much more soothing than the demand of the drums above you.

All too soon he’s pulling away from you, gentle kisses placed against the corners of your lips, your chin, the underside of your jaw. “Wish we had more time,” he whispers into your skin. “Want to take my time with you.”

You’re absolutely molten, very aware of how soaked your panties are, just barely covered by your thin shift. Any other night you might have had more presence of mind to be mortified that you were so wet just from kissing someone, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense, is the only thing that makes sense.

He brushes his nose along the column of your throat, scenting you. “We really should keep moving,” but his hand trails down your front, tracing the valley between your breasts, sliding lower.

You tilt and kiss him again, hand tangling in his onyx hair. Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing him, you doubt anything else could ever compare. Unfair that you only have one night, one moment, you’re sure he’d ruin anyone else for you given the right amount of time.

He indulges you, just as hungry as before, hand still sliding lower, until he finds the hem of your panties through your shift.

You ache between your legs, have half a mind to beg and plead for him to touch you. Your feelings about Calanmai be damned, you want him to keep going, to kiss you, touch you, ruin you until the time he has left is spent.

Deft fingers find the hem of your shift, pulling it slowly upwards until he can bunch it up in his hand.

“Rhys,” you whimper into his lips.

His pupils are lust blown, lips kiss swollen and pink. “I know, I feel it too.”

You are used to the feeling of your power prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal begging to be released, this is not entirely different, but instead that power is replaced with him. You want, need, him everywhere. Need him to keep kissing, touching.

He slides his hand under your waistband, movements slow, precise, letting you indulge in the scrape of his callused hands over your soft skin. The movement alone is almost too much, your breath rasping out of you, trying not to squirm. He’s so close to where you need him…

“Rhysand!”

A female voice shakes the cave, the shield. Rhys jerks away from you like the voice hit him, eyes wide.

You grab onto the edges of his shirt and snap it closed around you like it will hide what you’ve been doing.

Footsteps echo, the cave shaking.

Rhys glances at you, eyes wide. “Stay quiet.” He says it in your mind, as easily as he has done for all these years. You don’t have time to ask how he can do it, or why, as he runs a hand through his hair, fixing it, before sliding out of the shield. It swallows you, tightening so you can’t run, can’t see what’s happening.

You barely dare to breath, as the footsteps stop not far from where you are. “Busy are we?” The shield can’t keep out the voice.

“Hunting as you asked, My Queen,” he says smoothly, casually.

Queen?

Whoever she is, she gives a mirthless laugh. “You call what you’re doing hunting now?”

“You said to use the caves-”

“I didn’t say fuck some whore in them,” she snarls. “I can smell her on you.”

You’re mortified enough to wonder if your powers could let you somehow dissolve into goo and melt into the floor.

“All part of the plan,” Rhys answers and your heart sinks as his words hit home.

“So you know where she is?”

“Of course,” Rhys says and the shield suddenly vanishes, the cold absence of it hitting you in a rush.

You give a little squeak of surprise, tightening his shirt around your exposed body as your eyes adjust to the soft gray light of the cave. You spent two much time here, the sun now rising outside.

The woman before you was tall, slender, eyes dark, mouth a cruel, pinched line. The blood red hair only serves to make her all the more pale and as she takes you in, her teeth flashing in a grin, you get the feeling that this what a wolf looks like when it sees a lamb.

“This little thing?” She stalks towards you and you take a step back, some instinctive, primal part of you recognizing that the more space between the two of you the better. You can still turn heal and run if she’s far enough away.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos at you, reaching out a claw tipped hand. Her blood red nails are sharpened to spikes, bit it’s the ring, with a swiveling, life like eye in the center that makes every muscle in your body tense up. “I’m here to help you.”

“Fuck off!” You hiss. There’s only one exit, the way she came, slopping upward, the floor clearly damp with morning dew. You’d need a good head start to make it up there first.

Rhys is watching you with the same intensity he’d kissed you with and you wish you had something to hurl at his head. You should have known better than to trust him.

“Quite the mouth on you,” she purrs. “I hope Rhysand put it to good use.”

Something in you chest cracks, a lump forming in your throat. You need to get out of his shirt, get the taste of him out of your mouth; he played you like a fiddle and if whoever this lady is hadn’t shown up, would have used you for his own amusement. And you would have let him.

“What do you want?” You bite out, inching closer to the exit.

“As I said,” she says slowly, like you’re too dumb to understand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” you throw a withering glance at the male. “From either of you.”

“Oh but that’s just not true, is it, little one?” She doesn’t move, but something feels wrong. You don’t know why, but your whole body suddenly freezes, heart slamming in your chest.

No not frozen, you’d move if you could, but you can’t. It’s as if something grabbed hold of you, held you in place.

“There are a lot of people looking for your, Princess.”

Princess? This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Oh she doesn’t know, does she?” She smirks at Rhys, who shakes his head in conformation.

“Imagine that, the daughter of the King of Hybern, raised a simple little farm hand,” she grins like she knows she’s won, even as your head spins.

Hybern. You knew the name from your history books, the King a ruthless tyrant who nearly destroyed Prythian to get back his human slaves. Your mouth is dry, your hands might have shook, could you move your body.

She curls her fingers in a come here motion and as if someone has you on strings like a puppet, you take two steps towards her. You try to dig your heels in, fight it, but the hold over you won’t budge. You walk until your close enough for her to graze the tips of her claws under your chin.

“There are a lot of bad people trying to find you, little one.”

The only thing you have full control over is your mouth, so you snarl and flash your teeth, wishing you had the ability to grow fangs, “I’m pretty sure you are the bad people, bitch!”

She smirks but the grip she takes on your chin is anything but kind, your jaw groaning under the crushing weight of her grip. Her nails draw blood, crimson trickling down your jaw. “Poor, delusional little thing. Don’t you worry, we’re going to take good care of you, aren’t we, Rhysand.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course!”

“Your father will be very pleased to hear you’re alive,” she says to you.

To Rhys she says, “Bind her, I don’t want her trying to run again.”

You still can’t move, can’t flee. Some small piece of you wants to beg, plead for him to let you go, to prove you wrong about him, but you’re pride won’t let you. Not as more wisps of shadow curl around his wrists and hands like snakes, no more stars to be seen.

“I should have ripped out your throat,” you snarl.

The shadows jump from him, twining around your wrists and ankles, not the gentle caresses from earlier, tightening until you can barely move your fingers and toes.

Rhys grins at you, shrugs, but it’s in your mind that you hear the same quip from earlier, “I would have let you.” It’s not teasing this time though, it’s sad, haunted.

Doesn’t matter, he’s still checking your hands, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You tell yourself you won’t cry here, won’t give either of these bastards the satisfaction, there will be a time for that later.

It’s not much farther before sunlight blinds you, only a few steps of Rhys’ long legs before you’re out of the cave. You’d been so close. It had been right there this whole time! Had you not been so distracted, had those stupid drums not been so loud you might have made it. Might have gotten to go home.

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #utm!rhys x reader #rhysand fic #acotar fic #acotar smut #acotar series #my fanfic #my writing

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suzdin · 1 year ago

Text

DATURA

Summary: Dave and his team have been sent to kill you, but the night pans out differently than you anticipate.

Warnings: ¡SEX POLLEN! Implied noncon due to sex pollen. Fictional drug use. Mentions of weapons/guns/murder (duh). Threeway sex. Gun play, unprotected p in v, creampies, masturbation (f), fingering, spit roasting, oral (m receiving), use of sex toy on reader, anal, spitting, light degradation, choking, spanking, rough sex, squirting, let me know if I missed anything. No use of y/n. Picture is for aesthetics only, as reader is not given a physical description.

This fic is extremely feral and not for everyone, and that’s okay. <3

Word Count: 4,800-ish

Taglist: @kellybelly1978 @ohheypedrito @darkheartgatita @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @sonderosa @missladym1981

And of course I dedicate this to @survivingandenduring and @kateispunk for holding a gun to my head until I wrote this inspiring me to write this 😘

——

Dave prods his index finger at the highlighted portions of the floor plans on the tablet, which he presents to his compatriots.

“There are entrances here, here…and here,” he points out, tapping the third for emphasis. “She’ll be expecting those. Watching them.”

Dave brushes his bottom lip with his thumb, brow creasing in contemplation.

“Ari and Resnik can head off the two main entrances. Joel, you take the side. And I’ll enter…here.” He places a finger where there’s a hastily drawn ‘X’ facing a private alley and courtyard.

“Don’t see a door or window,” the tall, tan man to his left drawls, placing a hand on his hip.

“Right. There’s a secret entrance there which leads to a crawl space left over from the city’s bootlegging days. None of the residents know. And guess where it exits?” Dave asks, eyes darting between the three men.

He places a finger where the bedroom closet would be.

A smirk twists Joel’s mustache. “Shit,” he says, scratching thick, weathered fingers through his scruff. “Gonna hit ‘er from all sides.”

“Exactly,” Dave responds, mirroring the way his companion places his hands on his hips. “We’ll strike at 10 PM sharp. That’s when the main festivities begin. No one will hear a thing.”

——

Dave crouches next to the hatch that leads to the secret door beneath the building, long since defunct due to the city’s proclivity for flooding.

A crackle resonates through his ear piece.

“Miller. Anything?” Dave asks.

“Nothin’,” Joel answers in a low southern lilt, positioned at the bottom of the narrow stairwell on the east side of the building, clicking the safety off on his Glock.

“Ari, Resnik? Station yourselves. Miller, I’m going in.”

“10-4,” Joel returns.

Dave yanks up on the metal hatch and it opens with a jarring creak, drowned out by the roar of the crowds on Bourbon Street and another jazz band playing their rendition of Oh When The Saints Go Marching In for probably the 1,000th time that evening.

He slips in easily and finds a peeling red door, which is shockingly ajar. A stray cat rushes out with a shriek, spitting feline obscenities at him.

“Fuck!” Dave snarls as the dark, furry void streaks past him and into the night.

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel’s voice.

“Nothing. Fucking cat. I’m inside.”

A low, throaty chortle sounds through Dave’s ear piece.

“Eat shit, Miller. Start heading up. I should reach her apartment in five.”

“Unless there’s more cats guarding the place.” This time it’s Ari’s voice. Dave pointedly ignores him.

The crawl space is narrow and damp, crushing in at him from all sides and choked with cobwebs and god knows what else, but it’s surprisingly not the worst place he’s ever been.

The space quickly dead ends into a ladder that looks like it’s seen far better days, rusting from the bolts outward. Dave can’t help but wonder if it will support his full body weight.

“‘M at her front door,” Joel remarks through the ear piece.

“Climbing the ladder now,” Dave responds as he begins his ascent, gripping the bottom rung and giving it a hard jostle to test its integrity.

The metal rungs protest and groan under his weight, but the structure holds true.

The boys had thought it absolutely ludicrous when Dave had come to them for their help with the hit. Four men for one single woman?

Bullshit. A waste of time and resources.

That is until they’d familiarized themselves with your rap sheet. Just shy of forty murders in less than a decade, and a weapons and ballistics specialist to boot.

But it would all end tonight, and that price on your pretty little head would be a nice cherry on top.

He reaches the hatch leading into your closet a moment later, twisting the mechanism that holds it flush to the wooden floor above.

He draws the Beretta from the holster on his hip, clicking off the safety as he strains his hearing to listen for something, anything, that would give him pause; that would make him abort the mission.

He hears nothing but the music seeping in from the streets through the century old brick.

“I’m in, Joel. I’m in,” Dave whispers, lifting the hatch as he silently crawls inside your closet, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils flair. Cock already half hard in his dark denim jeans at the prospect of another name scratched off his list.

Your name.

——

Joel makes short work of unlocking your door, pushing it open with his foot as he replaces the Glock with the heavier semi-automatic at his back, holstering the pistol on his hip.

His face pinches. You hadn’t even locked the deadbolt, despite having one, a feeling of dread slithering up the crease of his scrotum, perspiration pricking at his skin.

You’ve been waiting for them.

You register Joel first, his heavy footfalls impossible to conceal under the creak of the original wooden flooring. It’s almost laughable how loud they’re being, Joel making a ruckus behind you and the other rustling somewhere in your closet, probably smelling your panties for all you know.

Joel finds you at an open window, back facing him as some loud pop song he doesn’t recognize drifts up from the Quarter below. You’re naked aside from a short, black pleated skirt that barely ghosts the lower curve of your ass, a silver and white fox tail peeking out from beneath the hem of said skirt.

Though he can’t see it from his current vantage, a gun rests on the window sill in front of you. You’re starting to think you won’t be needing it. Not when the man at your back could have already taken a clear shot at you and didn’t.

You lean slightly forward, revealing more of your ass to Joel and cheering as you catch a handful of colorful Mardi Gras beads from one of hundreds of floats below, waving your arms triumphantly over your head before you slip the necklaces around the lovely column of your neck.

Joel spots Dave then, mocha brown eyes shifting to his comrade, his expression unreadable. The Beretta drawn to shoulder height, trained at your head, but he isn’t pulling the trigger. Not yet.

Lowering the rifle, Joel lifts a fist in the air to signal to Dave, take the shot, asshole.

But he doesn’t, and neither does Joel, staring at your bared skin, the exposed hills and valleys of your body. Two men reduced to little more than their base desires in mere seconds. Exactly what you were expecting.

You finally shut the window and turn to face them when they do nothing but stand there, transfixed by your beauty. You’re wearing a masquerade mask in royal purple that’s trimmed with gold lace, cinched tightly behind your head.

You won’t be needing a gun when you can use sexuality as a weapon. It wasn’t the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Took you long enough,” you admonish, eyes drifting back and forth between the two men.

The larger one is broad and older, unkempt curls swirling away from his head, dusted with silver. The beard tracing his jaw is dark and patchy, a thick mustache framing his upper lip.

A red and black flannel stretches across the expanse of his upper body, tucked into dark wash jeans, ending with heavy work boots. His eyes darken in their regard of you.

His companion is also broad, only just less so, and younger than his comrade by what you guess to be ten or fifteen years. His face is clean and smooth with the barest hint of shadow, plush lips pushed outward in bewilderment, a black beanie pulled down to conceal his dark hair, matching the rest of his attire.

“Love the outfit, but a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” you ask the younger of the two men. The edges of his lips twitch upward in amusement.

You sway your hips slightly, making the tail between your legs wag to and fro, enticing the two men to ease closer. And they do. Exactly where you want them.

Dave notices your fingers dancing across the lid of a small metal box in the nick of time.

A new party drug originating from Ibiza, its purpose intended to act as a powerful aphrodisiac amongst the most experimental, but as with most things, too much could be dangerous, in rare cases fatal. It usually came in tab form, but it had been sold to you as a fine powder, and your plan was to drug them senseless until they fucked each other to death or you killed them, depending on how bored you got.

You grasp the ornate metal box in your fingers and flick your wrist outward, hurling the contents in a direct trajectory at Dave’s face, which would have hit the intended target had he not been ready to deflect the strike with a hastily lobbed pillow from the nearby sofa.

The cloud the hit produces is magnificent, a shimmery white mist which coats your face and lips and everything else in its path, inhaled through your sinuses and entered through your bloodstream as traces of the powder land on your tastebuds.

You spit and claw at your face, but it’s too late, and you know it.

You’re fucked in more ways than one.

The affects are almost instantaneous, a fiery hot inferno that builds low in your core, a lance of pain sawing through you from the inside out. Your pupils dilate and everything is suddenly too bright, too painful, every source of illumination having a halo that almost resembles a mushroom cloud in its brilliance, its potency.

You feel the sticky slick coating the inside of your thighs and you double over, clutching your guts, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Whatsa matter, darlin’?” Joel asks, your show of pain bringing him immense joy. “Can’t handle what you dish out?”

His cock strains against his jeans as he watches you and you groan, spreading your legs as you slip a finger between your folds in a bid to quell some of the ache. “Fuck…” you grit.

“Jesus, York, the hell’s wrong with her?” Joel questions.

Dave can only stare, transfixed, palming himself over his jeans.

Both men can’t help but jump when Resnik’s voice comes through the ear piece, so lost in your body they almost forgot why they were there to begin with.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“Good,” Dave responds. “We’re…negotiating.”

“Negoti— fucking seriously?”

“Yes,” Dave answers firmly, his voice a low and husky. “I’ll explain later. For now, stay in a holding pattern, and make sure no one enters the building.”

Resnik starts to say something else, but Dave flicks off the ear piece and tosses it to the floor before he can finish, already forgotten. Joel follows suit.

“Help, please,” you whimper, stepping toward Joel as you fumble in desperation at his jeans. “Need it bad. It hurts.”

Joel abandons his weapons, drunk at the sight of you. His massive hands circle your waist, squeezing, desirous, lifting your skirt to cup your ass, exposing the tail tucked between your cheeks to Dave. You keen and without thinking, Joel bends forward to press his lips to yours.

“Miller, stop —“ Dave spits sharply, but it’s too late. Joel kisses you, deep and wanton, tongue swiping hungrily at your lips, and within seconds he receives his own dose of the drug, though not nearly as much as you.

He spins you in his grasp and hikes your skirt even higher up your waist, revealing your pussy to Dave, dragging two thick, callused digits between your dripping folds, bumping your clit. You moan and press your ass against him, the hard line of his cock nudging at the plug, heightening your pleasure.

“Y’like that, darlin’?” Joel murmurs into the shell of your ear.

“Yes,” you answer too quickly. “But I need your cock.”

“That so?” he answers gruffly, making quick work of his jeans as he shucks them off like a second skin, the drug already firmly rooting itself in his brain.

He tugs his boxers down, fat cock springing free from its confines as he shoves you forward, folding you in half over the couch with a broad palm pressed between your shoulder blades, notching himself at your entrance and pushing himself inward with reckless abandon.

You grunt at the reprieve, the sting of how forcefully he invades you, how he fills you.

Dave watches the events unfold in stunned silence, lips parted and skewed, unbuckling his belt as his eyes fixate on your face, your lovely sparkling eyes. The way your mouth hangs open when Joel begins railing into you with everything he has to give.

He reaches forward and plucks the mask from your face, discarding it, so he can see you. See how well you take it.

He drags the pad of his thumb along your succulent bottom lip, pressing it against your tongue, to the back of your throat, teasing. Testing.

He exhales a groan when you don’t gag.

He quickly steps out of his jeans and boxers, climbing onto the couch in front of you, roughly gripping the sides of your face so that your lips pop open for him.

You take him into your mouth without question, mewling softly, your throat and jaw burning with effort as he sinks himself into you.

Dave presses the barrel of the gun against your temple, his voice a snarl as he says, “Try anything and I’ll spray your pretty little brains all over these walls, sweetheart. Understood?”

You nod around him in affirmation as he begins rutting into your mouth, his other hand fisted tightly in your hair.

It isn’t long before Joel drags your first orgasm out of you, every muscle in your body constricting, relieving the pain only temporarily before it flares up again, white hot and slithering through your veins like molten metal.

“Thassit, darlin’. Takin’ that dick like a champ,” Joel praises, giving your ass a sharp slap. Every thrust of his hips knocking against the plug secured firmly in your ring of muscle.

“Fucking whore, letting two men enter you,” Dave growls, the gun pressed so squarely against your skull, it’s sure to leave an indentation.

Joel finishes inside you expeditiously with a low growl, panting into the small of your back as he collapses forward, knees smarting.

“Quick on the draw as always, Miller,” Dave tuts, clicking his tongue.

Dave’s fingers twist at your roots as he pulls you further onto his length, bottoming out with a shudder at the back of your throat.

“Fuck off, York,” Joel retorts, still fully hard inside of you. He tugs at the end of the tail, smirking playfully, causing you to moan.

“What if I shoved my dick up your ass next, sweet girl?”

You whimper around Dave in reverence. For both of them.

“Not a chance. That ass is mine,” Dave snorts. “Soon as I’m done with this mouth.”

Joel doesn’t argue. Your pussy feels too good, the way you squeeze him, and it isn’t long before he’s railing you hard again, never having gone soft, even at his age.

You cum a second time, soaking Joel, your release splashing down his muscular thighs. Your moans reverberating through Dave’s cock.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last like this…” Dave grunts as he pulls himself free from you with a pop of your lips, jaw hanging slack as Joel’s unforgiving pace doesn’t falter behind you.

“Trade places, Joel,” Dave demands.

“Not a chance,” Joel growls, the sounds of his hips slamming against your ass lewd and depraved.

“Now, Miller,” Dave reiterates, eyes deepening a shade as he lifts the gun away from your head to aim it at Joel.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, extricating himself from you as he and Dave exchange places. “Fine.”

Joel’s wide palms cup your face and he doesn’t waste time stretching your jaw and throat beyond their limits because fuck, he’s girthy. You taste the cocktail of you and him on your tongue.

He circles the outside of your throat with his hand and squeezes, feeling himself moving in your esophagus, grunting deeply as he watches you take him.

You jolt when you feel something cold, rigid and foreign dashing through your folds a second later, realizing in abject horror what is happening just as Dave pushes it inside of you and begins fucking you with it.

You moan, eyelids fluttering closed and Joel grunts deep in his chest, hand tightening around the cradle of your throat.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, slut? You like being fucked with my gun?” Dave grits from behind you.

You make a sound of supplication that tells Dave yes, yes you do.

He grins in satisfaction and drives the gun deeper, angling it just right, making you keen. The resulting squelch is deafening and obscene.

He pulls another orgasm out of you almost immediately, once again temporarily relieving the bubbling pain, sobbing around Joel, who’s already filling your mouth with more of his seed, spilling down your throat with a snarl.

He slows only for a moment, still hard as iron, ready to go again. And again.

Dave drags his lips up the curve of your ass and sinks his teeth into the meat of one of your plump cheeks, clamping down. You writhe against him at the small dagger of pain that courses through you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dave purrs, giving the smarting cheek a slap.

As he continues to fuck you with the barrel of the pistol, his other hand skirts your tight star of muscle, fingers dancing around it.

His hand curls into the synthetic material of the tail, reveling the softness against his fingertips, and begins to tug slowly, lightly, testing.

You initially clench out of instinct, but relax your muscles as understanding settles over you, allowing him to pull it free from your puckered hole, letting it drop to the couch.

“Such a good girl,” Dave croons, tilting his face forward to place a chaste kiss there, the tip of his tongue darting out to circle your rim. You whine and arch into his touch.

“You should have some of this drug, York. Y’won’t have to worry about lastin’ then.”

“No,” Dave says as he lifts his head above your ass to lock eyes with Joel. “One of us needs to keep a clear head.”

“C’mon,” Joel taunts, swiping a finger through the mix of powder and tears still on your face. “Have a taste. Live for once.”

Joel extends his offering to Dave, hovering just over your lower back, inches from Dave’s lips. The men stare each other down, each of their movements slowing, much to your displeasure.

Dave eventually resigns himself, taking Joel’s fingers into his mouth and giving them a good laving with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of the drug, the saltiness of your tears.

Without warning, Joel succumbs to another high, exhaling a sputtered groan as you swallow what he gives you — what little of it there is at this point.

The drug makes quick work of Dave, twisting him into some kind of untethered beast as he drags multiple orgasms out of you with the barrel of the gun, his tongue flicking hungrily against your ring of muscle.

There isn’t a part of you that isn’t on fire. With desire, pain, fear. Fear that this will never end, that these two men will rip you apart from the inside out before all is said and done, but in spite of yourself, in spite of everything, you don’t want it to end.

“Lie back, Joel,” Dave commands and Joel does so without hesitation, his age getting the better of him, welcoming the relief he’ll receive as he makes himself comfortable on your couch.

Likewise, you’re happy for your jaw to have a momentary reprieve, as well, rubbing your tired muscles with your fingers as you catch your breath.

“Get on top of him,” Dave barks at you.

You willingly climb atop Joel, panting, lining yourself up with the slick head of his shaft. Joel’s heavy arm comes up to bar across your hips, pushing you down onto him until you sink all the way to his curls. The new angle making you keen and arch.

Dave presses you forward until your chest is flush with Joel’s, flattening you out before him. Joel doesn’t miss the opportunity to wrap his lips around yours again, kissing you sloppily, roving the wet heat of your mouth with his tongue, making you whimper as you begin riding him.

Dave spreads your cheeks apart and spits a globule of saliva at your puckered entrance, pressing two digits inside easily.

“Good thing you already loosened up that ass for me. You can take both of us, can’t you, sweetheart?” Dave murmurs and you simply nod, not wanting to tear your mouth away from Joel.

He lines himself up, placing the weeping slit of his head against your muscle as he begins pushing inward, inch by agonizing inch. Though you’re properly loosened up, there’s still a slight sting as your muscles contract and pulsate around him, stretching to accommodate his size.

You pant in hitched breaths, never having felt so full, so sated, before. It’s like they’re everywhere inside of you, consuming every inch of you like rabid jackals. Joel’s arms lacing around both you and Dave as both men begin to move independently within you.

You soon discover why they work so well as a team. Within minutes their movements are synchronized, a coordinated dance with you placed right in the middle, every downward thrust from Dave immediately proceeded by an upward lance from Joel. And they somehow manage to maintain said synchronicity for quite some time, even as they’re filling you to the brim with their cum.

They pump you full of themselves and you continue to drench them with every orgasm they drag out of you, your shared fluids sluicing down your bodies, soaking the cushions of the couch below.

It’s okay, you can just burn it if you actually end up surviving this. But hey, if you don’t, what a way to go, right?

Everything begins to meld together after a while, lines and vision blurred, your bodies practically stitched together at the seams, a perilous dance between the three of you in the throes of passion when the drug reaches its peak.

Their hands paw at you, knead you, your flesh supple and malleable under their large palms. They dig their fingers in, branding you, bruising marks left in their wake. Your head twists to and fro, tongue snaking between your teeth as you alternate between locking lips with both of them. You aren’t certain, but you think you see Joel and Dave link lips a few times as well, but it’s difficult to ascertain for sure, each scene of debauchery bleeding right into the next.

It goes on like that for hours, Dave and Joel occasionally switching roles, manipulating your overwrought body into a host of varying positions.

You have to stop a few times. For water, or just to take a break and a quick breather before you’re at it again, both men claiming your body like the primitive animals they are.

Dave has to call off his two remaining men when they practically try to beat down your door, understandably mystified and concerned, drinking in the vision laid out before them when Dave answers the door naked as the day he was born.

He sends them away when their motives shift and they make a sudden plea to join, letting them know in no uncertain terms that you are for him and Joel only.

You pout as you watch them leave, ever eager for more, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it, the three of you getting right back into the swing of things the moment they’re gone.

——

You must have shifted to the bedroom at some point during the night, as you rouse from sleep between two massive furnaces of men, a thin sheen of perspiration coating your still naked bodies.

You extricate yourself from the tangle of limbs and climb out from beneath them. You could easily put an end to them right now, if you were so inclined. But there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re passed out in your bed, practically cuddling one another, Joel snoring like a chainsaw, that gives you pause. You’re amazed you were able to get any sleep at all with them in your bed.

You give them a final glance before you hastily make your way to the bathroom to clean up.

——

After your shower, you slip into a set of loose and comfortable sweats — a stark contrast from last night — tucking your pistol into the band of your sweatpants. You know, just in case.

You sweep up the remaining powder, making sure to wear proper PPE this time, salvaging as much of it as you can, should you ever need it again. As a weapon next time, you tell yourself.

Once done, you wander into the kitchen, chewing on two naproxen tablets before chugging what seems like a gallon of water to alleviate your dehydration and the various aches and pains riddling your body.

You’re starving so you put on a pot of coffee and whip up a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, enough to share. You plate the eggs and bacon on a platter and place them in the center of the table while you finish up the toast.

Your back is to Dave when he enters the kitchen. You feel the boards shift and you spin on the balls of your feet, drawing and raising your gun. You aren’t at all surprised when you find him doing the same — holding the same gun he fucked you with — dressed only in his boxers, your eyes locked, staring each other down in a deadly game of chicken.

“Easy now, kids. Thought ya worked out your differences last night,” Joel chides as he steps into the kitchen next to Dave, adjusting himself in his boxers.

You swallow, eyes blown wide, and you lower your gun first, even though you shouldn’t. After an uncomfortable beat, Dave does the same.

“We good?” you ask him.

“Yeah. Good.” Dave furrows his brow at you, unconvinced, but willing to play nice. For now.

“Smells great, sweetheart,” Joel says, seating himself at the table, helping himself to a plate.

You make a motion for Dave to sit.

“Could be poisoned,” he warns Joel, who flashes him and incredulous slant of his eyes.

“Fuck sake—“ you grit, scooping up a spoonful of eggs and shoving them into your mouth, canting your eyebrows at Dave as you inhale them. “Satisfied?”

Neither of them says a thing, but you catch a glimpse of Joel’s smirk below his mustache as he begins shoveling food into his mouth.

You finish preparing the toast and pour each of them a cup of coffee before serving yourself.

“Thanks,” Dave says, quietly, his eyes sliding down your body, tongue trailing his lips.

“You know, I don’t even know your names,” you say, glancing between the two men.

“Dave,” he replies. “And this is Joel.”

“Well, you already know my name. Nice to meet you, Dave and Joel,” you say.

Silence settles between the three of you while you eat, you seated between them, pouring more coffee when their cups inevitably empty.

You stay like that for a while, mulling over what to say next.

Dave is the first to break the silence.

“Thank you. For breakfast. And for…last night,” he says, averting his gaze.

You smirk.

“I’m not a bad person, you know.”

“Never said you were,” he responds.

“Just a name on a piece of paper.”

“That’s right. The infamous Datura.”

“I don’t kill indiscriminately like you do. I kill bad people. Corrupt politicians. Crooked cops. Genocidal maniacs.” You swallow down a swig of coffee. “But I guess I should have known better than to take out a senator’s son this time.”

“You know, we’re all putting our lives on the line, too, by not completing the contract,” Dave explains. “Should probably get the fuck out of dodge. Maybe you, too.”

His lips skew into a ghost of a smirk, eyes mapping the gentle slopes of your face.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“We might need an extra set of eyes, if that’s the case.”

You smile, leaning across the table, resting your chin in the bowl of your palm. Your eyes sparkle sweetly as they shift between Dave and Joel.

“Dave, are you offering me a job?”

His hand comes up to hook around the back of your neck, lips crashing into yours as his other hand grips and squeezes your hip, making you whine when his fingers graze one of many tender spots.

You hear a throaty chuckle rise from Joel next to you.

“Take it that’s a yes, darlin’.”

FIN.

#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #romance #smut #author #pedro fanfic #dark romance #dave york #joel miller

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lephamquynhnhu · 5 months ago

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Panacea

Chapter 7 (End): Beyond the Promised Sky

Dan Feng x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS/ TAGS: The reader has a default name, OOC, mentioned blood, violence. (This is a work of fanfiction, events are not aligned or relevant to the original work)

Word count: 3k4

Summary: He met you on a drizzling day when hydrangea fully bloomed on its field. Amidst the sea of mild pastel petals, Dan Feng never thought the flowery domain that intertwined your fate was the precise thing withered with you. They said he was a dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world. However, it was a demi-truth. He committed the cardinal sin because of you.

Note: For the first line, I express my special thanks to Dr.Lecter in the Hannibal series for being a valuable reference in this chapter. Secondly, I am glad I finished Panacea at another crucial moment since I got an offer letter as a Villa host in a five-star resort. Finally, thank you for following this fanfic.

Do you like...depression?

From the pitch-dark space emerged a pair of brunette eyes dotted with a brightened yellow hue. The monster stinks like grave soil and corpses, causing a death emanation marries with a cunning aura that gives off those pupils, making cold sweat cascade along his spine like a dewdrop.

"I can smell your fear, little dragon." - The prison starts when his whole body comes to light. A gigantic embodiment with six raven wings, limbs full of sharp claws like cathedral spears, and scales on his torso play as invincible armor.

"I am not afraid of you." - Dan Feng calmly places the document on the table and settles his seat, staring back with his bleak green eyes. By guaranteeing the current heart pulse is eighty per second, Imbibitor Lunae ascertains that his condition matches the requirements.

"I didn't claim that; instead, you fear losing someone." - "The scent of Mimosa accompanied by Stephania for a tranquilizer and mistletoe plus Datura metel for the patient with epilepsy. Besides, I can sniff a vague blood smell on your sleeves. You must be absolutely desperate to wield the traditional approach to lengthen their lifespan when Cloudhymm is powerless." - The monster sniggers, his sinister smile spreading unto the earlobes to unravel abnormal canines. Primus Immortus may be evil, yet he is still an excellent apothecary with sensitive olfaction. Therefore, he can detect advantageous traces. However, Dan Feng remains silent with decorum, and his stern expression behind the cell is unreadable.

On the other hand, Primus Immortus is pleased with the end of his filthy soul because he has never drunk anything sublime like the sorrow of the High Cloud quintet. His nutrition is savoring people's misery. Like a hound, Immortus can sniff woes from the High Elder's irises handily obscured beneath the solemn mantle. He would like to play around the bush and pull more strings, yet his other side stops him punctually to secure the plan he is brewing. Primus Immortus decides to cooperate and comply with Dan Feng's testimony in exchange for the spanking sip he took because he knows he is the controller.

After the chaotic occurrence, Dan Feng received a poem that followed him via a micrometer of the security door. Echoing every corner of the shadowy corridor is a sarcastic treble.

"Amaranthine dawn shines through

Blushing clouds,

O willow-silk rain,

Blasting confederate roses."

The Long Scion exasperatedly slams the document on the table, and his chair shrieks in displeased noise as he takes the seat. Dan Feng has long forgotten the last time he was infuriated like this, and those cursed eyes keep haunting his mind when he is writing the report. That doomed prison was manipulating his emotions like a puppet while Dan Feng received a dump of garbage. Nonetheless, the topic Immortus mentioned hitting at Imbibor Lunae's bullseye just by a whiff nay, he hates to admit that Primus Immortus was right. He is hopeless.

After a couple of weeks, your condition has increased to a critical point, and the current treatment barely satisfies his purpose. Your aging process arises tremendously combined with Alzheimer and age-related macular degeneration. Moreover, you are even incapable of changing clothes or doing daily tasks, and the epilepsy is now unable to be depressed. The scenario of withered begonia beside your dressing table compared with your aging complexion beneath the pale moonlight. Those things lead him to a dead end.

The black ink spreads bolder and bolder, contrasting with underneath white papers as the High Elder immersed in wandering thought, then a pair of brunette irises with a light amber hue reappears and blends into the hollow void until his brush pan breaks in half as a token to snap him back to reality. In the dim light of his office, a sliver of thin incense smoke undulates around the space and tenderly swirls at his untouched document with a parallel line "North obligation. Absolute death is reverse." Imbibitor Lunae leaves a heavy sigh to review the conversation between him and Dan Shu at the medicine library. She handed the High Elder an ancient scroll of practicing black arts - an approach to ascend Zhen Ren, a higher being that can reach Nirvana to obtain an elixir without concocting.

"How do you...know?" - He clenched his sleeve, hiding his astonishment behind the limitless bookshelves while Dan Shu feigned to browse her file along the Braille, her snowy skin tone fingertips kissed book spines like a scanner as she relied.

"We handicapped always have other summit senses when losing another. Thus, I am able to read your energy. It is turbulent as an abyssal despair. You are going to lose someone, and you can't do anything. The search statistic of Liberian shows that you are trying to look for a unique recipe even though you attempted to deceive the system."

She stopped her line and pulled out a large book covered with leather and golden letters. "Your aura reminds me of my old wound, so I decided to help you. However, this is as far as I could help, and may good fortune always find your journey. " - Dan Shu then left like the wind.

On the last day of Primus Immortus, he probably is sick of the testimony questions and does not cooperate with Dan Feng anymore. Instead, he suggests a quid-pro-quo to gain "dignified" answers that Imbibitor Lunae accepts abruptly. Behind the ironic bars, Immortus seems to enjoy every moment of this trade-off game since his raven swings shaking and massive claws rake at the tense atmosphere when he listens to Dan Feng's childhood.

"What a tragic fate." - Primus Immortus monologues and eyes the opposite person - "Growing up with the destined mission and carrying the name of the High Elder through countless ages. Building up and bringing out the name of the High-Cloud quintet to this cosmos, plus witnessing its fall. But alas, you will eventually lose the one who sees you as Dan Feng."

"Does she remember your name? How does it feel when you kiss her?" - The monster adjusts his volume as the Long Scion is still busy scribbling his precedent answers, and the vibe changes rapidly. Cyan orbs sparkling like a torch illuminate all features of his countenance, a warning to remind Immortus has crossed the line because the marshall or a judge might hear their little play-game. Nonetheless, he is pleased with Dan Feng's reaction as his saliva rolls down and drops to the ground. Moreover, if there were not Celest Gold restraining his swings, people could hear the sound of swings behind the cell. Primus Immortus vigilantly stares back to watch how deep his string roots at the High Elder's soul.

"I have the last needed element to aid you in achieving your wish, Little Dragon. It will grant you the primal power equals Permanence." - He lowers his voice with vicious eyes glowing under the dark bangs and awaits the crackling spirit. Conversely, Imbibitor Lunae closes his tabs and readily leaves the cell, indicating that his heart is as solid as Marmorean. Looking at Dan Feng's retreating figure blending into the corridor, the monster reveals his last trump card:

"What if I said Zhen Ren could drink up the four seas?"

To Primus Immortus' expectation, the High Elder's footstep gives a halt as his heart pulse is immovable for a millisecond when hearing that sentence. He knows love affairs may not be enough to convince Imbibitor's fall, yet it will make a difference with the topic of compatriot.

Saving the Vidyadhara race is a proper reason to unlock the black arts.

However, Dan Feng merely breathes out and marches toward the security door without a glance, leaving behind his resonating footsteps from afar.

"How wick." - a familiar metallic voice reverberates at the unfathomable depth of the Premilinary Prison as Primus Immortus amuses himself without looking up at the frontal man. His white chignon is tied hard by a Dalbergia hairpin and remains motionless like a marble monument while a scarlet pupil glows amidst unstable light. Although half of his face emerges in the pitch-black dark, no one is unaware of his position.

Yinxing from the High-Cloud Quintet demanded an informal appointment with Primus Immortus.

He slowly detaches an electronic bug at the table's edge and smashes his hand-made device into dust: "What is in exchange for your 'last element'?"

The monster looks excited as hearing another member of the legendary team exploit his secret. A group of esteemed figures created illustrious feats and miracles for everyone but themselves, so their misery is holly nectar to Immortus, and occurrences are flowing as his scheme. The ivory canines spread across his twisted face when he speaks.

"What a pity. You are ineligible to operate 'that thing' properly. Only a descendant with a divine bloodline grants the privilege of touching it, and I already have had my things. However, if you successfully convince Little Dragon, you both may attain your joint target."

Just as Primus Immortus expected, Yinxing's mind wavers like a dribble of water to cause a micro crackle in his spirit, and a triumphant smile stretches on his maniacal face. After the blink of an eye, everything is upside down as the blurring surroundings are confused into another timeline. Standing beside him are the rest of the High-Cloud Quintet, and Yinxing could say they are different yet the same people simultaneously. They wear unusual uniforms while idly chattering about ordinary topics under the cement ground with crowded transportation. To Yinxing, this scene seems peaceful, a surreal life that is too good to be true. As a result, he swings his sword to tear the unfolding illusion, but a flow of smoke lingers at his blade.

The girl who shares Bai Heng features said they nestle in the body of an Outer God, and she is the Paradox Guardian - named Dao Zhen - a doppelganger of Bai Heng from the other world. She exposes that this timeline used to exist but was erased because the history selected and ramified. Immortus possesses a kind of mystic eyes playing the role of an alien door leading to another Dimension by hypnotizing Yinxing and extracting a fragment of his conscience into an Outer God's body.

"If you stay with me permanently, we can live in any possible context." - She whispers beside Yinxing's earlobe and intertwines her fingers - "You love this face, don't you?'' - A cold exhale sweeps through as Dao Zhen grazes her nose against his collar, she tries to orientate him to become a second Guardian; as for Yinxing perspective, he finds it is a dilemma yet he decides to bare the sword to clarify his decision.

"Fight me if you dare! I will resurrect her and rebuild the High-Cloud Quintet. Not living in your cheap illusion arts." - He conceded Dan Feng in testimony privilege since he has never been into mundane activities in prison. Hence, Yinxing vaguely learned his unpublished situation. They can become an antagonist duo like Primus Immortus suggested.

The blade slashes Dao Zhen's afterimage and causes a space-shifting while his sword tip points at her and eventually claims his victory after an intense battle. Yinxing sees Dao Zhen vomit a wooden box and turns into black mud flowing toward his heels.

Abruptly, a recognizable ceiling of a clinic appears in front of his eyesight while gripping an exquisite carving box.

Light still shines brightly at the Artisanship Commission despite the darkness covering the sky in a black mantle because there will be a massive parade to welcome a new Yaoqing general called Feixiao. The former presider was assassinated when he traveled with his wife in a hot spring, but Her Ladyship is missing. Many rumors vine around and wander in their vicinity, yet Feixiao apropos quenched and controlled them.

Listing ordnance, checking the quality of gunpowder, and solidifying human resources remain coursing vibrantly before the kick-off event. People even could hear the sledgehammer of blacksmiths from afar.

Meanwhile, Yinxing and Dan Feng are discreetly confronting each other at the Fyxestroll Garden.

"You don't wish the High-Cloud Quintet to return to its renaissance?" - his reprimanded voice arouses the placid serenity between them since Imbibitor Lunae selected another path.

"It is a part of history, and we must respect the past. Stop striving to rewrite it like a moth to a flame because death cannot resurrect. Seeking immortality is illegal." - the Long Scion intends to turn his back and march forth, yet his heels halt when Yinxing reveals his buried secret.

"Although the Yaoqing has forfeited their wanted poster, they will pay seven trillion credits for Bai Lin's head, plus executioners will continuously send out to chase her to every galaxy corner. Furthermore, Feixiao is also here."

"I don't know what are you... " - an explosion swiftly roars through the inky sky from the Artisanship Commission, interrupting Dan Feng's sentence. A red-orange hue burns radiantly at a corner, and charcoal fumes flare up violently. Neither do they present punctually, nor do they put out the fire with ordinary water. The oil and gas will aggravate the situation; in addition to this plight, numerous Vidyadhara people assemble crowdedly for the parade - the last straw of limit breakthrough.

"Zhen Ren can drink up the four seas." - the High Elder stares at the Paradox box in his hand while Yinxing repeats an accustomed clause.

They are standing at the center of an invisible hexagon made from six Suppression Towers and ready to practice black arts. Inside the Paradox box is a pair of Mystic Eyes of a deceased Abundance Emanator, which is eligible to open the Supremacy Boundary to ascend the Long Scion and become a higher being. The left eye is a mirror to look through the past, and the right one is the key to unlocking the pruning future. To rewrite reality and unleash that power, they need to feed it with all heliobi in the Suppression Towers.

Dan Feng and Yinxing should have succeeded if they had complied with the Five Element Order.

"North obligation. Absolute death is reverse."

The hexagon's apex must face northward, yet they did not notice the line in Dan Feng's ancient scroll that led to a retrorse geometry against the feng shui order, causing the Grand Calamity to befall Loufu. The supposed door turned into a mirror that reflects the Backside of this world, drawing fantastic monsters to come through. Thousands of mythological creatures, demonic monsters, even Abundance abominations belligerent and wild beasts with Evil Dragons acting as their leader, descended upon Xianzhou, and the mirror is like a black hole hanging over the firmament with lethal levin.

On that day, no one dares to reminisce or talk about that appalling scene, and nobody records the precise duration of the catastrophe. They only remember the death toll with injured victims was unbearable, thousands of missing people. On top of that, the monsters' blood caused acid rain, melting agricultural fields and paralyzing their trading traffic, which caused all economic activities to stagnate. To mobilize all resources, Jing Yuan procrastinated the Ten-Lords Commission's warrant and approved the duel culprits Yinxing - Dan Feng temporarily attending Luofu's frontier. Additionally, he requested military assistance from other Xianzhou ships to block the Backside mirror.

"I have another personal affair to do. Please, leave me three hours, then I will present before the judges." Imbibitor Lunae grits his teeth to press each word as if gathering the last ounce of his strength to prevent crumbling.

Under the lonesome Exalting Sanctum's ruin, Hanya and Xueyi only stay still amidst the sound of silence.

Until the Long Scion intends to throw away his pride and kneels before two sisters, they timely stop him and accept his favor. As a result, the twisted fate between you two is going to its epilogue.

A feather noise accidentally wakes you up from your slumber, which is followed by a soft fabric rustle. You attempt to mouth your words, but none of the names lingers in your mind, and the fragileness sounds weaker than you expected. All your vital energy seemingly ebbs away as you watch inky shadow prints on the wall. Dan Feng's countenance quickly shifts from concern to rest assured as a dissipating cloud when he sees you are safe and sound after the turmoil (Maybe the forest's mythopedia is true). You wonder why he acts so weirdly as rushing to capture your wilt frame into his embrace, and the nose bridge presses against your nap coldly while Dan Feng's hot breath fans over your baby hair unstably. Although you no longer recognize this man, a comfortable warmth radiating from him is half acquainted, half foreign, and you realize the High Elder is quivering.

His clothed back soaks with sweat as your hand brushes the long locks, fingertips gently touching the fancy fabric pattern. A short-lived memory enlightens your foggy mind after a few stroking, bringing back a feeble sunray in your opaque irises.

"Ah...I remember who you are. Dan Feng, isn't it? It looks like I just woke up from a long dream." - He does not answer or proceed to any conversation, or in other words, his throat is stuck with a fiery lump, just inhaling the mild white tea fragrance in your hair as though mesmerizing it into his soul.

"I want to watch the dawn with you." - Your respiratory is getting weaker and unstable when resting your head against his firm chest.

"Can we wait until you get better?" - Dan Feng contemplates the gray sky beyond your window as a flock of birds flies across the hermitical horizon. However, he quickly surrenders your stubbornness afterward. The High Elder carries you towards the usual spot - an eminence used to sightseeing in your pasture.

The coziness from his exhale thawing the thin frost on your senile face wakes you up from a short nap. The purplish canvas tinge with a rosy hue and pastel orange color while dewy grass dances in morning winds, you two quietly await the rising sun. Your eyes shimmer in amazement when seeing old comrades standing afar and wavering hands toward your side. The sun shines around them like crowning a laurel halo.

"It...is impossible. Regardless of your wraith, I am happy to see you guys again." - You mutter under your breath as Irene wags her wedding bouquet, and Huang Yuan offers his hand to you while Pumpkin shakes his tail.

Nevertheless, your jubilance does not last long after a blink of an eye when the surroundings disappear into voidness, rendering your sightless eyes in which you do not feel any regrets backlog in your heart.

"Why do you look so sad, Feng?" - Your wilt hands full of freckles like a root trace his features to sense his sentiment.

"No, I am just..." - your hopeless motion abruptly intercepts the Long Scion's half-baked lie as you draw closer to give him one last kiss - "I couldn't wait for the next Autumn..." - However, you never get a chance to complete the line because your soul leaving even faster and the kiss forever falling on his shoulder.

Dan Feng dumbfoundedly gazes at the dazzling dawn and needs several seconds to process what is happening.

He desperately calls your name to wake you up but does not receive any response. Like a madman, Imbibitor Lunae carries your limp body toward the hydrangea garden and finally collapses from exhaustion. Amidst the sea of shriveling flowers, a useless person cradles his lover in anguish while the browny flower balls waver in soft breezes.

"Somebody....Somebody please save my Bai Lin!"

But alas, only the cricket chirping and leaves rustling sing your requiem. The sky is getting brighter, plus cotton clouds nonchalantly trekking across a pair of emerald orbs, and it is not raining. But why does water keep cascading on his face? Why can he not save his loved one even though he committed Ten Unpardonable Sins? Individuals often pray to them to be endowed with grace, but whom will he pray to?

After your death, the man who sees the world possesses an unparalleled power to traverse clouds and bestow rain, shaping forms as the world's of essence beckon, has already decided his fate. If he can not save you, Dan Feng will die with you.

Endnote: Alright! Who dies next? Gepard or Argenti?

#honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #dan feng x reader #dan feng x you #dan feng fanfic #hsr dan feng #hsr dan feng x reader

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the-mortuary-witch · 9 months ago

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HEL

WHO IS SHE?

Hel, also called Hella and Hela, is the name used to refer to the Goddess of the Underworld in Norse mythology. She is the daughter of Loki and the Goddess of death, disease, decay, and destruction. Hel is a mysterious, otherworldly deity who presides over the realm of the dead. According to the lore, her followers would be taken to her afterlife after death, where they would face their eternal fate. Though her domain is dark and seemingly frightening, Hel is a powerful and important deity in Norse mythology and has strong ties to the otherworld and the afterlife.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: in Norse mythology, Hel is described as a very pale but beautiful woman, often with dark, pale hair. She is sometimes depicted as being very thin and gaunt, with a corpse-like appearance. She is also described as often being very sorrowful and sad, and she is known to be a rather ominous and sinister figure. She is often depicted wearing dark, gothic-style clothing and bearing a variety of symbols associated with death and the Underworld.

Personality: Hel is often described as being very sorrowful and solemn. She is often depicted as being a rather quiet and melancholy figure, lacking in the warmth and friendliness that is attributed to the other Norse goddesses. She is generally regarded as being a somewhat sinister and oppressive presence, and she is often seen as having a much darker and more brooding nature than her sisters.

Symbols: ankh, wolves, bones and skulls, ravens, corpse, scythe, fire, spiral, broom, rake, and Hagalaz Rune

Goddess of: death and the afterlife

Culture: Norse

Plants and trees: beech, alder, elm, ivy, juniper, willow, yew, nightshade, belladonna, datura, nettle, wormwood, elder, hellebore, mistletoe, and blackberries

Crystals: obsidian, amethyst, black onyx, bloodstone, jet, and black tourmaline

Animals: rats, wolves, hellhounds, black mare, dogs, crows, and serpents

Incense: myrrh, dragon’s blood, frankincense, and patchouli

Colours: dark green, black, dark blue, red, white, and dark purple

Numbers: 9 and 13

Zodiac: Scorpio

Tarot: Death, The Tower, and Suit of Swords

Planet: Pluto

Days: Monday, Halloween, Yule, Samhain, Helrbjörg, and Allhallowtide

Parents: Loki and Angrboða

Siblings: Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Váli, Narfi, and Sleipnir (Odin’s horse)

Partner: N/A

Children: N/A

MISC:

• Wolves: which are often seen as the guardians of the underworld.

• Ravens and crows: associated with the realm of the dead.

• Pluto: the planet associated with death and rebirth.

• Moon: is the celestial object associated with death, madness, and witchcraft.

• The wolf Gnaa, whose name translates to "the one of the deep" and is the guardian of the underworld.

• Helhest: a mystical three-legged horse that can run across the sky and the sea, carrying souls to the World of Death.

• The black dog Cegrim: which is said to guide souls to the land of Hel.

• The Norns: who are the three Goddesses who spin the fate of each individual soul.

FACTS ABOUT HEL:

• Holds a biconical horn, called a drink horn, which she uses to drain the souls from dead mortals.

• She is the daughter of Loki and Angrboda.

• Garmr (sometimes also called Garm) is the dog or hound that is considered to be Hel's guardian and protector in Norse mythology. Garm is a demonic and monstrous creature, with the size and strength of a bear, the aggression and cunning of a wolf, and the ferocity and loyalty of a dog. Garm is also immortal and has the unique ability to never sleep or rest, which makes him an incomparable guardian and companion to Hel.

• Bears the nickname Goddess of the Dead.

• She resides in a giant estate called Helheim.

HOW TO INVOKE HEL:

To respectfully work with Hel, set up a sacred space dedicated to her and keep it organized and clean. Honour her symbols of death and rebirth with your attire, decorations, and rituals and rituals. Use colours associated with death and rebirth (black, dark purple, and dark green) in decorations and rituals. Light candles and incense during rituals and dispose of them responsibly.

PRAYER FOR HEL:

"Hail Hel, Lady of the Underworld. I come to you seeking your guidance and protection. Please bless me with your wisdom and help me to walk the path of death and rebirth. Guide me into the realms of darkness, so I may emerge stronger and more enlightened.”

"Now that I have honoured you and asked for your guidance, I offer this as a humble offering in your name. Accept my gratitude and blessings, and may our paths cross again in the future. Hail to you, Lady of the Underworld, I bid you farewell for now. Hail Hel.”

SIGNS THAT HEL IS CALLING YOU:

• Feeling a sense of pull or attraction to her energy and teachings.

• Experiencing synchronicity or signs that point to her presence.

• You have dreams or visions about her.

• You hear/see her name on the TV, radio, online, in books, etc.

• You recently had a family member pass away

• You’re currently working on healing from religious trauma, specifically fears of death and Hell

• The Death card continually pops up in a reading

• Hagalaz rune is calling to you and showing up everywhere

• Hel’s animals are coming to you as a sign: dog, wolf, or horse

• An increased sense of devotion and reverence towards her.

• Feel drawn to her symbols or representations, such as skulls, bones, and Gothic imagery.

• Something in your life triggers an intense emotional or mental reaction where you feel a strong urge or desire to work with her and embrace her teachings.

• Experiencing a strong sense of passion, dedication, or devotion towards her.

OFFERINGS:

• Money

• Jewelry with dark or gothic themes, as she is often depicted wearing such items in artwork.

• Precious stones

• Weaponry.

• Alcohol or other intoxicating substances.

• Herbs.

• Food or drinks: tea, soup, meat, honey, bread, milk, fruit, and other delicacies.

• Mold.

• Items that represent the cycle of life and death: such as bones, skulls, jewelry with a skeleton theme, and plants associated with death and rebirth.

• Fire or candles: associated with the realm of the dead.

• Music and instruments: she was said to be a talented musician and musician herself.

• Dried flowers.

• Blood.

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

• Keep a journal, record your thoughts and feelings about her.

• Create an altar or sacred space for her.

• Read or study books on Norse mythology and the goddess Hel.

• Pray to her and ask for her guidance and protection.

• Mindfully clean the graves of deceased loved ones. Talk to them when you visit. If you can’t visit your loved one’s graves, you can write to them and burn it. Watch the letter burn and think that the fire and smoke is delivering the message to them.

• Keep a small altar to honor your beloved who have passed and tend to it. Do not forget their names.

• Honour and embrace all of your emotions. This includes your negative emotions such as anger, jealousy, pain, etc. Accepting and acknowledging these emotions helps process them better and thus help you be a better person. Denying them allows them to fester.

• Do shadow work especially during Sundays.

• Do spirit work. Be cautious when you this and properly protect yourself and dismiss the spirit soon after.

• Do ancestral work and establish ancestral healing starting with you. This helps heal the ones who have come before you.

• Take time to sit in silence and watch the world move around you. You can do this in a symbolic way by leaving fruit like an apple outside and watch it rot.

• Meditate and learn the value of taking a pause in this fast-paced world.

• Accept change and adapt to it.

• Learn to appreciate the sudden changes or slight inconveniences in life. See the positive side of it.

• Learn the value of patience.

• Live your life as if it was your last (mindfully).

• Volunteer in cleaning cemeteries or in your local mortuary

• Keep a garden and care for it. (Some SDAs say she likes roses but she could ask you to care for other plants)

• Visit or volunteer in hospital work especially for the critically ill. Bring joy into their life even for a short while. You don’t know how much time they have left.

• Dress in neutral and dark colours.

• Dedicate a playlist for her.

• Collect animal bones. Clean then and breathe life into them (do so ethically, killing animals for bones is a blatant disrespect for Hel, the animal and the law).

• Adopt unwanted animals (the ones who are critically ill or are of old age) and give them the best life before they pass

• Carry an organ donor or a blood donor card.

• Enjoy fermented food and drinks such as wine and mead. Do not forget to toast to her name.

#fyp #fypシ #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fyppage #tumblr fyp #satanist #satanism #deity #deity work #deity worship #occult #goddess #hel #norse mythology #death #underworld #information #masterlist

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prairiefirewitch · 7 months ago

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Last year was pretty poor for my daturas so when I planted dozens of seeds this winter and only a single one sprouted, I thought this might be the first year in a long time that I would have no plants. I had jars of seeds from Mescalero that were a bit old, and jars of various seed varieties from my own plants, plus a few seed packets from Eimi and I tossed a bunch in a plastic strawberry tray and didn’t feel hopeful. But lo, datura seedlings have sprouted, 125 by my count and I have no idea what varieties I’ve got here.

I made the girls a nursery out of an old display box I made and I’ll know in a week or so which varieties I’ve got. So far I think I’ve got inoxia and wrightii but I’m really hoping for a few metels. If I have lots of survivors, I’ll be building a new bed because I’m out of space and didn’t expect to need to find room for dozens more plants. 🖤

#poison path #datura #datura wrightii #flying ointment #witchcraft

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rubynymphyy · 2 months ago

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three major team members who didn't make the cut for the championship team due to space limits and type matchups..

Kalmia: she/her, Jolly, mischievous [Larkspur's partner bodyguard] Columbine: he/him, Calm, likes to thrash about [may actually be a semi-authorized casino hustler. sort of like how pirates could be authorized as privateers. ... don't try this in real life.] Datura: he/him, Quirky, quick to flee [mechanic/technician, voted most popular employee by customer write-in vote for 'the guy with the arms' three years running]

Main championship team

#my ocs #my art #pokemon gijinka #pkg #pokemon platinum #cherrim gijinka #rampardos gijinka #medicham gijinka #character design #original characters #risk/reward pkg

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comparativeoracle · 11 months ago

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Datura. Art by Chelsea Granger, from Dirt Gems.

Datura stramonium Seer of the Unseen Datura is a queen-of the desert, of the dark, of death, and of mystery. Datura is a moon plant, reflecting light into the shadows, glowing and glimmering in the mist. Datura is the seer of the unseen, the silence in the roaring wind. If you are struggling with the unknown, if you are facing a vast transformation in your life, or if you feel yourself on the edge of a cliff, Datura is your lifeline. Datura emanates strength, power, and courage. As a poison plant, it is one that humans should not take lightly or engage without clear intentions and honesty. Datura states their boundaries. They allow much space and freedom to roam the unknown tides of the underworld. Datura will open your doors of perception, loosen your grip on what you think is reality, and shift the borders of what you know to be true and "normal." Datura expands us. If you are letting go of a familiar reality or some stable structure you have been counting on, the prickly and mysterious Datura will not hold your hand. But they will stand by you, their courage rippling into you, shaking your bones, releasing your dreams into a new world of what is possible. You do not need to be limited by what you know or what you think. Datura encourages the visionary deep inside each of us. This sacred nightshade breaks illusions, allowing for the visions in your dreams to come into waking life. Datura is not playing around. If you are too caught up in the mundane world, if you have forgotten your own magic, if you feel alone and lost in the noise, you can sail in the desert sands of this windy, moonlit queen.

#Chelsea Granger #Dirt Gems #Datura #Oracle Deck #Plants #Card 38

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luc3 · 10 months ago

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1+1=1

[or Before / After - After - After]

I never celebrate Ostara (it's Ostara?), not my cup of tea, after the Solstice, I impatiently wait for the Equinox, and especially for it to lead to Walpurgis. BUT hello, COUCOU to 'my' mutuals, may the winds be favorable to you all 💚 . Here, we experience a lovely month of May. (oh wait,)

I have classes on public property at the largest Psychiatric Hospital in my town. I don't know if there's a connection, but this last month has left me technically knocked out.

Plus, Lent is coming. 😱

I started preparing these two mother tinctures around the winter Solstice. Mother tinctures because I let the plant infuse in pure ethanol for a lunation and a half. First time trying this method. Before I always cut with water, about 2 to 1.

I believe an 'even more' mother tincture is with the root of the fresh plant. But I have not yet had permission to uproot a St. John's Wort plant. (Unlike Datura, but this time I decided to try a tincture only with seeds from my oldest plant.)

Tadaaaa.

The Datura is not ready yet so I won't say anything about it. But given the state in which I am psychically (therefore mentally and physically), very 'parasitized', both by the living idiots, the dead idiots, by the living twisted people, the dead twisted people, the twisted ones from the other beyond, those of the lower astral, etc., St. John's wort became vital.

It is the blood that my liver no longer has, triple-purple blood. LIFE.

I'm taking advantage of this beginning of the month to start a cure. And as Lent arrives, and I am in panic about what I have decided to give this year (meat, among other things..-> while we found a wonderful mountain farmer some time ago who makes delicious meat 😢), I pick up Celandine (in great shape at the moment in my region), a little, I must say very veeeery little Absinthe (that's managed by the Good Neighbors from here), AND Nettle. It's going to be disgusting and the more disgusting it is, the more space it makes.

Also, to take back space and let's say it, to take back my territory, I don't like complicated things, so I worked on a very simple rite of purification, of oneself and of space, which only requires a wooden spoon as a tool, and nothing but salt and water as ingredients. I think aficionados here will have understood what it is about. I practiced this purification after meditating on drums, and the result is always very effective on me. What a surprise, I had a lot of pain in my lower back after purifying myself! Afterwards I made a few other small adjustments.

I am now ready to start stressing about Lent again. 😱

#diary #my pics #datura #St John Wort #dear psychiatric suitcase

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 10 months ago

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Datura Pt 5

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain you're trying you best to learn to navigate Amarantha's Court and your own, budding powers.

Content Warnings: Allusions to assault, slavery, mild cursing

Author's Note: This one hurt me to write, but my depression got the better of me and I needed to let my angst out somewhere; I'm so sorry.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

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It’s been three weeks since you’d been dragged under the Mountain, each day counted with a little tally scratched into the wall behind your bed post where no one can see. Two weeks without word from your uncle. Two weeks without sunlight. Sometimes you sit in the dark wondering if, when this is over and you finally get to step into the sun again, if your eyes will be able to bear it, or will they be permanently altered?

The weeks are taking a toll. The girl you see in the mirror each morning is paler and paler each passing day, the lines of your face a little thinner as hunger becomes a constant companion. Amarantha has tasked someone with feeding you, but meals are few and far between, save for the assortment of stale snack Rhys has been sneaking into your training sessions. The male has spent hours each day running you through shielding techniques, followed by sparring sessions to “keep you limber” he’d said, and has only just begun to touch the well of power that sleeps beneath your skin. He’s still tight lipped about what he suspects it was, no matter your questioning. Things are, well you wouldn’t say pleasant necessarily, sometimes he still makes you want to hurl things at his head, but there has been no more threats from Amarantha to enforce upon you and so things are fine between you. The Queen has kept to herself for the last three weeks, until the Attor came knocking on your door.

The creature has the decency to not attempt to carry you by the back of the shirt this time. Instead, it walks ahead of you, leathery wings and talons scrapping the floor, it’s every breath a horribly, squeaking, rasp through it’s crooked teeth. It’s only spoken to inform you that you’re being summoned to the Queen’s chambers and than it clamps it’s thin lips shut and shoves you into the hall.

No throne room today, for that you’re relieved, most nights you can still see the bodies pinned to the wall when you shut your eyes. Instead, the Attor leads you up and up, the climb stealing your breath as you head to what you can only assume is the Mountain’s peak. Someone has painstakingly carved steps into the rock, each stone smooth and worn down over time. The door at the top is the same carved stone as all the other doors, but this one is guarded by masked sentries, both armed to the teeth. Spears glisten in their gloved hands, and you keep your questions about how well those could be wielded in such a small space to yourself. Questioning Rhys about her operations is one thing, the Attor and the rest of her cronies is another.

The sentries knock twice before pushing the door open for you.

Unlike your room, the space of her chambers is cavernous, the walls smoothed over and held by pillars of marble and sandstone. Faelights glitter and twist around each pillar, bathing the room in an unnaturally red glow.

Red seems to be her favorite color.

Her sleeping chambers are set in the side of the space, hidden from you by a crimson curtain. The rest of the room is left open, decorated with plush couches and chairs around a roaring fireplace in the shape of a lion’s head. Beneath the worn coffee table, currently plated with tea cups and scones, is a pelt of some sort of monster, the head bearing curling horns and an open mouth of jagged teeth, the glassy eyes starring right at you as the Attor all but shoves you into the room.

There’s a heavy scent of mirthroot and incense in the room that makes your head feel fuzzy.

The Queen emerges from behind the curtain wearing little other than a silk robe, the bare expanse of her legs on full display.

You reign in the disgust you feel at seeing her, try not to picture what she was doing back there, so flippant after she’d ordered an innocent male killed simply for knowing you. She’s a monster. But she’s also the monster with the power of the High Lords and you’re not so foolish as to upset her here in the quiet of her chambers where no one will hear you scream if she decides she wants to punish you for any slight you might offer.

“Y/N,” she says with a grin that looks wrong on the sharp planes of her pale face. “Glad you could join me! Come, sit.”

The Attor watches you move towards the couch opposite her like he thinks you might pounce on her and drag your claws across her throat.

The couch sinks in when you sit, like it’s been used a lot. You try not to think about why.

“Tea?” She asks as she grabs her own cup, her red lipstick smearing across the rim as she takes a deep drink.

Your stomach rumbles, a reminder that they’d forgotten to feed you again. You pull your hands into your sleeves, trying to keep your hands from reaching out to take what’s offered on instinct. “No.” The chances of you being drugged in here are high, you’re not taking any chances. Mentally, you do a quick check of your shields, just as Rhys had shown you, to ensure the doors of your mind are shut from whatever power of his she can wield over you.

She frowns. “I can see that you’re scared of me.”

You lean back in the couch, arms across your chest.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like that,” she says as she sets her own cup down. “I’ve been training with Hybern for many years, I’ve often thought of him like a father, and so I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward when I say I hope that some day you’ll see me like a sister.”

The urge to unleash your claws and slash them across her face is overwhelming. You’re thankful you’d had the good sense to pull your hands into your sleeves, it hides the way you dig your nails into your palms to keep yourself still. “Oh?”

She clasps her hands together, the eyeball in her ring swiveling to look at you. “My relationship with my own family was… rocky, I’d like to think fate is giving me another chance with you.”

You’re not so desperate to get out that you buy it, but you know, from somewhere deep inside of you that if she’d waited a few more weeks, if the hunger and the dark were really starting to get to you that she could have been convincing. That’s what scares you the most.

“I know I come across extreme,” she continues like she hasn’t noticed your reservations. “But, girl to girl, I really want to see you thrive. Rhysand has been telling me of your progress. He says you’re a fast learner.”

He’d told you that too. “He’s a good teacher,” you say carefully. You mean it, he’s very patient with you, even if he is an ass about how he gets results, he’s never been harsh, never pushed too far--not since that first day had he come into your mind uninvited--but you can’t have her getting suspicious of why you’ve been such a dutiful student. If she suspects you’re trying to awaken your powers too soon, you’re as likely to end up chained to her as the High Lords are. Hybern needs a weapon, not a time bomb, you have to play your cards steadily to unsure you can get out of here at the end of this.

“Charmed, are we?” She asks in what feels like it’s meant to be conspiratorial girl talk, but the look in her eyes... You swear the eye on her finger widens in warning.

“I haven’t had any training before this. It is nice to have a guide for my questions.” As close to the truth as you can get.

Amarantha leans back in her seat, arms spread across the back of the couch, as she studies you. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost black, nothing but cold calculations in a gaze you know has been wielded with extreme precision on the battlefield. It’s like she’s pinpointing all your weak spots when she looks at you. You can’t look her in the eyes, not without fidgeting, you find yourself picking at the fraying edges of your shirt sleeves instead.

“You poor thing,” she coos. “You must have been so confused.”

That much is true too. You still haven’t been able to figure out why they’re doing all this. What terrible power does she think you posses that she’s so desperate she’ll invite you into her personal chambers instead of attempting some dramatic event in the throne room?

You stare at the wall. You can’t give her the satisfaction of asking her those questions. Maybe she does have the answers, but they’re from her mouth and you know better than to trust a damn think that comes out of it.

“I thought everybody was ahead of me,” you admit. “We travelled a lot so regular schooling was out of the question.”

“Oh I’m sure your uncle was a master at weaponizing your naivety. Most males are.” She brings her hand with the ring up to her chest and begins to trace a pointed nail over it, as if she’s thinking about something else.

“He’s a good male,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

She huffs a laugh, “Good males do not steal children from their parents.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“Your parents were very powerful people once, and your uncle had always been jealous of your mother. I wish you could have seen her, Y/N, when she stepped onto a battlefield, males coward. I watched them piss themselves just at the sight of her. She was everything I hoped to be as Hybern’s general.”

You’d always imagined your love of books and ancient things had come from your mother. In your mind she’d been a soft woman who grew gardens and was always reading books under big oak trees. In your mind she was kind and gentle and had lost you tragically in some sort of accident. To hear anything else, from Amarantha of all people, made you want to throw your hands up over your ears. Your uncle had alluded to your father not being the best of people, but you had never imagined it would be this bad either.

“Your uncle couldn’t stand it,” she continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I tried to warn them that he was a jealous and dangerous male, but your mother loved him too much to see it. And when he stole you out of your room that night, well, her heart couldn’t handle it. That’s our curse as women, I suppose, we care too much.”

You look into the fire. That can’t be true! You don’t want it to be true. Because, if it is, you’re not only wrong about your parents, you’re wrong about your uncle too and then you will have no family left at all.

“And look at you, following in her footsteps,” she presses. “Caring so much about him that you’ll sacrifice your own peace of mind to spare his miserable life. He’s a monster, Y/N, why are you protecting him? All he has ever done is hurt you.”

The flames dance in the fireplace, reaching towards the carved teeth of the lion’s head. You trace the ash that’s dusted up the creature’s face with your eyes, anything to avoid looking at her. Your shields might be in place, but your face will betray you all the same.

She stands and comes to sit next to you, the heavy scent of earth and incense a cloud around her. “Your powers could have driven you insane without the right teaching. He very well could have killed you. You want to protect a male like that?”

Maybe it is all true, gods above you can barely stomach the thought, but even if it is, you can’t sell him out to her. “I already told Rhys where he would be. I’m not protecting anyone.” These last few weeks, no news of him had been a relief, it meant he was safe, but as time ticked on, the doubts were starting to get to you. None of her huntsman had even heard whispers of where he’d gone. Was it possible he’d abandoned you?

She reaches out and places her nails under your chin, turning your head until you’re looking into her eyes. “You poor thing. I feel for you, I really do. I know the terrible sting of betrayal all too well.”

The eye on her ring swivels to stare at her, like it’s questioning the statement.

Maybe it really is alive; the thought makes your stomach roll.

“What do you want?” You ask.

She laughs like you’d told a joke. “As I said, I want us to be friends.”

“You killed a male to threaten me into submission and suddenly you want to be friends?”

She stiffens a little.

“This is about the twins, isn’t it?”

“Do you smoke?” She asks instead.

The shift makes you pause for a second, long enough for her to shout for someone behind the curtain leading into her sleeping quarters. A moment later, the same male from the throne room appears, shirtless, wearing nothing but his boxers and a glittering, golden collar. In his hand is a small, silver tray and as he seats himself on the arm of the couch, he holds it out to her. A rolled cluster of cigarettes sits on the tray next to a golden lighter and she grabs the nearest cigarette. Out of what can only be habit, the male sets the tray on the table and lights the cigarette for her as she brings it to her mouth. You’ve been in enough taverns to know mirthroot when you smell it, the smoke making the room hazy.

“Helps with my headaches,” she says, holding it out to you.

You glance at the male, now draped over the edge of the couch like this is normal. Like it’s normal that there are scratch marks across his chest; a collar clinging to his throat. So much had happened the last time he’d been around you hadn’t really noticed what was happening, but now…

Amarantha is speaking again but you honestly can’t hear what she’s saying.

What kind of female does this to people?

There’s something prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal pacing the bars of it’s enclosure. The first bits of your talons poke through your skin, digging into your palms to keep it at bay.

“Y/N?” She asks, and by the tone its clear this isn’t the first time she’s called you by name.

You force yourself to draw a breath, then another. You cannot fight her here like this, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how much the sight of that collar makes you want to destroy everything she’s ever touched. She has the power of the High Lords and if you fight her here in her chambers, untrained, you will loose.

You draw another breath. Rhys had said that half the battle was knowing when to throw the first punch. It isn’t time yet.

You repeat it to yourself, to the thing that slumbers in your chest until it quiets.

You know Amarantha is watching, can feel that oily gaze on you. You draw another breath and force yourself to look at her. “I’m sorry, I… I was just wondering…” You should placate her, pretend your just some untrained, naive little girl she found on Calanmai. At the start of this conversation you might have, but the shift you feel beneath your skin…

You need to get out of the room before you implode.

And you need her to know you’re not just some stupid pet.

“I was just wondering what’s so bad about the twins that’s got you rattled, Your Highness?” Maybe you can’t meet her gaze yet, maybe you can’t win a physical fight, but you’re not some helpless toy at her whims. The last couple weeks have weakened you, but they haven’t beat you.

She growls at you, eyes flashing dangerously.

The male on the end of the couch scatters out of range, ducking behind the curtain long enough for you to get a flash of the room, see another body laying in her silk sheets.

You’re going to rip this mountain apart brick by fucking brick if you have to.

“Is this what you’d rather do, little mouse?” She asks, her voice dangerously low. “Play games with me?”

It's too late to take it all back now. The words are out and despite the shiver running down your spine, you know if you back down now she will hold it over your head forever. Might as well stand your ground and see what she'll reveal to you if you keep pushing. “I’m bored in my cell,” you counter.

She takes a drag of the mirthroot. You'll ask Rhys later why she needs so much of it. Is it possible that holding all that power is effecting her physically somehow?

“How forgetful of me to not keep you entertained.”

“Isn’t that what friends do?” You over emphasize the word, put all your venom into it. You can’t spar with her physically yet, but you’ve always been quicker with your words than your fists anyway.

She flicks the cigarette away. “You should come to dinner tonight, if you’re so bored.”

You hope she can’t hear the way your heart thunders in your chest. This is dangerous, so very dangerous. You’re almost sure you can hear Rhys screaming in your head. “I’d be delighted,” you say as sweetly as you can.

Amarantha motions the Attor over, a dismissal. “I was hoping to protect you from the cruelty of this court until you were ready. My subjects aren’t always as kind as me, but since you’re so keen on getting out of your room, I suppose I can’t help you.”

She’s going to throw you to the wolves.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’ll have to get acquainted with my father’s court eventually.”

“You’ll remember this conversation after dinner,” she hisses as the Attor grabs your shoulder and lifts you off the couch.

“I’m sure it’ll be a good laugh for both of us,” you say like you don’t hear the threat.

As the door opens, you throw over your shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight.”

The powers she’s stolen rumble as the door slams shut behind you, the mountain shaking.

You tuck your trembling hands into your pockets as you walk back the way you came. At least no one is dead this time, but still you can’t shake the feeling that you’re royally fucked.

Doesn’t help matters that, as you turn the corner back towards you room, Rhysand is there, frowning as he leans against the closed door. That intense violet gaze roams over you as you approach, as if he’s cataloging every detail of you, then the Attor.

“Why is she out?” He snarls at the Attor.

“Well hi to you too,” you grumble.

You’re not entirely sure what powers come with being High Lord of the Night Court, but you’re sure he once was able to burn holes through people’s heads, judging by the intensity of the anger in his eyes. He won’t even make eye contacting with you, only the Attor, who lumbers past you, chuckling.

“Her Majesty requested an audience.”

“She’s only to leave her room with me,” Rhys snarls, pushing away from the wall so he’s standing at his full height. Wisps of darkness unfurl from his shoulders, thrashing behind him like living things.

You shiver a little. These last few weeks had made you forget the male you had seen on Calanmai--what Darkness Incarnate was capable of given the right push.

“Funny,” the Attor rasps, unbothered by the display. Maybe when you spend so much time with Amarantha, only big, powerful displays matter. “She hasn’t mentioned you all morning. Maybe she’s gotten tired of you.”

“And maybe,” Rhys prowls forward, the stars you can sometimes see glittering in his eyes winking out with each breath he takes. “I was out dragging Tamlin’s sorry ass in for you.”

The Attor pauses, wings twitching. “Spring surrendered?”

“His time is up,” Rhys snarls. “He didn’t even fight me.”

Shit shit shit. She’s actually done it. Tamlin had been the last High Lord on his throne. When Hybern came in a couple of months, there’d be no one standing in his way. Amarantha would have all the High Lords sitting and waiting for him to do whatever he wanted with them.

You look at Rhys, really look. There’s no damage on him, no cuts or bruises, not even dirt, no hint that he was lying about bringing Tamlin in. He doesn’t look at all bothered by it either, as if this is just another part of the job.

The Attor makes a hissing sound, “Guess we both didn’t get what we wanted today, lordling.”

“This will be the last time you take her anywhere,” Rhys snarls, his voice wholly taken over by a High Lord. Not the male that sits on the floor in the training room, showing you how to shield; not the male who sneaks you snacks to ensure you’re not starving to death in the dark. There is no room for argument, no room for a fight, he is High Lord and he will get his way. “And if I find out any harm came to her while she was under your watch I will take my gods-damned time flaying the skin from your measly bones.”

Measly? The Attor is twice Rhys’s size, yet you know, just by looking at him that he’d win. It’s no idle threat.

“You talk a lot of game, whore,” the Attor snarls as it backs away. It knows it’ll loose too. “But lets see you put that same energy out in front of Her Highness when she has her new pet out for dinner tonight. I’m sure with the Lord of Spring joining us, things will be interesting.”

It scurries away before Rhys can ask what that means, or before you can tear it’s ugly face off it’s bones. Yours claws are piercing into your palms, blood pooling between yours fingers. You hadn’t realized you’d done it, they’d slipped, your control waning at his words. Rhys hadn’t seemed to notice them, hadn’t reacted at all, just as he hadn’t that night in the throne room, but you can’t stand it. And you can’t even explain why.

“Are you hurt?” Rhys asks as soon as the Attor is gone. The wisps of darkness disappear in a rush, like all the energy needed to summon them had suddenly vanished.

“No, I’m fine,” you reply, but you can’t stop yourself from looking down at your hands, the indents you’d left in your palms. Little tendrils of your own darkness slip from them, like it’s leaking out of your skin.

Rhys is on you in an instant, taking your hands in his own, looking at the damage.

“Guess I was clenching my fists a little tight,” you say.

The world tilts and spins, the sound of wind rushing in your ears, and then you’re standing in another bedroom. It’s as barren as your own, lit with a dozen, half melted candles, most of the space taken up by a bed with black silk sheets. There’s some furniture covered in dust around a cold fireplace; it looks less used then your own had been when you’d arrived.

Rhys’s hand is around your wrist, pulling your towards the bathing chambers. He’s breathing hard, as if the winnowing had taken a lot out of him; his skin a little more pale, dark circles around his eyes. How much of his power does Amarantha steal on the daily?

“What did the Attor mean about tonight?” He asks as he motions you to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s bigger than your own, not by much, but there’s enough of a lip around the edge that you can sit without falling completely in. He lets the water run until it’s warm.

You pinch your eyes shut. “She gave me this whole speech about how she wants to be friends.”

He guides your hands under the water and you wince against the sting.

“I was going to wait her out, just not say anything at all, but…” but you kept seeing that male in that godsdamned collar, and the bodies pinned to the wall of the throne room, and the male who had been murdered on the floor.

You know you should be careful here too, no one has explained what his role in all of this is. Was he like Tamlin once? Dragged in when he ran out of options? Or had he come on his own? And you can’t shake the queasiness you get in the pit of your stomach when someone calls him a whore, because all you can do is wonder if Rhys has any say at all what happens to him down here?

“But?”

“But she’s a monster and the last fucking thing I want to be is her friend.”

He steps away long enough to get a towel and dab at the open wounds, still bleeding, the water red as it runs down your hands.

“So I guess I kinda goaded her into doing something with me instead of leaving me in my room all the time.”

Rhys huffs, but you can’t tell if it’s annoyance or anger. He doesn’t say anything beyond that as he shuts off the water and start rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. There’s a lot of vials and bottles and hand towels organized in the small space, the only real sign that anyone ever stays in the room at all.

“You’re lucky she didn’t tear you apart,” he growls as he comes back with a bottle of what looks like antiseptic. He dabs some on another towel and presses it to your palms, ignoring the hiss you make at the sting. “She’s ripped off people’s arms for less.”

“Yeah well one of the joys of being me is she needs me alive,” you drawl.

He tosses the used rag in the tub and then opens a small bottle of salve. It’s half empty, the contents clinging to the sides of the container. It’s applied to your hands with the care of someone who has done this over a dozen different wounds.

“How’d you find all this stuff?”

He’s got gauze too; wraps your hands carefully. “One of the joys of being me is she needs me in one piece,” he returns.

When your hands are all wrapped, he puts all the stuff back and washes his own hands.

“What…” this is dangerous ground, it sounds an awful lot like you care about him. You run a finger over the bandage, trace the sleeve of the shirt you only have because he’d given it to you. You’d still be in a shift in this frozen place if it wasn’t for him. You’d be a lot worse off, if it wasn’t for him.

“What exactly do you do for her?” Do you even want to know? Why torture yourself with the truth when you find out he’s done all of this for her because he wants to? Because he was born a monster just like she was and had only decided to latch onto you because maybe you were as much a ticket to Hybern’s graces as you were for Amarantha?

You watch the way his back shudders as he draws a shaking breath.

Something in your chest cracks and you jump off the edge of the tub.

“Whatever she wants,” he says so softly you almost can’t hear him.

You take a step closer, then another, until you’re right behind him. “And do you… want to do that?”

He turns slowly, head to his chest.

You take the final step so that you can look up into his eyes. So you can see him. There is so much there, in his eyes, in the shadows across his face that you’re pretty sure you have an answer. But you can’t be pretty sure of anything Under the Mountain. You need to hear it said.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he whispers.

“Yes it does,” you press.

He shakes his head, onyx hair falling over his eyes. This is the most rumpled you’ve seen him, he’s always so put together. “Not with what I stand to loose.”

“What could be worth all this?” You’ve unconsciously brought your bandaged hands up on his chest, the beat of his heart quickening beneath your palms. He lets you, as if that pulse might show you that he really does have a heart that works under his shirt.

He brings a hand up slowly, gently running his fingers over the back of your knuckles. His mouth opens, and closes without an answer.

“Rhys-”

He pulls your hands away, straightening, whatever emotion had been on his face before is gone, that cold mask of indifference in it’s place once again. “I am High Lord,” he explains, “my duty is to protect my people at all costs.” Whatever he was going to say before will remain buried behind that mask. You don’t know how he does it so easily. Just when you think he might open up, might let you in, might show you that the male you had met on Calanmai was real, he shuts it out behind this mask.

“And who protects you?” You dare to ask, because even though you know you can’t get past that mask, you can’t stop yourself from trying.

“I don’t need protecting,” he says, but it’s not confidence in his voice, nor pride, it’s… broken, as if he doesn’t think he’s worth protecting. “Careful, Y/N, I might think you care about me.”

Caring in a place like this very well may get you killed. But if you stop, if you find your own mask and shut down every piece of yourself behind it, aren’t you just as bad as him?

“Would it be so bad?” You whisper. You can’t help but feel small in a place like this, would having a friend be so terrible?

“Yes!” He snarls and darkness leaks from him again. “The more people you care about in this gods forsaken mountain the harder it is to get out! You might only get one shot and if you don’t take it, you’re likely to get stuck here forever.”

Somehow this is worse than Amarantha asking to be friends, this feels an awful like some sort of rejection and that chasm you often feel after Calanmai, when you’d ignored him, cracks and splits wide open in your chest. You feel yourself tumbling down, down into the dark void.

“Why do you care so much if I get out then?”

“Because you’re-” he bites down on the rest of the sentence, shakes it off with a deep breath. “No one else will tell you the truth, so here it is: You will be the death of all of us if you stay. So yes, I want you out of here. I want you as fucking far away from here as possible!”

You can’t breathe.

The chasm swallows you, drags you under until you don’t know what way is up. You know you’re crying, but you can’t stop the tears that stream down your cheeks. Rhys doesn’t bother to try and wipe them away this time.

“Fuck you,” you whimper.

“It’s not my fault you were so damn isolated the first scrap of attention you got you confused with something else,” he replies. “I’ve kept you alive out of necessity and I will continue to do so until it is no longer required of me. And when the time comes for you to get out, you’ll take it and not look back, understand?”

The world spins again and you’re suddenly back inside your own room.

“Do you understand?” He repeats again.

“Perfectly,” you hiss.

“Good. Now let’s fucking hope I can get you out of this gods-damned dinner before your throw away your chance.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @annaaaaaa88, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish

*I've seen that some of my tags aren't working for this list, I'm trying to figure out why it will let me tag some of you and not others, but I'll keep trying until I figure it out. :) As always, if you want to be added to the list, let me know! :) Thank you all for your support in this fic you guys are amazing! <3 *

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader angst #rhysand x reader smut (eventually)#rhysand ACOTAR #ACOTAR fic #utm!rhys #datura #my fanfic #my writing

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suzdin · 1 year ago

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D A T U R A

Dave York x Joel Miller x f!reader

currently a WIP.

preview below cut.

I am fully blaming @survivingandenduring and @kateispunk for this 🤭

don’t judge me for the crappy header. :\

Dave prods his index finger at the highlighted portions of the floor plans on the tablet, which he presents to his compatriots.

“There are entrances here, here…and here,” he points out, tapping the third for emphasis. “She’ll be expecting those. Watching them.”

Dave brushes his bottom lip with his thumb, brow creasing in contemplation.

“Don’t see a door or window,” the tall, tan man to his left drawls, placing a hand on his hip.

He places a finger where the bedroom closet would be.

A smirk twists Joel’s mustache. “Shit,” he says, scratching thick, weathered fingers through his scruff. “Gonna hit ‘er from all sides.”

“Exactly,” Dave responds, mirroring the way his companion places his hands on his hips. “We’ll strike at 10 PM sharp. That’s when the main festivities begin. No one will hear a thing.”

——

Dave crouches next to the hatch that leads to the secret door beneath the building, long since defunct due to the city’s proclivity for flooding.

A crackle resonates through his ear piece.

“Miller. Anything?” Dave asks.

“Nothin’,” Joel answers in a low southern lilt, positioned at the bottom of the narrow stairwell on the east side of the building, clicking the safety off on his Glock.

“Ari, Resnik? Station yourselves. Miller, I’m going in.”

“10-4,” Joel returns.

He slips in easily and finds a peeling red door, which is shockingly ajar. A stray cat rushes out with a shriek, spitting feline obscenities at him.

“Fuck!” Dave snarls as the dark, furry void streaks past him and into the night.

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel’s voice.

“Nothing. Fucking cat. I’m inside.”

A low, throaty chortle sounds through Dave’s ear piece.

“Eat shit, Miller. Start heading up. I should reach her apartment in five.”

“Unless there’s more cats guarding the place.” This time it’s Ari’s voice. Dave pointedly ignores him.

The crawl space is narrow and damp, crushing in at him from all sides and choked with cobwebs and god knows what else, but it’s surprisingly not the worst place he’s ever been.

The space quickly dead ends into a ladder that looks like it’s seen far better days, rusting from the hinges out. Dave can’t help but wonder if it will support his full mass.

“‘M at her front door,” Joel remarks through the ear piece.

“Climbing the ladder now,” Dave responds as he begins his ascent, gripping the bottom rung and giving it a hard jostle to test its integrity.

The metal rungs protest and groan under his weight, but the structure holds true.

The boys had thought it absolutely ludicrous when Dave had come to them for their help with the hit. Four men for one single woman?

Bullshit. A waste of time and resources.

That is until they’d familiarized themselves with your rap sheet. Just shy of forty murders in less than a decade, and a weapons and ballistics specialist to boot.

You’d earned the moniker ‘Datura’ for good reason.

But it would all end tonight, and that price on your pretty little head would be a nice cherry on top.

He reaches the latch leading into your closet a moment later, twisting the mechanism that holds it flush to the wooden floor above.

He draws the Beretta from the holster on his hip, flicking off the safety as he strains his hearing to listen for something, anything, that would give him pause; that would make him abort the mission.

He hears nothing but the music seeping in from the streets through the century old brick.

“I’m in, Joel. I’m in,” Dave whispers, lifting the hatch as he silently crawls inside your closet, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils flare. Cock already half hard in his dark denim jeans at the prospect of yet another nefarious name scratched off his list.

Your name.

——

Thanks for reading!

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#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #romance #smut #author #pedro fanfic #dark romance #dave york #joel miller

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thosekillerheels · 2 months ago

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First, please don’t feel you have read this whole thing-it’s a stream of consciousness love letter. Dearest, dearest, dearest To Venus And Back💗 you are my second favorite Tori record, and my only “ all purpose” one, meaning I don’t have to be in a particular mood, I just push play and float in your interplanetary glow. If I had to describe you in one word, it would be LUSCIOUS. I’ll never forget Tori describing Venus on VH1 Women First as “a bleeding watercolor coning out of your speakers.” Listening this morning, I was taken aback by the perfection of every note, every breath, every sound. So I’m doing things differently this time-going song by song to luxuriate in your beauty.

-Bliss-the last cassette I bought “in real time.” Your dark, mysterious tone, your driving intensity of the last, repeated chorus, the timbre and tone of Tori’s voice (here and throughout the record), the “weird Tori-“ness of the verses, the “I said”’s. So freaking good

-Juarez-Bliss is fantastic, but it was when I heard Juarez for the first time, I KNEW this record would be thebomb.com. Only T could make just 3 piano notes so haunting and effective. The percussion, the “rubber band” twanging sound (obsessed) the background harmony, the lyrics, the breathy vocals and the way they trail off at the end of some of the lines. I always envision a purple desert(all the songs are purple. The songs and the album art mirror each other completely)

-Concertina-so light and airy, with some slightly jagged edges from guitar

-Glory Of The 80’s-it always tickles me that there’s HARPSICHORD in the very beginning. Another thing only T could do, make harpsi work in a song set in space. “Orbiting around”,always reminds me of Black Dove for some reason. Yaaaas Bugle Boy Models, Silicon Party Barbies, drag kings called Venus, and “karma drawn up in lines”-a nod to the prevalence of coke during the decadent decade! And yes, I bought The Story of O (in the wild at a used book store) because of this song

-Lust- my sweet, sweet, girl. You’re absolutely “one of my best friends out of all the songs,” and one of my most used phone alarms. Beautiful, ethereal lyrics, and a piano refrain that, like the slithery keyboard of Riot Poof’s chorus, never, ever, ever loses her shine. I listened to this song a lot when I was homesick at college. Love, love, love. She lives inside my bones

-Suede-subterranean, dark, purple and dull glowing green like electronic lights. The Pay Per View performance is my JAM. “Swallow her whole star intact-I mean!!

-Josephine-Such a dear heart. I love the stripped down recording against sparkling mental images of Paris at night, looking out over the city. And “empty like the Tuileries” always carries extra poignance as an illusionto Tori’s miscarriages

-Riot Poof- MY GIRL! sensual, reptilian, warm, a GROOVE. Another song where I love all the sounds. The chorus has been my ringtone since 2008. A VIBE.

-Datura-I mean!!! Epic in every sense of the word, withThe epitome of lusciousness. The Dionysian, ancient vibe of the the first part, with a pagan veneration of nature herself, flower by flower. The flowers of Tori’s garden in Florida at the time and a real moment for anyone like me who loves Tori’s speaking voice. Then “is there room in my heart…” I alway visualize flying through dark space among the stars. The zinging/shooting star sound is one of my favorite sounds on the whole album. Obsessed. Then we float out even further to the “Dividing Canaan” part-when the percussion, especially the cymbals, becomes a intergalactic ocean where we swim, and swim, and swim. The first time I listened to this song, I thought a new song had started, and was confused. Later during that time, “Dividing Canaan” became a vehicle for me for meditative, centering practice. I would balance a book on my head and focus my attention in a meditative gaze. I remember specifically using the book Naked Lunch, I think just because it was around

-Spring Haze-more amazing percussion. More purple land and skyscapes. I’ve always loved the slightly melancholy mood of this song, and the rhythmic interplay of the vocals, drums, and piano is a great example of the sonically detailed layering on the entire album-you really have to listen to SH to hear everything-like Datura, Riot Poof, GOT80’s, and Juarez. The deepening ocean is warm and lulling

-1,000 Oceans- Simple yet beautiful, the only landscape (Salisbury Hill) that evokes the color green. The piano mimics calm ocean waves. Another comfort song of love and protection

-Zero Point-This girl!! Another epic, another visit to a now apocalyptic Paris. I believe T made the right choice putting Datura on the record. I love how Zero Point was such a mystery for so long though. Datura and Zero Point are intrinsically connected because their “format” is exacttge same, and yet they are completely unique in themselves. I really took the litany at the end into my spirit and my identity when ZP first came out, and like Lust, she’s in my bones. I think a lot about the power of the ancient, universal, leaning feminine force the narrator has ascended into-she has access to the Om, the Vatican Library, and other “places”where sacred/secret knowledge of the universe and the self without Ego can be found for those who are dedicated to a spiritual quest of self and universal knowledge. Years ago, someone was collecting essays for a book about different things Tori. Zero Point/secret knowledge, involving the Mayans, Buddhism, and other shit. So, an exploration of a facet of The Divine Feminine. The project fell through, but I read a lot and researched, and I still have all those notes. Maybe I should restart that project for my own academic curiosity and achievement.

I think it took me about 2 hours to write this. This album lives behind me heart, a place Tori talked about while promoting the album. I love, love, love her. Happy Birthday, love; I’ll go anywhere with you(and back) always and forever 💜💜💜💜

#album anniversary #to venus and back #tvab #21 september 1999 #juarez #riot poof #spring haze #lust #datura #bliss #zero point

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