#wandering oaken
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Here are our Frozen characters in the big group photo 📸 :
Photo 1: Kristoff, Sven, Anna, Elsa and Olaf
Photo 2: Ryder, Honeymaren, Mattias
Photo 3: Pabbie, Hans and Oaken
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Once Upon a Studio: Frozen scenes review
I absolutely loved the short! 🥹✨ So much nostalgia and love! All those characters from our childhood! I was smiling the whole way through, especially when our girls Elsa and Anna showed up. Loved the interaction between Olaf and Genie. Both are side characters and a third wheel to the main two protagonists but are so iconic and lovable (and have their biggest wishes fulfilled at the end of their first movies - Genie to be set free and Olaf to experience Summer). It's understandable that we didn't get to see more of some of these characters because Mickey and Minnie are the prime of Disney and the Short is only 12 minutes long.
It is unfortunate for us Hans fans to not get more of him than what we saw in the teaser trailer and the big group photo but I believe that could actually mean a good thing in a way. Let me explain why. In the scene solely belonging to Frozen, Elsa and Anna walk by a frame of the scene just before Hans and Anna begin "Love is an open door", which is while he's good. Anna asks Elsa “Do you think all the villains will show up?”. Elsa replies “Not all” while she turns around and freezes Hans seeing him trying to jump out of the frame. She does it with a mischievous playful smile. And if we look at this from a Helsa shipper point of view, Elsa froze him in the frame, with a possible hint to Elsa not wanting him to come out and be part of the villains, maybe showing Elsa forgiving Hans, or not wanting him to stay a villain just like us. But then he somehow makes it to the final big group photo as do all the characters featured in the short. Whether Elsa unfreezes Hans off screen or another character with a source of heat, we don't know.
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And notice how Pabbie is there beside him. We see people from Northuldra and Mattias and even Kristoff and Sven in the short but no Pabbie right until the very last scene. Yes I know some characters in the big photo were too not in the scenes but I'm focusing on Pabbie's involvement and placement in the photo. He is so iconic to the franchise and I love him and the trolls. They are part of the lore too as they set up what's about to go down in the movie. So yes I'm going towards the Troll theory which I'm on and off about. I see why the theory makes sense but then I don't see why he would do such a thing even if it's for Kristoff's sake. Pabbie's is noble and wise, I would totally see the other trolls doing this but we've only seen Pabbie using magic. So I guess this could be taken as a hint to the theory being true that indeed the Trolls made Hans the Villain just so Kristoff could be with Anna. To be honest I would love to see this happen, because I would love to see Anna and Kristoff's reaction and Elsa's too. They would wonder if they would ever have been together if it wasn't for the Trolls, and if Hans was genuinely good as they first saw. This could also lead Helsa into happening. I mean if not this theory or any other, is it really a coincidence the two, Hans and Pabbie, were put side by side in the photoshoot? If not, they did it just to troll us which is sad. But I'm not expecting too much. I'm just going by what we have gotten so far and being grateful for it. At least we got a Hans/ Helsa moment!
And I know it's sad that Santino as Hans didn't have a single line in this but perhaps they're saving his debut for Frozen 3. If he voiced here then we would have more of a hope and certainty of Hans' return but while we want that, I think they're keeping the element of surprise here. But we'll see.
But overall I loved their moments in the short! I wholeheartedly did. Disney is one of a kind and really knows how to pull our heartstrings especially for a once in a lifetime or two opportunity! 🎉
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A friendly, summer reminder that, first of all, Hans knows Oaken, and secondly, he is now, cannonically, a proud owner of at least one pair of trousers without legs.
And my hand itches in general direction of my pencil.
From: Rudnick, Elizabeth, "A Frozen Heart", Paper Rocket (Paragon Books Ltd.), 2016, p. 181-182.
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magicaltrash · 1 year ago
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Tucked away in the World of Frozen at Hong Kong Disneyland is Wandering Oaken’s Sliding Sleighs, a family-friendly coaster. Officially, "to welcome visitors of Arendelle to take part in the Summer Snow Day celebrations, Oaken has constructed a family friendly carnival coaster behind his Trading Post that zooms through the rugged and picturesque landscape of Arendelle Forest." Furthering the rugged forest theme, decorative Scandinavian folk art patterns are found on the tan trash cans throughout the ride's queue, with geometric shapes highlighted in red, green, and orange hues. // Hong Kong Disneyland Resort, Hong Kong Disneyland, World of Frozen, Wandering Oaken’s Sliding Sleighs, 2023 [Source: HKDL Fantasy. Used by Permission.]
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bitterrfruit · 9 months ago
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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat
girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡
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18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words
John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.
Here’s part 2!
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Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.
Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.
His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.
Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.
But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.
Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.
But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.
He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;
“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”
Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.
“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”
It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.
You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.
Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.
Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.
One, two, three, four…
At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.
There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.
With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”
Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.
“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.
“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”
A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”
“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”
You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”
With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”
“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.
He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”
You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”
Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.
With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.
“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.
He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.
“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.
But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.
Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.
As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.
Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.
“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”
Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.
“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.
“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”
Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”
“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”
Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”
Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”
He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”
Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.
He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.
So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.
“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”
Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.
“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.
You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.
“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”
“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.
You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”
Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.
He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.
Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.
But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.
“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”
“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”
You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”
“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.
So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.
But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.
“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.
You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.
“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”
You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.
“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”
Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.
“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.
You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”
That was a step over the line.
You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.
And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.
He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.
“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.
A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.
He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.
You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.
“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.
With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”
Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.
And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.
“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”
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snowflaketale12 · 26 days ago
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A Brief Timeline Guide to Frozen Books (Part 1) ❄️
One of my followers on Instagram asked me about which Frozen books are related to the movies, which ones are connected to Frozen 1 and Frozen 2. They also wanted to know if there are any books that answer questions from the movies, like details about Agnarr and Iduna's past. So I decided to make this post to answer these questions 😁
Note: - It's been a while since I last read some of these books, so feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. - Also, my photos aren't very aesthetic since some were taken in a rush. - I only covered the books I've read, but you can check out Arendelle Archive's Frozenverse for a more detailed book list within the Frozen universe, and Annals of Frozen for a more detailed chronicle timeline in Frozen universe.
1. Novels
There are twelve novels in total in the Frozen universe. Four of them are junior novelizations, one is an alternate universe (AU) story, and the rest are sequels or prequels to the movies.
Pre-Frozen 1:
Dangerous Secrets (covers the full timeline from the day Agnarr and Iduna met until the day their ship sank).
Fixer Upper (covers the full timeline from the day Kristoff met ice harvester until the day he became one of them).
During Frozen 1:
A Frozen Heart (Frozen 1 story retelling with Anna and Hans' perspective).
Conceal Don’t Feel (AU).
Post-Frozen 1 & Pre-Frozen 2:
Journey to the Lights.
Forest of Shadows (takes place one month before Frozen 2).
Post-Frozen 2:
Polar Nights (takes place two months after Frozen 2)
Well, All Is Found contains ten stories:
Pre-Frozen 1:
Call of the Cuckoo.
During Frozen 1:
Anna of Arendelle and the Silver Stakes (take places after the incident happened).
Anna and the King (Anna's flashback about young self with Agnarr).
Post-Frozen 1 & Pre-Frozen 2:
Elsa and the Frost Monster (takes place one month after Frozen 1).
Post-Frozen 2:
Engaging Anna and Kristoff.
Cold Secrets Deep Down.
A Midsummer's Song and Dance.
Wandering Oaken and the Not-So-Hygge Day (honestly I'm not so sure the timeline for this story).
The Next Right Things.
Coronation Day (Kinda like an AU story).
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Note: - Excluding Conceal, Don't Feel & All Is Found, timeline in order, are: Dangerous Secrets -> Fixer Upper -> Frozen 1 Junior Novelization & A Frozen Heart -> Journey to the Lights & Olaf's Frozen Adventure Junior Novelization & Frozen Fever Junior Novelization -> Forest of Shadows -> Frozen 2 Junior Novelization -> Polar Nights. - Dangerous Secrets mentions Anna and Elsa's grandmother, Queen Rita, and explains how she left Agnarr when he was five years old. Sir Jorgenbjorgen originally belonged to her. This book provides the most details related to the movies and is highly recommended! - Polar Nights covers Anna's life as queen and describes how Elsa transforms water into a memory she saw in Ahtohallan to share it with Anna. - Forest of Shadows explores Elsa's life as queen and delves into the emotional aftermath for Anna and Elsa following the events of Frozen (spoiler ahead: nightmares attack). - Journey to the Lights explains how the trolls' crystals work and what it takes to earn them. - All Is Found contains many details related to the movies, such as Anna and Elsa's childhood after the incident, Elsa's feelings following the events of Frozen, and Anna's life as queen after her coronation.
2. Dark Horse Comics + Disney Comics
The top two books are retellings of Frozen and Frozen 2, while the rest are sequels to Frozen 1 and prequels to Frozen 2.
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Note: - The middle three Adventures comics cover hundreds of short stories. - The bottom four books, timeline in order, are: Breaking Boundaries -> Reunion Road -> The Hero Within -> True Treasure. - The Hero Within mentioned Kai's brother and his hometown. - True Treasure mentioned how Iduna comfort Elsa after she accidentally struck Anna's head.
3. Anna & Elsa Storybook Series
There are nine books in total for this series, all of them are sequels to Frozen 1 and prequels to Frozen 2.
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Note: - Most of the stories are also included in the Adventures series comics but longer version. - Timeline in order, are: All Hail to Queen -> Memory of Magic -> A Warm Welcome -> The Great Ice Engine -> The Polar Bear Piper -> The Arendelle Cup -> The Secret Admirer -> Return to the Ice Palace -> Anna Takes Charge. - Memory of Magic mentioned that Anna’s memories which were altered by Grand Pabbie, were never fully restored. - The Great Ice Engine mentioned how Oaken is passionate and expert in invention.
4. Short Stories
Elsa's Icy Rescue takes place before the incident occurred, while Anna Finds a Friend is set after the incident. And Stories From Arendelle are sequels to Frozen 1 and prequels to Frozen 2.
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Note: - In Elsa's Icy Rescue, it is mentioned how the Arendelle royal family lived happily and how Elsa learned to be a queen. - In Anna Finds a Friend, it is noted how bored Anna's life became after Elsa locked herself in her room. - Two stories are covered in Stories From Arendelle, which are Phantoms of Arendelle and Olaf & Sven on Thin Ice.
5. Frozen and Frozen 2 Retelling Storybooks
All of these books are Frozen and Frozen 2 retelling storybooks, featuring amazing illustrations.
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6. Others Storybooks and Graphic Novel
All of these books are sequels to Frozen 1 and prequels to Frozen 2, except for Anna, Elsa, and the Enchanting Holiday, Anna and the Mystery of the Mountains and some of the stories in 5-mins & storybook collection are sequels to Frozen 2.
They are all short, beautiful stories.
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Note: - Most of the stories in the 2nd and 3rd (Advent Calendar storybooks) are repetitive compared to the Adventure comics, and some of the stories are retellings of Frozen 1 and Frozen 2. - Anna and the Mystery of the Mountains discusses how Anna deals with challenges as the Queen of Arendelle (including a beautiful scene of Elsa with her hair down in her sleepwear). - Anna, Elsa, and the Secret River is a book that introduces the four spirits. - Sisters and Snowmen covered three stories, A Frozen Adventure (Frozen 1 retelling), A Sister More Like Me and An Amazing Snowman.
That's all for today. Thanks for reading, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on anything.
I'll make another post for additional books such as the diaries, art books, and guidebooks! 💙
Edited: Part 2 is here!
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druidwolf21 · 1 month ago
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As per the votes, here's some loving smut with everyone's fav space viking!
Leman Russ/F reader
Content warning-
sexual content
A bit of fluff
Homesickness
Saying I love you during sexy time???
@moodymisty @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @lemon-russ @beckyninja @jaghatai-khock
Hope you like some sexy lovins
Words and meanings
Skitja- fenrisian curse
Volda Hamarrki- the mountain range of fenris
Skitnah-dirty/foul
Aett- clan hols/ heath fenrisian name for the fang
Stormurstjórn- stormcaller (I used this as a little pet name
Skíthof- another fenrisian curse
Gmorl-fate
The fire roared and blazed, spitting sparking embers across the marbled guard as you stared listlessly into the light. The book you had been reading hung limply from your hand as your eyes followed motes of flames dancing from one cindered log to another as it's warmth gently toasted your skin.
You allowed your eyes to wander from the embers to the room you sat in. Cold steel walls rising high above you, dispersed with woven tapestries of great battles and flickering oil torches. You sighed wistfully as your sight fell on a painting of a forest, trees frosted with diamond snow and silvered icicles, shadowy wolven figures dancing through the wood with amber eyes that seemed to glow.
You fisted the furs on the bed you had perched on as you threw the book aside and fell backwards, staring at the canopy above you, willing it to turn from soft cotton into the grey fenrisian sky. Squeezing your eyes shut and inhaling, you could almost smell the frozen sap, warm mjord and smelting iron that hung perpetually through the halls of the fang.
But home was a long way away and no matter how hard you willed it, upon opening your eyes, the dream of Asaheim faded into the distance. Your memory of warm meals and warmer company left a bitter taste in your mouth as you swept a hand across your face. Your thoughts were dragged back into the present by a wet nose against your thigh and a quiet whine.
Resigning yourself to your current situation, you drag yourself upright, smiling gently as you come face to face with golden eyes and a maw of teeth as long as Eldari daggers. Thick lines of spit coated each fang as the beast breathed heavily in your face before letting out another low whine.
You snorted and place a hand on the wolf's snout, playfully pushing it away.
""Skítja, fenki!" You curse "what have you been eating, your breath is worse than...well I don't know, but it's bad!"
You recoiled as your question got you a long, hot lick from your bare ankle to the top of your thigh. You hopped off the bed and rushed to an oaken dressing table, ripping a towel from a drawer and dragging it along your leg.
"you are so gross" you laugh lightly, dropping the towel and walking back over, pressing your face into warm fur and inhaling deeply.
"I guess you miss home too, huh?"
You nuzzled in deeper, wrapping your arms around the giant canine as far as you could, twisting your fingers through coarse fur and feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of it's chest.
"I promise, as soon as we can, we'll take you back home, back to Volda Hamarrki. Me, you, Russ and Geri, does that sound good?" You whispered, trying to stem tears before they fell
"we'll go back, away from this Skitnah ship, feel the snow under our feet again"
The tears flowed freely as you buried your face, gritting your teeth, willing them to stop as you fought to push the home sickness from your thoughts.
"Making plans for me, my little Stormurstjórn?"
You spun round, hair whipping around as you turned to face the owner of the deep voice that thrummed through you.
Lemans grin faltered as he saw your face, wet with tears, he threw down his thick cloak as he rushed over, dropping to a knee and cupping your face gently.
"my heart, what happened? why do you cry?" His face darkens and a snarl starts forming on his face, his hands and eyes gliding over you "did someone hurt you? If someone touched you I'll.."
You shake your head gently, looking into lemans icy blue eyes and smiling shyly.
"no my lord, I'm fine, just wishing for the comforts of home"
You see the tension leave your primarks body as he leans back slightly and your heart fluttered as his easy smile found his face again. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before pressing his forehead against yours.
"The Aett may be far, but you are here and that is home enough for me" he murmured, his voice as thick and sweet as honey mjord as he brushed the tears from your face.
You pulled away and pressed your hands to his cheeks, admiring the way the dying embers cast a warm glow across his face and down his neck. His eyes shone, almost reflective as the light flittered and sputtered.
A thick golden braid had fallen over his shoulder and You leant back in, running the hair through your fingers before pressed a kiss against his lips. His arms wrapped around you and you felt like you were melting into him as he returned your touch, running his tongue along your lips, deepening the kiss.
You gasped as a callused hand found your ass, snaking beneath the metal blue dress you were wearing. Leman took advantage of your shock, pushing is tongue into your mouth and tasting you, his other hand locked in your hair. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sucked his tongue, tasting mjord and smoke, earning a growl in return.
You separated and leman admired the mess you had become already, lips pink and cheeks flushed.
"I can give you a taste of home, if you miss it so much" he smirked, running his tongue along his fangs.
You rolled your eyes and grinned, before leaning back in for another kiss.
Russ took this as an open invite and swept you in his arms, dropping you on the bed and slowly slid your dress off your shoulders, peppering kisses and bites marks down your neck and shoulders as he swept the garment from under you and tossed it to the floor. His hand gripped your waist and ran down your thighs as he took a perk nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue around it, he grinned again, lifting himself from your breast to look at you.
Your eyes were slightly glazed as your chest rose and fell, looking at your lover with doe eyes.
He returned his gaze to your body, trailing his tongue down your stomach before reaching where you wanted.
He lifted your thighs higher as he dove in, licking and sucking on your pussy like a starving man. You gasped and instinctively locked your fingers in his hair.
His tongue felt rough but throne did he know what he what he was doing
Your moaned his name, hips jerking fruitlessly as he held you down, his eyes locked on your face as you came, your hands tightening in his hair as your orgasm rocked through you.
Leman rose, licking away your taste from his lips as he looked down at his work, you lay, flushed and gasping on the warm fur across the bed.
Just the way he liked it
He quickly made light work of his own clothes, throwing them into their own heap next to yours
Your eyes grazed over his body as he stalked towards you, trailing down his broad, scarred chest, following the line of his abs and the trail of hair, lower and lower...
Leman, climbed over you, his braids tickling your skin as he gently gripped one of your hands, locking it next to your head and gazing down at you. You felt your cheeks flush at the intensity of his eyes. The concern, care and feral arousal in his stare raised a heat in your core.
"my little queen" he whispered in your ear, as he slowly slid inside you, inch by inch filing you. You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to your limit, his dick reaching deep inside you as your back arched, pressing your breasts into his chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and slowly withdrew, before sliding back inside you, over and over.
"I'll fuck all the sadness right out of you"
You moan his name as he ground into you, one hand still gripping yours as the other held your thigh up, fucking you deeper than you could imagine. His dick touched every part of you as he filled you, over and over. The knot in you stomach getting tighter and tighter...
"L..leman right there!" You mutter into his ear, biting at his lobe "p please"
"Skíthof" he cursed as he felt you tighten around him, "so tight for me" your muscles fluttering around his cock as he drove deeper into you as you came.
Yes, scream my name, you belong to me, my sweet, my heart
You panted as you finished, wrestling your hand free, you gripped around his neck and looked deeply into his eyes.
"I love you, leman" you sighed, biting you lip as the feel of his driving into you, the sound of his breath and skin on skin and the heat from his body drove you towards another peak. "I love you, my wolf"
A brief look of shock passed across Russ's face, his movements became erratic and he growled and dropped his head to your shoulder as you felt him finish, feeling his cum fill you up as he jerked into you, pushing it deep inside your pussy and biting your shoulder, marking you as you cried out, finishing with him.
You stayed like that, wrapped under the body of your lord, his face pressed into the crook of your neck and your arms around him, his dick still wreathed inside you as his cum slowly leaked out.
The reality of your words set in
I love you leman...
The sweet comfort of your afterglow vanished and you blushed furiously.
"did I seriously say that for the first time DURING SEX?!" You screamed internally
Finally, you felt your partner moved, slowly raising off you, his locks tickling across your breasts sending goosebumps across your bare skin as he looked down at you wordlessly, the blue galciers of his eyes looking down at you, almost searching.
"mmm my lord I.." you stutter, trying to find the right words.
He silenced you with a firm kiss, grinning that stupid sexy grin. But despite the smug smile creeping across his features, his face was soft and he met your confused look.
"And I you, my Gmorl"
You lay in shock for a moment, your brain twisting at what was happening as leman pulled away from you and stretched, looking over his shoulder at you. You sat, bolting upright.
"I.. you..."
He smirked at you over his shoulder before rising to his feet and throwing your dress at you.
"come then, sweet one, do you still wish to see fenris again?"
He loved the way your eyes sparkled and you jumped off the bed towards him, clutching your wrinkled dress to your chest.
"really?? We're going home?" You laughed and spun and leman felt his heart skipped a beat in his chest.
He shook his head and bared his fangs in a wide love sick smile
"anything for you, my little love"
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bethelighthalazia · 6 months ago
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"Cry for me, little mouse"
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Summary:  Somehow, you ended up in the hands of the one psycho who always slips through the grid. Though, it seems like he doesn't operate on his own.
Genre: angst, horror (?)
Pairing: psychopath!Yeosang x fem!reader
Additional Characters: Wooyoung
Word Count:  1203
Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of burying bodies, mention of murder, torture, mentions of mutilation, implication of reader being drugged, kidnapping
networks: @mirohs-aurora-society
notes: just a lil drabble when I couldn't sleep that turned into a oneshot :3 not proofread/beta´d
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other links: n/a
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© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.
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You could see the perfectly chiseled contour of his face, only lit by a soft lightsource as he's pulling back the arrow in his bow. His chest moving calmly, his bicep tense while he focuses on the target. Quiet, pleading whimpers echo through the room, yet the man in front of you doesn't seem bothered at all. With another exhale, he let go of the arrow, the bowstring caressing his cheek as he sent the arrow flying. With a quiet crack, splat and a thump, the arrowhead pierced through the obstacle before sticking in the target itself. Then, silence, only disturbed by the slow sounds of liquid dripping onto the wooden floor. 
Your eyes wide when you stared at the girl whose head got pierced right now, the arrow had hit exactly between the eyes, the blindfold ripped and fallen to the ground. “Ah, silence. Finally." He hummed softly, as if nothing had happened. At the sight in front of you, you just couldn't hold back the frightened sob that escapes your throat, causing the man to tilt his head and look at you. “And here I thought you would have learned, little mouse.” 
His voice sounded bored, almost a little disappointed when his full attention turned towards you, ignoring the other man in the shadows entirely, who had just moved. “You know, Yeosang, how about you keep a girl for more than a day? The one you just - discarded - was actually quite pretty.” The other said, playing with one of the first ones, Yeosang's, arrows. “Why doesn't it surprise me that you prefer the pretty ones who don't shut up, Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked in a rather monotonous voice, his eyes never leaving you though. 
When he took slow steps towards you, you tried to move, to scramble away, but your body just didn't listen to you. There was no rope, no chains holding you, so why couldn't you flee? Then you saw it; a syringe laying on the small table, right besides a long hunting knife and some spare arrows. “Don't try to flee, little mouse. The last girl who tried didn't get far.” Yeosang's voice didn't change at all, still calm and low, a smirk on his face as his cold hand grabbed your chin to turn your head towards the door. The floor was clean, a beautiful oaken wood, but when you let your eyes wander, you gasped. 
A dark stain, you honestly hoped it was just red wine that had been spilled, yet, considering the man who owns his place, it probably was no beverage that had been spilled there. “Yah, don't you dare to do that again, Yeosang. I bet there's still some bits of brain in the grooves of the flooring. You know how hard it was to scrub that wooden floor?” Wooyoung scoffs, stepping out into the light as well now and you were able to see the other one's face. Not less handsome than Yeosang, yet in a different way, he looks very familiar. 
He was the one who had approached you on the street and asked for directions. You knew something was weird, his English was too clean and he had an accent, of course he was no tourist. Your eyes lingered on the second male for too long as it seemed, because Yeosang forced your head towards him again, his grip on your chin tightened. “Wh- what do you-” “Want? Don't worry little mouse, I don't want much. And as long as you do as you're told, you won't end up like that loud one over there.” Yeosang chuckled, his angelic face turned into a slight grimace as he did. He always had been different, always had an excellent taste. His women have always been beautiful, his food and beverages expensive and his weapons deadly. This time however, Wooyoung brought him someone different. Imperfect and a local. 
“You know, usually I would just get rid of you, little mouse. I don't like loud girls, I love when they're quiet, when they don't get on my damn nerves with their annoying voices. But Woo just had to pick you. What am I supposed to do with you? Your hair is disheveled, your eyes are too fearful and you are too short. How could I show you around as my girl, hm?” The whole time he spoke, Yeosang let go of your chin, your head dropping against your chest and tears running down your face. He had grabbed the knife off the table, crouched down in front of you again and you could feel the cold steel against your neck as he used the blade to lift your head up again slightly. Without looking away, Yeosang spoke again, his voice now laced with a hint of excitement. “When a human’s tongue is removed, they can't properly talk anymore,did you know that? But then you still could make annoying noises. How about we dissolve your vocal chords, hm? Wooyoung, do we still have the acid here that we used the last time?” 
“Yeosang…c'mon man. Tone it down a little will you? I don't want to dig another hole again so soon.” Wooyoung whined, stepping closer now to place a hand on his friend's shoulder to pull him away from you for now. Using this little distraction, you wiggled your fingers, noticing that whatever they injected you has worn off mostly already. You could try to flee, or you could try to snatch the knife and fight. Although, maybe your body might not be fully back in your control. Anything would be better than to sit here and have your tongue or vocal cords removed. Your eyes on the knife in Yeosang´s hand, you decided to fight, after all, you had taken taekwondo classes when you were younger. When the feeling in your legs returned fully, you quickly moved your body forwards, your hand reaching for the knife as you pushed the man against Wooyoung and snatch the knife away. 
Holding the handle of the knife tightly, you pointed it towards the two men now, eyes wide and your breath going fast. How long were you out because of what they had injected you with? You didn't know. The expression on Yeosang´s face didn´t ease your mind at all, why wasn't he scared or confused? No, he just had a slightly annoyed, yet curious smirk on his face, taking some steps closer to you, Wooyoung´s hand wrapping around the older one´s upper arm. “Yeo, wait. don´t do something stupid-” He hissed, but Yeosang only shrugged him off, eyes fully focused on you, not giving any thought to the knife in your hand. “You are holding it wrong, little mouse. You´re not only stupid, but also quite courageous. Maybe I actually do keep you. It's rather boring here, I always wanted to have an adorable toy, you know?” He hummed with his low and somewhat soothing voice. What surprised you was the quick movement that followed, his hand grabbing the knife off yours without giving you any time to react at all and one swift motion later, you felt the cold steel dive into the flesh of your thigh. “And now, cry for me, my little mouse.”
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@gong-fourz, @yeosangiess, @dinossaurz, @scuzmunkie, @h3arteyes4mingi,
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127 notes · View notes
cambion-companion · 2 years ago
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Aemond and the trope "Reluctantly has a crush on his favourite weirdo and hates that he's soft about it but damn they're cute" gives me life
"I hate that I'm in love with you, what no I didn't say love, shut up" vibes
'Y/N, try to act like you're enjoying this."
"Bite me, Aemond."
haha this was the perfect ask for my newest enemies to lovers oneshot.
Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | light smut at end
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“In public, we’re in love. In private, we are in a civil war. Remember that, or we’re fucked.”
Aemond stifled a snort of derision at your terse whisper, turning it into a polite cough as he nodded at a group of huddled onlookers.  You shot him a sidelong look, quickly looking away to smile at a pair of elderly women who were clapping for you.  “This isn’t going to work.”
“Hush, we can air our grievances once we get someplace with less listening ears.”  Aemond’s arm around your waist tightened, almost painfully, as he steered you through the crowded hallways. “Besides, I am madly in love with my betrothed.”
“Oh, you’re going to have to work on that.”
“Hmm.”
The stone corridors Aemond and you now walked through were empty, he led you to a set of great oaken doors that swung open on silent hinges.  A darkened arched space and smell of many old books greeted you beyond them.  “The library, how romantic.”
“Private is more what I was going for.”  Aemond pushed the small of your back and you stumbled into the room, shooting him a withering glare over your shoulder.
“You know, I’m not pleased about this either.”  You snapped, smoothing your skirts haughtily.
Aemond quickly closed the doors and scanned the room with his violet eye, making sure you two were alone.  A fireplace flickered in the hearth, the only source of light in the spacious library.  “You are from a house that openly declared for Rhaenyra.”
“Yet…” You had walked over to the mantlepiece by the hearth, running a finger along it and looking in distaste at the dust you gathered. “I find myself suddenly betrothed to Aemond Targaryen who, if I remember correctly, is not on her side.” You let your gaze wander to where he stood stiffly, eyeing his leather jerkin tied at his trim waist with two buckles and sporting intricate dragon fasteners.  His sword was at his hip, a small sapphire gemstone inlaid upon the pommel.  “Your mother, or rather her father, stole me and are now forcing us to get married so as to ensure my house’s allegiance.”
“They hardly stole you.”  Aemond defended, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  “You were handmaid to my sister.”
“Am I allowed to go home?”  You asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.
“No.”
“Then I am a prisoner here.”  You turned your back to him, looking into the flames.
“With our union, we gain a key asset to our side.”  Aemond said bluntly, his footsteps muffled on the stone floor as he approached you slowly. “The support of your house is instrumental in winning the coming war.”
“Will you stoop so low?”  You whirled on him, anger pulsing in your veins, jabbing a finger at his chest. “First your family declares Aegon king against Viserys’ wishes, now you take political hostages!”
Aemond caught your wrist, holding it firmly and jerking you closer. “King Viserys’ last wish was for Aegon to be named his heir.”
“You cannot believe that.”  You looked aghast at him. “Surely you’re cleverer than that, Aemond.”
“It matters little what I believe.”  The prince released you, shaking his silver head. “I serve my family.  A member of which you are soon to become.”  A rueful smile pulled at his curved lips. “Whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t.”
“Hmm.”  Aemond rolled his eye, running a hand through his long hair. “Perhaps in time you will learn to.”  He turned from you, walking crisply to the door. “Don’t stray too far, Y/N.  At my behest, you are to be treated with the dignity of a guest.  Yet you are not free to leave the Keep.”
“A prisoner.”  You muttered again, watching Aemond leave the library, closing the door behind himself.
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“Don’t you think you’re holding me a bit too tight?”
“Well, do you want this to be convincing or not?”
“I do, but a little looser than this would still be convincing.”
Aemond acquiesced. Loosening his grip on your waist as you both slowly swayed on the dance floor.  The two of you were having a terrible time.  You were barely managing to keep a convincing smile on your face, feeling much more like you were about to begin crying.
“Try to look less like you’re about to vomit, Y/N.”
“Maybe the soup was off.”  You smiled sweetly up at him. “Why does it matter whether I appear happy or not?  Surely the commonfolk don’t care…maybe they’d like it more if I were wailing and thrashing.”
“There are houses allied with your own who would not be so pleased.”  Aemond murmured, bringing his mouth to your ear under the pretense of wishing to hold you closer.  “If they saw you were…so unwilling they’d declare against us, and we would be forced to take drastic measures.”
Your stomach clenched. “I’d rather not know what that means.”
“Indeed.”
A ringing of metal on a crystal goblet halted the lilting music, you dropped your hands immediately from Aemond’s shoulders, but he tactfully kept hold of your waist.
“A toast!”  It was one of the nobles, his face flush from many cups of wine. “To the two lovebirds!  May your wedding day be festive!”  Cheers rose up around the room. “And may your wedding night be productive!”
You ducked your head into Aemond’s shoulder, hiding the grimace you couldn’t keep off your face. Clapping and laughter echoed all around you followed by the scrape of goblets against the wooden tables as people toasted your happy union.
“Kiss!”  Shouted one drunken reveler.  “Give your love a kiss!”  Cried another in agreement.
“Oh no.”  You murmured into the leather of Aemond’s tunic.
As the crowd took up the chant of “kiss”, clapping their hands in encouragement, you felt Aemond’s finger slip under your chin.  He pulled your face up to look at him, his lilac eye sparkling with something akin to mischievous mirth.  The sound in the hall grew louder as the two of you hesitated, inches apart. You bit your lower lip, drawing Aemond’s gaze to the movement.
He looked back into your eyes. “May I kiss you, my lady?”
You couldn’t speak, settling for a curt nod.  Aemond smirked, bringing his lips to yours with a smooth duck of his head.
A pulse of electricity shot to your core as Aemond’s warm mouth moved against your own.  A small, pleased sound escaped your throat, despite your attempts to regain full capacity of your faculties.  You had not expected your body to react like this, and it was with surprise you found yourself tangling your fingers in Aemond’s silken hair as he bent you backwards. The crowd laughed, pleased at the show you’d given them, as Aemond pulled away.  You avoided his eye as it roved your features, very sure your red cheeks shone like beacons.
You spoke very little the rest of the evening, the feeling of Aemond’s lips on yours thoroughly distracting you; to the point you almost poured gravy into your cup instead of wine.  Thankfully, Aemond saved you from that embarrassment, looking at you with mild concern as he poured your wine.  You looked away from him quickly, hating yourself for the burning in your cheeks and erratic beating of your heart.
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“The boat awaits, my lady.”
“Thank you.”  You gathered your skirts, moving to collect the few bags you’d managed to pack for your escape from King’s Landing.
Your waiting maid curtsied, a small frown upon her face. You looked at her, briefly wondering the reason for her mood before a rapping knock at the door sent your adrenaline spiking.
Your maid hurried to the door, opening it a crack, before curtsying low as Aemond pushed his way into your room.  He was fully dressed despite the late hour, his coat and gloves of deepest green, contrasting with his silvery hair.  His violet eye snapped to focus on you with dangerous intent.  “Leave us.”
The maid curtsied again, looking terrified at the ground.
“See my mother in the morning for your coin.”  Aemond dismissed her, not breaking his gaze from your face.
You watched the traitorous girl scurry from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
“My brother may be incompetent and unaware…”  Aemond took measured steps toward you. “I am not.”
Tears welled behind your eyes, anger and frustration mixing in your chest. You moved to stride passed the prince, but he caught your arms, spinning you to face him. You fought against him, useless as it was, the tears falling freely down your cheeks as he held you firm, unflinching as your fists met his chest.
“Y/N.”
“Let me go, Aemond!”
“Y/N-”
“I cannot be kept here like some prize animal!”
Aemond moved with you until your back hit the wall.  Your fists on his chest flattened as you pressed your palms against his coat, your eyes puffy as sobs racked your body.  Aemond made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as you leaned your forehead against his chest, beneath his chin.  His other hand rubbed the small of your back soothingly.
“There is little I can say to make this easier, Y/N.”  Aemond took your shoulders, encouraging you to look at him. “I am truly sorry for your distress.  I do not wish for you to suffer.”
“What do you wish for, Aemond?”  You sniffled, feeling his fingers lightly brush your tear-stained cheeks.
“A great many things.”  Aemond’s gaze, so cold with anger a moment ago, had softened as you looked up at him with watery eyes. “War not being among them.  Nor wedding a woman who despises me.”
“I don’t despise you, Aemond.”  He stilled at your words looking at you with a guarded expression as you continued. “You’re a pawn in this as much as I am.”
“I don’t know how to take that.”  A wry smile curved his lips as Aemond continued watching you.
“Will I ever be able to see my family again?”
“After the war is over, and the threat to Aegon’s rule is removed.”  Aemond smoothed your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear. “It won’t be long, Y/N.”
“How do you know?”
Aemond sighed, unable to answer, his eye searching your own.  Silence stretched between the two of you, heavy with unspoken words.
“Don’t try leaving again.  I might not be the one to catch you next time.”
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“Aemond?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
You rolled your eyes, quickly schooling your fond smile into a more neutral expression.  “What do you see?”
Aemond didn’t answer, a small smirk curling his lips as he continued to observe you over his book.  
“What?” You snapped your own book shut, rising to your feet, your brow arched.
Aemond methodically marked his place, shutting his volume of philosophy and setting it aside before standing to meet you.  “An infuriating woman, is what I see.”  His reached out to knead the fabric of your skirts with his fingers, his gaze lilac intent on your face.
“I’m flattered.”
“You are something, Y/N, that much is certain.”
“You’re a royal pain in my-” Your words were cut off in a gasp as Aemond swiftly pulled you to him, capturing your mouth with his own, drinking down the gasping moan that escaped your throat.
You felt his hot breath fill your lungs, your hands wandering the planes of his back, curling in his hair, tugging the silver locks to make him hum in pleasure like that again.  You felt his knee part your thighs, his touch tracing lines of fire along the exposed skin of your throat and chest.  You lost yourself in the feel and taste and smell of the prince as he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth.  You arched into his hand, pressing into where he palmed your breast through the velvety bodice you wore.  
“Aemond.” You breathed, your lips brushing his as he made to pull away from you. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this.” Your hands tugged at his trim waist, urging his body to press back against you.
“You want this?”  He asked, his eye hooded as he looked down into your flushed face, his own cheeks faintly pink.
“I want this.” You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your throat. “I need-”
Your words cut off in another heady moan as you felt him mark your skin, sucking trailing kisses down to the swell of your breast straining above your corsage.  
“Hmm?”  He murmured against your flesh. “What do you need, my love?”
You felt his hands bunching the fabric of your skirts, the heat of his fingers finding the inside of your thighs.
“Aemond-”  You gasped, his exploratory hands dipping beneath your smallclothes.
“Ah.”  He chuckled low, kissing the corner of your panting mouth. “I see.”  He looked at your wanton expression with a dilated eye. “In that case, let me give him to you.”
You ground yourself against his hand, your lust taking full control as you kissed Aemond roughly, pulling his hair so that his head tipped back, exposing his throat to your own bruising kisses.
“If it is within my power, I will give you all that you desire.”  Aemond promised, his voice husky with want. He lifted you into his arms, you wrapped your legs around his torso as he backed you against the wall, his lips descending hard upon your own once more.
2K notes · View notes
miasmaghoul · 1 year ago
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New summon Aeon is SUCH a little voyeur.
Doesn't even have to be in a sexual way. He just likes to watch. Likes to lurks in the rafters and darkened doorways, likes to skulk in the shadows and simply Observe. Watches Siblings mill about the halls, watches Imperator flit from meeting to meeting, watches Papa sing to himself on the way to practice. Watches his newly acquired pack talk and touch and exist together in a way he's still growing accustomed to.
But it is usually sexual.
He's a night owl, restless while only the moon and stars are out to keep him company, and really can't resist the urge to wander. It's not HIS fault that the others are so noisy, that their sounds pour out from under heavy oaken doors and flood his too-sensitive ears. Not HIS fault that he called feel them under his skin, every whimper and cry slithering through his veins. Accentuated by the flow of still-raw magick, a sixth sense he doesn't quite have a grip on yet.
What is he supposed to do, NOT press his ear to Rain's door and figure out what has him yipping like that? Supposed to just stroll past Dew's room, where the slow, heavy slap of skin on skin is paired with breathless grunts? Is he meant to completely ignore the sound of Swiss' headboard bouncing off the stone wall, accompanied by animalistic grunts and low, degrading words? Impossible!
It doesn't help that his vessel is so reactive, that every little thing gets him worked up. Aether reaches for something and exposes his stomach? Boner. Mountain scratches that one spot behind Aeon's ear? Boner. Cumulus jogs and her tits bounce? Boner. It's ridiculous, really, having to sneak away a dozen times a day to get himself under control, but there's a freedom at night he never feels otherwise. Makes it easier to deal with the fact that the first ghost of a moan he hears will having him fattening up immediately. Grabbing at himself with abandon, closing his eyes and imaging he's the one being defiled instead.
He's learned to be a little quieter about it, at least. Figured out that hearing goes both ways - something helped along by Mountain catching him red-handed. Wrenching the door open and finding Aeon leaning heavy next to it and tugging at himself with short, quick strokes.
He'd been too close to hold it in, spilling all over the floor with the most shocked sound while Mountain (sweaty and panting, with something waxy and red smeared all over his mouth) had stared him in the eye. Swiss' voice had sounded from deeper in the room, but in that moment all Aeon could focus on was the icy fear filling his veins.
Then, just as quickly as it had opened, Mountain vanished. Closed the door with a quiet click while Aeon shuddered through his aftershocks, saying something about his imagination. In had only taken a minute for his moans to fill the air again instead, but Aeon was already most of the way back to his room by then. They hadn't talked about it after, simply exchanged a nod. An understanding.
That little incident hadn't done a thing to dampen his need to spy on his packmates. If anything, it made it worse. The thrill of being caught was undeniable. Lit up something deep inside that did absolutely nothing to help Aeon keep his dick under control.
So there he stands, every night. In front of a door - or between two, if he's really lucky - to soak in the love and lust his packmates have for one another.
At least that's what he'll say next time someone catches him.
He really hopes it's Rain.
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Jeff Jefferson staged a coup in Green With Envy's Discord server on April Fool's day, turning the mods into his brainwashed minions!
Seeing their precious leaders in danger, everyone in the server joined together to color over 30 Danno-themed line arts for April 3rd!
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Lines by @weshney, color by @starry-907. Original color post here
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Lines by @mysteryhat21art, color by @nanaarchy
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Lines by @mysteryhat21art, color by @dragonshoardofworks. Original color post here
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Lines by @mysteryhat21art, color by @reading-wanderer. Original color post here
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Lines by @mysteryhat21art, color by @echo-does-art. Original color post here
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Lines by @oceankat8, color by @jamiethebeeart. Original color post here
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Lines by @dashing-through-ecto, color by @shelving-unit. Original color post here
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Lines by @dashing-through-ecto, color by @sherry-a-h. Original color post here
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Lines by @the-oaken-muse, color by @half-deadmagicperson. Original color post here
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Lines by @tytach, color by @craftybookworms. Original color post here
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Lines by @justaphantomhuman, color by @maebird-melody. Original color post here
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Lines by @englandamericaitaly, color by @mysteryhat21art.
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Lines by @thatonejumbledmess, color by @fuyuthefoxwriter. Original color post here
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Lines by @starry-907, color by @blobghost. Original color post here
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Lines by @starry-907, color by @agcat13.
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Lines by @shelving-unit, color by @craftybookworms. Original color post here
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Lines by @shelving-unit, color by @jamiethebeeart. Original color post here
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Find even more here
(Our server over-achieved so now they don't all fit in one post! Hahaha.) (Also, the second post will be updated and reblogged with additional colors at the end of the event, so be sure to check back and see more cursed fun!)
With all the newly acquired ingredients, the mods were able to summon the only being capable of defeating Jeff!
Danno's victory gained him back the title of Ghost King, retaking it from Jeff who'd earned it during last year's event!
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Artwork by mod @englandamericaitaly here, and for the Jeff meme lines at the beginning of the post. (Color of those lines by mod @weshney)
As a thank you to all who helped, the mods have bestowed a precious gift upon the Discord server.
Now, anyone in the server can download an actual Little Baby Man ttf or otf file font!
Want the font for yourself? Come join us!
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aegon-targaryen · 4 months ago
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Ghosts That We Knew
Zelink Week Day 2: Fading | TP Zelink | read on AO3) | @zelinkcommunity
Link dreamed of a golden wolf.
He bounded through a forest of mist, weaving through the towering trees that stood guard over this ancient place. Link’s paws kicked up leaves as he raced to catch up. Snatches of sound caught his attention from time to time—music, voices, a child’s giggle—but he kept to his course.
Yet the bright coat of his quarry disappeared from view, and when he slowed to a halt, he found himself in a clearing he would recognize anywhere. A sword waited at its center. He was padding forward to answer its call when the golden wolf emerged from the fog, his single eye glowing with crimson sorrow.
Turn back, he said with all the terrible gravity of time. Go and do not falter, my child.
Link sat up sharply, grasping his surroundings with the speed of someone shaped by deadly times: Ordon, safety, a sword within reach, Zelda in his bed.
Zelda in his bed. A foolish grin tugged at his lips. They’d spent plenty of nights together in the castle, but something about having her here was so enthralling. She was stirring now, rolling over to face him, and he tried to wipe the stupid look off his face.
“Link?” she mumbled sleepily. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Just a weird dream,” he assured her, laying back down under the dark oaken ceiling of his treehouse. Dawn and the journey back to Castle Town were still a few hours away. As always, a part of him longed to stay, but at least he would take with him the memory of Zelda dancing under the harvest festival lanterns, of Ordon welcoming her the same way they’d welcomed Link when he was only a lost little boy.
“I had one too,” Zelda said. “The scribe’s meeting minutes transformed into a Chu that terrorized my Council.”
He laughed. “You would dream about meeting minutes.”
“Now tell me about yours. It’s only fair.”
Go and do not falter, my child. Those words had been with Link when he dealt Ganondorf the ending blow, the final mercy, just like he’d been taught. “Well…did I ever tell you about the Hero’s Shade?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“He was a spirit, I guess. Sometimes a wolf, sometimes a skeleton in armor. He brought me into some…other realm and taught me some of his techniques.”
“The Hero’s Shade,” Zelda mused. “He called himself that?”
Link frowned, trying to remember. “I’m not sure. But it felt right to me.”
She was quiet for some time, though he could practically hear the gears of her mind turning. Eventually she reached through the darkness to touch his cheek and said, “Can you go back to sleep? Or shall we take a walk?”
Wide awake now, he followed her outside, where the harvest moon bathed the sleeping village in its silver glow. Other than the crickets singing in the tall grass, Ordon was quiet in a way Castle Town never was. Link loved his tiny room above Telma’s bar and his work in the Resistance; he’d even grown to love Hyrule Castle, because Zelda was there. But coming home was always like drawing his first breath after days underwater.
They passed by their sleeping horses and continued on to the Light Spirit’s spring. This place always felt different at night, cast in a strange glow unlike either the sun’s heat or the moon’s gleam. Zelda’s boots sank into the white sand as she wandered along the water’s edge.
“I know you don’t like to be called Hero,” she said quietly. “But—you are aware there was one before you?”
“Yeah.” Link had worn his tunic, carried his weapons, walked in his footsteps. “I figured the Shade had something to do with him.”
“He lived hundreds of years ago, but perhaps some part of him…lingered, as ghosts sometimes do.”
He’d seen plenty of ghosts as a wolf, but only one had spoken to him. Without asking a single question, the Shade understood who Link was and what he needed to learn. He’d understood the enemy, too. “He faced Ganondorf, didn’t he? Before the Sages sent him to the Twilight Realm?”
“Yes. The hero’s story is largely forgotten across Hyrule, but he was close with an ancestor of mine. She kept a journal, if you’d like to know more.”
Link couldn’t help but remember the curse Ganondorf had uttered with his last breath: The history of light and shadow will be written in blood. There had been so much weight to those words, a sense of that history reaching back further than Link could conceive, a sense that it would continue long past his lifetime.
The full force of it felt suddenly awful here in this spring, where fate had come roaring out of the forest to claim him last year, where he’d returned as a wolf and killed his first shadow beast in the same spot where Ilia used to bathe Epona. His predecessor had been hurt in the same way. All that sorrow had been evident in his rusted armor, his heavy sword, his single crimson eye.
Yet he hadn’t been alone. Link looked at Zelda and remembered hearing her name in passing as a child, thinking to himself: I know her. Remembered meeting her eyes in that tower, feeling like the sun had broken through stifling twilight to clear away any doubt: I know her.
“There was another you,” he breathed. “And there was another me.”
Her brow creased thoughtfully, such a familiar expression that his heart twisted in his chest. “I hadn’t thought about it that way, but…yes.”
“It happened before. Will it happen again?”
Zelda drew closer, glowing like magic in the spring’s unearthly light, her dark hair spilling loose over her white nightgown. She touched the scar on Link’s cheek and said softly, “Not for a long time, I hope. But if it does, we will face it together.”
.
.
.
After breakfast came the hardest part of home: saying goodbye. While Uli stuffed Link’s saddlebags with as many snacks as possible, Beth tried to convince Zelda to bring her back to the castle and make her a princess. Rusl lost the battle with his wriggling toddler and handed her to Link, who was happy to bounce her up and down on his hip until she settled.
“She likes you more than me,” Rusl grumbled.
“Hey,” Link said, tapping the Triforce on the back of his left hand. “I already had this when you found me in Faron, right?”
Rusl raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Are you wondering about your birth parents?”
“It’s all right if you are,” Uli said, pausing her struggle with the saddlebags. “I only wish we were able to find you some answers.”
Link was wondering more about the wheels of time, the Goddesses who spun them, and an ancient ghost who called him my child. “No,” he answered, ruffling his little sister’s hair before he handed her back to Rusl. “You gave me everything I needed.”
Uli inspected his face with a smile, then turned to hug Zelda, who accepted the embrace with her slow smile—the kind that bloomed so uncertainly across her face, as though she was afraid someone would come and take it away. But she held onto it this time, beaming at Link over Uli’s shoulder, and the sight made him happy enough to lessen the pain of leaving.
.
.
.
Tucked away in a forgotten corner of Hyrule Castle was a graveyard accessible only to those who knew its secrets—at least, that was what Zelda said as she waved the illusory entrance away. It felt like stepping into a different realm blanketed by silence and thick grey mist, where there had just been sunlight and clear skies on the other side of the wall.
Since the Twilight, the crooked headstones had been straightened and the rubble cleared away. The thought of her coming here alone to weave her magic through her family’s resting place made Link proud and sad in equal measure.
“I’ve…actually been here,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was looking for a key to get me inside the castle, so…I burrowed under the wall. Sorry.”
Zelda’s mouth twitched. “Don’t be. My mother, at least, would have found that amusing.”
She halted under an enormous oak tree, its branches reaching far enough to brush the courtyard’s stone walls. Link still remembered the words inscribed on the tombstone, because they’d itched at the back of his mind on his first visit: The cursed swordsman sleeps beneath the sacred tree.
“He’s buried here?”
“I don’t believe so,” Zelda replied, pulling a weathered book from the pocket of her cloak and flipping through until she found a certain page and handed it over. “This is what my ancestor wrote.”
All they found were broken pieces of his armor, the journal said. People keep telling me he could have survived. But I am old enough to prefer hard truths over false hope. He’s gone. I know it in my soul. 
Tears sprang to Link’s eyes. “Where did he die, then?”
Far away, said a voice that creaked like the branches of the old oak, and they turned to find the golden wolf behind them, his image blurring and reforming into the spectral skeleton who had trained Link. Too far.
“It’s you,” Zelda breathed.
The Shade’s gaze snagged on her face as she drew closer, and he went still, his sword hanging loosely from his ruined fingers. His translucent form pulsed in and out of being with every breath. Princess, he said in a faint whisper.
Zelda had been queen for some time now, but she just smiled at him sadly. “Have you been here all this time?”
His red eye shifted to Link. I returned when the beast did. It should never have fallen on anyone else.
“No, that’s…” Link’s throat was tightening. When Zelda touched his arm, he swallowed hard and continued. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. You made me strong enough to win.”
And now you have won. Stay the course. Leave the sword where it lies. Do not falter as I did.
“I—I never do, thanks to you.”
Stay with her, the Shade insisted. Treasure her. Be there long enough to say goodbye.
Zelda raised her head suddenly, digging around in her cloak pocket. Link only caught a brief glimpse of what she produced—a painted miniature of a golden-haired woman—before the Shade choked out a sound that was undoubtedly, devastatingly human.
“She treasured you too,” Zelda promised. “She felt you go, and knew it wasn’t your fault. She…she wrote…” Her free hand brushed Link’s, tilting the journal towards her so she could read aloud. “I buried those pieces of armor in a garden we both loved. The cursed swordsman and all the weight he carried will rest here. But the rest of him is free. I can feel him in the earth, in the wind’s song, in the beat of my heart.”
“She was right,” Link realized. “You’re what he left behind. But the beast is dead, and we’re—we’re going to be okay. You can rest now. Is that why you’re here? Because you’re ready to rest?”
The Shade stared at him in wordless disbelief.
Zelda wiped her eyes and kept reading. “Neither of us were strangers to regret—how could it be otherwise with the lives we’ve led? But we had so much sweetness, too. It was worth the sorrow. I hope he remembered that at the end.”
I did, the Shade whispered. Of course I did.
“She would want you to find peace,” Zelda told him gently.
She…she would. Yes. I believe it’s time.
His form was blurring around the edges. Link blinked hard, finally allowing his tears to fall, and searched himself for the right words to give the spirit of his predecessor, who had fought so hard and lost so much, who had returned to help him take down their common enemy.
In the end, all he could say was, “Thank you.”
The Shade looked down at the portrait, then at Link and Zelda, huddled together in the graveyard with tears in their eyes. Write a happier story, he told them as he faded slowly into the mist, replaced by a golden wolf that bounded towards freedom.
Wind gusted through the courtyard, so sudden and so strong that Link wrapped his arms around Zelda to keep them both anchored to the earth. When he raised his head, the tears had dried on his cheeks, and the Hero’s Shade was gone.
Zelda brought the portrait closer, turning it around to study the golden-haired woman. Though the only crown she wore was a simple circlet of rubies, there was something in her proud shoulders that made it clear she was a queen. Her forehead was creased with worry lines, but her smile was bright, and her eyes…
Link took Zelda’s face in his scarred hands, meeting her gaze: the color of an early morning sky, after the dawn dwindles and a new day begins. No wonder he’d known her so instantly, so naturally. And that was before he understood what it was like to love her, to be graced with the trust she found so hard to bestow, to unravel the parts of himself only she could understand.
Maybe she was thinking the same thing, for she pressed a soft kiss to the scar on his cheek.
“I wouldn’t choose anything else,” Link breathed when he finally found his voice. “I—no matter what happened before, or what happens next…”
“I wouldn’t either.” Zelda held the portrait close to her heart, and though her eyes were her ancestor’s, that small, precious smile he’d first fallen in love with was all her own. “She was right. It was worth the sorrow.”
.
.
.
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meli-writes · 2 months ago
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Short Rest
Kera sinks low into the forest floor. It feels gentle, like when the retinue still guested in the palace apartments. The morning sun is the same, and settles on a runestone table with intricate and orderly implements, overseen by a cabinet suffused within an oaken wall and bursting with jarred herbs, magical and mundane.
Kera thinks Bella would like this place, and keeps dreaming of her. She does not dwell on how these things do not belong, in their living nightmare.
The retinue's Elfish Healer, with gaudy-red ribbons and sour chokeberries in her hair, hiding cheeks that blush in the fell air. Her belt, blessed of oft-needed potions and holy tinctures, that keeps a white dress Kera oft-longs to slip herself under.
That is a different dream though, and one she daren’t share.
It isn’t safe — not here nor with her, Kera who does not belong wholly to herself. The Barbarian who took upon the bloody-handed curse so she might save the world.
She reaches out to wake to their quest, instead brushing against something soft and generous. She cups and squeezes and it squeals and elbows her in the face, sending her tumbling from the suddenly real bed to the actual wooden floor.
Kera is not dreaming.
She rises sharply and grasps something iron in her hand.
“Shh-shh-shh,” says a voice lurking in the bedsheets. “Grant me your hands, petal.”
Kera barely understands the words as her mind feels abruptly subsumed. She looks for the fragile healer and finds her, slipping a ribbon around Kera's wrists in a dimly-remembered ritual of reassurance. The iron poker falls back to the fireplace.
“Bella!?” her voice trembles, her rage now far and Elfishly fleet-of-foot. “Why aren’t you keeping watch— who is? They could be on us, at any moment, so close to—”
“Shhh,” Bella coos, and Kera settles unwillingly — this is a gift, or another curse.
Bella had seen the Enchantress leave it in her head, to help or maybe control her. She had learned soon after that sending Kera to sleep did naught for the axeblade already in motion.
“We’re safe here,” says Bella, sunbeams in her hair.
“We are? Bella— where are we?” Kera asks, unable to unperch herself.
She is still looking for her weapon, before seeing it hidden between her boots and Bella’s many, many shoes, by a small, round door. “A cottage — it’s ours, petal. Outside the city, but close, so our friends may visit, and often.”
The Enchantress does not, and when she does is always sure to guilt Bella’s meekened berserker by pointedly refusing help when her prosthetic leg struggles with the steps.
“Quiet, so we have peace. And, as it’s spring, your garden is in bloom.”
“That— that sounds like it’d be nice.”
“It is nice,” she laughs, sweet as the berries in her hair. The ones she’s missed, again, that have gotten squished, again. And Kera remembers she will need to wash the pillows, again—
Kera does not know how she knows this, and it escapes her.
She lets Bella take her head on her thighs, before realising which one of them is supposed to be the apothecary. “Bella, what do you mean my garden?” she asks, puzzled.
Bella’s smile stills a touch and she looks at Kera with a mournful eye. She knows where a Warlock bargains an apportionment, or a perilous clause upon its whole, Kera had just given her soul away. And prizing it back left her— incomplete. There were parts missing to her, scattered and obliviated upon cosmic winds.
“You’ll remember, don’t worry,” Bella prays, for parts who merely wander, to find her again.
“Yeah. But why are you here?” Bella was so much closer — and so much nuder — than she’d ever been with Kera. “Not that I mind but—”
“Cos you grow the garden for me,” Bella says, and Kera feels even less sure. Bella tilts her head and waits for her to realise. It’s a precious moment, on bad days like this one.
“Nn—nooo. Are we—”
Kera looks deep into Bella’s eyes, though still glancing at her ample and nodding bosom.
“Are we roommates?”
Bella pushes Kera to the floor, and slaps her own face. “Scirne’s tits,” she curses.
Kera shakes herself uncertainly and clasps her hands tighter in their gentle binding. Finally she hears Bella chuckling to herself. “You’re my wife, petal.”
Kera shoots up, her hands bursting apart.
“I’m your WIFE!?” she shrieks, “You mean that I— and we—” Bella nods, bemused, and catches the fluttering ribbon. “Fuckin’ GET— IN— hahaha!”
Kera sneaks looks, bolder and bolder, at every part of Bella. “No, but really? We’re—”
She freezes and finds herself bound in a different way as Bella rises to meet her and wraps her arms around Kera's hips. And her face runs redder than any long-banished rage as Bella knows how fun it is to tease her.
“Yes. Absolutely,” she says, sowing kisses and holding them together like trestled vines in summer wind, while Kera’s nerves begin to bundle up like kindling.
“But— Bella, a priestess can’t marry, can she?” she asks, as though it will summon her again to a demon-infested march. Bella holds a cheek that, on any other day, would make her think Kera is running a fever.
“The Mother doesn’t need my help anymore, you do.”
“Are you— my caretaker?” Kera asks plaintively, her tense smile pulling on Bella’s grasp, who kisses her again. Kera thinks she could have a thousand of these.
“When it’s a bad day, like this one.” Kera doesn’t know she’s had them ten-fold that, and a dozen seasons over. “They’re fewer every year, but there was much missing, of your soul."
“But we’ve found new pieces — together, petal.” Kera holds tighter, the once-again, yet-uncultivated sapling of her infatuation beginning to blossom. It is very endearing Bella thinks, feeling Kera pinching at soft places. “Perhaps I should make us breakfast?”
The Barbarian outs her secreted charisma, turns her heart colder than the Dread Lord’s toppled fortress, and pierces Bella with a lonely glance. She knows this well, Kera always makes her move quickly, when she finally realises she won’t hurt Bella.
Well— won’t hurt in a blinding, ungodly rage. This definitely still hurts, because Kera can be a wicked thing and is fast remembering it too, it seems.
“Though, I suppose—” Bella mutters, overripe with playful disapproval, “there might still be some morning sun to bask in.”
And, in mere moments, she finds herself, as she always does, flung back onto their bed, her wife gleefully pouncing after her.
---
(Masterpost)
originally written on cohost 27/01/2024, in response to Making-Up-Adventurers':
Berserker who doesn't remember what happened last night or how that fire got started.
tag suggestions very welcome. not sure what helps people discover my writing without it being spammy. also yes this is an extended "and they were roommates/best friends" lesbian joke.
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magicaltrash · 1 year ago
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Opening in November 2023, Hong Kong Disneyland's new land - World of Frozen - will feature at least 2 new trash can designs, per video footage graciously shared by HKDL Fantasy. The teal-colored can design with royal markings can be seen throughout the land and probably considered the primary can design of this expansion. The cream-colored design can be seen the queue for the Wandering Oaken's Sliding Sleighs coaster, reflecting the style associated with the trading post and sauna featured in Frozen. // Hong Kong Disneyland Resort, Hong Kong Disneyland, World of Frozen, 2023 [Source: HKDL Fantasy. Used by Permission.]
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bunnypansy · 1 year ago
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Unbalanced Diet
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Rated NC-17, read at your own RISK!
This is a dark fic, read ALL of the warnings before you consume. If anything mentioned in the warnings makes you uncomfortable, TURN AWAY. As a creator, I do not condone the things I write about, though that should be obvious enough.
That being said, welcome dear viewers, to our special Halloween showing! You and Rook are celebrating your one year anniversary together with a delicious dinner and a bit of intimacy afterward. Though this film contains romantic elements, make no mistake, this is a horror movie, intended to disturb and discomfort the audience. Featuring: Rook Hunt, and you, dear viewer, with minor cameos from from guest stars Vil Shoenheit and Neige Leblanche Beware! This film contains: Dead dove do not eat, non-con/dubious consent, non-consensual touching, kidnapping, unwilling cannibalism, sexual reactions to cannibalism, drinking blood, blood/injury, implied murder/torture, implied ptsd/flashbacks, controlling/toxic relationship, starvation as manipulation, physical/mental abuse, dissociation, Rook being generally fucking terrifying, implied existence of ghosts??? sexual biting, nipple play, light infantilization, sadism, blood kink, dacryphilia, blood as lube, teasing, oral (reader receiving), cis!male!reader, the french language, dog/master metaphors
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“I love you.” You know. It sits on your tongue like a stone in your mouth.
He says it everyday, his devotion total, complete, unwavering; it should be admirable. At first, you tried to count how many times he said it, tally marks carved in the grooves on your brain- you lost track four days in. 
Warm hands creep under the hem of your silken robe, roughed palms smoothing over your cold shoulders, a honeyed voice whispering in your ear. “I love you more than anything, mon amour.”
The silence of anticipation is loud, but you stay quiet, even as Rook’s warm hands wander their way down your chest and the white silk falls away, feeling more like a wildfire on your skin. Bare legs and arms are laid open the frigid air of the dining room and you sink back against the fine oaken dinner chair, as if trying to steal Rook’s heat through the seat back.
His hot fingers pause over your stiffened nipples, still tender and aching. “It’s our anniversary today, darling.”
“It-” There’s a little flick over the swollen nub as you try to answer, Rook just wants to hear you stumble for him, watch you squirm. “It is?”
“Oui, c'est le cas.” Idly, thumbs brush back and forth over your sensitive nipples, slow and patient. “Every moment of this year with you has been utter bliss, mon amour, beyond ecstasy.”
“For this momentous occasion,” Rook’s lips press against your temple, the crest of your ear, your jaw, “I believe a special meal is an order, non?” Then finally land on the column of your throat. 
The points of his teeth nip at your thin skin, a soft pinch, soothed with the flick of his tongue. A kiss from any other man would be so sweet. You shiver under his touch, from the crisp air or the terror you can’t decide. When you swallow back a distressed noise Rook can feel your throat bob under his tongue, teeth scraping against your Adam's apple, eager for a bite. You wonder how exactly he wants you.
All at once the heat of his breath disappeared from your skin and Rook’s weathered hands returned to your shoulders, pulling up your silken robe to once more cover your skin. “I’ll get started on dinner then, don’t go anywhere mon chéri!” He laughs, and it’s not funny.
You listen, listless, as heavy work boots stalk away from you; the steps are slow and deliberate, as if he wants you to hear exactly where he's going. Five long strides behind you, then three more to the left and… he's passed the kitchen. There’s a sort of rhythmic pounding in your skull, it might be your pulse, but your brain had it confused for the beat of Rook’s boots against the hardwood as he stalks down the hall. The footsteps fade but the throbbing in your head stays, freshly renewed as a weighty metallic click meets your ears, and paired with a profound tightness in your chest when you realize Rook has opened the door to the basement. Beyond that, he’s left the door open, which he’s done before- how many times you’re not sure.
All at once you’re pulled to the mouth of the basement again. Now is your chance, maybe your only chance, since Rook wasn’t home. Your sheer silken socks did little to protect the soft soles of your feet from the splintered wood on the first step. How odd, the rest of the house is in mint condition, but this corridor is left in disrepair. As you felt along the wall for a light switch, you came to the realization that perhaps the basement hall had never been in repair; your groping did not reveal a lightswitch, rather that the walls were unfinished. Fingers grazed the flesh and bones of the house, a wooden skeleton filled with soft insulation in its gaps. The foundation groaned, perhaps a reaction to touching the open cavity in the wall, perhaps a warning to turn away. You felt around a moment longer but there was no light switch to be found. You’d continue in the dark.
At your back, the creaking of the steps and rattle of chains followed close on your heels, you were terribly aware that if you needed to run, you’d be doomed. The length of chain was too short for a full stride. It rubbed, cold and insistent over your ankles, a reminder. In front of you, only blackness, a warning.
The entire world seemed to disappear behind you as you delved deeper into the intestines of the house, and the farther you went, the more alive it felt- and God did you go far. The basement stairwell seemed to stretch on into the abyss ad infinitum, it gave you plenty of time to reconsider your choice, especially when the air began to change around you. Where the house above retained a cold, sterile feeling, the narrow passage of the stairwell grew warm and humid the further you pushed on. Soon enough it took on a putrid stench, growing in strength with every step; by the time you reached the foot of the stairs it was so potent you had to suppress the urge to gag. Rancid eggs or animal feces or something of the like: you could name a thousand things as olid and never once touch the intensity with which the basement reeked that night. While you couldn’t logically place the smell, a deep instinctual part of your brain put a name to the stench as easily as you took a breath. Something had died here.
A wave of nausea rocked over you so violently that you blindly grabbed for the wall to steady yourself, surprised when you found a thin metal chain in your grasp. Before you could properly debate with yourself, something cool brushed across the back of your neck; too light to be a sigh, yet too undefined to be a gust of wind- how would the bowels of the house even get fresh air? It felt more like someone letting go of something they had held onto for a long time, a final exhale. Or maybe it was nothing, you’re not sure you want to know.
“...Hello?” Your voice sounded miniscule in the face of the unending blackness. 
Anxiously, you waited for a reply- rather a lack thereof. Your ears caught the sound of buzzing insects, you became aware of the flitting gnats and flies as they zipped past your face, the lack of ventilation, the-
“Turn on the light.” Rook was not home.
You kept taking in breaths to scream, but the noise remained stuck in your throat, only making awkward, fish-like gasps that left you lightheaded. The dark, the bugs, the smell, it was messing with you. There was nothing down there. There was no one down there. There couldn’t be. To die in that basement, surrounded by the rancid air, losing count of the days- could there be a more horrible fate? Would it be worse to live here, or die here; you’re no longer sure. 
Thin, cold hands slithered over your shoulders- Rook wasn’t supposed to be home -slid over the expanse of your collarbone, traveled further up your throat and tilted your head back. Stretching, straining, the tendons in your neck began to ache, but you leaned as far as he made you, until you were eye-to-eye. 
“Why don’t we go upstairs?”
You wake up in cold sweat, tell tale heart hammering against the bars of your ribcage, traitorous to the calm you’d sworn yourself to keep. The gleam of the dining room table, the stiffness of your chair, the incessant pain in your tendons- it all comes bleeding back in. Time is slippery, you could’ve been dozing for an hour or a week and you wouldn’t know the difference. The tantalizing scent of steak grounds you, the sizzling of the pan in the kitchen, Rook humming a tune you’ve grown familiar with. That memory was weeks ago- or days, perhaps. 
It’s a sliver of comfort, your lighthouse on the wild waters of your relationship, these small domestic moments. As time goes on, the fragrance grows stronger, creating a mouthwatering aroma that reminds you of the emptiness in your stomach. You suck in a deep breath, eager to somehow satiate your hunger; the scent of steak hits your palate, followed by the hypnotic perfume of rosemary mingling with red wine and butter. It's thick, intoxicating, the delirium is enough to make you forget your nausea. By the time Rook deposits a plate in front of you, the basement is as far from your mind as it could be. 
His plates are simple milk porcelain with a gold lined rim, because that's how Rook likes things; simple, expensive, delicate. The meat in the middle appears like an open wound on the pristine plate; a ruddy gash in the porcelain, delicately seared and glistening with a bloody sauce. Beyond that, the food smells divine, every ounce as decadent as it looks. Instinctually, your forefinger attempts to uncurl and reach for the golden silverware on either side of the plate, only to stop short with an agonized whine.
"Oh ma chéri," a chiding sigh brushes across your cheek, you just can't help but flinch away. Rook has taken a seat beside you, despite the opposite side of the table being perfectly clear. He's close enough that your shoulders brush. "You simply must quit irritating those, or they'll never heal."
As if it wasn't him who severed your tendons. His thin fingers grab for your wrist, turning it over to inspect the gauze, now freshly dampened with your blood. A sick flush overcomes Rook's face at the sight, stark crimson on clean white- you can tell he's suppressing a smile. Your stomach turns. 
"Oh, la vache…" the gentle caress of his thumb against your knuckles brings forth the urge to rip your hand away, you force yourself to deny it. "How dreadful. I suppose I'll have to patch you up after dinner, ce n’est pas la mer à boire."
You asked him what that meant once; ‘it’s not the sea to drink’, or something like it. A bland encouragement to stay collected, despite the torture he’s made you endure, but it works. Maybe the phrase is effective, or maybe you have no choice but to make it so; Rook stands at the lip of a cavern, the lightest brush either way and he’ll send you both careening into the dark. It’s become your career to stand so perfectly still, even as he waltzes on the knife’s edge, desperate to make you follow in his depraved steps like his lovers before. 
The screech of wooden chair legs against the floor makes you flinch away, though you’re well aware Rook has become your master and you, his dog. You will only ever walk as far as he allows- recently, he’s decided to keep you kenneled. Your achilles tendon aches as he lifts you from the dining chair like a bride, a belonging, then takes your place in the seat- you find your place on his lap. 
For a few heartbeats, you’re lost in the romance of Rook taking the serrated knife to your portion of steak; his arms warm around your shoulders, deft hands cutting away a bite-sized chunk for you to eat. You feel honored that he cares enough to feed you.
“Say, ‘ah’.” There’s a sort of genuine delight in his voice that still feels belittling when he raises the fork to your lips, but your stomach comes before your dignity, and you let Rook put the bite of steak in your mouth.
The flavor melts on your tongue, savory, acidic, rich, everything you’d hoped for- but you’re a few chews deep when you realize something amiss. This does not taste like steak. In every aspect it appears as such; the darkened, almost leathery brown of the exterior, the scent, but its flavor more closely resembles pork. You chew a few more times and swallow, and make the terrible mistake of turning to look at Rook.
“What is-” The words shrivel up and die on your tongue, silenced completely by the bloodcurdling expression on Rook’s face. 
There’s a wild, thrilled look in his arsenic-green eyes, something bright and excited that makes your heart still. His smooth, pale skin has been set aflame and the ivory points of his teeth threaten to pierce his bottom lip. 
Your mind conjures images of the cream cotton bags, once white but stained with overuse and blotted in red, the fabric stretching at irregular angles to contain whatever Rook had stuffed inside. Buck, or doe, or veal- whatever he would promise with glimmering eyes. You imagine silky blond hair and soft brown eyes, perfect skin and straight teeth. You imagine the basement, the voices you might’ve heard, Rook’s past lovers.
There’s a violent turn in your stomach, so strong your eyes water and you instinctively lift your hands to clasp over your mouth, only drawing more blood from your open wounds- but Rook doesn’t scold you this time. No, he only watches in cruel silence as you dry heave in his lap, running his hands up and down your sides as you scream hard enough to make your parched throat sting. 
It’s an arduous ten minutes and sobbing and retching before you reach some sort of calm, reduced to miserable hiccups, lamely attempting to dry your eyes. Somehow, you feel immature for being sickened at the prospect of eating human meat.
“How is it?” The question nearly makes you devolve into sobs all over again, because it’s good- perhaps the most heavenly thing you’ve ever eaten.
“It’s…” You can’t make yourself say it. That you crave more, like an addict.
“That good? Mon amour, I’m flattered beyond words.” Strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against Rook’s chest, you fight your every instinct and do not pull away, even when something twitches against your ass. “Here.”
Cold dread sinks into your stomach when he cuts you another piece, holding a slice of human to your lips. You tremble in place for a few breaths, refusing to open your mouth, but your body betrays you, as always, growling like a rabid dog for another taste. He taps the fork against your lips once more, and you concede. Rook cuts you bite after bite, you swallow each and every one, the meat is further salted by your unending tears.
By the time you work your way through the entire plate, Rook’s erection presses hot and heavy against your backside, somehow he’s restrained enough not to hump you like an animal; you realize now what you’ve been starving for. Your stomach aches, heavy and bubbling with turmoil; guilt, disgust, betrayal, but it’s soon overshadowed by a chilling numbness. 
When Rook brushes a thumb across your split bottom lip, you scarcely stir, your tongue flicking out to wet your dried skin. The crisp rim of a wine glass clanks lightly against your incisors and your thirst flickers to life. Your gaze slides down to the contents of the bowl, a dark burgundy wine so pitch it nearly reaches a shade of black. Fingertips smooth over your jawline, gently tipping your head back to follow the pitch of the wine glass, letting the maroon liquid slide over your lips. It’s thick, coolly oozing down your throat and leaving the taste of pennies heady on your tongue, though you lack the clarity to care. He forces more and more down your throat, and you willingly guzzle away, content to slake your thirst with blood, no matter whose, as long as the pain of dehydration disappears. Scarlet blood pools at the corners of your mouth carves a path across your skin, first pooling on your chin before drawing a trail over your throat. 
When the glass finally empties, you lick your lips and Rook can no longer repress a moan, the nails of his spare hand digging into the softness of your waist so tightly it hurts, sure to leave crescent shaped cuts behind. A trail of open mouthed kisses dances from your shoulder to your cerise stained throat, where Rook takes the liberty of licking what remains of his lost lover from your skin, all the while groaning incoherently- you barely pick up the word ‘obéissant’ amongst his mutterings. A man possessed with his own lust, Rook hastily shoves aside his fine dishware in place of laying you down against the cold wooden dining table- splayed out across the tabletop, haloed by silverware and white plates, now you are the meal. 
Your body becomes a canvas, the victim of an artist with red stained hands as he borrows paint from the font in your radial artery, burrowing his smoothed nails into the thin webbing of gauze until your blood squishes around his knuckles and seeps beneath his fingernails. His hips fit perfectly between your legs, the defined points of his bone sliding like blades against the softness of your thighs, sharp and unyielding as you gingerly tuck your legs around him- better to give the wolf a taste now than deny his growling stomach. By God does he savor that ‘taste’. Moans pour from Rook’s lips like life from your veins, oozing around your skin warm, wet and vulnerable, punctuated by his grotesque slurping at your throat. Rook sucks hickies into your neck with such harsh desperation you think he might be trying to draw the blood from your arteries with his lips alone, overlaying plum and claret blotches with the yellowing remains of your last endeavors.
The pale lace and silk Rook has taken the effort to swaddle you in is marred with ruby droplets, round and glittering rhinestones for a moment, before they melded with the smooth fibers of your robe. It would be no effort on Rook’s part to dress you in vibrant shades, something that would hide the rusty stains, but that wouldn’t be half as cathartic. Perhaps more sensual, perhaps more tantalizing; but not nearly as visceral and intimate as peeling open a flower bud, digging his fingers beyond the milky satin petals and revealing the blushing center. 
“Oh, mon chéri,” He’s breathless as he gazes down at you, his lips rosy and glistening with a slick mix of blood and spit. “You are beguiling in every element, a blessing upon my unworthy eyes.”
You clench your jaw and avert your gaze. 
“I beg of you, s'il te plait mon amour, give me the honor of showing you my passion?” It’s not really a question, Rook’s very presence is so oppressive you’re suffocating in the open air. You feel small beneath him, size notwithstanding. 
Truthfully, he does not need your permission either way- it’s a petty ploy to force a word up your throat -his hands would’ve snaked their way beneath your bloomers nonetheless. You’re bare beneath your sleep shorts, as Rook preferred, and with the brush of a warm palm against your soft cock, you’re just as excited as he’d please too.
Experienced fingers gently enclose the head of your cock, rolling your foreskin back to the base, all while Rook keeps his eyes trained on yours, the smallest expression of delight on his face. Though coarse, Rook’s hand felt heavenly wrapped around your dick, the grip delicate and pace agonizing as he began to work you up. It didn’t take long for you grow hard- Rook knew exactly how to make you twitch and squirm -pulling his hand along your shaft before pausing just below the tip, only for his thumb to press harshly against the your slit, drawing a long squeal from your throat. 
At long last, Rook drags your shorts from your hips and over your legs, leaving streaks of blood like rivers on your thighs. The chilled air finally meets your warm cock, bringing forth a shudder of discomfort. Rook will choose to interpret this as a show of anticipation. Again, Rook closes his fist around the base of dick, now choosing to stroke you with more fervor, the squelch of precum of blood growing louder and louder with every pump. It’s enough to make your face hot, swapping frantically between rapid panting and holding your breath, if only to deny yourself the shameful satisfaction of letting loose a moan.
“Tell me how this feels, mon amour.” Rook’s eyebrows pinch in a way that almost seems genuine, even as he stills his movements and squeezes the base of your cock tightly; watching a tremor pass through your body, your muscles tightening, eyes fluttering open and shut in quick succession, determined not to grant him a single noise. “Is it good?”
Precum drools from the tip of your cock in a slow, sticky stream, mingling with the tacky blood coating Rook’s hand and coating your length in a thick, marbled mixture of the fluids. It’s sickening, disgusting, and makes your stomach turn slow and dreadful- yet, somehow, the sight makes another bead of precum gather at your tip.
“Or do you need something more, hm?” Rook’s free hand smooths over your inner thigh, knuckles brushing lightly over your balls, his thumb smoothing flat over your taint, before his middle finger finally teases against your rim. “Do you need me in here, ma bichette? Dis juste oui.”
The tip of his finger presses in lightly and you inhale sharply, bringing a small chuckle from Rook’s chest. Your struggles amuse him. Rather than wait for any kind of response, Rook instead encircles your cock with only his forefinger and thumb, pinching it tight enough to make you writhe as he scoops the slurry of blood and precum from your shaft. 
For a second, Rook spreads his hand open and watches the sticky webs spread from finger to finger, before he bends down and lets a small exhale hit your dick, suppressing a laugh when your hips jerk in response. 
“Ah, si mignon.” The tone is almost dreamy, it would be cute in any other situation, with any other lover. As though to reward your endearing behavior, Rook leans forward and places a kiss on the tip of your cock, forcing a cry of sensitivity from your throat. “Tellement mignon, mon chéri.”
A tiny strand of precum stays stuck on Rook’s bottom lip as he pulls away, only broken when his tongue darts out to lick up what remains- your cock throbs at the sight, so fiercely that you can’t help yourself any longer, a sound somewhere between a wail and a moan makes its way from you before you can even think to stop it. When you calm enough to refocus your attention on Rook, a smile spreads across his face like the plague.
One of his broad hands digs into the fat of your thigh and drags you to the end of the dining table with ease, perfectly aligning your hips with the edge. You’re still reeling from the movement when Rook abruptly pushes two fingers beyond your rim and immediately curls them up into your prostate with cruel force; at the same time, he laves his tongue over the slit of your cock, eagerly swallowing every drop of pre you leak. Your whole body spasms in response to the pleasure, your back arching and legs flailing wildly, a litany of whorish moans falling from your lips- control has not just slipped away from you, the leash has been ripped free of your clenched fists and instead given to Rook. Thick fingers pummel mercilessly against the sensitive bundle of nerves in your ass, punching air from your lungs with every thrust and simultaneously shoving your nearer and nearer to the brink of orgasm- but before you ever reach it, Rook pulls away. His mouth leaves your cock, your hole is left empty once more, and you are left desperate. In a moment of weakness, you almost sit up to beg Rook for more, whine for him to let you cum, before your shame roars back to life.
Though you’re laid bare for all to see, Rook is finally rabidly throwing off his clothes, as though any moment without your touch was one of pure agony. In mere seconds, he’s completely nude and readjusting your body as he pleases, tucking a hand under either thigh before guiding them to wrap around his hips. Your eyes are immediately drawn between his legs, where his cock rests against your own, heavy and twitching, the flushed tip glistening with wetness. Lazily- unfairly -Rook squishes the soft head of his dick against your slickened rim, just shy of fulfilling your desires. 
“Oh my, regardez ça…” His hips push forward ever so slightly and you let out a puppyish whine, distraught when he retreats again just to watch your hole clench in an effort to pull him back. “You’re just so terribly cute, my dear, so cute.” 
The torture feels endless, though he only teases you for a few seconds longer, tapping his cock against your ass one more time before he asks the question that makes your heart go still. “Tell me what you want, mon cheri.”
Your throat closes. You can’t admit that you want- no, need -Rook to fuck you, you need his warmth, the pleasure, the comfort; the same way you need food and water. Still, you can’t say it, not anymore, because Rook will come unraveling like a linen with the lightest tug on his heartstrings. A couple months ago you would’ve happily cried and screamed for Rook to finally shove his dick into you. Now you feared he’d finally break.
You spread your legs wider, arch your back further, whimpering like a stupid animal as you give the weak attempt to rock your hips back into Rook’s cock with teary eyes. 
“Ah-ah.” He takes a pace back, moving just barely out of your reach. “Do you want me?”
There’s a quiet thump as you let your head fall back against the tabletop, squeezing your knees around his waist in need. 
“Just nod for me, d'accord? That’s all I need, ma bichette.” His hand smooths over your waist, trying to soothe you, but it does nothing to stop the rapid thrumming of your heart. 
You heave, too humiliated to meet his eyes, instead throwing your arms over your face and giving the subtlest dip of your head. There’s hardly a second after your approval before Rook’s hands grip your hips so firmly your bones creak under his strength, dragging you back to meet his thrust and sheathe his cock inside you in a single smooth movement. You receive no mercy, no time to adjust, as Rook fucks into you like a feral animal, his movements unrestrained and frenzied, unyielding as you squeal and scream beneath him, legs locked around his hips for a single scrap of stability. 
You think- if you can think -that he’s begun muttering something between open-mouthed pants, gasps of how much he loves you, how beautiful you look, how he’d like a taste of you. You let your thoughts scramble with every thrust of his hips, you let go of the fear for a few minutes. It not hard when Rook actively makes an effort to take your breath away, clumsily smashing your lips together in something that could barely be called a kiss; it’s all teeth and tongue, Rook sloppily stuffing his tongue into your mouth with an animalistic grunt- he feels more monster than man to you. Everything about him is suffocating, you can’t breathe around his love, head spinning, vision darkening- at the same time, Rook tilts his hips just right and jams the head of his cock against your prostate, and you’re ready to die for this orgasm. Pain is irrelevant, your weakened hands tangling in Rook’s hair and pulling despite the violent ache in your tendons. The euphoria is incomparable, so sudden and violent you spray cum over both of your chests, your whole body trembling and tightening within Rook’s grasp, milking his cock for all you could with a series of strangled moans Rook is happy to swallow.
Lucidity quickly sets in and you begin to panic, beating your bloodied fists against Rook’s shoulders in a useless attempt to push him away; if Rook wanted you dead, you would die. Your lungs have been set alight with Rook’s passion, parched for the cool touch of oxygen you’re worried may never come. Only once you’re entirely convinced you’re about to die does Rook finally break away and let you breathe, both gasping like you’ve drowned, and still Rook pumps his hips back and forth, chasing his release. 
“Tell me- putain -tell me, mon amour,” his words are gasped out against your throat, muffled by your skin. “Tell me you love me, ah, dis moi que tu m'aimes”
It’s not a request, it’s a demand, his teeth lock around the thin skin of your esophagus, canines pressing sharply against you. Any answer could end in a crushed windpipe, and you’ve never been good at gambling; but you are his dog, and he is your master. No matter how many times the hand beats, you will return. 
“I love you, Rook.” Quick as a flash, Rook readjusts and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, iron filling his mouth in a flood he’s happy to swallow. Rook manages only one more thrust before stilling inside you, shuddering from head to toe with a guttural groan as he fills you with his cum. You’re utterly revolted.
Your wounds have left you in agony. You’re still afraid Rook might rip a chunk from you. You’re sick to your stomach. You might cum all over again. A few stray tears roll over your cheeks, but you suppose this can’t be so bad; your stomach is full and Rook is warm. So warm. You are Rook’s dog, and he is your master. You loosely wrap your arms around his neck. A dog always loves his master.
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That's all for our Halloween special folks! I hope you enjoyed, and as always, thank you for viewing. I. Am sorry for writing this ngl. During the uh. hard-on people steak scene, I just stared at my computer screen wondering what the fuck I was doing with my life. I hope you find it spooky though, i definitely do... (also I think I'm very funny for the Vil/Neige cameo hehe)
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sayafics · 11 months ago
Text
Cherry Season - Part 2
Sorry for the long wait, guys, but I do hope you enjoy part 2 (I have plans for a part 3👀).
Warnings: smut, public teasing
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Rick hadn't found Valerie that day. He hadn't seen her wandering about the camp either. Not the next day, or the one after.
A week flew by, and Rick's stomach filled with lead as the girl he found himself craving escaped his sights with ease. He had tried to seek her out, but it seemed she was much better at hiding than he would have liked.
Dread burrowed under his skin, a quiet voice growing louder inside his head - it was his actions that must have scared her away.
Perhaps she didn't feel the same way he did, but did not know how to deny him.
Perhaps she grew bored of him and found entertainment elsewhere - Lori had done that, and the betrayal still sat bitter upon him tongue.
Rick wasn't a fool - he had heard the hushed rumours throughout the camp as they spoke of Valerie's private shooting lessons with Shane whenever Rick tried to seek her out. The whispers would cause him to clench his jaw in frustration, hands fisted, and brows furrowed as envy festered in his chest.
It did not go unnoticed by him that despite every session Shane had claimed they left to go practice, the makeshift shooting range remained empty.
Rick found himself growing restless, hands twitching as anger began to bubble in place of envy, where resentment grew in place of sadness. Such sinister feelings that began to bubble over in this moment now.
***
It had been a while since the camp had come into Hershel's home to dine with him and his family - the first time had already been so awkward, and this was much the same.
Truth be told, this was Maggie's idea more than anyone else's. Valerie's solemn mood had not gone unnoticed by her, nor did Valerie's every attempt to escape Rick's line of vision or Shane's incessant presence, that loomed around the girl she considered a younger sister.
Maggie had been worried Valerie and Rick had a falling out, and it was whatever argument they had out that caused the girl to shy away from the presence of others and caused Shane to seek her out instead.
Still, something did not sit right with Maggie. The idea that one of her baby sisters was out there with an openly aggressive and violent man, who would rather wave around his gun than use his words, had her on edge.
She hoped a dinner like this would force Valerie and Rick to talk, to resolve the issues they had, and to become friends again. Because Maggie was sure of one thing - she trusted Rick much more than Shane.
Of course, she didn't know the true extent of the feelings the pair held for each other, but even a blind person could have felt the bond the two had shared - the trust and friendship, the loyalty and kindness. All of which had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Rick could not figure out why.
***
At dinner, the clattering of utensils being laid out sounded sharply throughout the room. Everyone sat stiff upon their chairs as more and more people filed in through the doors.
Rick was one of the last to step in, Glenn and Shane only paces behind him.
He looked upon the room, their slowed pace giving him the barest of moments to think as he searched across the table frantically.
It seemed there was no extra table placed today; instead, everyone sat clustered around a single, long, oaken table with falsely mustered smiles and polite nods.
There were three seats left open - one between Lori and Dale, the other between Maggie and Beth, and the last sat between Patricia and Valerie. It was clear who Maggie was saving her chair for, and it was also clear who Lori hoped would sit in the one she had saved.
Some part of Rick hoped Valerie had saved that seat for him, but from the way her shoulders stiffened and eyes widened at the sight of him, he had a sinking feeling that was not the case.
Valerie looked as beautiful as ever, but she also looked tired. Her hair that fell in shiny curls was pulled back into a messy ponytail, her eyes that shone with kindred glee seemed dull as they were sunken down with bags that were a sign she had not been sleeping, her body that she would adorn in the brightest and prettiest dresses sat covered with a hefty jumper and thick trousers.
This was not the girl he had met when he came to the farm, this was not the girl who he kissed and fucked, this was not the girl who begged him for more and held him against her like she didn't need anything else.
This was not his Valerie.
Had he done this to her?
Had he broken something within her and not realised all this time?
Rick could hear Shane's gruelling voice grow clearer as he drew closer, and in those moments, Rick did not hesitate for a beat.
Rick would get the answers to his nagging questions, and if he was truly as guilty as he felt, he would punish himself as she saw fit. He would take his life if it gave her a shred of happiness - he would have offered it to her freely, if his son had not been sitting only a few seats away.
Rick marched with determination, ignoring Lori's call for him as he rounded occupied chairs and sat heavily upon the chair on Valerie's right - it creaked under his weight, and he pulled himself closer to the table.
The gap was tight, his arm pressed against Valerie's as he shuffled closer to her under the guise of giving Patricia more space - in doing so, his thigh pressed flush against her own.
He could see how she tensed at his touch, and his heart dropped at the sight. Valerie began to pick at the skin around her nails, darting eyes meeting the vicious glare of Shane that promised nothing but hurt as he sat next to Lori in a huff.
A warm hand enclosed over her fumbling fingers, and she just about managed to repress a flinch.
Valerie looked down at her lap, thinking she would find Maggie's comforting embrace - instead, it was Rick's hands, skin calloused and rough, that held her hands gently. His touch was warm and kind, something that almost seemed foreign now.
Valerie could almost feel the tears that stung her eyes, and she took a deep breath, hoping neither Rick or Maggie would notice. One glance across the table was enough for her to know Shane did - he had seen enough of them.
Valerie couldn't help but relax under Rick's touch, couldn't help but admire him as subtly as she could - the way his curls brushed against his forehead, the way his jumper sat snug against his shoulders, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips in a nervous twitch. She felt her body burn at the sight of him, sing at the feel of him - his scent, his touch, his voice.
His voice.
Oh, how she had missed the sound.
It had only been a week, and yet it felt like years had passed by being stuck in the grasp of a beast she could not escape.
"Hey, sweetheart," his voice rang low as bowls of food were passed around, and small chatter broke out across the table after a quiet prayer. His words were almost cautious, as if testing to see her reaction. The rasp of his voice sent a shudder through her.
It seemed Rick had mistaken her shudder as an act of repulsion, his face falling as his grip loosened.
Valerie found she did not care that Shane's heated stare sat fixed upon her, she found that she did not care if Maggie happened to glance her way and noticed or that Hershel sat only a few breaths away.
As Rick's hand came to rest on the table, Valerie threw hers atop is a rush, intertwining their fingers to tug the limb back into her lap and away from any eager eyes.
Valerie was almost sure she could hear Shane's growling breaths from across the table, but when Rick's eyes brightened at her reciprocation and he tightened his fingers around her own, she found her fear of him dwelling.
She was sure she would pay for such an act of disobedience after, but she would find comfort in it now.
***
That day in the woods, Shane had taken a part of her she would never get back.
He hadn't hurt her in the way she thought he would have - he wasn't a rapist, was what he had said. He was a good man, and he could be a good husband, a good father was what Shane had claimed.
But he had kissed her when she didn't want it, touched her where she didn't want him to - he ignored her begging and her pleas, he groped and petted and licked and kissed whereever he pleased.
And the days after that incident, Shane found that he did not want to stop doing so. At least not until Valerie could realise that Shane was telling the truth - Valerie had to believe him, Shane wasn't a liar. He was a good man. He is.
He is sure of it.
She would agree with him one day. She would agree with him soon. And when she did, he would take that final piece of her, and she would no longer belong to Rick, and Rick would no longer want her.
***
"Hi, Rick."
Valerie's grip tightened as the words passed her lips like a confession - she stared up at his blue eyes, and it was almost like staring into the vast and endless sky. Looking into the glowing hues of blue, an almost child-like whisper came forth in Valerie's mind - wishing she was a bird so she could fly free. Or perhaps a fish, and his eyes were the sea, and she could swim endlessly.
Something within his eyes darkens as his name rolls off her tongue, and pride swells inside his chest as he catches Shane and Lori in his peripheral vision, simmering with fury. He almost laughed. Almost.
Rick turned his attention to his plate, feigning interest in the food and offering compliments even though he would rather be tasting something much more desirable.
The table continued in its chatter, the volume growing louder as Glenn and Dale shared laughs across the table, and T-Dog dove into stories of his life before the dead began to walk. Bubbles of laughter and snorting cluttered around the table, and the home they all sat in almost felt warm and full of life, and it was as though, for just one moment, everyone was able to forget all their losses and breathe freely.
Valerie watched with curious eyes as Jimmy loaded Beth's plate with food, refilling her cup with a broad grin upon his face. There was a faint smile upon her lips, watching Beth be doted upon. Beth met her eyes, ones full of longing and hope for something similar, with a sparkling smile as though she knew something Valerie didn't.
A breath of warm air brushed against her cheek, and Valerie flinched as Beth tried to hide her stifled giggles with a mouthful of potatoes.
Valerie froze with a forkful of potatoes sat right upon her tongue, and Rick's rasped words sent chills down her spine as her grip on the cutlery tightened.
"Kinda disappointed, y'know. Mm, thought you'd come find me by now, turns out I couldn't even find you."
Valerie slid the fork from her mouth, chewing her food slowly as Rick leaned back and watched her with expectation set in his gaze. Everyone else around them seemed oblivious to the growing tension between them, except Beth, who corralled her father into focusing upon her instead.
Rick's hand placed itself upon her thigh. She was able to feel its warmth through her trousers, and she suppressed a shiver at the heavy weight of it. His fingers traced circles almost absent-mindedly, but there was a soft smirk upon his face as he took deliberately slow sips from his glass of water - "m'ybe you can make it up to me," his voice lowered into a whipser as he drifted closer towards her, mindful of the proximity of others.
"Do you wanna do that, sweetheart? You want me to make you cum with everyone watching? Wouldn't be the first time you came on this table, would it?"
Valerie's eyes almost widened in disbelief - it was as though Rick had simply forgotten all of which had made him angry and envious. It was as though he forgot that the man who had stolen her away from him sat opposite them with a knife in his hand and a gun in his pocket.
Valerie was almost too fearful to respond, terrified if Shane caught onto their acts of mischief he would unleash chaos amongst them all.
She was his. That was what Shane had said that day in the woods. She belonged to him, she was his prize for surviving. Not Rick's.
So why was it that her body burned and flushed at his words? Why was it that his insinuations had her shuffling upon her chair as her thighs twitched in anticipation?
Why is it that a growing ache within her begged for Rick's touch?
Perhaps it was because she had gone too long without it. She had gone too long without being herself, and without her pretty and pliant self on display for all to see that she feared Rick would have lost interest.
But as a hesitant hand began to drag Rick's patienly waiting one from her thigh to her clothed cunt, watching the way his eyes darkened and his breath halted as her warmth could be felt from even outside her trousers, she found herself hopeful it was not simply her looks he had been enamoured by.
"Good girl," his voice was a deep rasp as he readjusted himself lower upon his seat to ease the discomfort of his hardening cock.
With the table as their guise, Rick's fumbling hand was hidden from sight as he kept his face passive and contributed to conversations when he was called upon.
He kept his movements slow as he slipped his fingers underneath her waistband, trembling fingers tracing every inch of her he could find as his skin flushed a dark crimson at the feel of her supple flesh.
No one paid much mind to the flustered cop as he almost blanched when his fingers met Valerie's bare mound when he had expected panties to be hidden underneath.
Such a thought brought back the memory of the one he had stolen from the girl during their first night together - he remembers wrapping it around his aching cock as he fisted himself - harsh and rough - in the days he could not find his dearest Valerie.
As his fingers slipped lower, brushing across the sensitive flesh and tracing her twitching clit before circling her entrance that had been neglected for a time Rick believed was far too long.
Valerie gasped a quiet breath, hips rocking into his teasing touch without much afterthought. It was then Rick inched his hand away from her aching, puffy cunt. She would do anything for more - she would protest aloud for all to hear if she must.
But she kept mum, fearful of the humiliation she would face if her daring ventures were to become known to all. Instead, she slipped a free hand down past her waistband, brushing against Rick's own in a desperate attempt to satiate the fire burning within her.
She tried to keep her face expressionless, eyes focused intensely upon her plate as Rick's finger joined her own to scribble messy patterns upon her pretty clit. She ground herself against the palm of his hand as subtley as she could, eyes almost ready to roll back as she coughed lightly to hold back jerky whimpers.
Rick's fingers dipped into the wetness that seeped from her weeping cunt, dragging the precious cream she had leaked over her clit to provide more stimulation. He sped up his movements, remaining still upon his seat so as to not arouse suspicion.
Valerie shovelled food down her throat, the cutlery passing much deeper into her mouth than appropriate as she found herself imagining his thick and heavy member in its place.
Her hips almost lifted from the chair as she inched closer towards the end of the chair, watching with wide eyes at those who continued to eat and converse unknowingly beside them.
Her grip on the fork tightened, and she forced her eyes to remain open as she bit her tongue to hold back any sounds that wanted to force their way through.
God, she was so close.
Fuck.
Her hand wrapped around his wrist, nails digging into the flesh, leaving marks in its wake as tears stung her eyes from pure stimulation.
And then, nothing.
Her breath caught in her throat, and a sinking feeling of desperation weighed heavily upon her as she turned to Rick in betrayal.
Rick watched her with amusement, his cock hardening further at the sight of her needy pouts and subtle panting. His hand left her sweats, a final tap upon her bare cunt that resounded as a quiet and wet slap, causing her to shudder as she tried to hold back her whines of disappointment.
Rick glanced around the table, a proud smirk upon his face as he caught Shane's eyes.
Shane looked at the man with barely concealed fury, trembling with anger upon his seat as his food remained untouched, but the cutlery creaked beneath his unrelenting grip.
His smirk broadened into a grin, a challenge in his eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked off Valerie's wetness with pride. He almost laughed as Shane continued to bristle, removing his fingers to return his hand under Valerie's clothes and wipe his saliva across her twitching flesh.
Valerie glanced between the pair as she darkened with a heady flush, the sight of Rick's unabashed claim causing a steady stream of wetness to coat her inner thighs as she squirmed upon her seat.
Her hands found his arm again, holding it tight as she forced herself to stay still upon her chair so as not to gather more attention.
She looked up at him with hunger in her eyes, hoping they would translate all that her whines could not at this moment.
Rick leaned closer, uncaring of watchful eyes as he tutted quietly into her ear.
"I'll tell you what baby," fingers dipping under her waistband to hover over her aching cunt, "you want me to finish what you started, you leave your bedroom door unlocked tonight, hm?"
He looked at her with expectant eyes, and she found herself nodding vigorously is ascent.
"What was that? Use your words, sweetheart."
"Yes," a whispered whine escaped her lipds as her eyes darted around to ensure all were too occupied to eavesdrop, "yes please, Rick."
"Good girl," with that, he tapped a parting goodbye to her soaked cunt, relishing in the way her hips canted towards his hand. He brought his hand to his own lap now, feigning innocence to all that had just occured.
Perhaps it was his non-chalance or the way he had forgiven her so quickly, but a daring spark came alight within her, and she felt a small smile tug upon her lips.
She leaned over Rick, peering around his broad chest in pretence of trying to seek the gaze of her father. In doing so, she created the perfect opportunity to slip her hands into his lap, or more precisely upon the hardened buldge he sought to hide.
She ground her palm against it, relishing in the way his hips jumped up to meet her touch.
"Papa, can you pass me the potato salad?"
There was a pout on her lips, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as her hands squeezed Rick's cock - he could feel himself leak pre-cum from within his jeans, praying no wet spot would be found when he stood from the table.
His hand came around her wrist, gripping them tightly to stop her ministrations. She only rubbed against his weeping cock harder, as she leaned foward to take the bowl from her father's hand with a spare hand.
As she took her seat again, her hand never left his twitching member and she took care to lean into his ears as she spoke in a tantalising whine, "maybe I can make you cum again too."
Fuck.
Rick ground his teeth, his body heating and his cock stiffening uncomfortably, as he imagined the girl upon her knees with his cock stuffed inside her mouth and her hands playing with the parts of him that were too long to fit into the warmth of her.
Just as he had done, she removed her hands in feigned innocence, a pleasant smile upon her face as the images of Shane slipped from her mind and the fantasies of Rick took their place.
***
Valerie escaped his grasp after dinner, dirty promises being whispered into Rick's ears as she manoeuvred around the man to collect plates and cups. Rick watched her with eager eyes, his hands reaching for her every time he thought it was safe enough.
She stood at the sink now. Most had vacated the kitchen apart from Rick, who watched the girl quietly from his place at the table.
He stood, the chair creaking as it scrapes across the wooden floor - he watched as she tensed at the sounds, an excited tremble working its way down her spine as she tried not to peer over her shoulder.
He came behind her, hands tightening upon her hips as he dragged her rump against his stiffened cock. He ground his hips into her covered flesh, quiet groans escaping his lips as he spoke, "shit, you feel that baby. You feel what you're doing to me. Fuck, I need you baby."
The plate in her hand clattered as it fell into the sink, her soapy hands gripping the edge of the sink as a whine escaped her throat and she pushed back into his hardness.
"Fuck, you want it just as bad, don't you? Such a desperate little girl."
"Rick, please."
Her whines were tinged with desperation as her cold and wet hands found his hands to tug under her jumper and towards her breasts. Rick pulled her closer, grinding against her as he massaged the tender flesh of her breasts.
Her head tilted back to rest against his shoulders, her breaths leaving her in harsh pants, "more- wan' more."
Rick couldn't think straight, his head was heavy with lust and he simply prayed no one would walk in on them. He turned her roughly to face him, hands tight upon her waist as he heaved her upon the counter and dragged her towards the edge.
Fuck, he would take her right here if he could.
But it was too early, and he didn't want any wandering eyes to see Valerie so vulnerable. No that was just for him.
At this height, her weepy cunt could grind into his hardened member with ease. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she tugged him closer, the two rubbing against each other like they were teenagers who had just discovered sex.
Her hips canted up to meet his frenzied thrusts, low moans escaping her mouth as she tried to stay quiet.
Rick's lips found her own, groaning into the pliant flesh as he bit her lip and slipped in his tongue.
Fuck, it had been too long.
This was what he had needed all this time, all he had wanted.
He began to trail kisses upon her neck, biting and marking the flesh an array of reds and pinks as they ground against each other faster, the two of them so close to climax they grew dizzy at the sensation.
"Val!"
The pair froze, panting and wide-eyed as they searched around them for the owner of the voice.
"Valerie!"
It was coming from upstairs - Maggie.
"Ye-" Valerie's voice cracked, rough and raw as her body continued to tremble in Rick's grip who continued his movements in slow ministrations as he realised they had not been caught yet.
His head sat upon her covered breasts, mouthing them through her jumper and biting them harshly, making Valerie jump in her place as her cunt burned with desire.
Valerie cleared her throat, "yeah, Mags?"
Her voice sounded across the hallway, and she waited quietly for a response, hands petting through his curls and tugging them as Rick groaned quitely into her.
"Bring me a glass o' orange juice after y're done, please!"
Valerie rolled her eyes, but she guessed she should be pleased Maggie didn't come down to get it herself and catch them in the act.
"Okay!"
She huffed a breath of disappointment, and Rick chucked quietly as he shifted himself into the crook of her neck, "I'll tell you what, sweetheart - I gotta put Carl to bed, so why don't you finish up here and get pretty for me, yeah? Then I can fuck you nice and good, and no one can disturb us, hm?"
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're more desperate than me," there was a teasing smile upon her face.
Rick grinned, "maybe I am."
***
Valerie was in her room, clothes strewn across the room as she tried to find an outfit she knew Rick would like.
She almost beamed with excitement when she found what she was looking for - a pair of white cotton lingerie with tiny cherries printed across the material.
He would go crazy for this.
Valerie threw her clothes back into the closet in a frenzy before turning towards her full-length mirror. She stripped in front of her reflection, an eager grin upon her face.
One which fell as she looked at the sight of her body.
Scratches and bites that did not come from Rick, bruises and redness that did not come from passionate sex.
Her gut roiled in worry, terrified of what Rick would think when he saw the state of her flesh.
Would he think her to be used and worn out? Would he discard her with ease?
That was what Shane said he would've done, but there wasn't much women left in the world so he would take what he could get. And he thought he could take her.
Her eyes burned at the sight of her marred flesh, doubt colouring her features, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth.
She was thinking about stopping tonight altogether, saying no to Rick until the bruises and marks and faded and healed.
But she craved his touch. She needed it just as much as he did.
Fuck, what was she going to do?
It seemed she didn't have much time to think. A flurry of knocks sounded against her door before it peeled open.
Valerie felt her heart sink at the possibility it could be Rick, or even worse - Shane.
Shane had been so angry during the dinner, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had caught on to their antics either.
God, she hoped it was not him.
Instead, it was Glenn's head, which poked through the gap, his sentence falling short as his eyes widened in shock - "hey, Mags is loo-"
His face grew pale, not only because he had walked in on Maggie's little sister half-dressed but also because of the marks that littered her torso and her thighs.
His head shrunk back from the gap, glancing along the corridor before he threw himself into the room. Glenn shut the door behind him, his words panicked as he watched her with something akin to pity.
"What the- shit, Valerie, what the hell happened to you?"
Valerie could only stare at him with her mouth agape, unsure of what to do as dread and terror began to build.
"Valerie? Val-" he drew closer towards her, stopping only when he saw her flinch. He threw his hands up in placation, "hey, Valerie. C'mon, this is important. Who did this to you?"
Her eyes began to water, tears falling in steady streams as she shakes her head in panic, "no. No. No, Glenn you can't tell anyone."
Glenn tilts his head in confusion, "that doesn't answer my question - Valerie, those bruises are recent. As in, last-few-days recent. Who did this?"
Her breaths came out in stuttered pants, "I can't tell you."
"Hey," his voice softened as he watched her tremble with fear and doubt, "Yes, you can. You gotta tell me who did this, Val. We gotta tell Maggie. We gotta tell someone. Someone hurt you, Valerie. Someone in this camp."
"You don't know that," her voice cracked in protest, "you don't know who did it, and you can't tell anyone. Especially not Maggie."
Glenn paced around the room in distress, hands rubbing down his face as he looked frantically across the space. He found a blanket upon the bed, walking towards it and grabbing it as he made his way back to Valerie.
"Valerie, come on, you have to tell me. Who did this to you?"
She sniffled quietly, head shaking 'no' as she looked towards the ground. Her body heated in humiliation as an ache festered in her throat.
Glenn sighed quietly, throwing the blanket around her shoulders and covering the girl before he wrapped his arms around her.
It seems that was all it took to break the dam. Heavy and broken sobs sounded through the room as she held Glenn in a tight embrace.
"Please don't tell Maggie. She can't know."
"She should know Val, she can help you."
"No," her voice was tight, eyes almost manic as she pulled back from him, "no. Please. I can handle it. I've already handled it. I promise."
Valerie knew her words were a lie, but Glenn didn't need to know that.
"Promise me you won't tell Maggie."
Glenn looked at the girl in disbelief, "you can't ask me to do that, Valerie. Not when we both know I saw those bruises on you..."
"Glenn, please. I swear, I'll fix it. I'll make him stop, just don't tell Maggie."
"Him? Who is he? It's someone on camp, right?"
She just stared at his with silent desperation, hands holding the blanket tight to her body as she waited for him to concede.
He sighed, hands rubbing his jaw in frustration, "fine. I won't tell Maggie, I promise. But if this doesn't stop - if he doesn't stop, you come to me. And you tell me."
She nodded, tears falling with renewed vigour as whispered 'thank you's slipped past her lips.
"You gotta promise me, Val." In this moment, Glenn looked much older than he truly was, burdened by secrets and violence he was no clue how to cope with.
"I promise," a watery smile tugged across her face as she wiped her tears with the blanket in her grasp.
Glenn pressed a brotherly kiss upon her head and gave the girl a parting hug.
When he closed the door behind him, he felt his heart weigh heavy with dread. He walked down the corridor, opening Maggie's door to step inside.
"Hey, where's Val?"
Glenn hesitated for a moment, the truth sitting upon the tip of his tongue.
But he promised.
"Sorry, Mags. She was already asleep."
"Oh," Maggie frowned, "I've been worried about her, you know. She's quieter than normal."
Glenn could feel guilt welling in his throat as he nodded, "I'm sorry. Look, I promised Rick I would help him with something before we went to sleep, you don't mind-"
"No, of course not. Go, help your camp." She gave him an indulgent smile, and it helped ease the guilt in his soul.
He left the house promptly, barraging his way through the camp as he found Dale and Rick by a waning fire, deep in conversation.
Rick looked antsy and restless, eyes darting towards the house Glenn left in the distance.
Valerie had made him promise not to tell Maggie, but Rick? Rick was their camp's leader, and someone in the camp had hurt Valerie. If anyone could help, it would be him.
And Glenn hadn't promised to hide the truth from Rick.
There was a grave look upon Glenn's face, and Rick felt something cold wash over him as Glenn beckoned him over.
"Everything good, Glenn?"
Glenn frowned, head turned downwards as a hand came to rub at the back of his neck.
"It's about Valerie."
Rick's heart sank, worry flowing over in crashing waves as he stood straighter in alarm.
"Is she okay?"
It was all he could think to ask - is she okay? Is she alive?
"Something happened to Valerie, Rick. Someone hurt her. Someone in our camp."
Rick felt his heart ache as anger bubbled within him, his limbs trembling as his jaw twitched, his head twisting from one side to another and unfiltered rage poured within him from the depths of hell below.
"Who?"
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snowflaketale12 · 8 months ago
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My little finding outside the movies - "Lars" ❄️
My forth finding is how many characters with the name "Lars" in books😄I believe most of the people know the Prince Lars of Southern Isles who's having his first appearance in "A Frozen Heart", but not only this Lars, I've found it's fun when there's lots of Lars in Frozenverse, it makes me wondering is it a common baby name in Arendelle😂
A Frozen Heart - Prince Lars of Southern Isles (Pg. 38)
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2. "The Next Right Things" in All Is Found: A Frozen Anthology - The same Prince Lars from A Frozen Heart (Pg. 322)
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3. "Wandering Oaken and the Not-So-Hygge-Day" in All Is Found: A Frozen Anthology - Oaken's cousin (only mentioned) (Pg. 216)
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4. The same Cousin Lars was having appearence in "Oaken’s Invention" in Frozen Storybook Collection (Frozen 2 version) (Pg. 65)
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5. Lost Legend: The Fixer Upper - An Arendelle citizen (Pg. 54)
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6. Disney Frozen: Breaking Boundaries - Ice harvester and thief Lars (Pg. 58)
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7. Anna & Elsa #4: The Great Ice Engine - A mouse Lars who runs Oaken's ice engine (Pg. 35)
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8. Anna & Elsa #9: Anna Takes Charge - An Arendelle kid (Pg. 25)
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9. The same story "The Seed-Off Contest" is in Disney Frozen Adventures: Ice and Magic (Pg. 42)
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10. "The Biggest Treasure" in Disney Frozen Adventures: Snowy Stories - A Southern Isles kid (Pg. 44)
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