Oh, Despicable Me
The witch did not felt like swimming yet something drew her towards the ocean. In this brittle air even her hope shatters. She was lost in the swirling white flakes on absolutely white ground just as she was lost in her decision, her life wasn't her own anymore, she body did no longer belong to just her. She was a carrier, a vessel that withhold life within her, a cage with a lock. There was nothing to guide her back toward the mountain but the below freezing temperatures will get even worse if her luxurious, perfectly groomed pelt was to get wet; she would freeze by the next sunrise. Swimming was not an option. Gods bestowed the witch with the outmost of luck; a blanched section of tree was bobbing in the water, and as soon as her attention was caught she was drawn to the object intuitively. Teacup paws stood at the waterline, salty water lapping at them in gusto as violet gaze remained fixed upon it. The section was an old timer, a veteran of the brine. The old planks retained the odour of the fish even after a storm. Yet she was sound, seaworthy enough to take to the waters and engulf the woman in a adventure that was meant to clear her mind. It took a mere moment; mile-long limbs, graceful in their motion leaped upon the large wooden section, that might have belonged to a mighty oak, she could not be certain but without a doubt she wanted to let paddle and let the sea take her away.
The sea carried her away. Freedom engulfed her, wrapped her in its warm embrace though the sea breeze certainly standed its hellish ground. It was not long until she reached an unknown insland and to her surprise the scenery did not differ much from the rest of the Eastern territories. Yet there was nowhere on earth she ever felt the miracle of life stronger than this arctic island. To be of warm flesh and bone amid the swirling white was like being a splash of ink from the heavens, a mere dot in the diary of wolfkind. The witch was furious to say the least, anger filled her veins due to the incredulous situation she found herself in yet she tried her best to maintain her calm, to let the scenery and the cold artic air numb her lungs and heart that tightened within her chest, becoming, she thought, two sizes too small. In the arctic island there was nothing to hold the mind, no familiar thing, no comfort. It was only numbness, emptyness, a void that absorbed everything in its wake, a black hole. She needed it.
Love. Who knew if it actually existed? Hannibal found it hard to feel anything for anyone of the devious creatures of Boreas. The only time he felt something was with Spider, but it seems time has chiseled away at that as well. His love for his family was always formal. There were no hugs or kisses, no I love you, Sons. Only teachings and lessons. When you are being forged into the next great Klein Emperor there is no time for feelings. Then again the male could pinpoint the things he loved doing. Sex, fighting, and hunting. All three make your heart jump and pump. Thrills is what the male loved, not Wolves. Wolves were disgusting creatures that rip your heart out at any chance. Perhaps it was better for the male to be unable to captivate love in his early years. His parents did him the favor of teaching him to be stone-cold. Hannibal laid upon the Love Island with a bored glare in his dull eyes. Head upon black paws and a fluffy tail curled around his form. It was rather warm for a winter day, but after-all he was in a rather tropical region. He had taken the swim in the afternoon when the sun was still high in order to maintain warmth. But, it was the thicken of night now and the chill was coming forth. He could nearly see his breath when his eyes flicked towards movement. A seductress slithering her wet bodice from the depths of the sea. Did she follow me? His thoughts ran rapid as he witnessed the vixen move onto the shore. Her lithe form and swiveling hip caused flashbacks to their heated night. Therefore with a sickening smirk the beast called forth to her, "You just can't get enough of me can you?" The male was testing her from the get go, not even getting up to greet her. In his mind there was no reason to impress anymore. He got what he wanted and so easily.
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Winter trees line the island Their denuded forms stand starkly against the snow, almost like charcoal outlines sketched by a passing artist. Along limbs that not long ago were adorned with the vibrant colours of autumn lies an unblemished white blanket. They are the trees of storybooks, of paintings the finest artists created and as the witch passes she can't help but extend her luxurious tail to feel the rough bark under its pure layer as she departed little from the shore line.
Long, busy tail would sway from side to side in leisure stride, shoulders rolled in ghastly-spectral movement; sinisterly roaming. Violet gems were hardened with a glowering malice, a turmoil within her own vessel that forced her, ripped her apart limb from limb, to venture so far from the lands she knew. Queen of the Damned, a kingdom in which she lay claim because she was truly and utterly damned, cursed. Was this the right path to tread? Perhaps she should reconsider her discussion with the black woman from the other day. Perhaps that is why she was running away now. But how can you run away when the problem is inside of you?
Auditory systems would swivel absently in idle thought of what was to come. Lifeless gaze would turn upward Besides the noise and rustling of the other animals that would flood through her ears, there was soon encounter another sound, one much more familiar, that filled her ears like a symphonic drum line, loud and acute. She came to an abrupt halt, standing as ballet dancers poised to show the world their grace, strength or perhaps shock showing in how she remained so still yet within the blood would boil at the mere sound of this bastard voice.
Anger boiled deep in the witch system, as hot as lava. Not for him in particular, she was not naive as it took both of them to achieve such consequences, but for this situation and this dreadful encounter. It churned within, hungry for destruction, and she knew it is too much for her to handle. The pressure of this raging sea of anger would force her to say things she did not mean, thing she never wanted him to find out. She did not even know his name. How pitiful but in harmony with her life past events. She knew better than anyone that anger was a silent huntress looming in the night, ready to strike when you least expect it. With that in mind the russet witch quickly covered her steadily growing abdominal region with her elongated, luxurious tail and continued her walk in a slow yet enthusiastic pace; silence was this woman weaponary choice, deciding the best solution was to ignore the problem and therefore ignore the man that she spent a heated night with before she turned on him like an enraged panther.
To ignore such a dominant, arrogant, and abrasive Wolf was a great sin. As the female danced across the fresh blanket of snow it was very evident she had heard his putrid calls. The male allowed for his salivating jaws to open and he took in that familiar scent. Though, there was a touch of hormones he was not expecting. Hannibal could not pinpoint the smell but he knew it was much different to her former heat. A little brow raised before he shook of the curious thoughts. The femme was a puzzle to begin with and he had no time to piece things together as her lithe bodice slipped away. Hannibal slowly got up from his resting place, snow falling from his already pale form. He shook off the remainder, sending pebbles of snow flying from his alabaster tendrils. A devious grin moved across chilled lips, it was time for a chase. Hannibal sauntered forth with an erect tail and a smug look across his features. Had he scared her off so soon? Was he too rough for her delicate body? Why would she run now if she so eagerly called upon him previously? A call that beckoned him to bed her. It was mutual to say the least and she did not seem to not enjoy it. Frustration now bubbled in his horrendous cranium as he thought over the possibilities. The dots were not connecting in the slightest. Thus, as he followed her trail the male barked forth another set of baritone vocals. "Why does the vixen run now?" He kept her pace and followed behind her. Hannibal growled as he observed those hips flick left and right, "She summons a stranger for a quick fuck then ignores him weeks later?" The male was now talking himself into a much deeper rage, his own words were whispers of boiling blood. He spat forth his next tones as if a venomous serpentine ready to strike. "Perhaps you are just another little bitch who cannot own up to her actions. You are all talk." With that he stopped his tracks with black and white lips curling upward to expose devastating fangs. In those moments the fae would either slip away into the shadows or show him her true colors. Which of those he wanted? Hannibal hadn't a clue.
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Emotions of inexplicable rage and utmost sorrow intermingled and were intensified by the recognition of pads following behind her. Distress had forced its way into the witch’s core and she had been reduced to the pitiful sham of a once-competent Goddess; specially remembering her episode of rage from the other days. Ribcage protruding slightly from her abdomen and beautiful visage now sallow and lack of the infamous smirk it typically possessed, evidently affected negatively by her inevitable situation. Her felind bodice bear no scars, no blemishes; mile-long legs fell upon a slow pace, engraged, gradually, audits rotating towards his sounds, his venomous words as her own luxurious, tail lashed its tip back and forth, in clear annoyance. Time will find that she may bear more than she could ever bargain for, should her decision become reality though she started to dread it more and more with each single syllable the man uttered in his baritone. Why ws he even annoyed? There was nothing between them. Just a fling, a quick fuck. Wham bam thank you ma'am. She carries herself as if a sylph emerging from water thought each of his words is yet annother bullet; no truer dignity was found in anywhere but that of this witch's holding of her body. Her very actions seem ethereal in her leisure pace, as if she was apt to fade away at the slightest touch; and in a way she was.
He was not supposed to know. They were not supposed to met each other again. This was all wrong. She was caught with no route for escape however there was the slight chance that he might not find out. Yet he pushed and pushed and pushed! It was like a vexing of the soul for what she felt was not lupine, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. It burned so bad like fire lacing her veins and creeping up her spine, her soft tissues of skin were a sore looking red from the contained rage within her very bones but all she could feel was desire; desire to hate. To hate him, her, that night, them. The witch was intoxicated with emotion, as she came to a halt, remaining still. Repellant little cockroach! the acidity that was residing in her stomach spatted out of her pretty maw in foul and vulgar words wrapped entirely in venom, as she turned to face the brute. You are nothing more than a festering dribbles of ferret excrement and yet you dare to just walk in here like you belong When she turned abruptly at last to face him there was no customary warmth, it was gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Her usual acutely beautiful visage was hard, cold, rigid. Indeed even her focus was somewhere on the tree behind the handsome man, as if he had become invisible to her or she could not bare to see him at all. He crossed some invisible line. I do not desire to have anything to do with you. she cursed once again, baring her canines more in a protective gesture that surprised even herself. Perhaps being with child brought forth her motherly basic instincts and due to her anxiety and distress such instincts deemed the handsome man a threat. Was she convincing? The witch was not entirely lying yet he did not want to know, he will have no part in this. Her body, her decision. He had no say in this. Her luxurious, busy tail wrapped around her form in an attempt to hide her abdomen swelling yet there was one thing it never crossed her mind to hide and that was her scent. She did not had the time; she could have rolled in some herbs, in some mud or even blood but not even the Gods knew she was going to encounter this male here after so many weeks.
The stench the woman was emitting stained his nostrils. A snide scowl appeared across his features as the hormonal funk made way around his form. There was something incredibly off about the minx. Weeks before she was quivering below his form. Begging for his touch and burning with lust. But now? The bitch ignored his very existence, not even sparing the male a second look. The dots were not connecting in the slightest and beast was determined to understand what exactly the temptress was up to. Rage poured out of the albino as his vision slowly turned red. As her intoxicating form stopped and turned his lips curled into a deepening sneer. His eyes connected with her own and fire flickered within his seething gaze. The words that came from the slimy serpentine stung and not within his heart. But within his bones. Her anger easily matched his own, two emotional hellhounds spitting insult after insult at one another. Hannibal remained silent as she reacted and observed her stomach just before her elongated tail moved to block his view. It appeared to be.. swollen? The limited view offered him nothing but questions and riddles. Was the stench pregnancy? Or could paranoia be getting the better of him. Though, it would explain her sudden distaste for the male. Hannibal eyed the woman over with a look of mild disgust. His head raised and his lips twitched as he thought over his conspiracies. "Explain yourself, vixen." The male took a step closer with a growl emitting from his tight throat. His entire body was tense and his hackles began to raise out of pure instinct. If he wasn't conflicted about his earlier thoughts he would have charged her then. The femme deserved to be informed of the dominance he held over her. The bitch may not know it yet but Hannibal believed he was her her better and much more. "Explain to me why you now sputter forth filth from your lips that were salivating for my very touch just weeks ago." He took another step and tilted his head in the other direction. "Can you not handle your own womanly desires? Are you just that weak?" Hannibal snorted as the rest of his words rolled from his saliva ridden jowls. His gaze never moved an inch away from the babe and never would. Hannibal demanded answers and would receive them one way or another.
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The vixen felt like a ghost in a world of paper dolls. She was the ghost in her own machine. Nothing but a ghost running through time and space, looking, always looking in the blackness for a sacred spark from her Gods. And all this world becomes noise, a distraction and now this insufferable manwhore standed before her. Her. Raging and throwing insults at her holy self. A Goddess in her prime, he should hit the ground ad the mere sight of her, to kiss the earth she descends upon. She was a Goddess in both grace and beauty; a unique creature upon this damned world. Queen of the Underworld. Goddess of mourning. Who was this mortal to belittle her? The father of her litter, of her cubs? He had no idea and if it where by her will alone, he will never discover it. Impudent, mortal. the vixen spatted, words wrapped in venom, meant to cut, to sting in their intonation as the woman spit in front of his very massive paw. Should all he be is a fragment of fire, barely a cinder, it matters not, because she will become a river of gasoline and burn him whole and she had made this present by raising her crown as tall as she physically could to defy him and his falsetto theatrical dominance he seemed to think to have over her. She never removed her tail nor flinched at his words. A continous defiant of authority, she locked her gaze on him, narrowed her violed jewels in slits and mimicked each of his steps, she was not going to back down and bring shame to her bloodline.
Rage builds like deep water currents. She did everything right - everything -and still this situation is a damn mess that she cannot find a way out of. Everything dear he might actually have in this world is what she made and the manwhore dares to squander it like an ill-raised child. Why can't he just back down from all this interrogation and be on his way. There is no need for him. She did not need him for this. Weakness That's when her anger comes, unleashed without thought of consequence. Even those that didn't earn this wrath today earned it at some point.
Red. Everything went red as a tremendous growl escaped from the bottom of her throat. Her vision blurred as a flame curled in the pit of her stomach. Her brain went on overdrive as it picked every moment that she'd spent crying, that she'd ask for others help. The memories weighed down on her in a flash, in a moment, but instead of breaking even more, her heart turned ice cold, her muscles tensed as they rippled under her luxurious coat, and slunk into the shadows as her brain took complete control. How dare you?! the snarl she released was otherwordly, poison driping from her own ebon lips, resembling more of a lion roar than a wolf, shaking the world. The flames in her stomach rose up to her chest and crawling through her veins, took over the rest of her body. Her right paw rose from the frozen blanket. It happened in just a moment. The slap was as loud as a clap and must have stung his face. It had been an open-paw smack and it had left a red welt behind. Just below his left eye was a small cut where her golden ring had caught him.
Mortal. It was true he was entirely mortal yet no one has tested such. Hannibal had participated in two great wars within his time back home and he came out clean. Perhaps it was luck or maybe skill. But, danger and pain seemed to avoid the beast at all costs. No one had been daring enough to properly hurt the male as he did to others. The male was a horrid creature with severe moral issues. He was evil but in a way in which made your skin crawl with self-loathing and doubt. He was not insane but perhaps riddled with arrogance and narcissism. An ego so inflated by the Wolves that pamper his very existence it would take decades to deflate. Perhaps he desired nothing more then someone to challenge him. Hannibal witnessed a change within the temptress. Once devastated and venomous now riddle with a blossoming rage. Red painted the two Wolves as the tension built around them. Three horrific words were spewed from her chops which caused Hannibal to snort almost instantly. Snot flew from his pink and black nose and saliva dripped from his parted lips. Though, what happened next was nothing but a shock to his entire system. A teacup paw quickly slapped against his black and white cheek. A small cut forming with blood slowly oozing out onto his pale fur. A bruise quickly came forth and the area stung immensely. Only a singular silent moment passed before the male launched. A ear piercing growl ripped from his throat as the male moved to barrel into the bitch. His chest aimed to press against her own as his right paw moved to shove against the left portion of the back of her neck. With this the male attempt to lift himself up and press her down. Bared fangs sputtered forth saliva as his narrowed eyes glossed over. The woman resisted but he was able to power through and press her form against the cold earth. Hannibal towered over the babe with the same paw on her neck and the other near her face. His head lowered so his muzzle was only an inch away from her own. Mis match eyes stared into her purple as he heavily breathed over her pinned bodice. "You dig your grave, whore." Though, something in the back of his head whispered. His consciousness beckoned his eyes to glaze over her belly. Eagerly his gaze flicked to her abdomen which in result revealed the truth. Swollen nipples and a round tummy could be seen and his eyes went wide. He took a few long moments to stare but his eyes were foggy with terror. His paw pressed heavily against her neck as his eyes seemed to rip themselves away from her abdomen. Hannibal now looked into her one visible eye and spat forth toxic vocals. "You carry my offspring." A simple statement. He knew they were his, her very reaction concluded such. The man let forth another growl but this time it seemed rather painful. He turned around to walk a few steps away from the woman who was assumed to be still on the ground. "You swam in open water while carrying my offspring?!" His eyes were crazed as he turned to face her once again but not closing the distance just yet. "You cannot be trusted, foul witch." He stood tall now, exerting all every ounce of dominance he had. "You will come with me. You will follow me to Erovrare and be under my watch until you nurse the cubs to a year of age." Hannibal lowered his form again with a sickening scowl, "If you dare resist I will you by take you by force." speech action |
It seemed that fate would not allow her the chance to do what she had wanted. Instead she felt the heavy pang of a counter attack hit her right center on her chest and the left side of her neck. I was too sudden, to abrupt and accurate for her to manage to react in time and even if she could, the swelling of her abdominal region would slow her down instantly. She did not stand a chance to a physical altercation. Was he mad? It was he that had pressured her frame downward into the freezing winter blanket of the earth, causing a gasp to slip her lips. There was one more problem. As she hit the ground she let out an audible smack. Along with producing a fragile squeak of pain. It would be heard by others no doubt, but the thought of it making her seem weak crossed her mind. Angry tones grasped her attention as he called, using other derogatory words. Whore. The witch had been called worse yet the hipocrisy found in this particular specimen was outstanding yet not by far surprising. It took only a second for the witch to register where the man eyes darted and she cursed inaudibly; her swollen abdomen was exposed in front of him, in full view. Exposed, their carnal sin came to light as did their devilry spawns that were now growing inside of the bronze woman.
His enormous paw sat precariously on her soft tissues of skin, on her portion of neck, claws soft enough to not pierce through, hard enough to enforce the intended message. The harsh treatment should have been cold and raw against her bare isabelline-white skin, but her numb body could not feel anything except observe through her visible eye to observe the hurt expression on the brute facade, even his growl sounded pained to her own auditory system. What was that? Does he regret launching at her now? Pathetic. Actions have consequences and this one certainly did. Her bushy, braided tail rotated, locking it between her legs and up to her stomach; protective instincts taking over, they were considering her a threat to the life of her spawns. Scruff rolled around her neck to protect from any other unwanted agression yet she could not deny the tangle of adrenaline that ran down her spine, so good and cold. Rolling her frame away, the witch went back to a standing stance as fast as she could. Jowls parted revealing her murderous canines as she uttered forth more corrections toward the manwhore, They are not yours. she growled threateningly, placing one teacup paw towards the ivory spectre before raising her tail proudly upon her serpentine tail. A mischevious lie, smoothly interpreted; her gaze hardening on the man, impenetrable and cold. She was not going to back down even if she did felt something for the man down her jewels. Damned be pregnancy hormones. You must have a bad seed, vermin. she spatted into his face, her muscle tensing as sweet adrenaline flowed through her veins, causing her heart to beat a tattoo into her chest. Come with you? Follow you? her words were like acid, pure venom poured from her ebon lips, coating every syllable in a shard of ice cold glass meant to cut deep within his whole being, words not meant to degrade but break. The lies were delivered with confidence one after another as she took yet another step forward, allowing him to see her, truly see her for what she was. She was not intimidated nor was she afraid of his radiance, of his annoying though exquisite dominance that he emitted; she was challenging him further, provoking the brute, unafraid. You must be delusional. she defied his statements with one dismissive flick of her beautiful crown.
It would seem the keen witch would not simply lie down and surrender, as probably was the man want, as he has probably witnessed before, so easily, simply and eagerly. It was evident by the way the top of her nose softly wrinkled, that she was displeased by the scene they were both situated in. You may attempt to take me by force, barbarian, but I shall not move willingly, without protest. her choice was clear, she shifted her weight to reposition herself, claws dugging within the ice. Yeah, he was large and scary by most mortals’ standards, but she wasn’t a mortal. She was not a weakling mortal; she was not a bitch, she was THE bitch. No matter, it is futile, these spawns will be soon gone. venemous words, acidic; the witch voice dropped to a lower, growly pitch as she came to a halt in front of him. Panting, chest raising and falling with each life-giving breath as adrenaline purged her very heart. Heavy were her breaths, rugged and yet it did something to her inside, being close to her spawns father. She was ever so tempted to make a move, but she wasn’t stupid. If her lies did not suffice she shall make a run for it before long.
Two venomous serpent spitting toxin at one another. Devilish vocals and insults littered the cold air. Two wildfire gazes that seemingly ignited one another. One a pale phantom and the other an Egyptian witch. A match made by Hades himself, forged by essence of death. The pups that grow within the female's belly would be the spawn of two hellhounds. Creatures to come forth and reign terror down on Boreas just as their parents. Thats is if their enraged parents could agree on a way to work together. Which at this point seemed nearly impossible. Hannibal wished for nothing more then the safety of his offspring. They would be his firstborn pups and cherished from the get go. His heart ached at the thought of any ill will coming to them in any sense. The beast lived to father many litters. To pass on his "endless" knowledge and teach them how to be strong Kleins just like himself. But, only one thing stood on the way.. their whore of a mother. The pregnant Wolf began to spew forth her horrific tales. Lies and slander slithered from her mutant tongue and his lips maintained a curled sneer. His fanged dripped with oozing saliva as the thought of ripping her throat out delighted his mind. If it weren't for his pups the male would have attempted to lay her guts out upon the white snow at a moments notice. If it weren't for her initial reaction to seeing him again he wouldn't know they were his. But, she gave it away before they had even began speaking. Why would she hide a pregnancy from a complete stranger? "You vomits lies, Snake." The male took another step forward with tense legs. His breathing was heavy and one could see his abdomen raising and lowering rather dramatically. Her mention of bad seed went in one ear and out another. The witch closed the distance between them and continued to riddle off her shouts of defiance. Yet, the last words spoken were the ones that truly frightened the male. Her vocals spoke of abortion, to rid her body of the pups entirely. To be so utterly cruel and rid the world of what could be the next rulers of Boreas. Red painted his vision as he inched forward, their breaths mingled and his muzzle was a hair length away from her own. "You foul fucking bitch. To rid yourself of the promise of life. To destroy our chance to create the next generation of rulers." His blood was destined for power and he knew his children would be powerful enough to obtain crowns of their own some day. "I was correct. You are too weak to harness the powers of your feminine duty. To resort to abortion of all things." The male turned away, ripping his body away from her own and taking a few steps to the side. Hannibal began to pace as his hefty paws met the earth with audible thuds. His pink tongue slithered across cold lips as he thought over the situation. Either she came to Erovrare and nursed the pups until they were of age or he had to disown his parental rights. In no way was he allowing the woman to run off and rid herself of the pups. Nor was he going to allow her to have them on her own and die off in the thick of the winter. "Even if you are so evil as to abort our offspring you would die before winter ends. To succumb to the side effects of whatever herb or berry you may consume.. Or whatever physical forms of abortion you may consider. The elements will destroy you within days." The hellhounds eyes poured into her own as he stopped his pacing to look at her in a much more serious tone. "Or if you have the pups on your own as a rogue the lot of you would die off in not time." Hannibal spoke the complete and utter truth. To succumb to child birth in the winter and raise the pups on your own. If she didn't die of blood loss the elements would get her. "Come to Erovrare and act as my Bondservant until the pups are a year of age. You will have shelter, territory, food, and safety. The pups will have a kingdom to roam and grow strong in. As they grow into yearlings you may leave and never return." The man then narrowed his eyes even more with a little cock of his head. "What do you choose, wench? Life or death?"
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He longed to lose his testicles apparently. This burning desire to have her rip them off in the middle of the night while he was sleeping. He would wake up screaming, with her hovering over him, this devilish creature hanging over his bedside. Singing sweet songs of hell into his ear. Muscles tensed, twitching with desire to rain his own blood over his pale coat. Lips twitched at his derogatory words, he loved to push her. And she loved to wrap her mind around his own. Suffocate him. His temper was like TNT, once the sparks started to sizzle there was very little time to duck and cover. She knew her temper got the best of her at this time but who could blame her? A pregnant rogue alone, in winter. Her family history was not all shine and rainbows either, but she couldn't help sparring with him. Watch your mouth, maggot. You call it weakness but you fail to understand your words. venom was spatted into his facade, low and heavy, her words hanged in the air. Like trained boxers they circled one another, the kid gloves were off, it was fighting time. Weakness' is weakness only in light of the aims man sets for himself, the instruments at his disposal and the laws he imposes. She traded slur for slur, insult for insult, dig for dig. When his temper blew hot and he turned away she knew she'd won for a short period of time. Neither of them was going to let this situation go and though the words were derogatory the incubus seemed to deeply care for his spawns. Peculiar. Two snakes, two shells spatting venom at one another that were tied and brought together. He'd never slugged her but she knew she'd pushed him harder than was wise. For every pound she weighed he weight three and it was all solid muscle.
This epitome of quiet rage that fell upon the witch was truly beautiful. No whisper of proceed it, yet profoundly noticeable by a brute's quiet gate. Such was the prowl of malice, purposefully silent so as not to stir but yet registering and analyzing the situation within her mind and the storm they created. It was a beautiful march they established, a tantalizing march, one that draw the eye of any animal that passed and raised on hackles in wary. And oh, she was livid in her thinking, she knew he was right but she was not alone. She had others by her side now. Father; what an estranged word and yet she did not desire for her spawns to be left without one. Was this was mother sacrifice meant? Violet gaze, magnetic in its individuality never left the male and yet it softened. Your Kingdom may become my kingdom yet you are mistaken if you believe I will act as your servant. a sigh left the witch ebon, full lips, resigned and weary. It signalled the end of deliberate effort and the beginning of passive deterioration. It was a sigh so quiet that it went unnoticed, it's sound and it's movement dissapated out into the vastness of the world and made no effect at all. It was not the start of any butterfly effect. A sigh. Desire and disgust,streamed through the air. Right about now, she longed to taste his blood and spill it before her. No vow would remain unfulfiled. She approached the handsome barbarian at once, regal form dominated the earth she walked upon, smashing her chest together in an aggressive gesture. Incisors penetrated the tender flesh adorning the phantom's neck, applying enough pressure for only a few droplets of crimson liquid to emerge towards the surfacr, causing a rumble of satisfaction to reverberate through the Goddess as the metallic tang of blood graced her taste-buds. Limbs instinctively bent at the knee to enable swift movement in preparation for the worst-case scenario should the goliath attempt anything. You're going to be a father. the wretched woman smirked as she tipped her skull in his direction, a devious gleam dancing across the surface of her megenta depths as she surveyed him to observe if he was willing to set his temper aside for the good of this, whatever this was.
It was truly a choice of life or death. Did the woman want to live within Erovrare or die there? Hannibal was ready to make the serpentine a prisoner of the pack, enforced by each of it's members, until the day she died. Or if she could manage to reason with him she could merely become a simpleton of its ranks. A court member. A Wolf with no duties other then attending meetings and some mindless hunting. But, with the barrage of insults and defiant speech called for doubt within the male's heart. The beast assumed it would be hard to convince her to comply and especially in such an emotional state. Hannibal guessed her pregnancy was only feeding her irrationality. Hannibal's gaze was thick with hell fire as he observed the demoness slither towards him. Lust a new emotion to add to his conflicting rage would fill his mind. He could feel the tension rise as her chocolate bodice moved so closely to his own. Their tantalizing breaths mingled as he thought over the beginning of their toxicity. The lust filled nights that conceived the horror in which they fought over. Their pups were the result of two riddled beasts filled with desire. Somehow they had to make it work and the beast would not rest until it did. The sigh filled his ears, followed by words of compromise. Hannibal agreed she would not make a good servant and he would be unable to train her properly while carrying his offspring. Brute force was out of the question. Therefore he would have to settle with the fact that she would be an official member of the pack until she misbehaves enough. "Our spawn will be strong." As his words ended her bite was met with a loud hiss. His eyes rolled back ever so slightly as the pain rang through his tense body. Blood painted both his cheek and his neck now, bathing in his own crimson. With a flutter of lashes his eyes opened to stare into her venomous gaze. "Nurture and love these pups and you may be a rightful member of Erovrare. You will have the chance to prove your worth to both my leaders and myself." He pressed his bloody face against her scruff and breathed in the hormonal scent. "These pups deserve capable parents to bring forth the first generation of a powerful bloodline." Hannibal moved to her ear as he spoke in a hushed tone. "We will go down in history." The beast then moved his form against her own and brought forth the memories of the pups conception. His blood painted their forms as the demons danced the night away. "Hannibal.." A breathy pause. "Hannibal Iber Klein is the father of your offspring." -fade to black-
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It was a night to get lost in the warmth of each others bodies and essence. He was her drug and this night she would have her fix. The egyptian goddess and the ice king would unite, to create a new generation of strong blood lines. Their line would live on, and she would be made apart of the family. A smile would caress her face as he whispered words in her ear, tickling the fin ehear threads that resided there, sending shiver down her spine. A moment ago, rage filled her veins, gasoline boiled and would you look at them now; lust, sexuality emitted from both their perfumes surrounded the air like mist. Maybe this could work somehow, their spawns needed it to work. We shall raise legends, rulers. All the lands will known our names. she purred, before pushing herself into him, mixing their fur as her chest met his own. Their faces but inches away as she moved to nip the side of his neck playfully. Tail lashed behind her, waving her scent into the air in hopes to drive him near mad. Insanity was a beautiful thing, it kept her life going. She longed for him to hurt her, and love her. And she would egg him on if she had to. Masochistic tendencies burning her alive. Pushing against him more, she would try to intertwine herself in him as much as physically possible. Each move would be tender and passionate, the energy that radiated off her was so raw, it could drowned him. Nephthys Ma'at Ithuriel. she breathed into him, heavy and low, Charmed, I am sure. she hissed dark and low in her throat, attempting to intoxicate the man even more, to make him an addict of their bodies together just as she started to become.
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