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120_minutenTeam Nimmerland
Tabelle: Horror - Die Zeit läuft ab (Für mich)
Fandom: Guild Hunter series (Hier wird bitte n Tag benötigt!)
Charaktere: Aodhan, Andere weden erwähnt
Wörter: ca. 650
Sprache: Englisch (Da ich die Bücher nur auf Englisch gelesen hab, hab ich gar kein Gefühl fürs Deutsche.)
Warnung: Non-con. Der Tag von Aodhans Rettung aus dessen Sicht.
He stirred awake again as the water level around him sunk. Did he hear something? Something was happening. His whole body hurt in all possible kinds of pain. The burn on the clipped part of his wing, the white pain from his scarred, barely healing heart, the more dull ache of his wings rotting beneath him the rot slowly spreading into his back, ... and then the smell of the rot. He probably was the only sentient being on this world who knew how their own decaying body smelled. Besides that he had almost forgotten how it felt to be dry despite not wearing any clothes, the last bis of decency stolen from him. At least he wasn't drowning at this very moment. But that seldom meant anything good. And all this didn't even include the mental pain: The disgust of himself and his torturers, the shame, the metaphorical filth all over his broken skin. How long was he here already? He didn't know. Months? Years? A decade? Time had become meaningless next to all those different kinds of pain. He felt so weak, too weak even to cry. How long was he able to endure this? Time was running short. When he surrendered to the madness which already made itself known to him it was over, his life worthless to them.
There was a noise again. So it would start again. But he was too weak to struggle. It wasn't yet time to clip his wing or to take the poor remains of his heart again. Who was coming to him? Bathar? That would mean more physical pain. The angel was too much driven by his jealousy of him. Bathar knew his lover didn't love him as much as she loved their prisoner. And he let him feel that jealousy in a very physical way. Cuts on all his already broken body witnessed that jealousy. Or burns. Cuts that healed until Bathar's lover came to him.
Or was it Sachieri? Her presence meant mental pain. He was weak enough that he wouldn't be able to free himself even if she fully opened his iron coffin. And she knew that; had done it the last time she'd been here. If he had the strength he would shudder at the memories. Her hands all over his body. Her eyes on him in a lustful way that made him sick in the stomach. The way she touched what was left of his wings, his torso, between his legs. The last time she had even climbed into his confinement for her own pleasure. His stomach cramped, rebelled but there was nothing he could vomit. Her promises made him sick too, the promises that she would let him heal when he finally returned her feelings, that he would fully enjoy her one day. It wouldn't take long until he did, she'd said. He didn't say anything, wouldn't do it even if he could. He would never surrender to her. He'd rather die. But he wasn't allowed to. He knew there were people searching for him. He couldn't disappoint them. The thought of the grief he would cause a blue-winged angel was even more painful than anything the two angels who kept him here in this iron coffin could do to him. Illium would never stop looking for him and he had to be alive when the day came. He had to endure this torture as long as he could. Which wouldn't be long anymore. But the thoughts of his most important person kept him alive; the thoughts of the love he harbored for his best friend. He could hold on.
Another noise. The door was opened. Soon the pain would continue. He waited for the sound of the lock of his coffin being opened.
But it never came. Instead a pained scream. He knew that voice. Naasir!
Tabelle: Horror - Die Zeit läuft ab (Für mich)
Fandom: Guild Hunter series (Hier wird bitte n Tag benötigt!)
Charaktere: Aodhan, Andere weden erwähnt
Wörter: ca. 650
Sprache: Englisch (Da ich die Bücher nur auf Englisch gelesen hab, hab ich gar kein Gefühl fürs Deutsche.)
Warnung: Non-con. Der Tag von Aodhans Rettung aus dessen Sicht.
He stirred awake again as the water level around him sunk. Did he hear something? Something was happening. His whole body hurt in all possible kinds of pain. The burn on the clipped part of his wing, the white pain from his scarred, barely healing heart, the more dull ache of his wings rotting beneath him the rot slowly spreading into his back, ... and then the smell of the rot. He probably was the only sentient being on this world who knew how their own decaying body smelled. Besides that he had almost forgotten how it felt to be dry despite not wearing any clothes, the last bis of decency stolen from him. At least he wasn't drowning at this very moment. But that seldom meant anything good. And all this didn't even include the mental pain: The disgust of himself and his torturers, the shame, the metaphorical filth all over his broken skin. How long was he here already? He didn't know. Months? Years? A decade? Time had become meaningless next to all those different kinds of pain. He felt so weak, too weak even to cry. How long was he able to endure this? Time was running short. When he surrendered to the madness which already made itself known to him it was over, his life worthless to them.
There was a noise again. So it would start again. But he was too weak to struggle. It wasn't yet time to clip his wing or to take the poor remains of his heart again. Who was coming to him? Bathar? That would mean more physical pain. The angel was too much driven by his jealousy of him. Bathar knew his lover didn't love him as much as she loved their prisoner. And he let him feel that jealousy in a very physical way. Cuts on all his already broken body witnessed that jealousy. Or burns. Cuts that healed until Bathar's lover came to him.
Or was it Sachieri? Her presence meant mental pain. He was weak enough that he wouldn't be able to free himself even if she fully opened his iron coffin. And she knew that; had done it the last time she'd been here. If he had the strength he would shudder at the memories. Her hands all over his body. Her eyes on him in a lustful way that made him sick in the stomach. The way she touched what was left of his wings, his torso, between his legs. The last time she had even climbed into his confinement for her own pleasure. His stomach cramped, rebelled but there was nothing he could vomit. Her promises made him sick too, the promises that she would let him heal when he finally returned her feelings, that he would fully enjoy her one day. It wouldn't take long until he did, she'd said. He didn't say anything, wouldn't do it even if he could. He would never surrender to her. He'd rather die. But he wasn't allowed to. He knew there were people searching for him. He couldn't disappoint them. The thought of the grief he would cause a blue-winged angel was even more painful than anything the two angels who kept him here in this iron coffin could do to him. Illium would never stop looking for him and he had to be alive when the day came. He had to endure this torture as long as he could. Which wouldn't be long anymore. But the thoughts of his most important person kept him alive; the thoughts of the love he harbored for his best friend. He could hold on.
Another noise. The door was opened. Soon the pain would continue. He waited for the sound of the lock of his coffin being opened.
But it never came. Instead a pained scream. He knew that voice. Naasir!
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Date: 2022-09-24 10:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-09-24 02:00 pm (UTC)Ich hab seit seinem ersten Auftreten sehr viele Gefühle für ihn, gerade weil er so ein gebrochener Charakter ist, auch wenn man lange nicht wirklich wusste, was genau ihm widerfahren ist. Kann die Bücher nur empfehlen.