Ravensblood Forest fat rat

for @Chani <3 — backdated to whenever!

he is announced by the tip tap of overgrown claws upon stone cave. with each step, he feels sand thrown from his matted pelt. he still wears the blood, and various bodily fluids, from the night of the raid. it has only bolstered his arrogance, only smoothed the suave of his cutthroat.

in his jaws: a rat. but not just any rat, it is a fat rat. thick, juicy, hunted and caught just for his special lady. and as he comes close, his dark mask and fur disappear into the damp view of the cave he has held her in, but it is those cruel eyes that remain.

bright, as the sun's song.

flea-bitten pirate lets the bloody carcass of the rat drop, listens to its corpse smack against cold floor. then, a paw hooks, and smacks it towards her, as his mouth careens into a deep, stained grin.

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note to self: backdated to feb 10, ~3weeks pregnart

devastation was not a word that properly described her feeling. 
everything had been ripped out from under chani, from around her. the presence of mother and aunt could not even be a comfort; they were also captives. 
this forest would always be damned in her eyes. marched from seacliff to bleeding weald, chani had stared with cold defiance at any pirate who might look her way.
curse them all.
nights were spent with chacal, curled protectively near her pregnant maman. 
she refused to eat, and therefore she became sick. fatigued.
the man who she had danced with once came now, smeared in muck and reeking of blood. 
chani's mouth watered for the rat. but her oxide eyes flared with prideful rage, and a spin of her paw sent it back, sailing toward crowell. "fuck you."

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when the rat comes clattering at his paws, crowell's grin does not deter. only, it grows wider—eerily wider, tooth after tooth revealing, even one he no longer had; there, only an empty socket.

then, like a sudden wind, the smile drops. it is replaced with darkness, and he peers at her, blinking once, twice, before he spits. head leaning down, snatching the rat by the tail and coming to stand over the woman.

he drops it. it smacks her in the face. he sees its blood splatter over her pretty snout. crowell breathes, he seethes. ye did, sweet th'ng. he does not raise his voice, for that is not husbandly of him! but the rot creeps in, into his eyes, into his mouth, into his mind. 'nd now ye growin' me lil' swashbuckl'rs.

of course, the pirate is no fool. he knows they aren't all his—at least, not biologically.

he takes a deep whiff of her scent and exhales, feeling his hackles lower, a comforting wash of sea befalling him. a paw; it raises, tries to grab her by the face and shove one side into the cold, stone floor. whether or not he succeeds, he growls:

eat.

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"wrong," chani shot grandly, lunging up beneath the blood to clip his whiskers with teethtips. "i got home and decided it was not for me dis year." her body had not changed; it was a brittle claim at best. and he was so stupid, such a stupid, stupid bitch of a man, to think they were his at all, his only, and his ever. "i know how to be rid."
generations of validated misandry found its pique in chani. if val had been the embodiment of all a man should be, crowell was certainly his very opposite.
his hard hand found her cheek. she snarled and flung herself in attack, biting for his eyes, for his lips. his tongue.
nausea climbed her throat with vomit's burn; not yet. not yet.

he thrives on this. this back and forth. it is why he does not kill her, like he would have any other disrespectful woman. no, that was a lie. he also hadn't killed meredith, but because he also wanted her. perhaps he was seeing a theme here, now.

he liked his women mouthy. argumentative. but that was because crowell, at heart, was an instigator. he wished to fight. he relished in the chaos. her words hit him but they bounce right off like a bullet dinging off of steel, and because of what she says, he laughs. his laughter is loud, unholstered, and sticks in his throat, raucous and heavy.

ye think i believe dat? he breathes out with his rotten, carrion breath. when she strikes, it lands and he snaps backwards, giving his head a disorienting shake. he tastes iron, his tongue laps at his bleeding nose, and he pins a sultry stare upon the woman. what she did, how she behaved, did little to squash his bravado.

no. the more she fought, the more he wanted her. she has not helped herself—she has only trapped herself more, for his mind has settled and a light has flickered on. he squares his stance, tail lashing, voice a haunting echo off the walls of the cave. ah fear i nev'r caught yer name, darlin'. what is it? he exhales, a chuckle biting the end of question, and then he inhales and releases more words: i tell ye one more time.

his brows darken the doorsteps of hell's eyes then. eat. he says. eat. he repeats, more insistently, this time.

but she did not; chani stood with her forelegs akimbo, her eyes tracing the blood she had left in the wake of her teeth. its taste and its sight satisfied her, and resolute panting swelled her flanks.
it reminded chani that bedraggled as she was, dirtied and mucky and filthy as her pelt had grown, held in some cavish hovel — it reminded her that the children she carried belonged to sapphique.
not to him. not even to her, in a way; to the legacy of those who had created her.
chani did not want to give in. but if she did not eat, the bloodline inside her would die, and she with them. 
"why did you bring me here?" she snapped instead. "to waste your food? no. non," she hissed, and inched toward the pirate until their eyes met. "why? did you not get enough before, ou gwo moun fou?"
was that why he had come for her and brought all the other men? why? her stare demanded.

she does not tell him her name! she instead snaps back at him. he raises a brow, and smiles sadistically.

the fire in her raises higher, roaring, and he cannot help but to fan it. with the snap of his jaws, he is upon her, forcing closed what remains of the distance between them. she had dared to come close and he would grant her what she so obviously wished for, wanted for!

connection.

and he would relish in what was to come if she fought back.

ah told ye what i wan'ed alrea'y, i figures. he breathes, exhales, and his rancid breath is for her nose only. paws grappling to take her by the hips and force her to the ground beneath, laughter clacking from his teeth and jaws in response.

his teeth find her ear where he speaks again, lower, taunting and devilish. ah'm makin' ye me wife.

his wife
all in chani rebelled. the only wives of which she knew had been erzulie and rosalyn, women together. this was a perversion of all she knew, a woman belonging to a man against her will.
muscles tensed to struggle, and then chani was still.
breaking her would be fun for crowell, and she meant to deny him any of that. 
hips lifted against his curved body. "do it, t'en," chani mocked, "unless you are no man to take what he owns."
she could endure, chani realized. she could endure far more than mireille or chacal; they could never stomach this invasion of a man. the previous enjoyment made it easier for the seawolf; a snarl urged crowell on to the prize of her.

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he growls in response. feeling her lift against him, not expecting the lack of fight; he is sorely disappointed, but such things are waved aside. instead enraptured with how she fits against him, his body answering call.
ye pretend ye don' like me, he whispers rancid against her ear where he yanks her closer, fitting against her. ye think me mean. he huffs.
pressing kiss to the ears she flattens, then yanking upon one with stained teeth, grinning like a mad man. eyes widening with fervor. i be your worse nightmare, aye, he exhales, but not if ye gimme wha' ah wan'. and dats you.
teeth then snatching her by the scruff to fully cement himself.

endure. endure.
familiarity gave its own slight pleasure, but chani denied herself. still she warmed beneath him, and if the genuine reactiveness made crowell think more of her, then so be it.
he was not likeable. but a woman's instinct had of late curdled to life within her breast. the saltwives of the seacoasts did not recognize fathers or accept husbands; their children were raised communally by a society of women. it was not something that had needed to be thought about for generations now.
if the pirate believed the children his, he would protect them. he would protect her.
she thought about that in silence, in present and in future.