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captain039 · 3 months ago

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PART 6 (Last Part) He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, intimacy, violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers, angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, trauma

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

You haven’t left your room for a week you think. You sat in the corner mostly, your body would engulf in flames and you scream out in pain before exhaustion took over and they stopped before your body would regenerate. You’ve melted the door shut in the bomb shelter training area. Nobody could get through that or the thick concrete walls so you stay here making yourself safe making everyone else safe.

It feels more than dying an agony deep in the pit of your heart and stomach. It’s not just the pain it’s being away from him. You didn’t realise how much you truely imprinted on him, how you truely believed in that cell he was your alpha, it was the only thing that kept you going. You don’t feet hunger or thirst, thankfully there was a small bathroom through a little door in the shelter you could use. You hadn’t showered though, you don’t think you’ve brushed your teeth either. Charles tries to speak to you, Jean tries too but you just engulf in flames and cry out in pain knowing they feel it too. You want to rot away, wither into the ground or burn to death. You can’t die though, whatever they did it succeeded and you cannot die. No matter how much you burn you always heal too quickly always in between the stage of major burns and healing skin. You can’t cry anymore, barely able to move from this cold floor.

The doors ruined covered in slash marks and dents. He’s tried getting in so many times and failed. It kills him, he thinks that this is truely what dying feels like. Charles had kept you stable the whole flight and like a machine you walked down to the old bomb shelter and sealed yourself in. He hears every time you shout in agony before you pass out, his knuckles go raw and bloody every time before they heal. He’s begged Jean and Charles to do something but every time they try to connect there’s your pain in their features and they can’t hold even while you sleep. He hasn’t left the door since you got here, he knows he smells and his stomach is hollow. Jean brings him food and water but he doesn’t eat, knowing you’re not eating. He saw everything they did to you, made him watch like it was a damn cinema. Watched you burn yourself to death then heal just as quick. Watched every time they brought you back to the table, the exhaustion in your features, the sunken ness of your eyes, the black bags and pale skin before the regeneration kicked in. He knew though, knew you were exhausted and ready to give up and all he could do was watch. This woman that captured you both was a legacy of William Stryker same kind of fucked up though. She kept him on a heel, forcing him to give blood, bone marrow, tissue samples whatever the hell they wanted. He knew that look of panic to well and seeing it on your innocent face broke his heart. He was yours body and soul, heart and mind, he needed to be with you right now, needed to help you, help his omega.

You jolt when a red flash blares through the door and Logan’s raging in. Your whole body goes on edge begging him to stay the hell away so you don’t hurt him. He’s pissed or so you think, the look on his face, tight jaw and stern eyes as he quickly covers the length of the bunker. You sob and beg him not to come close but he’s there, arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. You feel like lead and breathe him in fully. Your body reacts to your alpha and you almost collapse. You cry now, a burst dam down your face as he holds you tightly. Your arms go around him holding yourself as close as you can to him. You stay like that till you can’t cry anymore and exhaustion takes over.

“Logan” you mumble feeling like you’re going to collapse.

“I got you” he whispers. He smells just as bad as you, but his alpha scent is fully through your senses.

“We’re going to go have a bath, and get some sleep” he says, it’s not a request though and all you can do is nod.

“Up” his hands move to your thighs and you flush.

“Logan I’m too he-“ you go speak looking to him.

“Up, omega” he repeats and raises an eyebrow. You manage to jump and he lifts you easily, your arms going around his neck and his under your thighs. You rest your head on his shoulder, walk past Jean and Charles. You can’t look at them so you hide your face. You’re worried about engulfing in flames again, the simmering anxiety always there. He walks to the upper level, going down the hall before going into a room, his room.

“Logan” you mutter.

“I’ll burn everything down in here” you add with guilt. He thinks about it knows your right and lets out a small growl before he’s turning and heading to the direction of your room. He sets you down on the bed, that’s been replaced, as has the carpet and bedside tables. You run your hands over the sheets a light grey colour. Logan heads to the bathroom and starts to run the water before he’s back out in the bedroom. He closes the door and locks it before turning back to you. He looks worn out, probably how you look too, his hair a mess his beard unkept. You see the tears well in his eyes and feel it pang in your stomach.

“I’m sorry” you mutter trying to control your emotions.

“No, no don’t you dare apologise” he’s over quickly hands cupping your cheeks and wiping your tears. He takes a small breath closes his eyes as a tear rolls down his cheek. He presses your foreheads together as you cry. His thumb caresses your cheek as you lift a hand to hold his wrist.

“The bath” you mutter and he curses before going to the bathroom. He comes back out, leaning down to pick you up again, but you stand in shaky legs. You give him a small smile and he sighs but allows you to walk to the bathroom. You don’t dare look at the mirror as you settle down to sit on the toilet to take your shoes and socks off. Logan’s there instantly though the alpha kneeling and taking off your shoes and socks which no doubt stink. You’re embarrassed but he doesn’t care, his brows frowning as he concentrates. He glared at the suit given to you by the people who captured you and he growls softly. You cup his face this time and his eyes are instantly on you softening. You stroke his cheek feeling the course hair before you gulp a little and lean closer. He meets you and presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss that has you melting.

“Sorry” you mutter dropping your hands.

“Why?” He frowns a little breathless.

“My breath stinks” you mumble and he laughs the noise waking up something inside you as you smile.

“Bath’ll get cold” he says softly and you nod. You stand as he does and curse this suit. You strip without thinking, wanting to be rid of it. You glare at it as you kick it off with shaky legs before glancing up to Logan who has turned his back to you. You lift your hand to his shoulder only to freeze when you see flames dancing along your skin.

“Logan get out!” You yell in a panic as he turns around and sees your arm.

“Omega! Omega calm down” he says as you shake and whimper. He whispers your name softly a few times hands cupping your face as you try to back away. You’ve closed your eyes too scared to open them.

“Look at me” he whispers and you shake your head.

“Look at me omega” he says and your forced too open them. You breathe deeply seeing that they’re only flickering softly before disappearing. You stare at your arms then his face as he nods.

“Easy” he says softly and you nod. He helps you into the bath eyes never leaving your face as you sigh and feel your muscles relax. He goes to the bathroom cupboard, grabs out some new soaps, shampoo and conditioner, a sponge and a hair brush. He empty’s a container and rinses it out before lying on the bathtub side. He wets the sponge before showing you two bottles of body wash. You point to the left and he pours some on before gently washing your arms and shoulders. You feel hot again, your cheeks no doubt red at the affection the alpha gives you. Neither of you say a word and when you find flames dancing on your skin he sends out calming alpha pheromones to calm you down instantly. He washes your hair with gentle care and tenderness, you try to hide your tears as they come but your alpha knows as he mutters soft words. he presses kisses to your head your temples, your cheek while he washes you. You’ve washed and brushed your teeth, the waters gone cold though and you silently wish it didn’t so you could stay here. He dips his hand in the water and frowns though.

“Come on” he helps you out and wraps a towel around you before his arms go around you too.

“You’ll get wet” you mumble and he grunts in response making roll your eyes slightly.

“You need a shower too” you mutter.

“Saying I stink?” He says teasing to his tone as you huff quietly.

“I am” you tease back hearing and feeling him chuckle against you.

“Go dry and get dressed, I’ll be there in a minute” he mutters against your head before he presses his lips to it and lets you go.

“Take more than a minute please” you quietly sass and he growls teasingly before you leave the bathroom.

You sit on the bed in the towel, staring at the floor as images flash through your mind of what happened. You take a small breath listening to the shower as you walk over to the wardrobe. You put on some pyjamas and dry your hair before the shower stops. You feel. Numb. You’re clean thankfully but numb, you need to sleep, a proper sleep not passing out from exhaustion and waking up in agony. You need to find out what the hell they did to you too. Logan can’t stay here, your alpha can’t stay here not while you’re unstable, he may regenerate, but your fire, they’ve done something to it, made it even more dangerous.

You leave Logan, in the morning and go down to the training bunker. There’s a small bedroom attached to the bathroom where you stay. The doors been fixed already thankfully. It’s safer down here for everyone including your alpha.

“What are you doing down here?” You hear Logan’s gravely voice and sigh.

“I am trying to protect you! Can’t you see that I will kill you now!” You yell without thinking.

“Then do it, I don’t care” his voice is low and deadly serious and you struggle to breathe as you walk out the room and meet him in the bunker.

“You don’t get to choose where I stay or go” he says eyes narrow and brows furrowed.

“What part of I will kill you don’t you understand!” You shouldn’t yell at him, certainly not an alpha as strong as him.

“I will burn you, they did something to me!” You add body getting hotter and flames dancing on your skin.

“And I watched! I saw every fucking thing!” He growls back and your eyes go wide.

“They made me stay in a cell and watch like I was in a damn cinema with front row seats” he’s an inch away from you and your body trembles.

“I’m staying right here by my omegas side whether she likes it or not, burn me to hell I don’t care” his eyes are intense and you sag defeated.

“Look at me” he mutters and you lift your head.

“I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere, you’ll control it, Jean and Charles will figure it out whatever they did to you” he cups your cheeks and you melt against the alpha.

“You’re my omega it’s my job as alpha to protect, provide and care for you” you feel tears well in your eyes and give a small nod.

“Ok?” He whispers.

“Ok”

Taglist:

@beanhardy

@gimmethatdilf

@the141bandicoot

@twinky-wink

@bontensbabygirl

@meowmeowyoongles

#x reader #aob #Logan x reader #logan howlett #alpha Logan #Wolverine #Wolverine x reader #alpha Wolverine #hugh Jackman

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utterlyotterlyx · 5 months ago

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Thirteen

Summary - A Queen is born.

Warnings - depression, torture, ptsd, fluff, the found family *crying*, sadness, some mentions of death

*Not fully proof read so don’t come at me 🥺

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

Eris couldn't sleep.

The first night he had take you to bed, he had expected to be up all hours of the night comforting you, convinced that what had happened to you would wrap around your mind and continue to torture you. But you had slept peacefully.

Soft snores sounded from your lips, your eyes were closed, and not even for a moment did a flash of pain rip across your angelic features.

Nesta had suggested that it must have been the exhaustion, that after the adrenaline had worn off, all that was left inside of you was a pit of weariness that would never be satiated.

So they all stayed awake, waiting for the moment when your withered soul would let in the pain, and part of Eris hoped for it despite knowing how awful it sounded. He just wanted you to feel safe, to get better, and he knew better than anyone that the road of healing came with a steep price attached to it.

Four days passed. Four days of a quiet manor, so quiet because none of them wanted to wake you or move you from the place you had found comfort in. Lucien had taken over Eris' position so that he could stretch his legs per Nesta's orders, bundled under the thick sheets with your head resting on his chest and hand idly lay across his stomach. Lucien would take that opportunity to pick up where Eris had left off from the book he had left splayed on the table beside the bed, speaking with a low and dreamful voice, willing some serenity to find you wherever you had wandered.

Elain and Nesta would often spend their days in the same room, peering at your sleeping form from the seating area whilst trying to busy their own minds. Nesta was busy writing to Feyre, unsure if she could ever write to Cassian, and Elain would read one of her gardening or cook books, noting down the recipes she'd think you'd love once the idea of food made you smile again.

It was the fifth night that made Eris snatch back his hope.

None of them had heard a scream like it, strangled and raw, your limbs thrashed under the covers and Eris had to wind you into his embrace so that you wouldn't hurt yourself. His heart strained in his chest as you cried, no, begged Rhys to stop, to set you free, that you'd do anything to make things right.

The door opened, and Nesta lingered in the entryway, eyes rounded as she took in the scene before her, your pallid skin glistening with tears and sweat, and Eris trying to pull you from whatever it was you were seeing with his own eyes pooling with desperation and lips wobbling with every lovely word he spoke, with every long stroke he ran through your hair.

Before she could fully register the movement, you bolted upright, eyes wide and wild and snapping to every corner of the room whilst your breath laboured in your throat. There was no y/n within the woman she was staring it, just a terrified female haunted by what she had faced. Your fingers shook, and you grasped the collar around your neck, trying to scratch beneath it to rip it from your skin.

Eris had little choice but to snatch your hands before they tore your skin to shreds, but you wouldn't look at him, no, your eyes were trained at the dark spot in the corner of the room. Eris opened your palms and pulled them to his heart, so that you could feel his heartbeat pull you back to the present, "I'm here, Little Fawn. Feel me. I'm right here," his voice wavered, his gaze snapped to Nesta's, and they were equally as afraid as the other.

The gentle thumps against your palm were enough to draw your attention away, you looked down at the dampened sheets and followed the line down your arm to where your hand rested, then your glanced up at his beautiful face riddled with worry, "You're home. Rhys will never be able to hurt you again, alright?" Eris faced you, his legs at either side of your hips, and he leaned forward to press his lips into your brow.

Eris' breath fanned over your face, like an autumn breeze signalling the end of summer, and he lowered his eyes to find yours.

It was a sweet action, one that made Nesta smile softly from her place in the doorway, but the smile was short lived. You moved from the bed, hand clasped over you mouth and other pressed into your abdomen as you headed to the bathroom with Nesta following quickly in tow before Eris could even properly rise from the sheets.

Nesta, knowing what was about to happen, rushed to your side to pull your hair from your shoulders, rubbing gentle circles into your back and acting as a pillar for your lack of strength so that you could lower to the ground safely and empty the barely there contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. A soft breathless groan sounded from your lips and you threw your head back, sniffling and wiping your eyes from the sting of your tears. You looked to her, bottom lip shaking and begged, "Please."

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and closed the door, mouthing a small sorry to Eris just as the door clicked to a close.

Not needing to peer to his side to see who was stood beside him, Eris spoke, "Tell Helion to come as fast as he can."

A beat of silence coursed between Eris and his companion, "Are you sure?" Lucien asked. The thought of you being in any form of pain was enough to make him feel ill, but the pain that would sink within you at the hands of Helion's mercy threatened to curse his soul, no matter if it was helpful or not, he knew what awaited you.

"No," Eris bit back his sob and turned to Lucien, and the latter felt uneased by the fire burning within Eris' orbs, "She'll claw at them until they're off or until she slices through her own throat. Get him."

Lucien did not envy his brother, not one bit. He saw the exhaustion on his face, the worry that the love of his life wouldn't be the same, the love that Eris was sure he would never have, and the fear that her light had been stripped from her soul. It wouldn't surprise him if Eris spent the rest of his days attempting to restore even an ounce of it, it wouldn't surprise him if Eris gave up his title to ensure he could dedicate every moment to it.

Though, Lucien knew that deep down you would never allow Eris to do such a thing, and all they could hope for was that someday your light would return in whatever way it could.

So, Lucien didn't argue with his brother. Instead, he lay a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed ever so softly to let him know that he was there and listening, that he was there to help before dropping his arm and exiting the room to do as Eris wished, leaving his brother stood alone atop the rug with ragged hair and eyes staring ahead at the door you had pleaded Nesta to hide you with.

The breeze rustled the leaves of the tree craning over the window, it was almost as if the branches had drooped slightly so that they may be able to keep an eye on you, to fill your silence with something other than your thoughts.

Unable to lay in the bed, you found a spot at the edge of the deep set love seat, resting against the arm and back with a thick cushion wedged behind you and a blanket draped over your figure that was drowning in one of Eris' shirts. You had sat there long enough to see the sun rise and set, to see the sky turn from blue to orange and nearing black, and you faintly counted the stars in the sky as they appeared.

Candles illuminated the room, Nesta had made sure to enter the chamber like clockwork to make sure that you were comfortable and warm, and had enough light so that you may read if you wished to. She also reminded you that Eris wanted to see you, asking if it would be alright if he came to sit with you for a minute, but you always wordlessly shook your head to the notion, you were ashamed that you weren't the woman he remembered you to be, that you were a small broken fawn caught in the trap of her own mind and decaying right before their very eyes.

Nesta crouched beside you, taking your cold hand in her own and reaching to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Someone else wishes to see you," you moved your head an inch to the side but didn't look to her, you were too enthralled with the stars to tear your eyes away, "Helion is here. He knows how to take these away," her fingers drifted along the hem of the cuff on your wrist, and when she looked up she found your darkened eyes, resembling coal and decaying embers rather than their usual violet and fire, staring right back at her, "If you'll let him try."

It wasn't clear if you knew that they knew of the demon living within you, and if you did then you hadn't let on to it. Nesta's nerves heightened at the silence, "Will you? Let him try?"

"Yes."

"Can I bring him in?"

"Yes."

Nesta muttered a small alright and rose from her position, caressing your cheek for a moment before crossing the room and opening the door, speaking in a soft whisper and allowing a draft to pass through the entry which signalled Helion's arrival and her leave.

Footsteps sounded against the floor, his shadow stretched over your curled up form on the seat, and he hesitated for a moment, seemingly trying to deduce where the right place to be was. Helion settled on taking the empty seat before you, his sun-loved skin glowing in the candlelight and his arm resting along the back of the seat, fingers just above grazing the curve of your knee.

Helion drank in your appearance, now understanding what Eris and Lucien had warned him of, and did his best to hide his horror at your pale skin and lifeless eyes, at your thinness and the bones sickly protruding from your flesh. Then his amber orbs found the black veins skittering over your skin like lightening bolts, seeping from the stone collar and cuffs, creeping to consume your entire body.

"I take it that you know what she did?" You spoke softly, moving your gaze away to the window to acknowledge him, and his face said it all, "If you know, then I suppose they do too?" Helion nodded slowly after you tilted your head backward, like you knew exactly who was lingering behind the closed door. "And you can rid me of her, and of these?" Helion watched as you shakily raised your limbs, the faint dangerous hum of the stone encased around you sounding, like a mother soothing a babe, though the stone was no mother and you no babe. It was as though they were trying to deter you, like they had their own mind and consciousness and knew that they were in a rather precarious position.

"I can," you hummed at his words, "But you must know that it will hurt, and we cannot do it here."

"Because all of the power contained with the stones will pour back into my body and the results could be catastrophic," Helion inhaled sharply at what you already knew, he often forgot just how knowledgeable you were, and it was his fault for underestimating you.

There was a real chance that the entire court could perish if Helion were to do it within Fir Manor, that if when the power flowed back through your veins that the earth would splinter and swallow whatever it saw fit as penance for the crimes committed against you. He had to take you far away enough where the damage to the continent would be minimal, and luckily enough for the both of you, Tarquin had offered a small island a few miles off the coast of the Summer Court for the task. It was uninhabited and not seen through the naked eye, so it wouldn't exactly be missed.

Helion told you of his plan, in intricate detail as you asked, if he was going to tear your flesh to pieces then you wanted to know how, you wanted to know every step. When he was done explaining it, how he would have to carve your back open to retrieve the stone, and how exactly he would have to submit you to the worst of pains to free you of the stone collars, you felt your stomach churn.

"Eris will have to be present. He is your Carranam, his power is the key of unbinding you from the stones," he noted your shiver and shuffled closer to you, resting a hand on your quaking knee, "I know that you don't wish him to see you like this, or in any pain, but this is the only way, y/n. Eris loves you, you have changed him from a male to fear into a male to admire, he wishes to help you. Let him."

"I'm not the woman he fell in love with."

"You are his mate. There is no world where he wouldn't love you, no circumstance where he would ever turn his back on you," his thumb soothed over your bones and he saw a wall crumble behind your eyes, "You left this court to save them, to save your family from what Rhys may have inflicted upon them. But you seem to forget that they also chose you, over everything, they chose you and they always will. None of that has changed, my dear."

It was on the tip of your tongue, and you couldn't stop the question from sounding, "What happened to him that day in Spring?"

"Feyre unleashed the power of us all upon him. Between that and the fury of Cassian and Azriel, and Mor and Amren, he didn't stand a chance. Rhys is now confined to the Prison. Amren thought it would be suiting after all he inflicted upon you."

Rhys in the Prison. Something about it didn't sit very well within you at all. Flashes of darkness and loneliness crept into your mind, and you did your best to push them back to where they came from, you told yourself that he deserved it, but you couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for him.

"And the Night Court? What happens to it now?"

Helion became aware of the fact that the interaction was probably the most you had spoken since you had returned, Helion had always had an odd way of getting you to speak when you didn't particularly want to. There was something comforting about his aura that always had you feeling seen and heard, and he was using that same aura on you now.

"It is to be decided. A date is to be set for Rhys' trial, that is when the fate of the Night Court will also come to light," Helion smiled thinly and reached to entwine his fingers with your own, "We can speak of this later, and I will welcome your input. But for now, we need to free you of these stones."

With a shaky exhale, you rose to your feet, the blanket slipping from your lap and exposing your legs that were partly hidden by the hem of Eris' shirt kissing your thighs. "Give me a few moments. I'll be down soon," you didn't wait for his reply before disappearing into the bathroom, grasping a dress from it hanger along the way and beginning to pull the shirt from you body.

Helion sat in silence for a moment, gathering his thoughts and mentally preparing himself for what was to come before he rose and smoothed the creases from the briefs of his tunic, glancing back toward the closed door on his leave.

It only took a few minutes for you to appear. A night-blue dress hung from your shoulders that were graced with a cream coat with frilled arms which dragged along the floor behind you, the riding boots that Eris had gifted to you what felt like an eon ago slithering up your calves, and hair brushed back and pulled into a loose braid that sat atop a bed of unbound waves with whisps that framed your sharpened features perfectly.

All eyes were on you as you paced across the room from the bottom of the stairs, halting before Helion. Eris rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest at the fear laced within your eyes, and he glanced to Nesta and Lucien, the only two people he would allow to journey to the island alongside himself and Helion, who wore the same worry on their faces.

"Let's just get this over with," you winced when you rolled your shoulders, that all too familiar pain writhing beneath your skin telling you that the queen was struggling to keep a hold of you, "I'm ready."

Helion nodded stiffly, extending his arm behind you to lead you out to the cobbled path of Fir Manor. The breeze danced through your hair in greeting, the leaves from the ground tumbling toward your feet, and you slid your hand into the one offered to you by Helion. Within moments the Autumn Court pulled from your focus and twisted into black, and then you were covering your eyes from the unobstructed moonlight beaming down on you.

Crashing waves sounded, and you slowly turned in a full circle, seeing nothing book onyx waves lapping onto the shore of the small island where you stood. A small tent had been erected to your left, the doors flapping in the salted breeze, allowing a small glimpse at what was waiting for you. A long wooden table. An assortment of knives. Pales of water. Fire.

"We can wait. We can wait until you're strong enough, we don't have to do this now," Lucien grasped your arm and turned you to face him, eyes pleading as they darted from you to the tent and then back.

Blinking up at him, you smiled softly, "The longer we wait the weaker I become," you raised your fingers to his cheek, drifting them along his cheekbone, "It has to be now. I know that you know of what dwells inside of me, Lucien. It has to end."

"You could die, y/n."

"So be it. At least I'll finally be free then."

Lucien turned to Eris the moment you pulled away from him, approaching the tent in which Helion had slipped into only moments before, "Stop her," Lucien seethed, pacing to his brother so that they stood nose to nose, "Your mate could die in there. Stop her."

"I'll never stop her from doing what it is she wants to do, Lucien," Eris loosed a breath, he was terrified but he understood the freedom the night could offer, even if it mean death would greet you far too soon, "Either be here and help her, or go back to Elain."

Eris rounded his brother, following after you as fast as he possibly could, leaving Lucien and Nesta on the sand, "I don't like it either. But Helion wouldn't propose it if he wasn't sure that she would survive. She needs us and our strength, Lucien. If you don't want to be in there then we will understand and so will she, but I will not abandon my sister at her final stand. Ever. I suggest you follow suit."

The demeanour of cold was understandable, Nesta had left everything behind to follow you in a life of the unknown, unable to stand by and wait until Rhys moved against you. Nesta had always adored you in her own peculiar manner, Lucien often spied her lurking outside of your room since you returned, ready to tend to you if you asked for her and ready to wait until that moment came. It reminded Lucien of the bond he once shared with Tamlin, an unwavering loyalty, a bond broken by his own demise, but Lucien was sure that your bond with each of them would never falter, not even in the face of your darkness.

So, Lucien inhaled deeply and turned to follow Nesta who had already began pacing away from him and toward the dancing curtains of the tent, he followed suit and dipped into the opening and his stomach became uneasy at what was before him.

Eris was stood before you, caressing small circles into your forearms, talking in a low voice to you, only loud enough for you to hear. Your coat was discarded on the back of a nearby chair, and Lucien could count each one of your vertebrae if he so wished it, but instead he decided to focus on the small square poking from beneath your skin. It was the first time he had seen the stone, a perfect square embedded at the apex of your crescent moon scar that your lack of nourishment made clear for all to see.

It was strange how a stone no bigger than his thumb could cause you so much torment.

There was a shadow around you, it was dense, dragging you down into the pits of hell. But you had danced with the devil for far too long to allow it to succeed.

The table beckoned you and you moved to it, your now bare feet scuffing along the ground as you approached it, your fingers dragging along the smooth tabletop. Inhaling deeply, your gaze flickered to Helion, and you turned, perching on the wood and moving your body so that you lay face down with you back facing upward to the thin cloth of the tent.

"You'll need to hold her down," Helion called, and Lucien was too entranced by your movements to recognise that Helion was talking to him. The High Lord of Day took a tentative step forward, "We can't give her any pain relief, it'll dull her senses, and she needs them for what's next."

Lucien looked back to you, seeing that Eris had fallen to his knees before your face and taken your hand in his and brought it to his lips, "Everything is going to be alright," he repeated the sentiment over and over, and Lucien realised in that moment that if the roles were switched and it were Elain laying upon that table, that Lucien would do all in his power to free her from her pain.

Moving to your side, Lucien lay his palm on your shoulder and applied a little pressure, using his weight to test how much strength he'd need to use, which turned out to be not much at all.

"Are you ready?"

Wordlessly, you closed your eyes and nodded, the muscles in your back tensed the moment Helion brought a knife to the exact place he knew he needed to cut into to make it as quick as possible.

Helion pushed down on the knife, letting it tear through each layer of your skin, and you began to strain in Lucien's grip, your body jolting and groans sounding from your lips. Reopening a scar was a painful thing, the marred tissue contorted and wept tears of blood whilst a scream ripped from your lungs, but Helion couldn't stop, Eris had forbidden it.

"Please, stop," your sobs pleaded but your voice had betrayed you, it was combined with the voice of another, coaxing like a siren, low and sultry, "I'll die. You're going to kill me. Please."

A strength Lucien didn't know you possessed coursed through your limbs and you thrashed, inhuman grunts pooling from your broken lips and head snapping around wildly. The candlelight flickered in the speeding winds that were circling the tent, the darkness falling from you in waves and seeping into the sand below. "We do love the darkness. So much," the distorted voice spoke, "I'll make her rip you apart, Lord of Autumn. Then perhaps she'll beg me to join you."

Lucien had all of his weight splayed on top of you, holding your body in place, and Nesta had moved to your shoulder, using her hands to keep it still so that Helion could continue, and he did, but much quicker until the stone was gleaming in your blood and peering up at them. Swirls of a soul danced beneath the surface of it, like the rising smoke of a roaring fire.

"I am the one who makes her a queen. I am the one who gives her the power she wields. Without me, she is nothing."

Eris snarled, lowering his face to yours, or well, the demon who had come to the light, and spoke, "My mate is the most powerful being in any universe, and she was that way long before you were ever lay within her. Your reign is over. My queen ensures it."

Before the demon could spew any matter of vile words, Helion cut deep within the muscle that the stone had melted into and used his fingers to rip it out, holding it in the palm of his hand and feeling the darkness writhe in the face of his light. Helion threw the stone to Nesta who amply locked it within an onyx stone box, the same stone that wound around your neck, and placed it on the table beside his tools.

"Get off of her," Eris ordered, your body had fallen limp, and soft whimpers passed through you whilst Helion did his best work to heal the wound.

You felt every strand of her darkness retreat from your veins, pulling and tugging at your essence on their way out as though they were clutching onto you and begging you to allow them to stay. The relief that washed over you was immeasurable, it was like you had spent the last eon in darkness and were gifted a speckle of sunlight. Pure and adoring light that had found you once more.

As though it had never happened, Helion closed the wound, the only reminder that she had been there being the striking ache in your bones.

"Give her a moment," Eris spoke sternly, knowing that they couldn't wait too long, the adrenaline in your blood was providing you the strength you needed for the next step. He moved to your side, offering his strength to sit you upright and knelt at your feet, wiping his tears with your thumb, "I know that it hurts," your darkened eyes found his and your bottom lip quaked softly, "But have been to the depths of hell and waltzed with the darkness, you have kept strengths in conditions where I never could have. There are no limits to you, nothing you cannot do. And what we're to do next will bring the end of it all. I will not leave you. Even if this power consumes you then I will follow. I will never leave you. It was always you, I knew it was, and I'll never let you go."

At his words, you leant forward and rested your forehead on his, his warmth and light breathing life into your bones, his touch setting your nerve endings on fire. "I will stay," you pulled back slightly, your eyes wandered over his face, "We have a life to live."

"That we do," Eris pressed his lips to your knuckles and pulled you to stand, "Only I can do this next part. I'm sorry," his index finger stroked down your face and over your lips, scribing them to memory, and then his hands curled around the stone of the collar. Eris looked to you hesitantly, internally begging you to stop him, but all you did was rest your fingers on his wrists and nod to him with tear-filled eyes.

"I love you, Eris Vanserra. You could never hurt me."

"When all of this is over, I'm going to make you my wife. My High Lady."

A soft smirk tugged at your chapped lips, "You better."

Eris watched your eyes drift closed and your body relax, like it knew that you were safe with him, and that moment of serenity on your face was once he would remember for the rest of his days. His hands heated, fire stinging at his fingertips that grew searing alongside his will, and the stone began to crack under his touch. Eris knew that he was melting your skin, and you were doing your best to quieten the sobs of pain that stabbed at your chest and coursed down the bond.

He was your Carranam, his power harmonised perfectly with your own, and that power was currently locked within the stone encasing your limbs. He was the only one who could free you of them. The only one who could withstand it.

"I love you," he whispered.

The ground shook beneath your feet, the sand shifting and sinking as Eris deepened the trajectory of his power, sending it flowing through your veins to each stone cuff and melting through the surface of the stone until it smashed and fell to the ground. The ground stopped its shaking, the sand licking at the darkness pouring from the splinters of stone scattered around them, and you gasped lightly.

A crack sounded and Eris had nothing to hold onto before he was sent to the floor, the island turning and earth splitting alongside the ocean beneath his feet. They were all sent to crashing to the ground, all but you, you stood standing as tendrils of black danced up your legs, the darkness swam from the stone toward you, lapping blissfully at your feet before joining the others in their ascent.

Your eyes were still closed, but it was working. Once pallid skin was turning golden right before their eyes, your lifeless hair held its once-lost glossy hue again, your skin became fuller, like your power was healing you from the inside out. You were guzzling the darkness much like Helion had warned, and such an acceptance of power meant that the burst was coming, a burst that would threaten to devour anything within its reach.

With a single nod from Eris, Helion grasped at Nesta and Lucien, ignoring their pleas before winnowing out of there and back to the Autumn Court. Eris was the only one who would be able to control it. He shakily rose to his feet, and the earth threatened to send him tumbling into an abyss but he wouldn't allow it. Nothing would ever be able to take him from you.

Eris reached for your hands, holding onto them and forcing his fire into you, moulding his consciousness with your own so that your power had something to recognise as worth saving, so that it had something to control itself for.

The sand parted beneath you, and it was like the air was tightening in his lungs, you were consuming everything around you both. Wind circled the tent, so wild that it ripped the fabric from the ground and sped off into the tornado that had been created around the island, so untamed that not even the moon could shine on you. It crept in closer each passing moment, sucking all oxygen from the surface that was crumbling beneath him.

Eris grabbed your face in his hands, "I love you, y/n. I have always loved you. From the day I saw you in the Night Court, before I ever knew that we were always meant to be together, I have loved you. I swear that the stars sighed with relief the moment I found you. It was always meant to be us, and even if you blast me to the depths of hell I will rise from my grave and crawl on my knees to you."

Flashes of his dreams coursed through his mind, ones of a life of love and happiness, of your wedding, of the moment he crowned you his High Lady, of the moments where you would tell him you were with child with that sickly beautiful smile on your lips. If all he was meant to have with you was a couple of months then each second of his loneliness and torment was worth every moment he was able to spend with you. Eris could find some peace in it as the earth continued to disintegrate.

Pressing his lips to yours, he felt the tornado surrounding you draw closer and felt his feet begin to betray him, and he was happy to be swept up in your power, he had always relished in it, "I love you, Little Fawn, so much."

A gentle sharp intake of breath sounded in front of him, and he found himself lost in a pool of violet and molten fire just as your power splayed itself catastrophically over the oceans surface, sending the water and wind crashing backward a few hundred feet whilst the earth and sky continued to rumble, but Eris stood firm in your arms. The oceans screamed against your power, each rip and wave rushing to gather and rush back toward you, to drown you, growing so high that the moon had disappeared behind the tidal wave looming over your heads.

But, with a single flick of your fingers, the water halted and fell into a infantile pool of innocence that crept toward and doused your feet. The wind dropped and the earth stilled, all because you ordered it to do so wordlessly.

Then you found his eyes, hands touching every inch of his arms and chest like you were sure he had been swept away, "Are you alright?"

Eris nodded, cupping your face in his hands gingerly, and spoke, "Your fire. It's back."

A gentle breeze danced around you, flitting through your hair and carrying your scent to his lungs, "I told you. We have a life to live," your voice was as soft as the sun in Autumn, inviting and warm and full of light.

Looking down, Eris noticed that the sand beneath your feet was no longer sand, but that you were both stood just atop the surface of the ocean. Eris looked back up at you with a smirk, "So you can walk on water now?"

Frowning, you also peered down, tapping your toes against the water and dipping them below the surface for a moment. You shrugged, still wound in his embrace, and found his eyes once more, "What can I say? I am a God," Eris smiled at your words, not even a little bit surprised by them, he had always had an inkling, and pulled you into him, brushing his lips against yours and feeling the universe loosen a breath, "I'd like to go home now."

Eris hummed in agreement and buried his nose into the nape of your neck, peppering kisses along your collarbone and shoulder as the world around you dissipated from sight and the notion of home settled into your bones.

Authors Note

I'm so sorry that this took so long!

Finally feeling a little better and was able to finish this part! I really hope you all love it x

(Sorry if I've missed anyone from the list)

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @julesofvolterra @5onedirection5 @darling006 @coldmermaidhologram @herondale-lightworm @rcarbo1 @babypeapoddd @the-sweet-psycho @batboyslutt

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theamberfist · 5 months ago

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It's Tough to be a Teacher | Alastor x Teacher! Reader

Platonic! Alastor + Best Friend! Teacher! Reader

Description: You and Alastor have been best friends since you were alive; where you two served as a murderous radio-host-and-kindergarten-teacher duo. Now, your refusal to become an overlord and protect yourself in hell causes Alastor to come up with a plan to convince you; for your own safety.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of cults)

❀ We've got a song in this one! (Sometimes I like to write in songs I find if they fit the scene since Hazbin Hotel is a musical after all!) ❀

Words: 4,243

Alastor was someone who absolutely thrived in hell. With almost no consequences for any of his actions, he could kill, torture, or eat anyone he wanted. It was no surprise to you that he'd risen to be one of hell's strongest overlords in such a short time after his death.

You'd also been dead by then. In fact, you'd been killed off long before he had when your crimes in life were discovered. Alastor, upon arriving in hell years later, had informed you that he'd gotten revenge on those responsible for your death in the most brutal, bloody way possible; just as a best friend should, and he'd been making a name for himself here ever since with your support.

You were under the impression that you thrived in hell, too. However, since you had absolutely no interest in becoming an overlord, this sense of safety and contentment you felt was really thanks to your best friend's protection. There were few in hell who would mess with the Radio Demon, and even fewer that would have risked harming you and incurring his wrath when the two of you were always seen together.

But that didn't mean there weren't any at all.

Since his debut as an overlord, Alastor had caused many of hell's strongest to go missing, where he broadcasted their screams of pain and torment for all to hear. As it turned out, many of those missing overlords happened to be connected to not-yet-missing ones, who would then take it upon themselves to exact their revenge upon him. And more recently, that meant going after the closest person to him, you, as an eye-for-an-eye sort of situation.

He hated it. Even more so because you could have easily become just as powerful as him if you wanted to. You'd been a killer in life too and you certainly had the stomach to deal in souls, but every time he brought the topic up, you refused it.

Your murders had always had a strict moral code to them when you were alive. The pattern had been what ultimately alerted the New Orleans police that you were a suspect and got you caught in the end. You only ever killed those that you had deemed deserving of it based on a list of circumstances and traits. In short, you'd been trying to make a positive impact on the world in your own twisted way by killing off people you considered bad.

In fact, you met Alastor precisely because of your little 'good deeds,' as you'd referred to them at the time. You had been in the woods burying a body, only for him to be out hunting at the same time. Surprised by the presence of another person, he'd come over to strike up a conversation and the rest was history. You'd been best friends ever since because, ironically, Alastor had never met your qualifications for a truly 'bad' person.

Together, you two were a radio host and kindergarten teacher duo by day, but a pair of serial killers by night; both very notorious for your crimes.

And yet, when you'd arrived in hell, you'd seen no point in becoming an overlord. Why own the souls of other sinners? It wasn't like you wanted to become some sort of god and the way you saw it, you could protect yourself just fine without that extra power (though, Alastor would have begged to differ on that point, considering it was usually his power protecting you without your knowledge). So every time he tried to suggest you join him in his path, you'd politely but adamantly refused.

Which was why he was now left at a loss for what to do. Sighing, the Radio Demon slumped in his seat as he stared down at the 'coffee' in front of him. He'd come down to Cannibal Town since they had some of the best cafe's in hell and a warm drink had always helped him think better.

He could continue to protect you the way he currently was just fine, of course, but should he ever not be physically present, and an overlord that was on the stronger side showed up, he wasn't as confident in the fact that you'd get out unscathed.

The Radio Demon had never worried for another person to this extent in his life or afterlife, but it seemed his best friend was one of few exceptions to that. After all, without you, who would he share endless hours of gossip with when even Rosie was busy? Who else in hell had he known in life that didn't constantly ask him for favors the way Mimsy did? Who else had quietly listened to his broadcasts every day while their kindergarteners took their afternoon naps in the classroom?

No matter what you said, he refused to allow you to come to any harm if he could prevent it. Whether he liked it or not, you were too much of an important aspect in his life for him to even risk that. For heaven's sake, you had hardly even committed a single crime since arriving in hell of all places because you claimed "everyone here was probably a bad person" and that you "couldn't actually kill them anyway so what was the point?"

So it was Alastor's concern for your safety that finally brought him out of the cafe and on a walk through the cannibal colony in the hopes of coming up with a solution. If he couldn't get you to become an overlord, perhaps there was some other way to ensure your safety down here. Could you make a deal with someone in higher standing? Sneak into heaven? Get a job working for Lucifer, if you had to?

Luckily, he didn't have to ponder long, because as he walked, he passed by a group of what looked like young adult sinners all resembling various animals. They were gathered in an alleyway and huddling like a sports team might before a big game, and since they weren't doing anything that particularly irritated him, he nearly passed them by without a second thought.

...Until he heard them say your name. Well, it was your last name; they'd referred to you the way your kindergarteners might have, back when you were alive.

Alastor froze, his head snapping to look at the group now. Upon noticing his gaze on them, they all quieted down as he repeated your name with an unreadable expression.

"Do the lot of you happen to know them?" He asked. The sinners all exchanged glances before hesitantly nodding.

"Yeah, we all had them as our teacher when we were little." One finally spoke up. Clearly, he recognized who Alastor was because he and the rest of them all seemed a bit timid.

"Interesting..." Alastor said as he took a step into the surprisingly-clean alleyway now. He was extremely curious as to why they'd brought you up at a time like this. If they were your former students, he was sure they'd absolutely loved having you as a teacher; all of them had. But bringing up someone who'd taught them when they were in kindergarten at a time like this seemed excessive.

As he came closer to the huddle, he noticed a few more interesting things on the wall behind them that only amused him further. It seemed he'd been right when he called them excessive.

Dozens of what he could only assume were their assignments from kindergarten had been plastered on the wall; all graded by your hand and with that sparkly pen of your favorite color that you always used. The Radio Demon wasn't even sure how they'd procured those things in hell, but that wasn't all. There was a photo of you with your class of kindergarten students from when you were alive at the center of it all, and lines drawn in bright red blood connected everything; wrapping up this odd display.

It was a shrine. That knowledge only made Alastor's smile widen further in amusement. You likely didn't even know these former students were in hell, so he enjoyed imagining how your face would look when he told you all these details.

The sinners exchanged glances with one another now, seemingly put-off by his silence this whole time.

"Do you have a problem with us?" One of the braver ones spoke up, "If so, we're not alone! I'll have you know there are tons of us down here that will gang up on you if you try anything!" The Radio Demon wanted to roll his eyes at that- as if a group of regular demons, no matter how large, could stand a chance against him- but an idea was forming in his mind now that he couldn't help but want to investigate further. He hummed, taking another step forward as he raised his microphone-cane to point at the wall-shrine.

"And do the rest of you worship this person too?" He questioned casually. It seemed your former students hadn't expected that because they exchanged glances with one another again before answering.

"...Yes. All of us were their former students," one said, "We were inspired by their death and followed their ideals in our own murders. Now, we continue to spread their knowledge throughout hell."

"I see..." Alastor replied. He couldn't have been more amused in this moment; here he'd been worrying about your safety since you didn't want to become an overlord, and now it seemed he'd just accidentally stumbled upon the solution. "If that's true, then I assume you've yet to run into them down here?"

That gave the group pause.

"They're down here?" The sinner who had first spoke up asked and Alastor nodded.

"Indeed!" He replied, "In fact, they happen to be a dear friend of mine." Their eyes seemed to narrow at that; as if they didn't approve of the supposed friendship. Alastor, however, paid them no mind as he stood taller and rested his hands on his cane. "I have a proposition regarding your former teacher," he announced to the group, "One I believe you'll be more than inclined to accept."

He could already see their intrigue as he began explaining.

..........

You quietly hummed to yourself as you made your way to what essentially served as your dwelling here in hell. Thanks to Alastor, you could have chosen just about anywhere to live if you wanted, so at the moment, both you and him resided in an otherwise-empty apartment building that closely reflected the architecture found in New Orleans during your time. Your apartments were next door to one another; even having a door on one of the walls between them for quick access, though Alastor rarely ever used it; instead just popping up out of nowhere in your house.

Unlocking the door to your home, you stepped inside and shut it behind you. Since your best friend had been busy today, you'd taken a peaceful walk by yourself and had now returned to make dinner for the both of you. Alternating who cooked and when was a common practice for you and the Radio Demon since you both shared the same tastes and preferences when it came to food. You had to admit, though, that he was much more skilled in the kitchen than you.

You turned on one of the many radios found in your apartment as you moved through the kitchen; humming along with the song Alastor currently had broadcasting. You were just about to start cooking when there was a knock at your door.

Frowning, you set down the apron you'd been about to tie onto your body and made your way to the entrance of your apartment. You'd never received visitors before; and especially not out of the blue like this. Alastor tended to ward off anyone who might have been looking to come see you.

Curious, you looked through the door's peephole to see a huge group of people crowding the hallway. Slightly nervous but remaining confident, you pulled open the door to greet them.

"Hello, can I help you?" You asked as kindly as you could. Alastor would likely lecture you about not answering the door for strangers like this later, but it wasn't like anything was going to happen, right?

Suddenly, someone from the group called your name, but not just any name; the title you'd gone by as a teacher. Your gaze snapped to them in surprise.

"Y-yes, that's me..." You replied carefully, "And you are?"

"It's me; James!" The person called and suddenly, memories of your life came flooding back to you. James had been one of your very first students and he was always such a sweet kid. He used to offer to sharpen your pencils for you during his own recess time, and though you never took him up on it, you were always appreciative.

"And Joseph!" Another demon called.

"And Ruth!"

"And Mary!" Suddenly, a whole chorus of names were called out, all belonging to your former students. Your breath hitched and a huge smile made its way onto your face at being able to see them again.

"My goodness, what are you all doing here?" You asked happily, ready to invite every single one of them into your home for dinner, even if they could barely fit in the long hallway outside your apartment, as it was.

But then it hit you; this was hell. If this many of your former students were here, that meant they hadn't made it into heaven like you'd always assumed. This was only a handful of those you used to teach, of course, but if this many had ended up in hell, you wondered what could have gone wrong to make them commit anything worthy of being here.

"What are you all doing here?" You asked, now crossing your arms. It had been a while, but those teacher instincts of yours were beginning to come back just from seeing all your old kids.

"We found out about your killings!" Mary eagerly spoke up. You cringed at that. You'd known your students would likely hear of what you'd done, and while you didn't regret any of it, you did feel bad that it had likely ruined the image of their former favorite teacher in their memories.

"We were inspired!" Joseph called now and your eyes widened.

"You're like our idol!" Agreed Ruth, "We want to be just like you so we've been living the way you wanted and continuing your legacy of cleansing the world of evil!"

You felt like you couldn't breathe. They were here because of you? Because of what you'd done? You weren't sure whether to be proud or guilty over that, but before you could decide, James dropped another bombshell.

"And now we want you to own our souls!"

You paused, taking the information in. A part of you expected them to backtrack, laugh, and tell you this had all been some elaborate prank, but that didn't happen. They were dead serious about wanting you to be their overlord.

"What?" You asked in surprise as Mary nodded.

"We want to give our souls to you and work under your command!" She explained excitedly, as if what she was proposing was the most normal thing. You weren't sure what to do.

"Uh...Could you all give me one moment?" You asked politely, feeling as if you might faint. The students nodded and you quickly shut the door before going straight to your living room. That was where the connecting door between your and Alastor's apartments was located and you hurriedly knocked on it, needing the support and guidance of your closest friend right now.

"Al?" You called quietly enough that the students wouldn't hear you but loudly enough that he would, "Are you there? I could use some help!" There was no response, even after you waited a minute, and you sighed, assuming he wasn't home yet.

You went to turn around now, trying to come up with a nice way to reject the crowd of people outside when you jumped at the sight of a bright red deer-like demon standing behind you.

"What is it, darling?" He asked in a cheerful tone.

"You've got to stop sneaking up on me like that!" You exclaimed as you reached a hand to your heart. It wasn't like you could have heart attacks in hell but it sure felt that way.

"Why, but it's so entertaining!" He replied before setting his cane down and letting it rest in the crook of his arm. "Now, what seems to be the issue today?"

Ignoring how he almost sounded like a customer service worker, you sighed and reached a hand to your forehead in an effort to calm your already-growing headache.

"Remember how I used to teach kindergarten?" You asked, though, you knew he did. Regardless, the Radio Demon nodded and you continued. "Well, it looks like a bunch of my former students grew up looking up to me and now they're here in hell. They showed up just now and they want to give me their souls like an overlord!"

Alastor remained smiling, as always, so it was hard for you to notice just how amused he was by this situation. "And why, pray tell, would that be an issue?" He asked.

"Because I can't do that!" You exclaimed, groaning in frustration, "I can't hurt them; they're still my former students! I would have no idea what to do with that kind of power and besides, I don't want to be an overlord!" You plopped down on your nearby couch as Alastor listened intently to your plight. Finally, he hummed.

"I still fail to see the issue, dear," he told you, holding his cane in his hands behind his back as he calmly paced in front of you, "who says you would have to harm them if you owned their souls?" When you didn't respond he went on. "And as for the power, you would hardly need to use it. They could live their lives just as they did before if you so wished, but this way, you would finally be able to protect yourself."

"I can already-" you started to protest, only to see the look in his eyes and think better of it. You'd been in denial about the role your best friend played in your safety for a while now. Finally, you sighed. "But Al, they see me like some sort of god," you told him, "they idolize me to a concerning degree. I can't have that power over people; it's never been my style."

Alastor knew this was true. After all, in life you'd always preferred to manipulate the world from the shadows via your killings. You would never have been comfortable with this much glory, but he wasn't about to give up on the idea yet.

"Perhaps I can put it a different way," he said. The sentence was a reference to your teaching style as well; always willing to try and explain or show things differently if a student didn't get it the first time. You were endlessly patient, and luckily, he knew that would work in favor of his current plan.

With a wave of his cane, a hoard of shadow creatures appeared in the room around you. You glanced at each of them, having seen the group before, wondering how he planned to get this point across. That was when he pointed to the door, where one of the creatures had grabbed the handle and was now swinging it open. In the hall, you could see your crowd of students all kneeling, but they looked up with smiles once the door was open. That was when Alastor, in his theatrical fashion, began to sing.

"There, you see? They're on their knees!" He called, pointing his cane in the direction of the hall, "Being worshipped is a breeze!" As if to further prove his point, the shadow creatures ran over to kneel in front of him. The one that had been at your front door now closed it and joined them. "Which rather suits us in the interim!" Alastor added with his signature wide smile.

"I just...Don't think I'm cut out for it," you admitted with a sigh, completely ignoring his song. On a normal day, you might have sang and danced along, but you weren't in the mood right now. "They want me to be a god!"

You plopped down on the couch with a defeated look on your face but your best friend wasn't done yet.

"It's tough to be a god!" He admitted dramatically as the shadow creatures spun in circles around him, "Tread where mortals have not trod! Be deified when really you're a sham!" You could tell he was mocking you now as he leaned on the couch and raised a hand to his forehead like an exasperated lady. You rolled your eyes but then he moved to stand in front of you, taking both your hands in his.

"Be an object of devotion!" He sang as the shadow creatures performed some surprisingly elaborate choreography around you. "Be the subject of psalms!" He pulled you up off the couch so you both were standing now and then draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in and raising his hand to his mouth as if telling you a secret. "It's a rather touching notion; all those prayers and those salaams!" He took your hand now, spinning you in a circle as you chuckled.

Alastor knew his plan was starting to work now; at the very least, he'd cheered you up. It seemed pretending he had no part in the arrival of your former students really had been the right choice; otherwise you would have caught on to what he was doing.

"And who are you to bridle if you're forced to be an idol?" He asked as the shadow creatures brought of both their hands and shrugged dramatically, "If they say that you're a god that's what you are!" You bit your lip at that; seemingly still not enthusiastic about the idea. Knowing he needed to try another tactic, Alastor snapped his fingers, transporting a few of your students into the room.

All of them were kneeling on the floor surrounding parts of what had been their shrine to you. Your widening eyes told him you hadn't realized their devotion ran that deep yet and his smile grew more sly as he went on with the song.

"What's more," he sang, "If you don't comply with the students wishes I can see you being sacrificed or stuffed!" He dragged a finger across his neck for emphasis and you seemed to get a little more nervous. In order to bring back your enthusiasm, though, he pulled you back into a side-hug as you both faced the students. Now as they continued to kneel, silver platters of your favorite foods rested in their hands and they held them out to you.

"So let's be gods, the perks are great!" He lead you over to one of the students and took note of how your eyes lit up slightly at the sight of your favorite food, "All of hell here on our plate!" He spun you again now and snapped his fingers so the platters disappeared and a few more students joined the others in kneeling. "The students' feelings should not be rebuffed!" He sang as he directed your attention to the sinners, who all gave you puppy-dog-eyes in agreement. Alastor had to hand it to them; they had a knack for going with whatever he came up with in order to convince you. "Never rebuff the students' feelings, no my friend!"

The shadow creatures began dancing around again and the other demons joined them, despite not really knowing the choreography. The result was an adorably awkward dance between the two groups. "It's tough to be a god!" Alastor repeated to you as he took a step, gesturing to everyone around you both. "But if you get the students' nod..." He trailed off, giving you the opportunity to speak. You did, with slight hesitation.

"Count your blessings?" You asked more than you sang. Alastor nodded, glad to know he seemed to have gotten you on-board now.

"Keep them sweet; that's my advice!" He replied as he came to stand by your side again in the middle of the circle of shadow creatures and students.

"Be a symbol of perfection..." You sang softly. The Radio Demon knew his plan had worked now so he nodded and went on.

"Be a legend, be a cult!" He advised you, "Take their praise, take the collection as the multitudes exult!" You turned to the students, one of your hands slightly extended as it began to glow your favorite color; a phenomena you'd never experienced before now.

"Don a supernatural habit?" You sang as you glanced back at Alastor, who nodded, before leading you slightly closer to the group.

"You'd be crazy not to grab it!" He sang as the first student eagerly lined up to shake your hand. This time, you didn't reject the offer and the Radio Demon was glad to know his plan had worked out just the way he wanted. He knew you only needed a little more convincing in order to become one of hell's next best overlords. "So sign up this new god for paradise!" He sang as you finally took the hand of your student, shaking it and solidifying your first deal as a new overlord. "Paradise~!"

And with that, it was done. You would finally own souls of your own, and with them, you would finally have the power to protect yourself just like your best friend had always wanted.

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lysatoru · 6 months ago

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i love you - billie eilish

part2 of ‘think of me once in a while, take care’ !!!

gojo x female reader, mention of death, mention of decapitation, mention of gun

It was now 11pm, the time of the meeting. You were tied up somewhere in Shibuya's big shopping mall, gun to your head the whole time. You heard someone talking, or rather shouting, and recognized the voice of your "boyfriend": Gojo Satoru. You hadn't known Satoru for very long, and he wasn't necessarily someone who got angry very quickly, he never even got angry, but today was the first time you'd seen him in this state of rage. You hoped that Satoru would be able to save you.

"Where is she?" said Gojo — "where is my girl?!"

Gojo was beside himself with rage, blaming himself for everything, knowing full well that to have a girlfriend while being the strongest was to go straight to hell. He couldn't afford to lose everything now, not like this.

In a few minutes, Gojo wiped out all the plagues that stood in his way, he had to find you, and as quickly as possible, it was eating him up inside not knowing where you were, it was making him sick.

While waiting for him, you were still tied up, your hands and feet bound, a gun to your head or a knife to your throat, depending on who was watching you. Blood trickled down your wrists and feet as you struggled, burning yourself little by little. The tip of the knife slowly sank into the thin skin of your neck, creating a slight cut. Just swallowing began to hurt more and more. You were suffocating, sweating, you couldn't take it anymore, but you were trying to hold on until Gojo arrived.

A few minutes later, you finally saw Gojo in front of you, tears streaming down your cheeks, at last he was here. The person you'd loved most recently was here to save you. You couldn't speak because of the scotch tape over your mouth. Gojo's eyes, usually bright blue, were now only black, black with anger. Seeing you like that drove him mad. His fists had turned white from clenching them so hard, the blood couldn't even get through. He was out of breath, he couldn't take it anymore, all he wanted to do was collapse in your arms and promise you it wouldn't happen again. Unfortunately, he had to keep a straight face in front of you and everyone else here.

"I'm asking you to fight to the death, Gojo Satoru. It's obvious that if you don't accept it, she dies," said the bounty hunter.

"And it's obvious that I'm going to accept it, since I'm going to win," says Gojo confidently, after all, who had he ever lost to before?

"You've got five minutes to shoot me, if the fight goes on in five minutes, she's dead."

"Five minutes is too much, believe me," replied Gojo.

The fight began, and Gojo was alone against three bounty hunters and exorcists. Despite the smug look he was giving himself, you knew that he couldn't take it anymore, and you could see it in his eyes.

The fight continued, the blows becoming more and more violent and the after-effects as well, you taking a few blows along the way given the power of some of them. You were screaming, begging Satoru to stop, even if it meant letting you die, you couldn't stand seeing him give himself body and soul to you, just to save you, it wasn't fair, he didn't deserve that. The tape around your mouth finally came off from all the drool you'd accumulated while screaming.

tic-tac

With just two minutes to go, only one of them remained, the toughest. Gojo was physically and mentally at the end of his rope, and it was torture to watch. The knots in your ankles and wrists began to unravel with all your agitation. Gradually, you regained movement. Satoru switched between his red sort, then the blue one, and in between, he used the reverse cursed technique, all at immeasurable speed. He was impressive, you'd never seen him from that angle, but despite everything, you prayed it would be the last time.

tic-tac

One minute, one minute to die, that's the outcome of the fight? it's impossible. Your heart began to beat faster and harder, the drops of sweat bigger and bigger. You felt as if at any moment you might faint. Gojo was at the end of his rope, and so was the bounty hunter in front of him; Gojo had underestimated him. It was all over.

tic-tac

Thirty seconds, you saw the countdown beside you, your eyes switching between fight, countdown, fight, countdown. Time passed so quickly but so slowly at the same time. The ropes came undone more and more. You were going to die, that was obvious, and you hadn't even told Satoru yet that you'd fallen in love with him.

tic-tac

You were doomed either way, and it wasn't anyone's fault, least of all Gojo.

tic-

The last second, you couldn't let yourself die, Gojo was killing himself in front of your eyes, for you. You saw the gun go to your temple, you saw Gojo in the outer corner of your eyes make a move to try to protect you, the bounty hunter managed to stop him.

"YN!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Time passed in slow motion. Gojo was thrown to the ground by the bounty hunter, it was the end. You tried one last time to move, but despite the pain and burns caused by the ropes, you managed to move completely, and the ropes fell away. You stood up and started running towards Gojo, your feet slipping on the ropes.

A first shot, missed. You had just escaped death for the first time.

"Satoru!" you screamed. Satoru realized that you hadn't died from the first shot, but he knew the next one was coming soon.

With the second shot, Satoru had just enough time to take you in his arms and press you against the ground to protect you. You saw Satoru's face contort in pain, and he groaned.

"Satoru, don't tell me you've been shot!" you asked, afraid of what might happen next.

"It's nothing, I've been through worse," he said, laughing lightly as he held the gaping wound that had just been made between his right ribs.

You took Gojo's face in both hands. You looked him straight in the eye, his gaze softening.

"What's the matter, are you hurt?" he asked, completely worried.

"I love you, I'm in love with you Satoru".

Time stopped for a moment, you were locked in his gaze and he in yours. He continued to look at you as if you were all he had left, as if he could burn the world for you. With his right hand, he hugged you tightly, while the other still held his wound.

"I know that - he whispered in your ear - but don't talk as if one of us will die, it won't happen » — He stood up before resuming the fight. All that remained was for you to avoid the shots, but now that you were away from the combat zone, Gojo could afford to go in much harder, and so he did. He used his purple hollow first against the bounty hunter, then a second time against the one who was trying to shoot you. He could barely stand, but it was all over.

He looked at the last two enemies on the ground one last time, "It was fun fighting you guys, but if you don't mind, I've got to get home to my girl now," he said, before ripping the men's heads off and throwing them to the ground.

You looked at Satoru, completely horrified by what had just happened, and ran to him, jumping into his arms. Gojo returned the hug immediately, his right hand stroking your hair and his left holding you by the waist. His head in the hollow of your neck. You cried your eyes out. You never wanted to let go, ever.

"I love you so much, I love you so hard yn it’s making me sick," Satoru said into the hollow of your neck. He'd just completely let his guard down in front of you. "I'm exhausted, I want us to go home." he continued, not wanting to let go of you.

"Let's go home then" you replied as you kissed him, your right hand caressing his cheek.

"I'll probably drop in on Shoko first if you don't mind" he said, laughing softly.

"That was the plan!" you teased back.

In spite of his great size, you helped him walk with his arm over your shoulders. He looked at you, smiled stupidly and laughed. "hey, what's so funny?" you asked — "do you really think you're helping me walk?" — "I'm doing what I can!" — "I know, thank you for that" he replied with a smile on his lips, a tender smile like you'd never seen before. He kissed your forehead and you left the mall once and for all.

happy with the way it turned out :) maybe i’ll do a angst end because this is what i wanted to do in the beginning! tell me if you think it’s a good idea

english isn’t my first language and i use deepl sometimes, tell me if there is anything wrong!

@megumisthirdog, @emilyywhyy hehe !!!

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writteninlunarlight-years · 4 months ago

Note

Hiya! Could you do a one-shot of Alastor x fem! reader who is like Art the clown (from the terrifier movies, all hallows eve and the ninth circle)?

Perhaps they met when Alastor first got to hell and reader wanted to kill him at first but due to his old fashioned ways (the courting and such) along with him being quite sadistic when it comes to killing, she became more curious about him and it led to a relationship?

How would their relationship be? Would it become more of a one sided thing? Would she try to harm him after he comes back from his seven year absence? I’d love to see your interpretation on this!

~ 🕷️

Terrify Me~

(Anon, I promise I did not forget you! I have never seen these movies and call myself a horror fanatic! So I watched them all as I had the time to try and be better at this writing! I hope you enjoy and stay hydrated!) TW: Torture, Death, assault, Suggestive, Sad, Comfort

Hell was far more entertaining than back up on the earth, though yes, it sucked dying to those damn cops. This was where it was at. You had free reign to torture and torment those around you; the good deal was that people didn’t die permanently as long as you used the right tools. This led to such an easy time finding prey to stalk. It also allowed you to develop incredible powers as people begged and pleaded with you for deals on being free from torment.

You were a terrifying creature, a black-and-white marionette doll with no voice box. Your movements and attention to detail got you through your life in hell. You were sadistic and cruel to whoever became your prey for the time you spent stalking them, hunting them, and slowly driving your enemy mad. You were so good at the job that people recognized you as an Overlord before even discussing it with you. Of course, who would dare get in your line of sight less you make them the next target?

You didn’t care about hell’s silly hierarchy or games; you only cared about getting your fill. Your mind was on the prize of listening to beautiful screams and cries. Like a masterful puppet pulling strings, your looks did not portray your abilities all that well. You may have looked like the prey, but you were the top predator. You were deadly, mind, body, and soul.

Years had passed of your reign as the queen of torture till a new man arrived on the scene. Alastor, the radio demon, died not too long after your rise to fame and began to make waves in the underworld as he broadcasted screams of the damned and tortured. His show quickly became one of your favorites, and you would play it as you killed and murdered innocent demonic souls, hoping to make a deal with you for safety.

Eventually, though, your love and passion for the radio demon's show turned to disgust and hate as he began to take your place in the world of torturing the damned. You had found a new prey to stalk, and it was someone who was equally matched.

Your stalk began small, with just hushed whispers and knowledge of the man you wished to end. You found photos and some video of him, but it was grainy and distorted. He was a handsome man. He would be so beautiful strung up. As you thought of many ways to torture and abuse him, the next phase of your plan was in order.

Though you were an ‘overlord,’ you never attended meetings. However, you did start when it came to hunting Alastor. Watching his every move and emotion, you saw he was good at mimicking and faking just like you. Yet you had to say you were just that much better at it. When you two first officially met, you could visibly see the disdain on his face when you couldn’t speak. Like many powerful beings, Alastor puts weight on words, something you have no control over, always giving you the upper hand.

You found every excuse to be around and speak to the man. Eager to move on to stage three of your plan to capture and torment this soul. Actively seeking Alastor out, you began to carry a notepad to speak with him. Small conversations that would sometimes run long. You enjoyed his voice, at least. You thought it would sound lovely, screaming in pain and agony.

Though you had these sick, twisted thoughts about Alastor, you couldn’t help but be curious about the other feelings he elicited. You wanted to hear him sing, watch him smile, and enjoy his murder. His many good qualities interested you even more. You even sought medical help in the man before you as you didn’t understand these stirrings you had around him and him alone.

As the final plan commenced where you would capture and torture him, you were caught off guard by a single black rose being placed before you. Looking at it and holding it gently, you felt your undead heart flutter. This situation happened many times over and over.

You would go to kill or capture Alastor, and right there, every time you would execute your plan, he would have a trinket or doo dad for you to keep as your own. He began to touch you gently, shoulders, face, sides. Things started to shift in you; you were being courted, and it wasn’t until you experienced this love that you realized it happened: Alastor had you under his spell.

Your plans of killing Alastor were long gone; now, you just wanted to have the joy of torturing others together. Come a year of your stupid game; you were now officially Alastor's partner in crime. It was charming how he always let you get the first stab and helped you stalk and scare others. He even taught you how to cook and kill the dead sinners. Things were well between you two, so well that domestic life began to become a norm for two sadistic sinners. Yet it all changed one day suddenly. You had been out on a kill someone you and Alastor had stalked for months. However, when you returned covered in blood and a dead body in tow, Alastor was nowhere to be found. You waited a year in that small home you two made, and he never appeared.

After seven long years, you returned to the top of the food chain; you were vicious and cold-hearted. Bloodthirsty. You allowed yourself to be blindsided by a man who couldn’t even say goodbye. Anger consumed you as the years passed, and you became known as the terrifier. You were deadly on a much larger scale than your first time on the scene. You were always longing for Alastor just to come back home. You were longing openly to all that you would kill him and make him pay.

While on the town killing, you heard a familiar buzz. Your blood ran cold as the familiar sound flooded your senses. Running to the old home, you two shared the life long forgotten: you hoped so badly to see him standing there as he once did. Would you kill him? Let him live? Fall into his arms again?

As you entered the house, he wasn’t there. It was still empty, still intact, the same as you left it six years ago. Sighing, you left and walked to the nearest brothel to kill some easy dirtbags. That's when you saw the shadow. Was this a game? Some sick, twisted game to make you think Alastor had come back for you.

Following the shadow, you grew more rabid and curious. Eventually, you found yourself atop a hill where the Hazbin Hotel sat. Walking in, it was silent; it was late at night, and you assumed everyone was asleep. Stepping further into the forbidden territory, you looked around cautiously. It was homey and bright, too bright for your liking, yet some of the decor looked like what you saw in your old home with Alastor.

You felt the presence before you heard it, and suddenly, a bright smile overtook your face. He was here; he was back. Seeing before you Alastor, the radio demon, your lost love, you took a step towards him, afraid it was fake. You don’t know what emotion overtook you the most. You wanted to tear him apart, yet seeing him there, everything felt so surreal. His smile, for once, was authentic, and as he opened his arms out for you and you rushed in, you heard the faintest, “Oh, how you still terrify me…”

#x reader #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you fluff #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon

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moutainrusing · 4 months ago

Text

whump

706 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Oh shit. Sirius winced as the Death Eaters grabbed his wrists, pinning them to his back. His wand was long forgotten. Although he could’ve beaten them if he wasn’t so outnumbered. In fact, he could have taken on ten, except eleven had to show up, signalling his doom. Oh well. He was betting he could still escape.

Somehow.

He was Sirius Black, after all. He’d escaped his parents’ prison.

There was hope. Remus’s mum was called Hope. Lovely woman. Shame how her son had turned out.

The Death Eaters apparated him very inconsiderately to some clearing in the woods, bordered by shambolic huts and toppled barrels. His stomach lurched, and he thought he was about to take a topple similar to the barrels, except then he was grabbed and twisted until he was shackled to a tree.

Death Eaters had to take things so seriously, didn’t they?

“Greyback,” one of them called. “Yours. Sirius Black.” Then they all vanished.

A man, who looked more like a prowling animal with an overgrown mane and knives for teeth, emerged from a hut, eyes raking over Sirius in a cannibalistic manner. Greyback. See, Remus sucked, but Greyback took things to the next level.

Greyback hurt Remus, so he deserved the weight of the Earth to crush his body and shatter his bones into small, sharp shards, which Sirius would then use to drive into his flesh and make him suffer for all eternity.

Sirius hated Remus, but that wouldn’t stop him from raging hell upon people who hurt the person he hated. The only person he’d ever hate. Only Remus could make Sirius feel those all-consuming, violently enlightening, tumultuously numbing, shatteringly soul-crushing, knife-to-the-throat and heart-in-your-throat type of feelings. Only Moony.

“Black,” Greyback growled. “One of mine asked for you if you were captured. Wanted to torture you for themselves.” He called, “Lupin!”

When Remus emerged, Sirius wasn’t surprised. Sirius already knew he was the spy anyway. Even though Grayback had made his life shit, Remus still went back to him. Why? Did Sirius not make Remus’s life any better? Remus preferred Greyback over Sirius?

Remus looked at him, expressionless. Sirius did not return the look. He was seething. His rage was so potent, he thought his shackles would crack from it.

Greyback smirked, watching as Remus raised a hand, but before Remus could do anything, a voice permeated Sirius’s thoughts.

Fake Cruciatus.

Sirius stared at him. Remus subtly raised an eyebrow, before performing his non-verbal, wandless torture. Nothing. Fake Cruciatus! The voice yelled, and Remus slammed his hand down through the air.

So Sirius writhed against his shackles, screaming in agony as he recalled how the curse felt, even though he wasn’t actually under any spell. He cried until his vocal cords were stretched raw and snapping, and he thrashed until he was pretty sure he’d damaged something vital in his brain.

Greyback was smirking. “Impressive, Lupin.” Remus smiled, glancing at Sirius for a second. Sirius wanted to laugh in Greyback’s face.

But then Greyback was cracking his knuckles. “Time for physical. We’ll stop when you give us information.” And then he was punching Sirius.

Survive. Survive, survive, survive! Remus was staring at him intensely, his voice begging Sirius’s brain to survive!

Chill out, Sirius thought, as his jaw throbbed and nose went numb, blood falling into his mouth.

Remus glared at him.

What? I’m a victim here!

“Enough for today,” Remus spoke, voice rough and cutting. “He’s mine, remember?”

Greyback reluctantly pulled away. “Fine. Dark Lord did agree that you’d be able to get the most outta him.”

Remus nodded tersely, and Greyback backed away, into his hut.

“Motherfucker,” Remus hissed, discreetly taking his wand out of his animal-skin cloak and pressing it against Sirius’s bruises to heal them.

“Me or him?” Sirius grinned.

“Both. Take this,” Remus shoved his wand into Sirius’s hand. Sirius raised a brow.

“Get out of here,” Remus insisted.

“Yeah, but one question. How the fuck did you get in my brain?”

Remus smirked. Werewolves are creatures of Dark magic, love. We can do a lot more than wizards expect. Now go, Remus backed away.

“Greyback! He’s still got a wand!”

And as Greyback rushed out of his hut, Sirius disapparated. Thanks. Love.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus x sirius #microfiction #wolfstar microfic #first wizarding war #marauders era

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eden-3000 · 23 days ago

Note

I'm in the mood for some angst🤭

in the first war, Remus gets captured by the werewolves/death eaters and is brutally tortured for info till sirius (/+order) come to rescue him??

you can decide the aftermath- if u wanna keep moony alive, sirius caring for him or 🫢

FUCK YEAH. I LOVE ANGST! (I´m also still not quite satifsied with how this turned out, but I feel like it´s the best I can do. Sorry)

Wordcount: 1229

Sirius was shaking.

It had been weeks since they had any news from Remus and now this. A Patronus in the form of a dog. All they could hear from its mouth were gutwrenching screams, Remus begging them over and over to stop, telling them that he didn't know anything.

The thing was, that he did. Sirius knew he did. Remus could end it if only he told them something - a location, names, anything! But of course, the gorgeous bastard didn't.

"We need to help him. We need to do something." Moody considered. "We can't risk them capturing someone else." Sirius' fist hit the table, glasses and mugs tipping dangerously to the side. Tears of frustration and fear blurred his vision. He hated crying. Especially in front of people - people that weren't Remus.

"FUCK 'SOMEONE ELSE'! You sent him there, you bring him back! You bring him back to me right now or I swear I will make you scream louder than that!"

For a split second, the Auror looked impressed. But not long before he regained control over his features. James put a hand on Sirius' arm, trying to hold him back. "It sounds like he didn't talk yet. Do you really want to give them the chance to change that?", he tried calmly, but Sirius could clearly hear the worry in his voice, James just had the self-control he himself lacked.

"Potter has a point there", Alice Longbottom said. Her husband - just like many others - agreed. Remus was beloved. The teachers, the girls, their Girls - that being Lily, Mary, Marlene and Dorcas, who regularly invited him to sleepovers - and now the entire Order.

"We need to get him out. He's still almost a child, Alastor", Minnie - Merlin bless her soul - added sternly. "You're all taking a great risk for one man."

"He's Remus!" Sirius' voice was still louder than strictly necessary, but he wasn't yelling anymore. Moody sighed. "This meeting is over for me. What you do in your free time is none of my concern." With that, he stepped into the fireplace, with a hand full of floopowder and disappeared.

Their plan failed miserably the moment they tried to get in. James had successfully used his invisibility cloak to stun one of the werewolves and bring him back to question where they held the prisoners. However, as soon as they started moving forward they walked right into two men. Those two were handled quickly - but the one walking around the corner after them was quicker. He ran off before any of them could act. Seconds later they could hear an alarm, then multiple pairs of feet coming toward them.

James tried to pull him away, together with the others, but Sirius resisted. He could still hear Remus´screams.

Fuck! Fuck!FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! Sirius started shaking again. He needed to find him. He couldn't lose his Moony. He couldn't leave without him

"I can't!"

He turned and ran towards the cells, the calls of his friends behind him, James close on his heels. "I will kill you if we die here, you know that, right." "Feel free, Prongs."

They were closer to the prison rooms than he'd thought and therefore didn't come across too many people. From there on finding Remus was not a problem. The cries were loud enough for them to hear through the dirty hallway. They both moved without thinking until the whines were getting so clear it was as if he could taste the pain.

Sirius didn't even need his wand, he just let the door turn to ashes with a flick of his hand, magic practically vibrating in his body like lightning. The sounds abruptly stopped as both Remus and the torturer looked at them in disbelief.

James quickly stunned the man while Sirius made his way to the wall Remus was chained to.

He looked awful. His skin was dry and pale, parts of his body were burnt, in others he found new scars. "It's okay. We're gonna get you out of here", Sirius promised, looking for the release of the cuffs.

"Hurry up!", James urged from the door. "I can't find the stupid release!" His hands were shaking. He could hardly think. Remus needed help. He needed to get out of here. And it was Sirius who was holding him back. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

"Si... Sir'us." Remus' voice was hoarse, barely audible, but Sirius understood. "It's okay. It's gonna be fine, Moons, it'll be fine." He wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince himself or his boyfriend - either way, it didn't work.

"Fuck. Prongs!" James was there in an instant, one hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him back. "It's fine. I got it. You catch him when it opens." Sirius nodded, his eyes fixed on Remus'. He looked so tired like he was about to give up.

Sirius continued to whisper encouraging things to Remus. All the things they were gonna do when they got out of here. Then the chains loosened and Remus fell forward into his arms. Sirius took half a step back to steady him.

"I've got you. I've got you, Moony." He winced as Sirius' hands gripped his sides to keep him upright. Aperantly the wounds went deeper than he could see. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry", he whispered over and over again into his ear as James worked on the footcuffs.

"´m fine", Remus murmured and Sirius couldn´t help but laugh. "Of course you´d say that."

"He's out! Let's go." "Can you walk?", he asked Remus, who was almost completely leaning onto him and slowly shook his head. "Gotta carry him then." "Leviocorpus." With Remus flying between the two of them they made their way up and out of the tunnels.

It took longer than they'd hoped until they made it back to the quarters, where Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them. She had already prepared everything and so they lay him down on the free table.

She immediately shooed them out of the room to focus on her work. James and Sirius waited outside in the hall, where they met with the others. "Is everyone alright?", James asked, tugging Lily into his arms. "Yeah, we´re fine. Everyone made it out. How´s Remus?" She took a look towards Sirius who was walking up and down in front of the door, biting his nails. No one had ever seen him do something like that.

"He´s alive", James started quietly. "But he´s not looking good. They... I think they tortured him with every torture method there is."

"Why are you all talking like he´s dying?", Sirius snapped. "He´s fine! He just needs to heal a bit. We´ve seen him look worse after some full moons!"

James looked at him with pity. He hated it. He hated every one of them. Remus wasn´t dead. He wouldn´t do that to him. And yet...

Sirius felt like he was going to throw up. At some point during the next two hours, someone made tea, someone else tried to get Sirius to eat something. He touched neither.

Then the doors opened and Sirius half expected Remus to stand there and grin at them, asking why they were making such long faces. Those stupid werewolves wouldn´t get to him. They couldn´t hurt him. He was so much stronger than that.

It wasn´t Remus.

It was Madame Pomfrey, eyes swollen red, nose running.

"I lost him."

#marauders era #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #the marauders #wolfstar fanfiction

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lovezbrownies · 5 months ago

Text

Death after Love. ( Yan!Military Chief x GN!Reader)

Masterlist

Synopsis: The murder of a woman's spouse kills her sanity.

Military Chief Gen Ludenhart x GN!Reader

Warnings: Crazy Gen, Darling dies, torture.

Oh, how her darling has changed since Gen had taken them in. They’re more obedient now, won’t try to escape as much, don’t refuse her, stick by her side in public, and never speak to another soul other than her. You’ve been so good for her, following every rule she has spoken about, and even the rules left unspoken.

So why is she here with you again? In the basement where she used to punish you for your misdeeds. Gen can’t seem to recall, you haven’t done a thing when she picked you up and threw you onto the basement floor, you looked so confused. So petrified. Gen doesn’t remember a thing, she knows she returned home furious. She wanted to let out her anger, she knew that. But at her darling? Was she even thinking clearly?

Well, obviously not. Gen can’t stop panting, it felt like she used all her strength to do something just now. What was it? Is it the unidentified body lying in front of her? Is that what she fought? Did the body even fight back? No… It was just her pulling the punches. Punches? No, she didn’t punch, she bludgeoned, she cut, she broke the body.

The daze finally clears, and Gen knows this body. It’s you.

A scream echoes out, was that from her? Or maybe a maid unfortunate enough to see the absolute wreck that is your body. Blood is covering the floor, your face the only thing recognizable in this mess of gore.

No. You couldn’t be dead, she wouldn’t kill you. You’re too resilient for death, you have to be okay right?

Gen kneels down next to your lifeless body, “Honey. Honey. Honey. This isn’t funny, Honey. Get up or I-I’ll hurt you again. Please, please don’t leave me… Don’t tell me I did this, please get up, please tell me I didn’t do this, please say I love you.” Tears flow out of Gen’s sorrowful eyes, unable to comprehend the loss of her beautiful spouse. How can she be ungrateful for what she has- or one could say had. Gen never knew how to appreciate the good things in life, so maybe she deserved this. Gen deserved being the executor of her lover, because the universe knew, the gods knew, that the only way to calm her down is to bring down the most painful fate possible.

“...Please, w-we have so much a-ahead of us… Please baby, please… I p-promise I w-won’t hurt you again… Just please please come back to me, c-come back to your loving wife, I beg you…” The Ludenhart manor had become a shell of its former self, lacking the love and joy of Gen Ludenhart it dissipated into mold and dust.

#yandere x reader #yandere #oc x reader #yandere oc #tw yandere #gender neutral #yandere x darling #gn reader #yandere oc x reader #x reader #yandere female #Female yandere #Yandere x reader

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redvexillum · 26 days ago

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@crackrodent...YOU. AGAIN? But in all seriousness, thanks for challenging me. I've never written about an irredeemable main character before...or torture.

TAGS/WARNINGS: m/m, non-con, blackmail, drug use, tom is a psychopath/pervert but this is also hell so like not surprising, s☆unding, mutilati☆n, an☆l penetration, bottom!val, fr☆ttage, pins in c☆ck, blood as lube, b☆ndage, s☆x toy, no comfort, ☆verstimulation, begging, crying, torment, dead dove: do not eat, psychological, val had a really bad time, writer took a huge liberty of her head canon on tom trench, sadist!tom, s☆xual torture, unhinged!tom, dark, crack treated seriously, all the characters in this story are in hell because they are incredibly awful and despicable mofos, not kinktober or flufftober just horror

🙏 please mind your mental health before you read 🙏

Worthless. Trash. Nobody.

Tom Trench had heard it all, every demeaning spiteful word carved into his soul like jagged shards of glass. Back when he was alive, those words clung to him, branding him as an outsider, a weirdo – a man too peculiar for the world.

His tastes, his quirks, all things he embraced were sneered at, laughed off, cast aside. He didn’t belong. He was an outsider lurking at the edges of every group, too strange to fit in, too proud to bend. But even then, buried under layers of bitterness and rejection, he had a dream.

A dream to stand before the world, larger than life, bathed in the spotlight. His magnificent hair slicked back in perfection; his smile wide as fans would bow to his feet.

Fame. Riches. Accolades.

He had pictured it all, the roar of approval swelling in his ears as eyes would be all on him – he would be a star.

The world would see him as a somebody.

But life, cruel and fickle, dealt him a dog’s death.

Scorned. Forgotten. Alone.

His dreamed withered, trampled by those who never saw him for anything more than the peculiar man in the corner.

He died as nothing.

And it burned.

Yet here, in Hell, things were different. Down here, he mattered. Hell didn’t care about quirks or strangeness; Hell embraced it. And Tom, with his gas mask forever fused to his face like a grotesque second skin, had found something he’d never had before: recognition.

Tom Trench.

The name burned brighter than the flames licking the underworld. He was co-host of 666 News, one of the most-watched shows in Hell. Here, they knew him. He had status. All eyes were on him, on Tom Trench.

A somebody. He was a somebody.

At least, that was what he told himself every time the camera crew or makeup artist glanced at him with blank indifference, their eyes flickering over him as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Uhm, sir,” his assistant’s hesitant voice broke through his thoughts, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. “We’re ready for you.”

Tom’s jaws clenched. That damn look again, the one that screamed she forgot my name.

Again.

“It’s Tom,” he bit out, his voice a sharp, jagged edge.

Her eyes widened, the fake forced smile twitching on her lips. “Right, of course, Tom.” She repeated it like she had to convince herself, taking a shaky step back. “You’re ready for the stage.”

Her gaze slid past him almost immediately, gravitating toward his co-host, that bitch, Katie Killjoy. It was always the same – her and everyone else – eyes trailing longingly toward Killjoy, as if Tom were just a mere shadow in her spotlight. He could see it in the way his assistant’s lips curled into something softer when she looked at Killjoy, how her body relaxed as if being near her was a privilege.

Tom forced his fury down, letting it simmer beneath the surface. Killjoy was a co-host, just like Tom. That was all.Nothing more. Yet, as the two of them sat side by side in front of the camera, the venomous reality slapped him across the face with every word that left her smug lips.

She humiliated him. She did it effortlessly, tossing insults like they were second nature. A scalding cup of coffee spilled “accidentally” onto his lap, her sharp laughter ringing out as he flinched from the heat. Then came the string expletives, words flung at him like daggers in front of millions. The denizens of Hell loved it. They adore her viciousness, drank in her venom as if it were sweet wine.

Her ratings soared.

And Tom? He sat there, swallowing the bitter, sour taste of bile that surfaced from his rage, that threatened to choke him as they all laughed at him, never with him. Even in Hell, where he had clawed his way into a position of recognition, he was still just a stepping stone for someone like Killjoy. She was the woman everyone adored, while he remained the pathetic afterthought.

The air was thick with whispers, swirling around the room like vultures circling a dying beast. They weren’t subtle – the gossip, the sidelong glances, the smiles aimed at her. The world of entertainment was all about her, the extravagant life she paraded in front of Hell’s masses, basking in the endless attention. And every second, his spotlight dimmed just a little more.

Tom could feel it slipping away, like sand through his clenched fingers. His hand tightened into a fist, knuckles white as he fought to keep control, then slowly loosened. He had to breathe. But with every breath, memories came rushing back.

Horrible memories.

Scrubbing floors under the sneers of radio stars who barely acknowledged his existence. A janitor. A nobody. The disgusted glances, the whispers behind his back, the way they treated him like he was nothing. He had clawed his way up from that pit of humiliation, only to find himself teetering on the edge once more.

But with the anger came something else. Something dark. Something...delicious. The perverse satisfaction that had always come when he exacted his revenge. Oh, how sweet it was to see the terror in their eyes before their blood painted the walls, before their lives were extinguished so easily as they had tried to snuff out his.

The thought made him giddy, almost light-headed. That bitch, Killjoy...How he longed to wrap his hands around her throat, feel the delicate bones snap beneath his fingers, rip her trachea out and leave her lifeless body dangling in front of his house – strung up by her cunt.

It was only a fantasy. For now.

“...and back to you, Tom,” came that sickenly sweet voice, dripping with condescension. Katie Killjoy flashed her blood-red smile, her ghastly pale face stretching unnaturally, her long neck bent at an angle that made her look more like a grotesque puppet than a woman.

Tom blinked, snapping out of his dark thoughts. He cleared his throat, fumbling to gather the papers in front of him. His voice was just about to break the silence when–

The world tilted. His body hit the floor hard.

Killjoy had shoved him.

Laughter erupted. Hers, shrill and wicked, echoed by the snickers of the camera crew. His ass was planted on the cold studio floor, his notes scattered like the worthless thoughts they were, fluttering around him like discarded dreams.

Words that had meant something – his words – now crushed underfoot, ground into the dirt like they weren’t even worth reading aloud.

He sat there, frozen, the uselessness of it all swallowing him whole. Every time she shoved him, every time she spat venom in his direction, each moment she treated him like a worthless bug, something deep inside of him broke apart just a little more.

Tom had always considered himself patient. He had always prided himself on being able to bide his time, to let the insults roll off his back, knowing that, when the time came, he would take care of his problems in...unorthodox ways. But now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface was growing hotter, more volatile, like magma threatening to erupt from the depths of his soul. Until, one day...

One day...

He...

He laughed.

The sound was hollow, echoing off the cracked walls of his dingy one-room apartment. The flickering lights barely illuminated the Hell critters scuttling through the walls, the electricity only working half the time – if that.

He sat on the edge of his sagging bed, a wild itch spreading across his face. That damn gas mask. The curse that had fused it to his skin, forever making him a monster and incapable of showing a wide range of emotions. His fingers dug beneath the edges, nails scraping at his own flesh, tearing at the seams, trying to rip it off. But no matter how hard he clawed, it wouldn’t budge.

The mask was a reminder. It was a part of him now, just like the hatred that grew and festered inside. No matter how much he wanted to tear it away; to rip off the facade and scream at the world, it clung to him. Just like the memories.

The mask was a reminder – a cruel, suffocating reminder of his own stupidity. His fatal mistake. He hadn’t set the gas mask properly that night, hadn’t secured the mask tight enough before he drugged his victims – no – enemies. In his eagerness to play with them, he got careless. He remembered the sudden burn in his lungs, the bitter, acrid fumes filling his throat, choking him on his own vomit. The last thing he felt before death claimed him was the searing shame of his own failure.

And now, that same mask – the mask that failed to protect him in life – was fused to his flesh in death. A permanent scar, a mockery from Hell itself. A joke, courtesy of the damn Lord, who seemed to take twisted pleasure in reminding Tom of his fall from grace. The mask clung to his skin, melded into his very being, a symbol of his downfall.

It was as if Hell itself were looking down on him, laughing at him, calling him...

Worthless.

Trash.

Nobody.

Just like her. Just like Killjoy.

His hands trembled, raw and bloodied from his earlier attempts to rip the mask off, to tear away the part of himself that was forever tainted by his failure. Shreds of skin hung loosely from his face, sticky with blood that dripped steadily onto his pants. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

As he bowed his head low, his eyes caught sight of the pristine white card – the invitation to a party tonight, an exclusive event for Hell’s celebrities to mingle and gloat.

They hadn’t even bothered to invite him.

He had stolen the invitation, filched it from Killjoy’s purse when she wasn’t looking. He’d rifled through her things countless times, savouring the small victories of taking what was hers. Knowing your enemy was critical, after all.

His gaze drifted toward the small shrine in the corner of his apartment – a twisted, obsessive display of trinkets he had stolen from her like a scavenging magpie. A half-used tube of lipstick, condom wrappers, a mini bullet vibrator, a cheap pen. All arranged neatly, each item a piece of her that he kept close. A constant reminder of the enemy.

But even as he looked at the shrine, something darker stirred within him. His cock twitched at the memory of the hot-pink vibrator, the way he had rubbed it against himself, imagining it was tainted with her disgusting touch. The fantasy that she hadn’t cleaned it properly before discarding it. He had gotten hard thinking about it, the idea of licking it clean crossing his mind more than once. But he couldn’t. The mask wouldn’t allow it. The thin slits were just wide enough for a straw, nothing more.

Blood oozed down his hands as he stood, but the pain was distant, drowned out by the fury simmering inside him. His eyes lingered on the stolen items as dark glee radiated within him. She would be at the party tonight. She never missed a chance to flaunt herself, to show off to the world how perfect she was. This would be his chance – the perfect opportunity to ruin her in every possible way.

His rage bubbled up, hotter and hotter, until it consumed every thought, every fibre of his being. The anger had always been there, simmering just below the surface, but now it boiled over. All he could think about, all he could imagine, was fucking her lifeless throat in the ultimate act of triumph. The way he had done to others in the past. The thought made his cock throb, the desire so strong it nearly consumed him.

But in Hell, killing wasn’t as easy as it had been in life. Here, death was temporary, a mere inconvenience. Killing her would be too easy, too quick. No, what he wanted – what he needed – was to humiliate her. To break her, to strip away her power, piece by piece, until she was nothing more than a quivering, broken shell below him.

After all, she always called him a...what was it again?

Ah, yes, a limp-dick jackass.

A small chuckle escaped him. It was only polite to prove her wrong, wasn’t it? His hand drifted down to the front of his pants, clutching the throbbing erection straining against the fabric. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, desire thrumming through him. He hadn’t fucked anyone since coming to Hell – hadn't indulged in his darker urges because it required a specific set of circumstances to...perform.

But tonight?

Tonight, would be different.

The thought of forcing her to choke on his cock, to make her gag and squirm as he held her down, made his blood pound with sick anticipation. He could already picture her tear-streaked face, the horror in her eyes. Fuck. He was going to make Killjoy his bitch tonight.

Hell was a beautiful place. There were substances here, powerful enough to bend even the strongest wills, to strip away control and leave a person at the mercy of their darkest desires. Tom had nearly drained his entire bank account to get his hands on a potent love potion, an almost magical concoction that would ensure his plans went off without a hitch. He patted the vial in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the mini camcorder tucked safely in the other

He would record everything. His glory, his victory.

Tonight, Katie Killjoy would regret ever crossing him.

He had realized belatedly that tonight's party was a costume party. He quickly went to the bargain store and purchased a costume that was the cheapest in stock.

The costume was a joke, a cheap, pathetic imitation of the infamous Angel Dust – a popular porn star known for his exaggerated style and body. Tom stood in front of his cracked mirror, smearing pink glitter around his eyes to imitate the porn star’s extra set of eyes.

His fingers clumsily mussed his hair forward to mimic Angel’s wild hairstyle, and he stuffed clumps of fluff into the front of his shirt, attempting to simulate the porn star’s chest fluff.

But it was a miserable failure. The glitter clung to his sweat-slicked skin, making his gas mask look even more ugly, and the fluff drooped awkwardly, highlighting his lack of finesse. He looked nothing like Angel Dust, not even a distant shadow. He looked like one of the coked-up sinners that haunted Hell’s back alleys - dirty, unhinged, and desperate.

It didn’t matter. The costume wasn’t for mingling or fitting in. He had a purpose tonight, a goal far glorious than simply attending a party for clout.

The moment he stepped into the club, the assault on his senses was immediate. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol, cloying perfume, and the unmistakable musk of sex. Strobe lights flickered wildly, casting shifting shadows across the room, while the pounding music reverberated through the building, vibrating in his chest like a second heartbeat.

Bodies writhed together in an unholy dance – mass orgies on the dance floor, groups of sinners tangled in a mess of limbs and moans. Some engaged in conversation, but the real action was the chaotic display of hedonistic desires playing right in front of him.

Tom had never belonged to this world. Never been invited to these kinds of exclusive gatherings. But tonight was different. He had to be here, even if he stole the invitation. He belonged among the rich and powerful, didn’t he? He wasn’t just anyone; he was Tom Trench, co-host of 666 News, one of the most-watched channels in Hell’s entire pentagram.

He mattered.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he stepped deeper into the fray, heart pounding in time with the music, head swimming with thoughts of what he was about to do.

“Like fuck, I can’t believe I lost that fucking invitation!” Killjoy’s shrill voice cut through the din like a knife, and Tom’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He froze, scanning the crowd, his pulse racing as he spotted her near the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of sycophants in miniskirts and plunging tops, all hanging on her every word. She was in her element, laughing cruelly, her lips smeared with that garish red lipstick she always wore.

Without thinking, Tom ducked behind a couple in the midst of dry humping, their bodies pressed together, tongues tangled in an intense display of public lust. The sinner’s underwear was yanked down, their exposed cunt rubbing shamelessly against their partner’s thigh. It was disgusting, but it provided just enough cover for Tom to hide, pulling out his phone to pretend he was preoccupied. It was an old, outdated piece of junk – still paying it off, of course – but it gave him an excuse to eavesdrop without looking suspicious.

“Like, the fucking bitch at the door gave me such a hard time just because I didn’t have my invitation on me! But you know what I told her?” Killjoy’s voice dripped with sadistic glee, her laugh high and piercing as her entourage leaned in. “I told her if she didn’t get me in, I’d get my buddies to fuck her! Hahaha!” She snorted as she placed her fingers against her chest. “And trust me, that bitch nearly killed herself after the last time they did!”

The surrounding women cackled, their laughter cruel and shrill, tears of mirth streaming down their perfectly made-up faces. They clung to her every word, validating her, admiring her. Tom’s stomach churned with a mix of bitter envy and anger.

He knew exactly who she was talking about – the girl at the door was her assistant. The poor girl had always looked frazzled, terrified, constantly on edge around Killjoy. He’d heard about the incident when the assistant accidentally spilled a latte on Killjoy’s suit. It had been hilarious at the time, watching Killjoy’s face turn an unnatural shade of red, her eyes blazing with fury.

But he hadn’t known the full story. He hadn’t known just how far Killjoy’s cruelty had gone, punishing her assistant in ways too vile to even imagine. Her assistant wasn’t an animal, but Killjoy was. The standards were held different for bitches like her.

A sense of delight buzzed in his veins. Killjoy, always so perfect, always so untouchable, reduced to tears. Black mascara running down her pale cheeks as her carefully constructed mask of control shattered.

The weight of the drug in his pocket felt heavier with each passing moment. His fingers twitched, itching to take action, to make his fantasy a reality. He could already see it – the way she’d crumble, the way her pristine image would be ripped apart in front of everyone. He’d tear that tight little nurse outfit right off her, make her scream, make her sob, until she was nothing but a broken shell of herself. His cock stirred again at the thought, the heat of his anger blending with a delirious sense of arousal.

Tonight, he’d make her remember his name.

He’d make her fear it.

As Tom surveyed the area, he noticed the almost empty drink in her hand, and he could almost see the perfect opportunity forming in his mind. The bar was just steps away from her – so easy, so simple. He could order her a drink, instruct the bartender to hand it over, and watch as his plan unfolded. He could already imagine her glossy lips parting, taking a sip, and then–

His thoughts were shattered by a sudden invasive pressure – fingers pressed right up against his asshole. Tom jolted, spinning around in shock, his body stiffening as he came face-to-face with someone far more dangerous than he’d anticipated.

Valentino.

The moth demon towered over him, dressed in his usual flamboyant attire, pink smoke curling lazily from his pipe held between his lips. The scent of his hung heavy in the air, wrapping around them, the haze seeming to draw Tom deeper into his humiliation.

“Angel!” Valentino’s voice slithered through the noise, loud enough to grab the attention of the surrounding sinners. His hand still lingered near Tom’s rear, possessive, like he owned everything in his reach.

“It-it’s Tom, sir,” Tom stammered, the earlier confidence draining from him like the smoke from Valentino’s pipe. He felt small. Insignificant. The weight of Valentino’s presence crushed his resolve.

“What?” Valentino’s eyes narrowed, peering through his pink sunglasses as he bent lower, inspecting Tom’s face. A look of disgust flashed across his features. “Ugh, fuck, you’re an ugly thing, aren’t you?” He sneered, his lips curling before a soft gag escaped his throat. “Didn’t the invitation say sexy costumes?” Valentino turned to one of the curvaceous sinners by his side, her barely there bikini leaving little to the imagination. She gave a playful smile, batting her long lashes as she nodded.

Tom’s heart thundered in his chest, a chaotic mix of fear, awe, and admiration. Valentino – one of the Vees, one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell – was standing right before him. His earlier scheme to ruin Killjoy seemed to fade like smoke, replaced with a sharp, aching desire.

He wanted to be them.

The Vees were somebody.

They were the apex, the ones everyone else either feared or envied.

And Tom? Tom was just another face in the crowd. Just another nobody.

“I-uh-” he stammered, his mouth dry, eyes wide as another stunning beauty approached Valentino, draping herself over his other arm. Tom could barely think straight. His heart raced, not just from fear, but from longing. If he could impress Valentino, cozy up to him, maybe he could be more. Maybe he could become the sole host of 666 News, instead of living in Killjoy’s shadow. The Vees controlled every channel in the Pentagram; if anyone had the power to make him a somebody, it was them.

But Valentino wasn’t interested. Before Tom could finish his pitiful attempt at flattery, Valentino raised a hand, cutting him off with a look of pure indifferent. “Who are you?” Valentino asked, the question hanging in the air, icy and rhetorical. Tom’s mouth opened, but no sound came. He didn’t have a chance to answer before Valentino’s lips curled into a sneer, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re some nobody.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. Valentino’s posture oozed arrogance, his hips jutting out in lazy dominance. “Run along now,” he drawled, waving Tom off like a bug he’d grown tired of swatting.

“You’re dismissed.”

The two girls at his sides giggled, their eyes dancing with malicious amusement. They didn’t see him as anything more than a joke, a small man playing dress-up, trying to fit into a world that didn’t want him. Their laughter stabbed at Tom’s pride, each giggle a reminder of his insignificance. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he tried to steady his breathing, but it felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything warped. His vision blurred, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the club anymore. He wasn’t under the judgmental gaze of Valentino and his entourage. No, he was somewhere else – somewhere familiar yet distant, like a half-forgotten dream. A memory surged forward, unbidden, like a hidden shard of glass surfacing from the depth of murky water.

The memory, once a distant blur, came rushing back with brutal clarity, its edges sharper than a razor, slicing through his mind. Tom could see it – his brown, ratty, tattered shows, the leather peeling away like his last shred of dignity. Each step left bits of himself behind, dirt smeared across pristine floors that were never meant for the likes of him. His hands trembled, rubbing together compulsively, desperate, as if he could conjure up a miracle if just tried hard enough.

Back then, he had been a janitor at a radio station. His cousin, always grinning with false hope, had promised him that if he worked hard enough, kept his head down, and grinded, maybe – just maybe – they'd give him a shot at stardom. A chance to be somebody.

But that chance never came.

Instead, he was left cleaning up after the real stars, scrubbing their messes while they laughed in the spotlight. His heart raced, a bitter rhythm that beat against the weight of the world collapsing around him.

The Great Depression was in full swing – people starving, families dying in the streets. But Tom? No, Tom was going to be fine. He had been told to believe in the American dream. He had been told that hard work would pay off.

So, every day, despite the mocking laughter, despite the whispers behind his back, he pushed forward. He had banked everything – his life, his hope – on the promise that effort would make him rise above the filth of the working class.

But it was all a lie.

“You’re dismissed,” his cousin had said, not even sparing a single glance up from his newspaper.

Those two words echoed through his skull, twisting his stomach in knots. Those words were his ticket to eternal damnation, his invitation to the gutter. The world crumbled around him as they shattered the fragile dream he had clung to for so long.

Those two words broke him.

He had walked out into the street, the stench of death and rot filling the air. Those two words had stripped him of his humanity, left him hollow, a walking corpse, just another forgotten piece of garbage.

He had stood over his cousin’s broken body, blood bubbling from the man’s lips, his last words choking on the truth that had haunted Tom his entire life: you’ll always be a nobody. Useless. Trash.

Tom had once considered himself patient. A man who could endure. But now? As the anger from Killjoy’s mocking laughter seared into him, as Valentino’s cold dismissal stabbed through his chest, the final thread of sanity snapped.

Valentino was long gone, already surrounded by his entourage. However, Tom stood there, giggling – a high-pitched, manic sound that rattled though his skull, masked by the pounding bass of the music.

It was funny, wasn’t it? How life continued to fuck him, even in death. Every twist, every turn, the universe seemed to take pleasure in making him its joke. Always at the bottom, always overlooked, always discarded.

His fingers brushed against the drug in his pocket, the weight of it pressing against his side like a reminder of what he could still do. His eyes, once burning with rage at Killjoy, shifted now. Slowly, they turned toward the tall, lanky figure lounging on a couch as if he owned the entire damn club. Valentino, with his heart-shaped glasses and that broad, sickening grin. His tongue flicked out, licking at the women draped over him like accessories, his arrogance oozing out from every pore.

Valentino sat there like a king, surrounded by whores, drenched in the illusion of power. To him, everyone else was just a shadow, a worthless nobody.

Just like Tom.

It was disturbingly easy, how effortlessly Tom managed to slip the entire brew of the drug into Valentino’s drink. A drop or two was all it was supposed to take, but he didn’t care for caution. He dumped the whole flask, watching the light pink hue dissolve without a second thought. Maybe Valentino thought no one in Hell had the guts to spike his drink. Or maybe the Overlord was too arrogant to even consider the possibility.

When Tom approached with the glass, Valentino barely spared him a glance, eyes glazed over with disdain as he reached for the drink. He gulped it down in one, not bothering to acknowledge Tom’s existence. But soon, his expression changed. Slowly, his head began to sway, and the surrounding whores giggled nervously, their hands caressing his arms as if their touch could stabilize him.

Tom moved closer, stepping into the Overlord’s line of sight. Valentino’s eyes struggled to focus, a strange mix of clouding and desire clouding his features. “Angel!” he cried out, his voice slurring as his arms looped around Tom’s waist.

It was laughably easy to guide Valentino into one of the club’s private rooms, the kind reserved for hard-core BDSM plays. Tom locked the door behind them, a metallic click that echoed through the dim room. Chains and leather straps adorned the walls, while flickering flames cast ominous shadows across the cold stone floor, licking the walls with an eerie glow. It was the perfect setting for what Tom had in mind.

Valentino, completely unaware, had already begun undressing, his clothes falling in a careless heap on the floor. “Angel, baby,” he groaned, his voice heavy with lust and delirium. “I’ve been wanting to fuck your tight ass for weeks...how dare you make me wait, you ungrateful fucking whore.” His words slurred, muting the malicious tone. His body collapsed onto the bed with a graceless thud.

Tom’s stomach twisted with a dark, sick pleasure. He didn’t care about the sex of his victims, never had. The only thing that mattered was that they were helpless. Weak. Prone. His arousal surged as Valentino lay before him, drugged and limp, a pitiful sight. His breath quickened, his pants already tightening around the hardness that pressed painfully against the fabric.

Without a word, Tom moved to the restraints hanging on the walls, fingers brushing over the cold leather. He wanted to grin, to laugh, but the mask that had fused to his face, mocking hi for all eternity, prevented it.

No matter.

His actions spoke for him.

Stripping out of the gaudy Angel Dust costume, he began to tie Valentino’s arms together with practised ease. He bound them tightly to the hook above the bed, pulling just enough to leave the Overlord’s body slightly suspended. Valentino’s lilac-shaded cock twitched pathetically with each touch, though it hung limp, his mind lost in the overwhelming effects of the drug.

The apothecary had warned Tom – one drop was enough to drive a demon into mindless heat, to have them writhing in desperation. But a full vial? Tom’s pulse quickened, a thrill racing through him. He was going to find out.

Valentino’s pink drool dribbled slowly from his parted lips, his head hanging uselessly as his arms stretched above him. The once-powerful Overlord now reduced to a puppet, limp and helpless. Tom’s breath hitched, his hand flying to his own hardened cock, slick with pre-cum as he gripped it tightly.

Flashes of old memories flooded his mind – victims, squirming in panic, tied up in his gas-filled room. The smell of fear, the way their eyes widened when they saw him in his gas mask, breathing heavily as he watched them. The way they begged for mercy, their words cut off as the gas took over, silencing them just as they had silenced him when they mocked, dismissed, and belittled him.

Those were the glory days.

Short, fleeting, but glorious, nonetheless.

And now? Now, here he was again, a nobody with the power to make someone else feel the same helplessness he had endured for far too long. Valentino would suffer, not through fear but through humiliation. He would be just another victim in Tom’s long line of revenge.

“Augh,” Valentino moaned, his voice thick with lust and confusion as his cock slowly stiffened, pink drool spilling from his slack mouth, rolling down his chest in a glistening trail. His body, once the epitome of control and power, now hung limp, betrayed by the very pleasure coursing through him.

Tom set the camcorder up at the foot of the bed, his movements methodical, driven by the sick sense of satisfaction. This recording – this proof – would be his victory. Even if it didn’t serve a purpose beyond his own personal gratification, he knew that watching Valentino’s humiliation again and again would feed him, satiate his hunger, for a very long time.

Slowly, he stripped off his clothes, his cock hard and throbbing, standing proud as he climbed onto the bed. The feeling of control, of domination, filled him, and it was intoxicating.

It was magnificently glorious.

“So, who’s the powerless, weak nobody now?” Tom sneered, his voice low as he hovered above Valentino, his cock bobbing just in front of the Overlord’s face. The rush of power was exhilarating, a heady feeling that made him feel invincible.

But then, Valentino stirred, his body twitching before a sputter of laughter escaped his lips, deep and mocking. Tom’s confidence wavered as Valentino’s grating laugh pierced through his triumph, hitting the nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“What the fuck is this?” Valentino squinted up at tom, a wide, sloppy grin spreading across his face. “Angel, when did your dick get so tiny?” His laughter grew louder, more malicious. “Unless...is that your pinky finger I’m seeing?” He leaned forward as if trying to get a closer look at Tom’s erect cock, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement.

Shame and embarrassment coursed through Tom as he stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced down at Valentino’s half-hard cock, massive even in its lips state, and a wave of humiliation crashed over him. Five times bigger, Tom thought, feeling the sting of comparison tear at his earlier bravado. His own erection faltered, the shame creeping in like poison, each pulse of Valentino’s laughter eroding at his fragile sense of ego and power.

Clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, Tom fought to steady himself. “Size isn’t everything,” he spat bitterly, but the words tasted hollow. Valentino groaned, his head lolling from side to side as more saliva dribbled from his lips, the effects of the drug thickening in his veins. His cock, now fully erect, throbbed, pre-cum leaking in thick ropes down his shaft.

“Fuck,” Valentino slurred, his voice barely coherent as his body twitched, trying to regain control. “What the fuck is going on?” His arms, bound above him, were the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely, his strength drained by the overwhelming pleasure and the drug burning through him.

Tom’s gaze flicked toward the drawer by the bed. His fingers grazed over the various sex toys within. His eyes landed on a thin metal rod with a circular-shaped handle at the end, its surfaced pocked with rust and decay. He had seen it used in some of the darker porn he’d watched – sounding, they called it. A flutter of amusement pulsed within him as he pulled it out, running his thumb over the rough, ridged surface.

“Let’s just stop that little leak of yours, Val,” Tom muttered, his tone mockingly sweet as he returned to the bed. “I can call you that, right?” Valentino only groaned, lost in his delirium, and Tom chuckled darkly. The drug had Valentino completely at his mercy, his once-mighty form reduced to a quivering, incoherent mess.

Tom’s fingers trailed down the length of Valentino’s shaft, feeling the heat radiating from it, the way it pulsed under his touch. The second his skin made contact; Valentino screamed – an animalistic sound that bounced off the wall. His hips jerked upward, pre-cum splattering everywhere, coating Tom’s hand and chest in sticky droplets.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Valentino cursed, his voice breaking as his body writhed in overstimulation, muscles tensing and flexing uncontrollably. His thighs quivered, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The sound of his whimpers – those small, pathetic cries – sent a shiver down Tom’s spine. He had never seen someone so powerful reduced to this, lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.

With a sadistic thrill pumping in his veins, Tom gripped Valentino’s cock in one hand, holding it steady. Valentino hissed at the contact, his body arching as if trying to escape the sensation. Unexpectedly, Tom positioned Valentino’s cock, the gaping slit already covered with pre-cum.

And then, without hesitation, Tom drove the metal rod in, all at once.

The scream that tore from Valentino’s throat was primal, a raw howl that reverberated off the stone walls. His body convulsed violently, arms straining against the restraints as he thrashed in pain. Blood mixed with the clear fluid, dripping in thick rivulets from the slit of his cock, staining the sheet below them.

As Tom shoved the metal sounding deeper with brutal force, he disregarded the way Valentino’s cock strained and trembled under the intrusion. The tension, the sickening resistance of flesh yielding and ripping to cold steel, sent a thrill through Tom’s spine.

Valentino’s pure, pained cries echoed like music to his ears, and for the first time in ages, Tom felt a rush of arousal so fierce it made him light-headed. His body thrummed with sadistic excitement, the sound of his own hissing breaths the only counterpoint to Valentino’s sobbing gasps.

Tom’s hips jerked forward in short, uncontrolled strokes, his cock twitching as he focused solely on driving the sounding to its limit, down to the very hilt. His eyes roved over the sight with a ravenous hunger, his lips parting in a soft groan of pleasure as crimson droplets continued to well up from Valentino’s tip, the blood slowly trailing down the length of his shaft like delicate ribbons decorating a sacrificial altar. The contrast of the vivid red against the pale lilac skin was picturesque – it was art.

Panting heavily, he finally released the device, sitting back on his heels as he admired his handiwork. Valentino’s face was a portrait of agony – tears streaming freely down his flushed cheeks, mixing with the pink drool that spilled from his slack mouth. His hips jerked in weak, pathetic thrusts, as though his body still sought relief despite the pain, fucking the air with an almost automatic, broken rhythm.

“F-fuck...fuck...” Valentino’s voice cracked, a barely coherent string of words that failed to form any real protest. His expression was glazed, trapped somewhere between torment and lust, his mind a shattered mess.

The sight of the powerful Overlord reduced to this wreck of a man – a trembling, crying, pathetic mess at Tom's mercy – sent a dark wave of satisfaction within him. His cock, already aching, hardened even more, throbbed in time with his racing heart.

Without thinking, Tom’s hand flew to his shaft, gripping it tight as he began to stroke with wild desperation. His moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, obscene noise heightening his arousal. His gaze stayed on Valentino’s cock, still leaking blood in profuse streams, the tip a monstrous, crimson, puffy spectacle that fuelled the fire roaring in Tom’s gut

Faster.

Harder.

His breath hitched, muscles tensing as the coil in his stomach tightened, winding tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable. He could feel it – the edge drawing closer, and with a growl, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering forward to position himself above Valentino’s tear-streaked face.

“You should know this routine, Val. You fucking love money shots,” Tom growled through gritted teeth, his hand a blur as he pumped his cock furiously. The slick sound of his strokes filled the room, building with every desperate gasp.

His mind went white-hot as the climax finally crashed into him. With a pure, unfiltered, guttural moan, Tom let his head fall back, hips jerking as ropes of thick, hot cum shot from him, painting Valentino’s face in sticky white streaks. The droplets splattered across his cheeks, some landing on his pink-tinted glasses, smearing across the lenses like a filthy mark of ownership.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Tom stood there for a moment, chest heaving, his hand still loosely wrapped around his cock, but the hunger in him refused to face. His cock still twitched, still begged for more. He wasn’t done yet. He couldn’t be done. Not with Valentino laid out before him like this, vulnerable and broken. This was an opportunity too good to waste – a chance to push Valentino past the edge of despair and into true ruin.

He turned toward the nearby box of toys again. His eyes, scanning the contents, glittering with sadistic glee as they fell upon a box of sharp acupuncture pins. Ideas blossomed in his mind, twisted, fragile, and beautiful. He grabbed them without hesitation, already envisioning the next stage of pleasure.

When he stood and looked back, his grin only widened. Valentino was trembling, his body spasming uncontrollably as thick white cum, tinged with red streaks, leaked from the tip of his still-throbbing cock. The sight of it sent a rush of heat through Tom’s veins – Valentino had come despite it all, despite the pain.

The bastard had found release, however fleeting.

“Fucking hell, Val...you already came?” Tom muttered, amusement lacing his words as he stalked closer. But no matter – it wasn’t over yet. The drug coursing through Valentino’s veins would ensure that he stayed rock-hard, no matter how much he came. His body wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t find release, not until every drop of that drug was purged from his system.

And Tom planned to take full advantage of that.

Sitting back in front of Valentino, Tom let a slow, dark hum escape him, the haunting melody echoing a distant memory from his past. Valentino’s broken murmurs finally reached his ears, soft, slurred words that barely made sense. “Please...no more...please,” followed by a hoarse, trembling, “it fucking hurts.”

Tom’s breath grew ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as excitement spread through his veins like wildfire. After years of being stepped on, spat on, and treated as less than nothing, here, presently, with Valentino sobbing and powerless before him, Tom had never felt so alive, so untouchable, dominant.

“Val, you’re disappointing me,” Tom taunted, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his fingers hovered over the sharp pin. The beaded end reflected from the dim light, each end adorned with a bright array of blues, reds, and yellows. Slowly, almost reverently, he positioned the pointed end against the side of Valentino’s shaft, savouring the way the soft skin quivered beneath his touch.

Then, mercilessly, he pushed.

The pointed edge pierced the delicate flesh easily, sinking in like a hot knife through butter.

“Ah-ah-ahhhhhhh!” Valentino’s scream tore through the room, his body convulsing weakly, as if trying to escape the pain. But it was futile – the drug coursing through his veins kept him paralyzed, a prisoner to his own body, left to writhe under Tom’s sadistic whims.

Tom’s high-pitched giggles burst out as he pushed the pin further, watching intently as the sharp glinting metal disappeared, blood welling up around the wound before spilling into crimson rivulets down Valentino’s cock.

The bead rested at the base, nestled against the taut skin, a small, bright mark of Tom’s handiwork – his – ah – gift. Valentino’s agony was palpable, his cries a broken record that sent shivers of pleasure down Tom’s spine.

“We’ll play a little game, Val,” Tom purred, his voice low and dripping with dark intent. His cock throbbed, standing fully erect, aching for release again as he admired the sight before him. Valentino’s tear-streaked face, the faint glimmer of cum still clinging to the rose-tinted lenses of his glasses – it was a masterpiece of suffering.

“Tell me what my name is, and I’ll stop decorating your cock,” he groaned, his gaze fixating on the sounding protruding from Valentino’s urethra, the tip slowly oozing out fresh blood.

Valentino’s breath hitched as his swollen, tear-filled eyes flicked up toward Tom, but his mind was a haze of torment. “I...I don’t know...” His voice was broken, his words thick and heavy, each syllable a struggle to form as his tongue lolled out between each breath.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Tom replied brightly, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he reached for another pin, this time a bright blue one. With practised ease, he slid it into Valentino’s flesh, revelling in the fresh wave of agonized cries that filled the warm, musky air. The cries fuelled Tom, his hand drifting back to his own cock, stroking slowly, deliberately, as he watched Valentino’s face contort in suffering.

“I - fuck...Paul?” Valentino sobbed, weakly thrashing against the binds. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind.

“Wrong again,” Tom whispered, voice drenched with satisfaction. His arousal mounted with every scream; every helpless sob, Valentino gave. It was intoxicating, the way each pin drove Valentino further into the depths of agony. “Ah, fuck...” Tom groaned, his grip tightening around his cock as he pushed the next pin in, his mind lost in the perverse pleasure of it all.

It was almost tragic – really, how easily Valentino had forgotten his name, as if the pain had burned away every memory. Tom’s gaze darkened as he picked up the last pin in the small pouch, a red one this time, and drove it deep into the only remaining space into Valentino’s shaft.

The result was hauntingly beautiful. The pins, bright beads of colour, embedded deep into his bleeding cock, turned the once-proud organ into something...festive. The crimson blood oozed from the wounds, staining Valentino’s balls and the sheets beneath him in a macabre display.

“For being such a good boy, how about I reward you, Val?” Tom cooed, his voice sickly sweet, his heart beating frantically as he heard the faint, hoarse whispers of “no” spilling from Valentino’s lips. But Tom had already made up his mind. His eyes couldn’t tear away from the oversized sparkly pink dildo standing proudly by the bedside table.

It was a monstrosity, the size of Valentino’s forearm, a brutal weapon of destruction that could easily tear someone apart. The girth alone was enough to ruin anyone permanently.

Straining, Tom grasped the oversized dildo, the artificial scent of manufactured plastic sharp in his nostrils. With a firm shove of Valentino’s shoulder, his body was forced forward. Valentino hissed in agony as his raw, bloodied cock made contact with the rough bedsheet, another strangled cry of desperation filling the room.

“Please...no more,” Valentino whimpered, his voice a broken whisper lost to the air.

Tom, unmoved, set the dildo down on the bed beside them. He leaned over, pressing a finger to Valentino’s trembling lips, shushing him softly. Without warning, he gripped Valentino’s narrow waist, lifting his limp, rag-doll body off the bed. He positioned Valentino’s trembling form over the massive toy, resting the tip of the monstrous cock right against Valentino’s tight ring of muscle.

“Fuck, no! No!” Valentino’s cries were frantic now, his voice hoarse with panic. “I’ll do whatever you want, anything – please, I’ll give you anything, just – please,” his spittle flew, and drool leaked into a stringy goop of mess.

But Tom didn’t care. His mind was lost in the ecstasy of the moment, the thrill of control that made his pulse quicken and his cock throb. The sight of Valentino’s body trembling on the brink of being impaled, the helplessness in his eyes, only heightened Tom’s desire. His urge to stroke himself into oblivion gnawed at him, but he forced himself to savour this moment.

With deliberate calm, Tom stood behind Valentino, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as though he were offering comfort. He took a slow, deep breath, leaning close. “Relax, Val...it’ll feel good,” he whispered, pressing the side of his face with Valentino’s. “For me, that is,” he finished with a cruel laugh, before he suddenly slammed Valentino down onto the dildo.

The reaction was immediate. Valentino’s screams were ripped from his throat, his voice breaking into a guttural wheeze as his body convulsed in agony. His ass, unprepared and unable to accommodate the sheer size of the dildo, stretched obscenely around it. Tom’s grip on Valentino’s hips was unrelenting as he forced him lower, ignoring the frantic, incoherent pleas spilling from his lips. Valentino begged, over and over, but Tom’s focus never wavered.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Valentino’s body was pushed further down, the monstrous toy rearranging his insides. Tom shivered with sick satisfaction as he watched the bulge begin to form in Valentino’s lower belly, the outline of the dildo distending his thin frame. The sight was glorious, obscene, the kind of thing that made Tom’s cock throb with unbearable need.

With a hoarse, broken cry, Valentino’s cock spasmed violently. A messy burst of semen erupting from the tip, spraying onto the sheets as his lolled backward in a mix of unbearable pain and cruelly forced pleasure. His entire body shook, trembling like a newborn calf, but still, Tom paid no mind to his suffering. His only focus was on forcing Valentino to take the full length of the dildo, every, damning inch.

“Aren’t I such a generous partner, Val?” Tom’s voice was light, almost teasing, as Valentino’s body finally sank to the hilt, his entire lower half impaled on the dildo. “You told me my cock wasn’t enough for you, so I got you something better. Aren’t you grateful?”

“Anything,” Valentino muttered weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll tell you anything...anything...” His words were slurred, trembling, lost in the haze of agony and fear. His lower half was a horrific mess of blood and cum, staining both his skin and the bedsheets.

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. “Sure, Val. Tell me something...something no one else knows.” He knelt down in front of Valentino, his cock hard and leaking, pressing the length of it against Valentino’s mutilated, beaded shaft. Valentino let out a sharp hiss of pain, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through him as Tom slowly rubbed his cock along Valentino’s smearing the mix of blood and cum across his skin.

Gripping the sounding still embedded in Valentino’s urethra, Tome began to move it with a slow, deliberate motions, tugging it up and down as Valentino’s sobs grew louder, more pitiful. “Go on,” Tom panted, his breath hitching as he felt the edge of his cock brush against the smooth end of the beaded tip. “Tell me...” he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure build inside him, the sensation of Valentino’s mutilated, swollen shaft heightening every stroke.

Valentino could only sob harder, his body trembling uncontrollably as Tom’s cruel, taunting touch brought him closer to the edge of madness. Tom’s breath quickened, his moans becoming louder, more guttural, as he lost himself in the feel of Valentino’s bloodied flesh pressed right up again him.

“We-we’re planning to a-attack the Princess of Hell’s hotel next w-week,” Valentino stuttered, his voice trembling with fear and pain. “W-we have an army...ngh...equipped with...hah...” His words faltered as Tom recklessly pulled the sounding halfway out of his cock, before thrusting it back in with a sickening squelch. Valentino gasped, choking on his words as a thick bubble of blood oozed from the tip. “A-angelic s-steel,” he finally managed to wheeze, his mouth hanging open, drool and snot mingling and dribbling down his chin.

Tom’s hand paused. The words barely registered – he couldn’t care less about some redemption hotel. It held absolutely zero interest to him. Still, this was information the Vees clearly kept close to their chest, and it might be useful later. He could figure out how to capitalize on it later tonight. For now, his gaze fell back on Valentino’s wrecked face, streaked with tears and fluids, eyes wide in terror and agony. The moment of truth was upon him.

It was time to burst through the cocoon of suffocating oppression, and chase his own glorious release.

With a sharp, brutal yank, Tom pulled the sounding free. Valentino’s body convulsed, a violent spasm wracking him and his pained moans barely audible.

Tom groaned, feeling his own need swell within him. He gripped both their cocks, pressing them together, his hand sliding up and down their lengths as he ground against Valentino’s swollen, purple shaft.

Valentino let out another broken sob as the pin buried in his cock shifted, the pressure causing his member to turn an even deeper shade of purple. His cock pulsed painfully as Tom quickened his pace, chasing the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh fuck...fuck,” Tom panted, the wet squelching sound of their cocks sliding together filling the room alongside Valentino’s pitiful, broken whimpers. With one final hard thrust, Tom let out a low, guttural moan, his body seizing in pleasure as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, painting Valentino’s limp, bloodied body. His seed splattered across Valentino’s sweat-slick chest, mixing with the blood and cum staining his swollen cock.

Panting heavily, Tom finally collapsed backward, his body spent, his cock softening as the heady, addicting sensation of pleasure washed over him. He hadn’t felt this kind of pure, unadulterated pleasure in decades. His body felt light, like a weight had been lifted from his soul.

He glanced down at Valentino’s face – his red eyes were blown wide open, but they had lost all focus, glazed over in shock and exhaustion. His tongue hung limply from the side of his mouth, his body completely still, suspended from the ceiling by the ropes binding him. Even now, after countless brutal releases, Valentino’s cock remained comically hard, the veins bulging angrily against his abused skin.

It looked like the moth Overlord had finally reached his breaking point. Valentino was hanging their unconscious, barely breathing, his body slack and lifeless. Tom couldn’t help the satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

Valentino made such a handsome, tragic painting like this – strung up, covered in a mixture of blood and cum. Tom took a long moment to admire the scene, grateful he had captured every beautiful detail with his camcorder. This was a memory he would savour for a very long time.

It was a show he would watch over and over again.

With a final glance at Valentino’s broken, beautiful form, Tom took his time getting dressed, slipping his shirt back on as he pocketed the camcorder. As he exited the room, he could still hear the pulsing beat of music from the club. No one would notice what had transpired – everyone was far too lost in their own indulgence, high and drunk, as the sound of moans and cries of ecstasy filled the air from the mass orgy happening just down the hall.

Tom slipped his hands into his pockets, humming a small, contented tune as he left the clubroom, felling more alive than he had...ever.

Once the haze of his high started to fade, his mind sharpened, and he remembered the information Valentino had spilled. Taking out a burner phone, Tom extracted the audio of Valentino’s confession, his broken voice detailing the Vees’ plans to attack the hotel. With a smirk, he sent the audio file to the head of Voxtek with a brief message:

“It would be a shame if this got leaked to the public.”

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, a reply appeared on his phone from the head-honcho himself:

“Name your price.”

Tom stared at the neat, blocky text on the screen, his mind racing with unlimited potential. He knew the power the Overlords held – one wrong move, and they could easily snuff him out like a flickering candle. But if he played his cards right, if he handled this just carefully enough...

A small, manic laugh bubbled up from his throat, his fingers digging into his mask – his face – as the realization hit him.

Finally.

He was going to be a somebody.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

End Note: This was by far the darkest piece of fanfiction I've written with explicit sexual violence. I generally stay away from writing this genre because it is emotionally draining and I wasn't sure if I could write it well - or handle it with care.

The main point of this story isn't for sexual gratification - it was about Tom who had been beaten down all his life and finally found some semblance of control and power through the act of despicable sexual acts/torture. I wanted to convey that feeling and my intention is not to fetishize it.

All in all, it was a cathartic experience to write someone crazy and unhinged and let my imagination let loose.

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lostinforestbound · 6 months ago

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Inspired by @slumpsnail 's piece of their Dark Rolan concept! Check out their other piece here!

The Rise or The Downfall of a Wizard's Apprentice?

CW: Blood, Death, Description of Breakdown

The first emotion was shock. Rolan couldn't move from his place on his knees as he watched his master clinging to whatever life he had left. His hands are stained red, settled on his lap while Lorroakan crawls to him, his own blood seeping onto the floor in rapid speed. Rolan can't recall what he did exactly, but it was during one of his usual beatings. Something about being a "failure" and "an idiot who deserved everything he gave to him". The memory is fuzzy now, he didn't even realize he stopped shaking from fear.

Lorroakan doesn't say anything, not that he could from the pain, but he looks fearful. A fear of death, perhaps? What a coward.

His mouth spits blood out, and he looks ready to beg. For mercy, Rolan hopes, because how humiliating would that be, for a master to beg for his life from his student?

His mentor doesn't get the chance before he stops moving, the life leaving his eyes, wide with a permanent terror. Rolan wonders if he's going to one of the Hells, his soul forever tortured.

After the initial shock dies down, he runs his hands down his face, uncaring of the blood trail he leaves on his bruised cheekbones as his eyes shine with glee. He killed Lorroakan, the Lorroakan, and yet he felt nothing but pure joy. Is this how Tav feels when they kill someone they hate? This addicting satisfaction that makes his blood rush with adrenaline?

By the gods, is he going insane? He can't find it in his heart to care, so he laughs.

He laughs and laughs, loud and prominent, echoing in the stillness of the room. What a fool he has been. Was it always this easy to kill someone? Does it matter now? It felt so fucking good. Even as he calms, his happiness still remains. In all honesty, he thought he could have died here. When he first struck his master, it was out of terror. He was going to beat him again, and he pleaded for him to stop. It didn't work, and when his teacher's staff raised once more, he held out his hands and- Bursting into a new, quiet giggle fit, he rests his head on his still-wet hand, staring down at the body with a smile. "Oh how the mighty have fallen, Master Lorroakan. Though, you were not mighty to begin with."

A small part of his breaking mind is screaming at him, wondering what in the hells has he done? What would Cal and Lia think if they saw him now, practically bathing in his master's blood? What would their mother think? What would they think when they realized he it enjoyed it?

It doesn't matter, they're all dead, including the man he once was.

He gets up on surprisingly steady feet, leaning down and grabbing Lorroakan's hair by the scalp, beginning to drag it towards the balcony. "Master Lorroakan, do you believe in karma?"

There is no response, but it's not as if he was expecting one. The body's getting cold.

"I'm not talking about you, oh no, I'm talking about yours truly." He says casually, grip tight. "My parents abandoned me, and when I get adopted into another one, their mother dies. Then The Descent, where I saw prowling devils and undead roam the streets, tearing people apart. When we finally escape, we're exiled by Elturel, our only home. When we finally make our trek to Baldur's Gate from a grove that hated us, Cal and Lia are eaten alive by shadows."

He finally reaches the railing, leaning against it to rest briefly. "Then, when I eagerly arrive to you with nothing, you beat me for saying the wrong answers to nonsensical questions. Yet look at you now."

Lifting the head to his face, he grins happily as he stares into the lifeless eyes of his mentor. "Master, I believe karma is finally on my side, after all this time. This tower is mine now," he snorts, trying not to laugh again, "I suppose I should thank you! None of this would have happened if it weren't for your weakness."

He picks up the body proper now, getting closer to the railing. "Goodbye, Master. I'm sure there's a special place in the afterlife, just for you."

Without thinking twice on it, he throws Lorroakan's body off the edge, watching it fall down the edge of the tower. He can't see the bottom from here, but he can't only imagine the body mangling as soon as it hits the ground. The people down below probably won't recognize who it is, but that doesn't matter.

All of this knowledge in the tower he now has access to, but where to start? He should probably clean all the blood but...no, he'll keep the stains there for a while longer, as a reminder of one of his greatest achievements.

A spineless wretch is what Lorroakan was. A pathetic, greedy human who wanted to keep this almost infinite knowledge and artifacts all to himself. Now it was all Rolan's, the new master of Ramazith's tower.

Master Rolan has a good ring to it, and he's too excited to get started on his infinite studies.

That's when he notices that dwarven man in the corner of the red stained room, shaking like a leaf. Another apprentice under Lorroakan. He saw everything. What was his name again? Ah, well...

He fires his magic missile in an instant, killing the man from where he stood with the brightest smile he's ever had in many years.

There cannot be witnesses, now can there?

Part 3

#forest-writes #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3 #dark!rolan #rolanites

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whumpshaped · 10 months ago

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anon asked:

A villain that's being tortured by the hero, because the hero thinks they had something to do with the death of their teammate. But villain didn't have anything to do, it was all supervillains plan, but hero doesn't listen to them. Even if they beg, scream, or plead, the hero doesn't... doesn't behave like a hero. Where did all that mercy go?

---

tw death mention, murder mention, interrogation (sort of), torture, burns, revenge (directed at the wrong person)

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Villain screamed, tears streaming down their face from the utter agony Hero had put them through so far; and which they showed no signs of stopping. “I had nothing to do with it! Do you think I even know all your dumb fucking friends? Do you think I spend my day hunting them down? I barely care about you!”

Hero didn’t seem fazed. They didn’t even seem angry, really, and that was the scariest part. They seemed cold and detached, devoid of all the good parts of their public persona. All Villain was left with was everything else, the things Hero cleverly dressed up in flourish and respectable morals: brutal efficiency, a calculating mind, and the terrifying ability to pinpoint others’ weaknesses.

They would’ve made a vicious villain, a fact Villain liked to taunt them with every now and then. Hero always came back with some ridiculous monologue about how all the wealth in the world was nothing compared to the worthy cause of helping others. Villain really, really wished they’d launch into a monologue like that right about now.

“Say, does fire hurt you at all?” Hero asked instead, unfeeling eyes boring into their soul. “I know it doesn’t kill you. Does it hurt?”

“Hero, listen to me. I’m not the one you fucking want! You’re torturing the wrong guy! Do you not care about it at all? Are you just torturing me for the sake of it? Because if so, maybe we’re on the same fucking team!”

Hero didn’t answer. They grabbed a lighter from the table next to them and put it right under Villain’s chin, and they couldn’t do anything except crane their head to get as far away from it as possible. “I suppose it does, yeah? You wouldn’t be squirming so much if it didn’t.”

“Please!” they blurted out, their angry facade crumbling under the threat of third degree burns. “Please, I’m telling the truth! I had nothing to do with it! I don’t know who did it! I would tell you, I swear I would! Hell, I can help you hunt them down, just listen to me! You’re supposed to be the good guy! You’re supposed to be just!” Their voice was getting more and more desperate, and while they weren’t proud of it, they wouldn’t be proud of several burn scars on their face and neck either. At least the memory would fade away.

“Just?”

Hero flicked the little thing on, and the flame started licking at the sensitive skin of their throat. They could withstand the heat better than regular people, but they couldn’t take it forever — an inhuman scream was eventually ripped from their chest as it became too much, too painful, too hot. Hero didn’t seem to care. They continued dragging the lighter along their jawline, grabbing them by the hair to steady them when they started thrashing too much.

By the end of it, Villain was a sobbing mess, unable to even let their head hang. It hurt too much. It was ironic, the fact that they’d be forced to walk around with their head held high, because putting it down would be all too painful.

“It wasn’t just when I lost my friend to your little scheme.” Hero tossed the lighter back onto the table. Some of their anger was seeping through their words, now, and Villain would’ve grovelled and apologised at the sound of it, had they been the one responsible for the murder.

When they saw Hero grab the can of gasoline, they decided it didn’t matter whether they were responsible. “It wasn’t! It was unfair, and I’m sorry! I– Do you want me to say it was me? What do you want? What do you want from me? Even if I was responsible, what would this change? I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do to help you, but I’ll– I’ll do anything! I’ll be a spy, I’ll be a fucking rat, I’ll help you catch whoever did it! I’ll stop with my little schemes! Please!”

None of their pleas were heard. Hero completely doused them, not caring whether the liquid would make the previous burns worse. Villain supposed it didn’t matter, not when they were about to do something so much worse.

They coughed and sputtered and tried to get the disgusting taste out of their mouth at least, but they couldn’t get it off their face enough to open their eyes and see what was going on. In the end, they didn’t have to. They could hear it very clearly when Hero lit a match.

And the rest? The rest they could feel.

#asks #whump #whump drabble #hero villain whump #death mention #murder mention #interrogation #torture #burns #revenge

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corpsebasil · 2 years ago

Note

Hii, could you write a nikolai x healer reader where she is nikolai's personal healer ever since kirigan gave her to the royal family. They got veryyyyyyy close almost too close. Because of this, she was also his protecter and if he did anything wrong she would get the repercussions and when he when of to be sturmhond and left her behind she was almost killed. Then he comes back and she doesn't talk to him and tries to avoid him at all cost then he corners her and asks what's wrong.

YEP COMING RIGHT UP

(This may be more sadistic than what you had requested but my imagination went off the rails)

Blood Bender

in which a girl who loved the prince was given the darkest power of them all.

The room that was held in the lowest cell of the Little Palace’s dungeon was freezing, even on the warmest of days in Ravkan.

The girl had been close once, to the prince. Had been in love with him. Had shared his own quarters on his insistence that he could be stabbed in the night and needed his favorite healer with him. But she was property of Kirigan, had been since he’d practically raised her, and the general didn’t take kindly to what belonged to him. And he’d noticed her affections, as much as he’d noticed the prince’s feelings for her.

So when he’d left, the prince, her Nikolai, even though she’d been ordered to keep him there so she could spy on him, she hadn’t protested. She’d wanted him out—wanted him away from Kirigan’s clutches, especially when her dark master had begun brewing up monstrosities in the hidden dungeons under the palace.

She could picture Nikolai’s face, even then, as she laid on the cold, hard ground. The healer had long since given up on her life, but not on his. The Darkling’s strange minions tortured her daily, and every punishment was some new form of Hell. First came the voices. It was fellow Grisha, their tortured screams echoing around her, the sound so close they could’ve been in the next cell. But then it was Nikolai, Nikolai who she heard screaming for help, for her, Nikolai whose bones were being broken, skin marred, and she could do nothing but sob at the bars or cover her ears and wail against the floor.

Next was the altar. That stone altar that had chained her up as his minions sliced into her, burned her, broke her, reconstructing and bending her power to its greatest limits. Her voice broke from strain and she couldn’t speak for days after those long, horrific hours on the table, where she begged Saints that did not answer for death.

Then came the experimenting. Kirigan attempted new ways for her to use her power, trying to mold her into a demon of a Grisha. He insisted there were secrets the Grisha hid from the healers, ways to bend and burn and turn people inside out. But she had refused, all up until the day that one of her fellow healers was dragged down there, and Kirigan threatened to strap her to that disgusting altar and torture her until Y/N agreed to submit.

So she did.

And a piece of herself left every time he brought a new criminal to practice on. Every time she bent the very blood in a person’s body, until she watched that blood creep out from every exit point, until the sight of the red leaking from her victims didn’t inspire horror from her but a strange, blank, hollowness.

It had been three years.

Three years since she’d been hauled down here as punishment, and the prince was back. She was instructed to kill him as soon as possible, told that she could leave her cell when she wanted, but Y/N only laid there, soul completely gone, and stared at the walls until her eyelids could not hold themselves up any longer.

Kirigan was beginning to panic. The girl—his prized weapon—was fading away. No amount of torture would persuade her now; he knew she had passed her breaking point, and she’d likely kill herself before allowing his minions to lay hands on her ever again. So he tried a different direction. He bought her gifts, had her transported to lavish, comfortable chambers. He offered her riches beyond imaginable—books he knew she loved, music to be played, invitations to parties and plays and concert halls.

But she just laid in bed, refusing to eat. All she could see when she opened her eyes was blood. And all she could hear whenever people neared her was the rush of it inside their veins. It was its own kind of torture. Especially when Nikolai, Saints bless him, somehow found out where she was staying. And when he came to her rooms, her heart began to beat so fast in her chest she was almost sick.

“What the—for fucks sake, Y/N.” He gasped, lurching towards her side, taking her gaunt face in his hands. She recoiled from his touch, almost gagging when she felt every pulse of his heart, could hear and sense every artery, every single capillary, every vein…

Her magic thrummed beneath her skin. Her magic, her power, had become a monster of its own, tortured alongside her. But where she was broken, it was fixed. Where she was tired, it was starving. So it took everything in her to say the words she spoke, voice hoarse from disuse.

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” She told him, heart breaking at the hurt expression on his face.

“Its been—it’s been three years, Y/N. I’ve written you at least a hundred letters—where have you been? I was so worried for you. No one seemed to be able to find out what happened to you until a week ago when a servant reported you alive.” His hands grasped her face again, ignoring the disgust on her face because it was breaking his own heart, as well. “I thought you loved me. I thought we—”

“We’ll you’re wrong.” She hissed, jolting up, forcing herself away from him. Her face had drained of color and—no. It wasn’t that. It was that she had grown almost ten shades paler. Like she hadn’t been in the sun for years. His stomach lurched. What had they— “I do not love you. I could never love such an arrogant, prissy—”

He held up a hand to stop her foul words, his chest aching as he took in a trembling breath. All this time. Every night he had longed for her, had written to her, had craved her touch and her scent and her lips against his, and she…she…

“You must truly hate me,” he started, voice low. “if you would pretend to love me and then treat me this way.”

She was quiet, and when he looked at her, he saw that she was shaking. Her eyes were tear filled and she turned away, looking out towards the window. Saints, she was thin. And—and there were scars on her small arms. Scars and—and were those burn marks?

Nikolai’s stomach roiled with nausea as he reached for her, hesitating for half a second before touching her hand that was curled into a fist against the bed.

“Please do not touch me.” She whispered, all trace of malice gone from her voice, and so he didn’t.

Tears of his own were beginning to fill as he watched her, watched her thin shoulders shake as she shoved down her emotions. When he finally spoke, barely able to push back that knot in his throat, he told her about the Sun Summoner. About the Darkling’s betrayal and the war on the horizon. About the sea whip and the adventures he’d been on. About how he loved her, and had missed her, and how he’d doing anything for her to just…smile at him again.

But she was quiet, and after a full minute had passed, he wiped the wetness from his face and stood, headed towards the door.

“Do not come to me again.” Her voice was so quiet he hardly heard it and he turned, pained and stunned. “I—I don’t think I can…” her throat cleared. “The things he—I don’t know if I can stop myself if you..” she couldn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t finish the thought, and his mind raced as he tried to understand what exactly she was saying to him.

“Kirigan?” He asked, brows furrowed, and she stilled. “Kirigan? Tell me, Y/N, and I’ll fix this. You’ll come home with me, tonight, and we’ll—”

“This cannot be fixed.” She said, so slowly it sounded as if there was a period in between each word. “I have been…I cannot see you.”

“Just look at me.” He insisted, frustration and pain and fear rising when she didn’t. “Please. Just look at me and acknowledge that I love you, that I’ll fight for you, and we can fix this.”

He watched her shoulders droop as she turned, fixing him with a look full of hope and sadness. He almost dropped to his knees but managed to stand, holding his shoulders back the way a prince would.

“I’m taking you with me.” He told her, voice firm. “You’re not staying in this—this place. I swear to take care of you, for the rest of my life, if need be.” When he didn’t respond, he added, “I love you. Please believe me.”

So the girl swallowed, blinking at her prince, and moved, standing on shaking, too skinny legs. And she followed him wordlessly out, neither of them touching, as they left for his carriage towards the grand palace.

***

The war had been bloody and horrific. The other Grisha—the ones working for Kirigan, had power like nothing the others had ever seen. But it was the figure in a black dress, flimsy and ridiculously thin, that strode across the quiet feel towards Kirigan’s army. That was the figure that struck everyone dumb, staring at her determined face and gaunt body.

Nikolai and his friends froze, watching her emerge from the fort, expression so blank it was like looking at a ghost. She stared back at the enemy Grisha that looked at her, confusion in their eyes at her weaponless state.

“You,” the brunette in the front, the one that threw ice at her prince, started, voice trembling a fraction. “You’re um—you’re General Kirigan’s prize, right? The one he uh,” she looked at the others; shame had coated some of their faces, and she wondered how much they truly knew of her torture. Nikolai had gone deathly pale at the sight of her. “we won’t hurt you. Just—just come over here, and we’ll shield you, okay? You’ll be safe, Y/N.”

All fighting had ceased, watching the exchange with interest and tension, and the fire bearing Grisha beside the brunette spoke up.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re safe with us.”

And as Nikolai watched her, heart climbing in his throat, a small, sinister smile began to pull at the healer’s mouth.

“I’d like you to tell Kirigan something for me, if you don’t mind.” She whispered, her low voice quiet enough that everyone stopped moving, stopped breathing, in order to hear her. “Tell him I love him for what he did to me.” She said, and her hands moved.

The Grisha didn’t have a chance.

They dropped the ground, almost as one, all of them; they clutched their throats and gasped, unable to use their power if they tried. But Y/N simply tilted her head to the side, watching with a hungry, hateful stare.

When blood seeped from their eyes, their noses, their mouths, Nikolai turned and vomited onto the ground, the sight something of a nightmare made reality. The Grisha were dead within seconds, every single one of them, and Y/N sank onto the ground, her eyes finding Tolya’s. He was closest, his sword in hand, and the only one not shaking with fear.

“Kill me, please.” She whispered, still feeling utterly numb at what she’d just done.

“If you touch her,” Nikolai panted, shoving himself to his feet. “I will kill you where you stand.”

Her gaze snapped to the prince’s as he approached, then dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. He breathed in her scent, ignoring the whispers around them, not when her pale hand moved hesitantly up to touch his back.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, piecing together her behavior—her appearance—what the Grisha had said—and then her power. Her dark power that was unnatural, that was nothing he’d ever seen before. “I won’t leave you again. I’m sorry.”

He pressed a kiss against her brow and she sighed, leaning into him. The power in her had been satisfied by the multitude of quick deaths, and his blood didn’t roar in her ears the way it sometimes did when he’d brought her to the palace, had brought her to his rooms, had fed her soup and clothed her and jabbered away even if she didn’t respond.

And on the days she refused to get out of bed, her expression haunted, he stayed beside her, refusing to leave the woman he loved. Not when he knew, somehow, that she’d been tortured ever since he had left. And though she still refused to tell him what had happened…well, they had time for that later.

“I do—” she swallowed, trying to bring the words out of her. “I do—love…you.” She said, her throat practically searing against the phrase, as the power inside her growled its disapproval. But Nikolai only kissed her forehead again, utterly unafraid of her.

She pulled back to look at him, touching his face with a tiredness that was bone deep, and forced her eyes not to linger on the gash on his head. If she did, she might feel the urge to see just how much it could bleed.

“I’m…” she swallowed again. She’d hardly spoken a word in months; it felt strange to communicate in more than nods or shakes of her head. “I’m going to…kill..”

He saw the look in her eyes and helped her up, his friends backing away from the girl as if she had the Black Plague. But her eyes simply swept over the clearing, meeting every gaze she saw, and spoke. For the first time in three years, she felt a sense of strength.

“Kirigan is mine.” She said, glaring around at them once more, before striding off into the distance, stepping over the bodies of her fallen Grisha on the way out of the fortress.

***

Kirigan had died begging.

She was laughing as she tugged his blood from his body, his eyes pleading with her. She had even mocked him, mocked him, miming choking on something as he gurgled and gagged on his own life’s blood. And when he was dead, good and truly dead, a strange weight whooshed out of her and she collapsed, panting.

Nikolai was at her side in seconds, Alina having had cleared the Fold, and when his hand touched her shoulder she felt, for the first time in a long time, no thrum of heartbeat. No hint of blood. She turned to look at him, eyes wide; Kirigan’s death had somehow reversed the damage. She raised her hands, healing the gash on his head, and sobbed in relief when his skin stitched together instead of tearing apart.

“Darling,” he sighed, gathering her into him, holding her close. “darling you’re safe. You’re free, now.”

“My—” she choked as she gasped for air, hardly able to breathe past the ache of relief in her chest. “Nikolai, I need you. I need you beside me.”

“I am yours.” He said simply, holding her close, and wondered, for the first time in a while, if a future with the woman he loved was truly possible.

And later, after months of healing, after hesitant attempts at stitching wounds, of curing illnesses, of gaining her color and gorgeous figure back, she finally told him of the horrors she had endured. When he had wept for her, she’d promised she loved him, and had endured it for him. For they would do anything for each other—anything.

And damn them if Kirigan would ever interfere again.

don’t ask where or why I came up with this but it’s gnarly to me to imagine someone with that kind of power xx

#shadow and bone #six of crows #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai x reader #wattpad #aleksander kirigan #general kirigan #the darkling #blood bender #Grisha

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insxghtt · 2 years ago

Text

the rage of a mother IV — aemond targaryen x reader

Aemond finally managed to prove to his family that you were not insane, but now he wondered if it was worth it.

warnings: grieve, violence, blood, death, angst.

previous chapter in here. english is not my first language so i’m sorry if you find any mistakes. hope you like it!

You followed the guards around the halls of the castle, on your way to the dungeon where your prisoner was. Aemond followed you, but you refused to look at him. You knew he wouldn’t want you to touch the man. Not that he cared about him, but because he feared for your soul. You were already mourning your daughter, you didn’t need to see more violence.

Before you could turn to the hall where the dungeon was, Aemond grabbed your arm and turned you to face him.

“I cannot let you do this”, he whispered.

“Why? You’ve spent the whole afternoon torturing the man. Why should I show him mercy?”

“I am not asking you to show him mercy”, Aemond touched your cheek. “I am begging you to let me kill him. I cannot sit back and watch my wife get her hands dirty with the blood of a traitor.”

“My hands are already dirty”, you said and took his hand away from your face. “I need her name, Aemond.”

“And then what? What do you intend to do? Kill her?”

You didn’t answer. To kill a witch was not as easy as it seemed. It would be dangerous and maybe that was exactly what Rhaenyra wanted.

“We must be patient, my love”, he continued to speak, but you did not listen.

“Rhaenyra has already put a target in our heads.”

“She got what she wanted from you.”

“You are a fool if you believe that”, you said. “She will not stop. I know it because it is what I would do. It is what I will do, my dear.”

Aemond felt his heart ache as he watched you walking away from him and enter the door. He thought about the woman you used to be and the woman you became. He remembered the way you smiled after the birth of your little girl, how you held her like you were always meant to do that, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by the screams of the man.

You’ve stayed inside that room for hours, but Aemond refused to leave. He stood next to the door, trying to control his urge to walk in the room and take you away. What stopped him was the certainty that you would never forgive him if he did.

At that point he did not know if he did the right thing by bringing the man to the Red Keep. Aemond did not expect you to act like that, he was just trying to prove to his own family that you were not insane.

Suddenly, the screams ceased. The silence pierced his ears and he knew what it meant. His lovely wife, the one that used to have the purest soul he had ever seen, took the man’s life by herself.

You opened the door and he looked at you. Your head was held high, red drops of blood covered your cheeks and stained your hands and dress.

“Alys Rivers”, you said without looking at him. “The name of the witch is Alys Rivers.”

꧁꧂

“Ser Criston has a lot to do”, Alicent argued. “He cannot leave the castle to look for a witch we have never heard of until now in the lands of our enemies.”

The family gathered on the small council. Aegon, this time, was present and surprisingly sober. Otto Hightower watched silently, Ser Criston Cole stood next to Alicent, and Aemond was sitting next to you. He begged his mother to send someone after the woman responsible for the death of his daughter, but apparently, he was the only one who understood and shared your pain.

“Great, I do not need him”, you said and stood from your chair. “I can find her myself.”

“No!”, Aemond raised his voice and held your hand tight. “You will stay here. I will send men after her.”

You sighed and sat down again. Aemond was the love of your life, but it was exhausting to be in the presence of his family for so long.

“We need these men here, Prince Aemond”, Ser Criston said, “If the word spreads and Rhaenyra finds out, she will see this as an opportunity to attack.”

“What do you suggest then?”, your husband tighten his hand around yours, trying to control his anger. “That we let the woman who killed my daughter walk free?”

“My Prince...”, Ser Criston tried to speak, but Alicent interrupted him.

“We are simply saying that we should wait for the right moment.”

You laughed sarcastically at the words of your mother-in-law.

“Perhaps the King should be the one to decide it”, Otto said and, suddenly, all eyes turned to the new King.

Aegon’s gaze was focused on his own hands. He felt the stares and looked at his mother.

“You are right, mother. We should wait for the right moment.”

“I wonder if you would say that if it was your child”, Aemond said and you caressed his hand with your thumb.

“I am not finished, brother”, Aegon raised from his chair and looked at you. “The man knew her in person, did he not?”

“Yes, your grace”, you answered.

“Did he describe her?”

“Yes, your grace”, you nodded. “White skin and long dark hair.”

“Where did you find him?”, he turned to Aemond.

“I’ve sent two men to look for evidences to prove that my wife was not mad like many of you said”, he said with grudge. “They found him running away from Harrenhal, speaking of a curse and brought him to me.”

“Harrenhal was taken by the blacks”, Otto remembered.

“Then we shall take it back.”

“And how will you do that, your grace? They have strong walls and we cannot risk to lose soldiers until the army from the north arrives”, Otto said.

“They have walls”, Aemond stood from the chair and looked at the man. “We have Vhagar.”

taglist (dm me or send me an ask to be added): @hydrationqueensworld @m00n5t0n3 @maylaysia109 @ebaylee422 @afro-hispwriter @starjane312 @msmarvel-19 @innercreationflower

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon x you #hotd x reader #house targaryen #hotd x you #hotd #hotd imagine #aemond oneshot #writing #writers on tumblr #aemond one eye

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moeitsu · 7 months ago

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and disturbing imagery. If you do not like depictions of war and torture please proceed with caution. I did heavy research for this chapter, but please know it is entirely FICTIONAL. The characters are not real, but the events are based on real American history. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low

1890

I knew I was going to die.

If the arrow in my side does not take me, then the man who rides the horse I lay across surely will.

I felt no pain. Perhaps it was the fever of the fight. But it didn’t hurt. I thought of screaming and thrashing, but I thought better of it. As my father would say, ‘The one good thing about problems, is they’ll still be problems later. Don’t need to deal with them right away.’

Either way, I was still going to die.

If only my father had taught me how to survive the frontier. I know now that you must learn to recognize those who won’t survive, and be wary of their doomed decisions. They are to be avoided at all costs. Because their fear is tragedy’s closest cousin. And tragedy is contagious in this place.

My mind was snuffed by a white blanket of fear, but somehow I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But God had already abandoned me, perhaps he never loved me at all. My life had been an endless cycle of taking, why would it stop taking now.

I had no idea where the man was taking me. I did not speak his language. I had heard stories about the wars between the Indians and Englishman. But I did not have a way to tell them I’m not a part of it, but I knew somehow if I could it would not matter. War will turn men into predators, and women into prey.

Only days ago I felt like I was drowning under a waterfall, but now I see this is the real river of death.

The adrenaline had begun to leak out of my body along with the blood from the arrow. I watched in a blurred haze as the droplets disappeared into the ground as the horse took us swiftly through the dark forests. The pain began creeping in along with the darkness as I blacked out.

When I woke I found myself laying on the dirt of a fort, the sound of Englishmen talking with the Indians brought me out of my haze. I thought I had been saved, I wanted to yell and scream for help. But the conversation did not sound pleasant, I could barely make out the figure of a man who must be a general and another who must have been the chief. To my surprise, I saw a young Indian woman standing behind the general, her wrists bound. She looked my age, but deathly beaten and ill. My throat closed in.

The chief's voice rose in anger and I watched him point at me, then at the woman. After a moment the general waved his hands, and the girl was unbound and brought to the chief, he swiftly lifted and cradled her. I knew then it was his daughter. At the same time one of the general's men came walking in my direction and I realized I wasn’t being rescued, but traded. One woman for another, and eye for an eye.

I thought death was better than being a prisoner, as my mind raced with panic. I almost begged the Indians to turn back and kill me.

There must be a heaven, because that night I knew I had entered the gates of hell. Crawling on my hands and knees into the belly of the beast as he took me in his bed. Night after endless night.

My days had turned into nights, and I no longer saw the point in living. Like my eyes had become devoid of color, and the world turned black and gray. Instead of praying to be rescued, I prayed my injury would kill me.

There were other prisoners in the fort, mostly Lakota men. I bore no hatred for their people, but entirely my own. Their greed so suffocating they took the daughter of the chief, an innocent girl who had no part in their war. And turned her into a shell of herself. All in the name of greed. It was always greed.

I thought my life couldn’t have any more surprises for me, that it must end here. But my life was about to change yet again.

I noticed one of the other prisoners began watching me, then leaving behind extra food and water for me. After a few days, he approached me.

“What is your name?” he asked, his accent thick. Like my language did not fit right in his mouth. Unlike his own.

“Kate,” I answered. Surprised to hear my own voice after days of torture, “what’s yours?”

“Egwani,” he said, “or in your language little river. That wound in your belly is going to get infected.” River nodded at the small purple wound on my stomach . The general's men had cauterized it, but my body had been rising with a fever for the past two days.

“It’s already infected.” And I hoped it would kill me quickly.

River shook his head, “I can help you.”

“Why would you help me?” Not that there was any hope for me anyways. Even if he stopped the infection, I was still stuck in this hell.

“That woman the white man traded you for, she is my wife.”

A chill ran down my spine. I did not want to think about what they did to her infront of him.

“You gave your life to save hers. So I will save yours.” He said sincerely. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but still. If one woman came out of this alive, then I guess my death would have some meaning to it.

“Even if you stop the infection, these men will kill me. There’s nothing you can do, I’m going to die here.” My voice betrays my thoughts. Desperation creeping its way into the cracks. Inside I wanted the pain to end, I wanted my suffering to cease. But I was still terrified, beneath it all I longed to return home. Pretend none of it happened. Return to my old life with my family. But that version of me no longer exists.

River chuckled softly.

“Is something funny?” The last thing I needed was to be shown kindness and then mocked. Like the general’s men had not degraded me enough.

“You are stubborn like the Amicalola,” he smiled. Why was he smiling? Had he not suffered just as much as I had? He must have seen his wife beaten nearly within an inch of her life, and he could do nothing, yet he was smiling at me now.

The pain in my body made my words come out bitter and sharp, “I don’t know what that means.”

“My people’s word for waterfall. You are strong like one too. It is a good name.”

I scoffed, how incredibly wrong he was.

“I’m not,” I stated with a groan. My head throbbed from the fever and my body was cold from the chills as the infection raged through my insides.

“I can give you medicine. And when my people return in a few weeks, I will escape and take you with me.” He explained.

“I think I’d rather you just kill me now,” I said, closing my eyes. The world around me was spinning in a dark haze, gravity pulling my body down with my thoughts.

“You could have killed yourself days ago,” River began, “you could have taken a rope to your throat, or a knife to your heart. But you did not,” I opened my eyes again and looked at him, “that is how I know you are strong. Your will to live is burning through you right now with a fever.”

My eyes filled with tears, and my throat suddenly felt thick. For the first time in what felt like forever, my heart began to fill with hope. River closed the gap between us and placed a gentle palm on my forehead, feeling the heat of my skin.

“I have watched you turn towards the pain as it tears into you. I have seen the way you survive, these men think they have taken everything from you. But you have not let them devour your soul.”

“I could do nothing to stop them,” I croaked. Hot tears spilling down my cheeks like water through a dry creek bed.

“Sometimes, there is strength in surrendering. But you have surrendered nothing to the pain. I see your tears, but you do not weep,” he brushed a thumb over my wet face, “you are a warrior.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

True to his word, River’s men showed up exactly two weeks later. But before that, he had given me a salve mixed from honey and sage and rubbed it over my arrow wound, as well as the numerous others I had accumulated in my time here. He also gave me an herbal tea for the infection, and by some miracle it was working. Each day I felt my strength returning to me.

River took beatings for me, when I could not walk or do chores. Or simply when the men felt like taking their frustrations out on another human being. And I felt incredibly guilty for it. But he always assured me that I needed to save my strength for the real fight, when his people came. Yet nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold.

They came under the cover of night, and used the forest and mountains to their advantage. They brought the fire, as the fort was made entirely out of wood and before long it became a fiery prison from hell. I knew our escape would not be easy, even with the help of Rivers' men. I had my strength back, but no knowledge of how to actually fight. I was lucky enough to escape with just a burn on my calf.

It had been a bloody massacre, and the men fought savagely. The Lakota people came with arrows and tomahawks and spears, and I watched as they made the men of the fort suffer. It brought a sickening joy to my heart, to see the men who had raped me have their skulls crushed and insides ripped apart. It felt like justice.

We lost people on our side, too many. None of the other prisoners had made it out alive. And I grieved for the other girls of the camp who did not make it like I had, it felt unfair. But we managed to escape. After hours of blazing rage, River swiftly lifted me onto the back of a horse, and together we rode far away from the fort. Only a few of his people escaped alongside us, as we left behind their final resting place. The numbing shock of war is behind me now, and hope has taken its place.

His men had informed us that his tribe had moved to the bottom of the Tennessee river, to escape the constant attacks and find refuge further west. So that is where our journey took us. As if life had still granted me the irony of continuing west, despite all the horrors I had faced to get there.

It took us nearly three months. We traveled through the Appalachian trails and the journey was not easy. We lived rough, and we lived hard. I felt like a burden most days, as I knew I was slowing down their journey. I was still not entirely healed, and some days I felt I did not have the strength to travel at all. But River was patient, and never made me feel like it was my fault.

He taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and how to set traps and skin animals. He even taught me some of his language, but most importantly he taught me how to survive.

“When we kill an animal we must use all parts of it, to honor it. These creatures are innocent, and when we kill an innocent we become a little less of a man, and a little more of an animal.” He told me as he demonstrated how to properly skin a rabbit.

Death is something we share with all creatures; rabbits, birds, horses and trees. It's everywhere, and eventually it will take everyone. Just as it had taken everyone who had loved me. Even as the stars die, we cannot run from it.

Despite his people running from war, they could not escape death either. We arrived at River’s tribal camp, along the bank of the Tennessee river, and it had been reduced to ash. We were too late, or perhaps we were lucky, this could have been our fate too. River, and the men who came to rescue us, were the last of his people. I saw something dark enter him that day, as he held the charred bones of his wife and child. The woman whom I gave my life for, all for nought. As I stood there, living and breathing, and she did not. Their entire family history, wiped clean from the earth.

His rage became the oil to my flame, I felt his anger mix with my own deep in my soul. All this death we had endured. Intertwined our fates like loops on a chain that bound us like shackles. But it was our grief that kept us on a tight leash. River sought revenge and justice, while I yearned to take from the world what it had taken from me. Together, we would instill fear into the heart of every man who crossed the land.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate McCanon died the day I met River. What stood before him now was the Amicalola, the waterfall. I became a woman unrecognizable.

Like many rivers, their journeys start with quiet beginnings, but as they are nourished by the waters of experience, they gather strength, flowing swiftly and deeply towards their desired path. If you follow their course and witness where they converge — they become a creature of beauty as well as fury. I became the waterfall: untamed and unbridled, sweeping away all in my path with wild abandon.

River made me into a warrior, and with each life I took, the world felt my turmoil. Anger guided my blade, for the world had stolen my family—my husband, and my daughter. It robbed me of myself, leaving me with nothing to lose.

“Our purpose is to ensure our enemies' fear is greater than their greed,” he told me. We hunted poachers, bandits, and thieves. But his rage was never satisfied.

He taught me how to kill, how to torture. How to fight with weapons capable of horrific fatalities. And I welcomed it with open arms. We fought and killed together for several years before I would begin to lose myself to the bloodshed.

We were hunting a group of poachers, when we came upon what we believed to be their camp. River was the first to drag a man from his tent, a knife already in his side. He would ask questions, and then kill him slowly. His fate sealed the moment we found their tracks. The man claimed to know nothing, but we were not convinced. And it wouldn't matter anyways, we would kill everyone in the camp. Just for the sake of it.

“What you take from the land will be taken from you. Know that I am the land, and the land is killing you.” River spoke in his native tongue as he slit the man's throat. Sickeningly slow. He would choke to death in his own blood.

A sound came from the man's tent and a figure emerged, I drew my bow, ready to release it as they stepped out. The moment a child appeared, I wished then that I had the strength to kill myself back at the fort. I had turned into a monster.

My heart was in my stomach as a little girl cried for her father. What have I done? I had almost killed a child. And we just killed her father, I realized we had been at the wrong camp. And I had just doomed a mother to be a widow, and a childhood to be ruined. I might as well have handed my fate over to them.

River stood before me, his face shadowed and his eyes vacant. The man who once filled my heart with hope now dwelled in darkness himself. At that moment, I knew I had to leave. I could no longer fight alongside him; our path led to a place from which I could not return. Like Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, yet born under the light of Spring, I too would journey down the river Styx.

He did not resist my departure. River assured me I would always be welcomed among his people, and if I desired, he would take me as his wife. For years, River had been my strength, and I his, but now I was leaving him—to salvage what little I had left of myself.

After calming the child, I made a solemn vow to reunite her with her mother. This marked the beginning of my journey to break the cycle, and seek redemption for what I had done. It would also mark the end of my journey as a warrior. As we parted ways, he whispered a message into the wind. I could not tell if it was a goodbye, or a promise, or a warning. In his tongue he told me “follow the rivers, and they will take you to the waterfall.”

~~~

AN: I seriously appreciate all the love you guys are showing for this story. It motivates me to write more, and I'm truly having so much fun with it. Thank you! <3

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leothetraveler · 2 months ago

Text

KALLAMB PART ONE

i was going to make this a oneshot...but I think I will have to do a two-parter. still, it now has a proper ending. enjoy.

They’re dead? They can’t have fallen. Them too? Thoughts raced through Kallamar’s mind as they received the news. His last high priest had fallen to the lamb. How could they do this? It’s just a lamb I need to hide run SCREAM. “My lord? Are you alright?” Kallamar had all but forgotten the messenger before them, their face full of concern for their silent god. “Y-yes. Of course. I… I need to plan. BEGONE.” Kallamar turned their back to hide their terror as the messenger left the room. The squid fell to his knees in a mix of grief and dread. His sister and brother were dead. Half of the Old Faith, gone. No doubt he was next. His mind could only imagine the torture his fallen siblings were facing. What horrors had been dreamed up by-

Kallamar froze, sensing the trespass of the red crown. Of the lamb. They were back to finish him. Tears welled in the squid’s eyes as he tried, desperately, to think of a way out. The lamb would not die, so maybe they could be convinced to show mercy? There was only one chance. One way the Old Faith could survive. He could not allow a single soul to see such, but he had to grovel before the red crown and beg them to claim his sibling in his place. This whole thing was Shamura’s fault anyhow. And death would be a mercy on their shattered mind. So Kallamar departed to confront the lamb with a silent prayer to the first gods.

“Please, I beg you, spare me. Kill Shamura, but do not send me to my death. Do not send me to him!” Kallamar finished his plea, looking for any sign that the lamb’s fury waivered. But if there was any thought of mercy, it was hidden behind the trained expressionless face of a crownbearer. Kallamar’s mind raced with fear. “You will not find my temple. I will be safe there. Yes, I will-”

“Now you know how I felt.”

Kallamar froze, their eyes focusing back on the lamb before them. “w-..what?” The lamb took a step towards the terrified bishop. “Now you know how I felt the day you and your siblings killed me.” Kallamar stepped back, the lamb stepped forward. “Now you know how I felt every damn day of my life being hunted by your family for being born.” The lamb only stopped their advance as the bishop backed into a column. “You now live in fear, like I did. You beg for mercy…like I did, for so long. You did nothing then…I won’t listen now.” Kallamar racked their mind for excuses. “I-I couldn’t do anything. My siblings, yes, they insisted. Even if I had, I would just be joining Narinder in damnation!” The lamb tilted their head, a curious yet sadistic expression breaking through. “Narinder? Who’s that? One of your beloved priests?”

There was silence as the two stared at each other, trying to decipher what the other was thinking. Kallamar spoke first. “YOU KILL IN HIS NAME AND DON’T EVEN KNOW IT?!?” The lamb only stared, more annoyed at his screeching than anything. Kallamar groaned, his fear temporarily forgotten. “Of course our brother wouldn’t mention it. It is not relevant to killing us. He always kept his cards close to his-” The lamb’s blade dug into the wall behind Kallamar, interrupting his chain of thought. “What do you mean ‘brother’?”

Kallamar broke into laughter. This lamb was nothing but a tool. A weapon aimed at their throat, not a rival or follower. They knew nothing of the Old Faith or the crown they wear. His confidence restored, he explained to the fool before him. “He was the third. The middle sibling. Why do you think our symbol is the five-pointed star? Five points, five crowns. He is not different. He is not better. He is our brother. This, all of this, is little more than a family dispute. He tried to increase his power. Made himself a threat to the rest of us. So we locked him away. Even if you did manage to break the chains, it will take quite the sacrifice to-” Kallamar paused mid-sentence, a thought occurring. How did Narinder plan to escape? While the seal on his temple was easily broken, bringing a god back from the land of the dead would take a grand sacrifice. No mere mortal would suffice, but the grand vessel beloved by so many? Add the fact that they were a lamb, a sacrificial beast, and that would do it. “So that’s his grand plan. Put you on a pedestal, make you beloved, then demand your head so he can walk free. And you are left none the wiser till it’s too late to say no. Almost poetic. Your story begins and ends with your sacrifice.”

The lamb dragged their hoof across the ground in frustration. While they were sworn enemies, it is clear the lamb was not such a fool that they did not see the truth in Kallamar’s words. “…let’s say I believe you. That my death is needed to free him. That The One Who Wa-…Narinder. Intends to demand my death. Would he not reward his most loyal follower with life anew? Once he is free, reviving me should be a simple matter.”

Kallamar chuckled at their naiveté. They did not know his brother at all. They had fallen completely for his lies. “No. Even with the admiration of your meager cult boosting it, the sacrifice of just your body would likely be insufficient to let him escape. No, more than likely your very soul will be consumed in the process. Such a true death was rarely done by us before, but it is far more potent. Besides…he was never one for gratitude.”

The lamb grumbled and took a deep breath. “Regardless,” they blade deformed and slithered to their hand, reforming, “you have yet to give me any reason to spare you. You slaughtered my kind for your own survival. You made my life hell. And of course, your brother will not rest until he is freed. I will send you to him eventually.” Kallamar’s heart caught in their throat. Try as they might to swallow it, fear gripped him again. Narinder was ruthless when it came to torture. When they culled the heavens, it was he who tortured their prisoners for where the last holdouts hid. And that was with the limitations of the living world.

“I- I’m sure we can come to an agreement, yes? After all, you aren’t going to simply let yourself DIE by his hand…are you?” The lamb stared at him…then smiled. A smile that reminded Kallamar of his brother. The same sadistic grin he wore whenever he thought of new ways to bully him. They pointed their blade at him. “Kneel.”

He stared at them, dumbfounded. “P-pardon?”

“I. Said. Kneel.” The lamb repeated, their false smile fading. “And I may choose to spare you.” Kallamar stared at the lamb. The prey, now predator. Faced with few options, Kallamar swallowed his pride…and knelt before his executioner. Kallamar felt their hoof tilt his head back to look them in the eyes. There was no mercy in the lambs’s eyes as they spoke. “Here is the deal. I will spare you, for now, if you break the chain….and your crown.”

Kallamar was speechless. His crown? and the chain? But that would only leave him helpless. Powerless against- “If you don’t, I will send you to your brother the painful way.” Lamb threatened, understanding the squid’s silence.

Kallamar swallowed. “I-if I do this…what is to stop him from killing me later?” Lamb smiled. That damned smile. Devoid of kindness. Of warmth.

“ME.” The lamb proclaimed, “I will not stop till all traces of your wretched faith is wiped from the earth. And now, I know that means him too. So. You will break the chain, renounce your godhood, and serve me. And when I kill that cat, you will be spared…until your natural demise.” Kallamar stumbled back, feeling a mix of fear and disgust. “you…you would just leave me to rot? Let me fall into my brother’s hands regardless of my submission?!”

The lamb’s expression darkened. “Who said you could stand? And why shouldn’t I let you rot? YOU KILLED MY PEOPLE! YOU KILLED ME!” Kallamar cowered as the lamb bared their fangs. Fangs. Their teeth deformed, likely from the crown’s influence. Not that Kallamar cared. It only made them look more like Narinder. His mind raced. He couldn’t hope to stop them. Even death would not cease their rage. Their only hope was barter. The lamb gave their terms, it was time for his.

“Fine,” he spoke, gathering what dregs of dignity he could despite his fear, “but if I am to help you, I have terms of mine own, lamb.” The lamb narrowed their eyes but stood silent. “Firstly, I will not pass into my brother’s clutches. You will slay him first. Take his place. Claim his crown as your own. Second, when you take his place, you will spare my family of whatever torture he has put them in.”

The lamb scoffed, letting their crown cease being a weapon and return to their head. “I will not spare them their due death. it is what you all deserve.” Kallamar nodded. “Perhaps. But Narinder’s cruelty knows no limit. Whatever they suffer, it is more than your entire kind’s quick deaths put together. Suffering and death eternal. I do not ask their return, only that their suffering ends. And thirdly…” Kallamar took a deep breath, this last term was a horrid idea…but it did ensure his survival. Siblings, forgive me.

“Thirdly…I will not be a simple follower. If I am to serve, I demand a higher position in your cult.” The two stared at each other. The only sound was the near silent flow of Anchordeep’s currents. Then the lamb burst out laughing. Kallamar was unnerved. The lamb turned, taking a few steps back. “a ‘higher position’? like what? Wouldn’t trust you as an enforcer of neither tax nor loyalty. Want to be another of my disciples? Is that it? Or were you hoping to ‘rule by my side’ or something?”

The lamb’s tone was mocking, but Kallamar sensed opportunity. Disciple may be sufficient…but lamb did remind him of a better position. “Consort.” The lamb stopped but did not turn. “…what?”

“If I help you with your revenge and godhood…I will be your consort.” Kallamar explained, “I have had many myself over the centuries, who I did care for. Deeply. You met my latest consorts…you killed all three of them already…” Kallamar barely held himself together. He did not lie when he said he cared for his consorts. His high priests. They were his most devoted. His most cherished followers. Slaughtered in pursuit of him. Giving their lives to stall the lamb.

Kallamar flinched as a hoof shot up towards him, but there was no curse flung in his direction. “I accept your terms.” Kallamar took their hoof in his oversized tentacle, shaking it. “While I am here, another thing. The remains of my torn ears are somewhere here. If you can find them, I will trust them to your person…we may be able to put them to good use later.” The lamb nodded before leaving to continue their crusade in Kallamar’s realm. Kallamar fell to his knees, tears forming in his eyes as the weight of what he agreed to came crashing down.

The chain must be broken, his crown shattered, and he must accept the sanctuary of the lamb. His family is gone. It was all for naught. But he would survive. Kallamar took a deep breath, composing himself before returning to his temple. His acolytes would need to be sent into hiding. Even if the lamb was distracted by the relic of their folly, they would arrive soon. And then it would be over.

Kallamar caught themselves almost smiling. It would finally all be over.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #cotl kallamar #kallamb #kinda?#cotl fanfic #I'll have a second part of them adjusting to cult life and bonding with lamb.#later

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