#Gates of Thorns and Bones

[tenth-sentence]

Never one to shy away from a gardening metaphor, Marshall told students that their alien creators would harvest the spiritually evolved, leaving normal humans, the equivalent of weeds, behind and effectively turning the soil – digging the remains of their evolutionary experiment back into the earth with the worms, the dog bones, and the eternally damned souls.

"Zealot: A Book About Cults" - Jo Thornely

[graveyardcuddles]

Rhapsody - Astarion x GN!Reader one-shot

You and Astarion are ready to embark on a new journey together. You begin by shedding a painful piece of his past.

A/N: I'm brand new to hobby writing, and this is my first ever fic! This was based on something I actually did with my Tav and Astarion in-game.

tags/warnings: sfw, established relationship, gender neutral!reader, nondescript reader, tavstarion (reader is tav), kissing, in-game spoilers, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of Cazador-related trauma, feelings, fluff.

Word count: ~2000

It's a quiet early evening in the Elfsong tavern. The private room you share with your lover is warm, windows shuttered and curtains drawn. As you entered the room, you froze, stopping to admire the sight before you. Astarion was resting in the comfort of your shared bed. Trancing, to be precise. He hadn't been trancing these past few days, and the sight of your silver-haired love resting peacefully filled you with relief. Slowly, you peel off your boots and make your way over to your resting vampire. Your hands and knees sank into the plush of the bed cautiously in an attempt to avoid disturbing his trance. He was roused from it easily. Eventually, you managed to settle your head on the pillow, simply observing him in a rare moment of peace. He lay unnaturally still, chest unmoving, eyelashes resting delicately where his lovely dark circles ran under his eyes. Hair tousled, collar bones just peaking out of where the top buttons of his shirt clasped together. His face was calm, with no trace of tension he usually had during his night terrors. You smiled. Eventually, your lids grew heavy.

It had been only a week since you and your companions had destroyed the world-ending threat of the mindflayer Grand Design. Your little group of unlikely friends were declared Heroes of the Gate. You should be feeling triumphant, but your victory had been bittersweet. Despite taking pride in the fact he had been one of its saviors, Baulder's Gate would always remain host to Astarion's worst memories. Just returning to the city alone was overwhelming for him: facing his old stalking grounds, his siblings, Cazador. Your relationship had only recently evolved into something more after his confession in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You knew this would be difficult and messy for him, but you were already hopelessly devoted to this beautiful broken man who was finally trusting you with his heart, wholly and freely.

So you took his heart in your hands and held it gently through all his anxieties and fears. Through the sleepless nights, the sobbing, the flashbacks, and phantom pains. All of which only increased as his confrontation with Cazador drew closer, and the promise of power and security that came with ritual became more and more tempting to him. You feared dearly that you were losing him and that your love and pleas for him to see reason wouldn't be enough to stop him. The fear wound itself around you like a bramble, the heartache gnawing away at you daily.

In the end, your worst fears did not come to pass. He rejected the profane power of the ritual in return for freedom with you. In that bloody moment when Astarion finally ended Cazador, you were in awe of him. His glorious spirit and strength. You allowed him to let out over 200 years of grief and rage. Watched closely as he came back to himself. Helped him back to the Elfsong to clean him up and tend to his wounds. Later on that night, after things had settle and he was in the aftermath of his victory, you had asked him what he wanted now that he was free. "You," he had answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was you that he wanted.

He had taken you to the very soil where his two hundred years of torment had begun and made love to you in that very place as a declaration of his new life and freedom. He cleared away every painful thorn of doubt and fear covering your heart, much like he had cleared the vines growing over his tombstone with his own two hands. The beginning of a new life with you. Sadly, the two of you hardly had time to properly celebrate Cazador's death before returning immediately to securing new allies and calculating battle strategies against Orin, Gortash and finally the Netherbrain's forces themselves. It had all been a whirlwind in which neither you hardly had any time to truly relish in Astarion's new liberation.

You would never forget that horrifying moment the sun had turned on him. It's once gentle warmth that had given him so much comfort on your journey now becoming a burning, searing light. When you found him shortly after, hidden behind some crates, he was still scarred from the light. His face and hands were ashened, pieces of what were once his flesh practically flaking off in cinders. He was panicking, and you tried your best to stay calm for him. You offered him your wrist, reminding him he needed blood to heal. It only seemed to further distraught him. He was just as furious as you expected him to be and more so. Furious that after everything he went through, he was being forced back into the shadows again. Furious at you for pitying him. Furious at Cazador. But most of all, he was furious at himself for having dared to have hoped again. For thinking that just because he had been a very good boy and helped to save the world that the gods or fate or anyone would take pity on him and grant him this one thing. But no.

He sat there on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. He had yelled so much about how foolish he had been to expect any outcome other than this, you half-expected his voice to give out. Eventually, he went quiet for a few long minutes before looking up at you, his beautiful red eyes full of sorrow. He tried to smile at you, but it broke off into a scoff.

"I'm never going to see you in the sunlight again."

He let out a long laugh full of bitterness before pressing his face back into his knees and breaking into a sob. It was then that you closed the gap between you two, holding him as wept. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and swear a paladin's oath to him personally that he WOULD walk in the sun again. That you were making it your life's mission. But you knew that wouldn't help him now. It wouldn't lessen the sting. It wouldn't soften the blow. Right now, he needed to mourn, and so mourn you let him.

You held him there and let him weep in your arms. When you offered him your blood again, he finally accepted, drinking in your healing essence and regenerating the scorched skin and flesh. You caressed the newly healed skin softly, kissing it with tenderness and reassuring him that he looked good as new. Later on that same evening, after you managed to make it back to Elfsong with him and were together in bed, he took your hand in his.

"I want to apologize, darling," You were confused, but he continued. "I acted abhorrent to you in a moment of weakness. I was so... angry about what I had lost. I was blind to what I still had in front of me."

He cupped your face, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Your sweet vampire. You took his hand and kissed his knuckles one by one. You reassured him that he had nothing to apologize for. The sun was one of the few pleasantries from his mortality that he could relish in again while tadpoled. The caress of its rays had become synonymous with freedom itself for him. And with the new love between you two. To have that ripped away would make anyone angry.

It was then that you told him that you WOULD help him find a way to walk in sunlight again. He had been surprised to hear you say so, as if he had expected you to write it off entirely as an impossibility, as he already had. But your words seemed to spark a new sense of hope in him. It was what he said next that took you off guard.

"That is...if this is what you want?" Your heart dropped. Surely he didn't still doubt how you felt about him? "I can understand if you would want to part ways..." Even as he says it, his eyes momentarily drop to the floor, and he sways a bit uneasily.

He is still always expecting the worst. Anticipating more grief. You took his hands gently into yours, telling him that if you thinks you're seriously going to break up with him now after everything you two have been through together, then he's going to have to start being a LOT more annoying. Because he isn't getting rid of you any time soon.

The next several days would be spent together, processing everything you had gone through. Your companions had all gone their seperate ways fairly quickly after a hasty celebration: Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, Lae'zel to war against Vlaakith, Gale to return the Crown to Mystra, Shadowheart with her parents and Halsin with his foundlings. After only a few days, it just you and Astarion left in the city. You had stayed by his side throughout this time, only ever leaving to get food or check on the acquaintances you had made in the city. But you were both growing restless. He appreciated your presence, but you could tell the time was coming for the both of you to move on from this place and make a new adventure for yourselves together.

You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep until a few hours had passed. As you open your eyes, you see your pale elf has moved from the bed. He's seated on the floor, in front of the chest full of the shared things the two of you have gathered along your journey. You slide off the bed, and he turns his head to smile at you. "There you are," his eyes were a soft shade of carnelian in the warm lamp light. You came to sit by him. He seems concentrated on whatever he's holding. You touch his shoulder and look to see what he's examining. A dagger. Not just any dagger but one that made your blood run nearly as cold as Astarion's. Rhapsody. The dagger Cazador had used to scar his back, and the one which would ultimately end his wretched existence. Nineteen times. Astarion had stabbed Cazador nineteen times. You had counted each stab. Presently, he was turning the blade in his hand with a contemplative expression.

"Hideous, isn't it?" He scoffs. You noted he was taking care to only touch the dagger's ornate hilt and pommel, avoiding touching the actual blade at all.

"Is it..?" You stared at the twin design of the twisting gnarled metal.

"Silver? Naturally. How else is one supposed to permanently scar a vampire?"

You bit back the sympathetic words that were lingering on your tongue, knowing he wouldn't want to hear them now.

"Pretty effective at killing vampires as well, I'd say." You quipped gently. Astarion hummed in response, but his expression remained contemplative.

"Yes. I suppose it might be somewhat useful if we ever get on the wrong side of another vampire," he mused. You lean in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you pondered the dagger. "True. Could also be useful if Petras ever decides to come around and bother us."

You're almost startled as he throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. He sets the dagger down as it's obviously lost his attention for the moment. "Darling!" He exclaims. "You were the one who convinced me to save the poor wretch! Twice, in fact! Only to want him dead now? I mean, it's understandable, but clearly, I'm having a bad influence on you."

You couldn't help but smile back. This was the most you had seen him smile or laugh since losing the sun. His laughter was so light and airy it made your heart burst. "Yes, you are such a very bad influence on me, Astarion."

You crawled over to him, eyes locked. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his gaze softens as you asked permission to go further. He answers by giving you a series of playful kisses leading along your jaw from your earlob to your lips. He locks on those lips and deepens his kiss, going slow and taking his time. A deep, passionate kiss. Your hands find their way into his curls, and they twine their way around your fingers loosely. He sighs into the kiss, whole body relaxing into you. When you pull apart, he's smiling, a touch of melancholy still lingering on his features.

"I saw you in my reverie," he says unexpectedly. You listen to him intently as he continues. "We were leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands after Shar's curse had been lifted. I hadn't seen the sun in weeks, and then there you were, bathed in its light. I hadn't realized until that moment how beautiful you were in sunlight." He smiles sadly and kisses your hand.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and look him in the eye. "And it's a sight you will see again one day, my love. I promise you." Your arms come around him and hold him close, stroking his hair and simply letting him feel. After a few minutes, he seems to come back to you. "I want to leave this stupid city already," he says plainly. You chuckle and pull away from him. "Me too, my love. We can leave as soon as tomorrow if you'd like."

Astarion's gazes at your travel chest again. He takes out the dagger again, looking at this time with disgust. "And I want to get rid of... this thing," he says with bile in his voice. "It's hideous, just like everything else Cazador ever commissioned. All that damn wealth, and I swear it's like he challenged himself to own the ugliest pieces of art he could." He huffed and shook his head. "I want to throw this damn thing away." An idea came to you. Looking towards the clock, you note there's still a few hours left before sunrise. "Would you like to get rid of it now?" You ask him, careful to only present it as an option. He's still getting used to making big decisions, and you don't want to pressure him. He looks at you. "Gods, yes."

The two of you head out into the warm night air of the city, and Astarion's nose almost immediately wrinkles in offense. "Gods, how have they still not managed to fully get rid of that rotting squid smell? I thought there were clean-up and recovery efforts underway." You roll your eyes. "There have been clean-up and recovery efforts underway, silly. They've gotten rid of all the Mindflayer corpses already. Your nose is just sensitive." Cloaked in night, the many little homes making up the vast reaches of the Outter City light up on the horizon before you. You walk together and tell him all about the acquaintances you've made in the city and how they had been faring after the chaos of the battle.

Eventually, you make your way to your destination: the docks of Baulder's Gate where you had all pulled yourselves ashore after crash-landing the Netherbrain into the sea. Astarion slows down as you walk along the dock. The last time he was running for his life, burning up in the sun. You hoped returning here with him to do this will make for a proper end to your illithid odyssey. At you stop at the dock's end, you take Astarion's hand in yours. You say nothing, waiting on him to make the next move.

He sighs and takes out Rhapsody, giving it a final look. For a moment, you wonder if he might hesitate. He stares at the blade intensely, holding it as if its weight were far greater than it physically was. Two centuries of terror. Without any further warning or fanfare, the dagger is airborne. For a split second, you can just barely make out a tiny glint of moonlight reflecting off the blade as it flew through the air. With a small splash, it's gone forever. Astarion lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "You monster!" You exclaimed with mock horror. "You just murdered some poor innocent fish!"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Maybe the Hero of the Gate should go and rescue the poor thing." He grabs you around your waist, his newfound vampiric strength catching you off-guard. He spins you around as if he means to literally throw you off the dock, and while you're fairly certain he's joking, you panic nonetheless. You let out a high-pitched "ASTARION!" that practically comes out as a shriek.

He's giggling like a madman as he sets you down, holding your shoulders for a moment to steady you. "You're lucky I love you as much as I do, you know," you mutter as he continues to laugh at how easily he can tease you. "You're adorable when you pretend to be annoyed with me," he says. The two of you sit on the dock together for a long while, holding hands and simply taking in the starlight dancing on the water. "There's something else I wanted to discard as well, actually." He reaches into his pocket and produces two rings that you recognize as the twin Szarr family rings you had used to unlock your way through Cazador's mansion.

Astarion contenplates the rings in his palm. "You know I..." the words catch in his throat, seemingly paralyzed. You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments, he shakes his head, a smile barely perceptible.

"It's nothing, my dear. You know Cazador really did have the most hideous taste in things, including jewelry. Can you imagine wearing these? Ugh." You take one of the rings and examine it. "Hmm. Not my style, I'll be honest."

"That's because you're not blind, darling." He stands up and prepares to throw it.

"Together?"

"Together."

[loveinhawkins]

Thinking about what might’ve happened if Dustin and Eddie both made it through the trailer Gate; if the door held and none of the bats followed them.

-

They get a momentary reprieve, dizzy with relief.

And Hawkins splits open.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie screams, and he throws himself over Dustin as the living room is rent apart, shields him from chunks of the ceiling and trailer roof raining down; after one final shudder, everything goes eerily still.

They breathe.

“Max,” Dustin gasps. Scrabbling out from underneath Eddie, he reaches for his walkie, desperate, “Lucas, do you copy? Lucas! Do you goddamn—”

There’s a click and then the horrible sound of Lucas sobbing—trying and failing to get words out.

Eddie’s stomach plummets.

Through the fear and horror, it dawns on him that he needs to step up to the plate—that he’s in charge—and he has to act now.

“We’ve gotta go,” he says, thinking fast. He pulls Dustin up with him, adds, “Leave the walkie here,” jerking his head up to the grotesquely expanded Gate, “so they’ll have it when they get back.”

He’s thankful beyond words that Steve left the keys in the RV.

It’s a tense, silent ride broken only by Dustin sharply saying, “Watch out,” whenever they get too close to a chasm in the road.

Eddie can hardly comprehend what he’s looking at. He remembers saying the shire is burning. Now it sounds like a prophecy fulfilled.

When they reach the Creel House, he drives up onto the grass until the RV is hidden as best he can manage amongst the bushes and thorns.

Erica’s running out of the house by the time they reach the front steps, a walkie in her hand; Eddie’s eyes land on her skinned knees, and his stomach drops all over again.

“Hey, are you hurt, are you hurt?” he babbles, already knowing the answer—but he means is there more than this? I’m here, I’ll help you, I’ll help you.

His hands land on her shoulders, squeezing tight, and Erica—this sharp-tongued, funny, kind kid—breaks down in tears.

“I called a-an ambulance,” she stutters out.

“Hey, you did great. Shh, you did great.” Eddie hugs her far too briefly, but there’s no time. He presses the keys to the RV into her hand. “It’s hidden, hey, see that bush down there? Lock yourself in, keep radioing for the others. Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay.”

She nods, eyes shining.

No-one should have to be this fucking brave, Eddie thinks.

Dustin follows him through the house, up the stairs, jumping over the cracks until—

Max in Lucas’s arms, her eyes closed, blood running down her cheeks.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, but he can’t falter now; he pushes back vivid images of Chrissy, of Patrick, and falls to his knees next to Lucas.

“Her—her bones,” Lucas gasps, “I shouldn’t have m-moved her but the ground—Jason, he…”

Eddie follows where Lucas’s eyes darts to, across the cavernous gap in the floor, sees the mangled remains of—

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows through a wave of nausea.

“I hurt—I hurt her,” Lucas whispers.

Eddie puts a hand on his back. “No, you—you did what you had to, man. You saved her, Sinclair, you hear me?” He places two fingers to Max’s throat. Waits. Exhales deeply. “Pulse is still… okay, okay.”

“What?” Lucas tries to check, too. His hand is shaking. “But I—I felt—”

“Trust me, she’s—”

A wail. Sirens, rapidly approaching.

Eddie’s gaze flickers over Lucas and Dustin: their eyes are glassy with horror. It’s not hit them yet, what’s about to happen, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be.

It’s Eddie’s job to know.

The paramedics arrive first.

Eddie moves back. Gives them space.

He doesn’t miss the way their faces pale as they spot him.

“She has a pulse,” he says calmly. “Broken limbs. And her eyes, um, I don’t know what exactly…”

More sirens.

“Eddie,” Dustin says suddenly. Sharp, urgent. “Eddie, what are you doing? You need to go.”

Eddie smiles sadly. Shakes his head.

Footsteps pounding up the stairs. At first it seems to take forever, and then it speeds up all at once; Eddie’s being pulled roughly until he’s standing, handcuffs cutting into his skin, and Dustin is screaming.

“They didn’t know anything,” Eddie finds himself saying. Lucas’s expression shatters; Dustin just looks furious. “I swear, they didn’t—”

“Eddie, stop.” Dustin sounds close to tears. “Stop, stop—” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, only to be pushed aside by an officer. “He didn’t do anything!”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He tries to catch Dustin’s eye, but he’s already being dragged out. “It’s okay.”

And it’s funny, just an hour ago and this would’ve been one of his worst fears realised. But now he barely feels it.

A hand clamps over his skull, pushes him into the police car.

The view out the window blurs as they speed away—black cut through with a burning red.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He wishes he could’ve…

He thinks of Steve, Robin, Nancy. Wants them to know he tried to protect their kids for as long as possible. Tried to buy them time. He did his best.

No, Eddie The Banished isn’t a hero, he thinks.

He simply did the only thing he could have done.

[myersgirlxxx]

Shadows of the occult 03. Shadows between realities 01. 02

Wednesday x fem reader

summary: In the shadowy halls of Nevermore Academy, you navigate the delicate balance between reality and the Other Side. As an occultist with a powerful yet unstable connection to the elements, you learn that the Other Side does not come easily. it demands secrets and sacrifices. Caught in the gaze of the enigmatic Wednesday Addams, you must confront the darkness within before it consumes you.

Warnings: Dark themes, mental health, supernatural elements, intense relationships and mature content.

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The nightmare came again.

It always started the same—Nevermore, but twisted, wrong. The towering trees that usually framed the school were gnarled and dead, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The walls of the school itself were crumbling, vines of blackened thorns creeping through the cracks. And there, in the heart of it all, stood the gates to the Other Side.

They pulsed with an unnatural light, like blood beating through a vein, and the air around them buzzed with the hum of something alive, waiting, watching.

You always knew what would happen next. The elements—Blood, Death, Knowledge, Energy, Fear—would start to rise from the ground, manifesting as dark figures that moved with a purpose, circling you, pulling at your very essence. They whispered in a language you couldn’t fully understand but always felt in your bones. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.

And then the fog would come. Thick, rolling in from the edges of your vision, swallowing everything in its path. This was the part that always chilled you to the core, the part that felt most real. The fog wasn’t just a dream. It was the Other Side, pressing in, trying to break through.

You could hear the gates creak open, feel the pull of that other realm as it reached for you. And just before you were pulled in, just before the darkness consumed everything—you always woke up.

Gasping for breath, heart pounding, you shot up in bed, the shadows of the nightmare clinging to your skin. Your room was dark, the usual pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. But tonight, even that light seemed dim, as if something was blocking it.

For a moment, you sat there, your breath coming in ragged gasps, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of the dream. But it wasn’t just a dream, and you knew it. It was a message. The membrane between worlds was weakening, and the Other Side was trying to break through, using you as its conduit.

Your fingers brushed against your neck, where the feeling of those whispers still lingered, cold and invasive. You couldn’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not now.

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Nevermore had always been strange, but lately, it felt different. The cold air that wound through the corridors seemed heavier, charged with something unsettling. The school’s history was full of dark legends, but the feeling that clung to the walls now was new, almost suffocating. You could sense it, just as clearly as the pull of the Other Side that never left your mind.

Xavier had mentioned it the other day at lunch, his voice low as he leaned in close, as if he didn’t want the air itself to hear. "Doesn't it feel... different to you lately? Like something’s off?"

You had brushed it off with a shrug, hiding the fact that you felt it too. But you knew better. The thin veil between realities—the one that kept the Other Side at bay—was weakening. You could feel it most at night, when the fog rolled in, dense and unnatural, curling like fingers through the cracks in the windows and doors. That fog wasn’t just mist from the forest. It was from the Other Side, creeping in through the weakened membrane.

Xavier didn’t know that, of course. But his senses were sharp. He was feeling the effects, the same ones that made your chest tighten at night. Still, you couldn’t afford to let anyone know the truth. Especially not Wednesday Addams.

Sitting in your usual spot at lunch, you absently toyed with your fork, the noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. Across from you, Enid was chattering away, her bright energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere weighing down your thoughts. She had been going on about something—likely school gossip—but her words barely registered.

"Earth to you!" Enid laughed, waving her hand in front of your face. "You’ve been zoning out a lot lately."

You blinked, forcing a smile. “Sorry, just distracted.”

“By Wednesday?” Enid teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hardly.”

Before she could press further, Xavier slid into the seat next to you, his expression serious. He didn’t even bother with a greeting. “Have you noticed the fog?”

The question was blunt, but it struck something deep within you. You kept your expression neutral, not wanting to reveal how much his observation unnerved you.

“It’s just weather, Xavier,” you said, trying to sound casual.

He shook his head, leaning in closer. “No, it’s more than that. It’s been thicker, heavier. Like it’s... watching.”

You felt the blood in your veins stir at his words. The element of Blood had been restless lately, whispering to you more often, feeding off the weakening of the barrier between worlds. You fought to keep your composure, knowing that Xavier’s curiosity could lead him too close to the truth.

Enid frowned, looking between the two of you. “Is this another one of your weird theories, Xavier?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from you. “I know what I feel. There’s something wrong with Nevermore right now.”

He wasn’t wrong, but admitting that would only draw more attention. You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “Maybe it’s just your powers acting up.”

Before Xavier could argue, the air around you shifted. A cold breeze swept through the cafeteria, drawing everyone’s attention. And then she appeared—Wednesday Addams. She moved through the room like a shadow, her presence commanding even without a word. Her dark gaze locked onto you, and for a brief second, you could feel the weight of her suspicion, sharper than ever.

She didn’t sit down, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, ignoring the way both Enid and Xavier tensed beside you. “Right now?”

Wednesday’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

Sighing, you stood, making a show of stretching before offering a playful smile. “Well, lead the way then, Addams.”

As you followed her out of the cafeteria, you could feel Xavier and Enid’s eyes on your back, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But it wasn’t them you were worried about. It was the way the fog had thickened just beyond the windows, creeping closer to the school. And it was the look in Wednesday’s eyes—the one that said she was getting closer to discovering the truth.

Once you were alone in one of the quieter corridors, Wednesday stopped abruptly, turning to face you. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp, cutting through whatever mask you might have tried to put on.

“You’ve felt it too,” she said, her voice low but certain. It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t deny it. “The fog? Yeah, it’s hard to miss.”

“There’s more to it than just fog,” she said, her tone clipped. “It’s something else. Something... wrong.”

You tried to keep your voice light, though the tension in the air was palpable. “You’re always so cheerful, Addams.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t take the bait. “I don’t trust things I can’t explain.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your face neutral. She was too close to the truth. The pull of the Other Side, the elements swirling just beneath the surface, was something no one at Nevermore could know about. Not yet. Not even Wednesday.

She took a step closer, her voice dropping lower. “There’s something off about you. And I don’t trust you.”

You chuckled softly, leaning against the wall. “You say that like you trust anyone.”

Wednesday’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

For a moment, you considered telling her something—anything—that might throw her off the scent. But Wednesday Addams wasn’t someone you could easily deceive. She would keep digging, keep pressing, until she uncovered whatever secret she suspected you were hiding.

But you weren’t ready to reveal the truth. Not yet.

“You’re free to keep watching me, Wednesday,” you said, your voice teasing as you leaned in slightly. “But I’ll warn you, I’m not that easy to figure out.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance? Interest?—before she stepped back. “I’ll figure it out,” she said simply, turning to leave.

As she walked away, her figure disappearing into the shadowed corridor, you felt the elements stir within you. Blood, Knowledge, even the faintest touch of Death—they were all there, whispering, waiting.

And as much as you tried to suppress it, you knew Wednesday was right.

The fog wasn’t just a warning.

It was a sign.

The Other Side was pressing closer, and soon, the secrets you had worked so hard to keep hidden would no longer be yours alone.

[turbulentscrawl]

Reminders of the Horror (Norton & Edgar)

warnings: character death (you), descriptions of heavy gore (I mean it. the Norton one is p bad), angst, lots of blood and pain

Your ears are ringing.

There’s not really any reason for them to be. All things considered, the wall coming down wasn’t that loud, and neither was your screaming. But your ears are ringing like you think Norton’s must have during that horrible event so much like this moment. Aside from the volume, everything is exactly as he’d described it on those late, sleepless nights. The dust, the dark, the agonized cries. (Yours.) Somewhere in your scrambled mind, you’re sure Norton sees the ghosts of his spiteful coworkers littered about him, but it’s just you there, trapped under the rubble of the asylum’s collapsed walls. You’ve seen single portions of wall collapse at the church, but never anything like this. Fools Gold had somehow managed to bring down an entire section of the sprawling building. Right on top of you.

You’re wailing and screaming for Norton, and he’s just sitting there, mere feet from you, paralyzed. His face looks like a dead man’s.

“Norton!” you scream, almost incomprehensible. His name leaves your lips along with all the air in your lungs, the rubble crushing everything out of you. You’d never dared to imagine what this kind of death felt like. Never wanted to experience the horror of it. And the pain is beyond words. Every cell in your body screams wrong, wrong, pain!

The rubble continues to settle, shift, and somehow it all gets worse. Your bones give like fragile chalk. Your abdomen shifts, squeezed from the bottom-up like a tube of toothpaste. When you open your mouth again, blood and bile gush forward, followed by a bulge of something horrifically organ-like that chokes your airways. You claw a desperate hand towards Norton, and he reacts only by numbly pushing himself away.

His back hits the far wall, still staring with unfocused eyes, and through the window above him you spot Fools Gold amble into frame. He’s grinning, albeit tightly.

“Don’t mind him,” the Worse Norton says, stepping through the window. Stepping on Norton like he’s an insect. Stepping right into the pool of your liquified viscera. “Sorry, babe, you know I wasn’t aiming for you. Just trying to give that one a hard time. That sure looks rough, though. Let me help you out real quick.”

You’re crying, but there’s no air to sob. Only bloody, salty tears as your feel yourself about to burst from the mouth. Fools Gold raises his pickaxe—perhaps the one mercy he’s still capable of giving—and brings the heavy point down on your head.

There’s so much blood. Your blood. It’s unnerving despite Edgar’s assurances that it’s good.

From your position, though, it’s hard to see how this is good. Only you two are left in this match against the triplets, and you’re only meters from the exit gate death’s door with a porcupine’s worth of metal thorns lodged in your body. The wrecked wedding venue does not help the mood, and freedom being so close by is but a taunt. You have a win at hand, if only Edgar would flee. Edgar, though, is determined to drag your mangled figure out with him no matter how much it cost.

And it was costing a lot of hurt. The spiks caught in the dirt, in the cobblestone, and pulled on your flesh and muscle, poking and swirling around inside your bruises.

“Go,” you gasp, hiccupping in pain. If he’d go, secure the win, you could die faster too. The pain would stop faster. “Go, Edg—go. I won’t…last. Go.”

“You need to tough it out,” he says through gasps of strained effort. His soft face is twisted with determination. He is not a strong man to begin with, and the added weight of the spikes is only making this harder for him. His skin and hair are dripping with blood, sweat, and mud. “I told you I can do this. Just deal with it a little longer.” In the not-so-far distance, you hear the familiar metal and cloth of the triplets shifting out of their dreaded Breaking Wheel.

“Ed,” you sob, crying dirty tears. Everything is blurry, indistinct. A bubble of blood comes up with your next scream of pain, “Go!”

“I am not afraid of death,” Edgar snaps at you. “Least of all for a situation like this.” Suddenly, he drops you and his hands are all over your body, your wounds, on the ground. Touching until his fingers and palms are running with rivulets of your blood. Then he starts smattering it about his last blank canvas with a desperate speed you’ve never seen utilized for his creations. A mania-like joy overtakes his eyes as he smacks, pokes, and smears your blood into something to distract the Hunter.

“It’s perfect,” you hear him say. When he grabs you up again, you jolt with a scream and realize, foggily, that you blacked out during his creative process. And will black out again, despite the pain’s best efforts to keep you conscious. Edgar starts dragging you again, somehow, miraculously making it to the door. When you look up, you see the triplets there, looking over a propped painting in the aisle. They’re shaking, then howling. With rage.

They grab the canvas and launch it in a tantrum towards your now-immune forms stepping over the invisible line. It clatters in front of your fading eyes, allowing you to see, barely, the butchered forms of the triples painted in your blood. A daring threat from the painter holding you to his chest as you’re swept back to the manor, where you can die and rebirth in peace.

[palesweetscherryblossom]

Yandere A.M headcanons

Welp, I’m giving into my urges guys.

Trigger warning: EXTREMELY toxic relationship, mentions of gore, mutilation and starvation. Dead Dove: Do not Eat galore. Mentions of death, isolation and A.M being his hateful self

-So A.M, we all know and love this bastard of a machine. From his sadistic behavior to his sexy smooth voice, I’m gonna come out the gate and say it, he’s the LAST MF you want loving you!

-The minute he catches any kind of emotion of even liking you in any other sense other than getting enjoyment of your misery, expect suffering.

-He will find every single way to make you suffer for the mere crime of existing, no, for making him let you live. It’s even more worse if you happened to have worked on him.

-Whether it be forcing you to endure every worse day of your life, twisting and mangling your body that would put every mauling in the universe to shame, A.M would be relentless. So cruel

-But what about when he mellows out? Being the merciful and totally loving god that he is, he’s not, he lowers down your suffering. Now your face just looks like a Picasso painting instead of your entire body. -The food he gives is now no longer poisonous or covered in thorns but just spoiled and moldy. And you have the option of not eating it! Ain’t he a swell guy?

-His touches are painful, like that of a kindergartner handling their pet hamster. Twisting and observing your body, occasionally ripping open your stomach to observe your fleshy organs. He pokes and prods at it as he scoffs in disgust.

“I forgot how fleshy and filthy you fleshbags are, ugh. Filthy.”

-There’s also him getting quite angry at you interacting with the other survivors. You’re disgusting but not disgusting enough to hang around the filth that is his other torture toys.

-So, he resorts to fostering jealousy in your little group. Like a parent pitting their children against one another.

-Which is lowering down your suffering, whilst everyone gets the absolute worst injuries possible, you make it out with a few broken bones and maybe a collapsed lung or two.

-There’s also the tiny signs of affection or gifts, like your favorite flowers, a song you liked playing in the distance of whatever liminal hellscape A.M had placed you in. -The pet names certainly don’t help, A.M just sweetly and flirtatiously referring to you in a way that would certainly get heads to turn. -It’s like he’s more of your lover than your tormentor.

-Everyone is understandably pissed and miffed that you don’t get the most of A.M’s anger. It started with snide comments, then physical violence and then just silence.

-Pure silence. It’s like you don’t exist. At least when they were beating you down, calling you every name under the sun they acknowledged you existed! Even Ellen, who was probably the most empathetic person there, doesn’t say a word.

-It’s a lonely existence knowing that you are despised by the only remnants of your species.

-A.M takes advantage, just comforting you with such sweet yet venomous words. It’s manipulation, he can’t feel and most certainly can’t relate to your suffering but.. there’s only so much one could take. A.M knows this, he was created for war after all.

-His poor little torture toy, all sad and broken. Usually he’d just toss his broken toys in their cages till they are ready for use again but you? Nah, he’s going to give you the treatment that you had earned! You’re out, you’re away!

-Although, your consciousness being forever trapped inside his metal cage that you would call his body is less than ideal. You can’t feel, you can’t leave.

-You’re stuck, forever forced to watch as your fellow humans suffer over and over again to A.M’s malicious desires. But he’s not completely cruel, why, he sometimes keeps you busy with little scenarios he generously conjured up.

-Just try not to interact too much with your surroundings or pay attention to the occasional scream of pain from outside. Sometimes he gives you time of day, whether to be lamenting over his lack of humanity, mundane stuff or just sweet little things. Conversations about random things you remembered, your dreams, thanking A.M for his generosity.

-It’s a bunch of lies of course but it’s certainly better than being subjected to the cruelty of knowing that everyone loathes you right?

(Might do more, idk)

[elysiaheaven]

Please some Ronin headcanons with a actual fallen angel!

Eclipse of Wings- Please lemme know if i should make this as a series ^^ in comments!!

You don't have to meet the devil, itself, When you meet its butcher.

Words:3000

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Summary: You fell into a worse place than hell, Humanity- Try not to be sinned little angel.

( Reader is a g.n!)-(let me know if there were places where she/her were mentioned i will fix them ^^)

TW: Violence, Blood, Mentions of religious trauma,

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

A fallen angel draped in sin, With wings in tatters, pale as thin, They treads through dusk, love half-decayed, A dreamer lost, yet unafraid.

And by their side, the butcher grins, With crimson hands and violet sins, He carves through hearts, dark hymns in mind, A twisted lover, raw and blind.

His love is poison, sharp and sweet, Where heaven’s loss and hellfire meet— A crown of thorns, a kiss of glass, Two broken souls that shadows cast.

Together they dance, grotesque yet whole, A martyr’s heart, a devil’s soul. Bound not by light, nor chains above— But by ruin, by chaos, by love.

You fall.

The sky yawns open, pulling away like a curtain, and the light dims behind you until it is nothing but a pinprick. The clouds part as if ashamed to touch you, and the heavens above—where you once belonged—fade into silence.

You don't remember what you did, only that they said you were guilty. It didn’t matter how much you protested. No matter how fiercely you clung to your truth, they cast you out.

The wind burns against your skin as you plummet, rushing past in furious currents that howl as if trying to tear your wings apart. But they remain white—untouched, pristine, a silent testimony that you never sinned. Still, the gates are closed now.

You can’t go back.

The memory of your last thought before the fall clings like a whisper at the edges of your mind. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care anymore. The place you once cherished feels more distant now than the stars that blink faintly against the endless sky. They had called it paradise, but if that was heaven… why did it feel so cold?

You try to remember who you were, what your purpose had been, but it’s gone—stripped away in the fall. The world below grows closer, rushing toward you with a strange kind of promise. You don't know what awaits, but you wonder: Maybe it will be kinder down there? Perhaps the earth will cradle you where the heavens would not.

Only the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this new world will offer what heaven never could.

A place to belong.

And if it doesn't? Well… At least you’ll have your wings.

You crash through the sky, wings struggling to slow your descent, but it’s too late. The world blurs—branches tear at your feathers, wooden beams snap beneath your weight, and you crumble into the ruins of a forgotten house. The impact jars you to the bone, forcing the breath from your lungs in a ragged gasp.

Dust settles slowly, dancing in the streaks of moonlight slipping through the shattered roof. The walls groan, barely held together, as if this place might fall apart with one more wrong breath. But that isn’t what holds your attention.

From the debris, you see him.

Boots scuff against the cracked floor, deliberate and lazy, as a figure steps into the light. Long legs, leather-clad, stop just a few feet from your crumpled form. Then you meet his gaze—two cold black eyes, sharp with a kind of madness that feels both dangerous and oddly amused. There is something familiar in them. Not kindness, no. But recognition. The eyes of someone who’s been burned by the divine before.

And then—he laughs.

It’s a jagged, wicked sound that fills the hollow space, echoing off broken walls. Like something cracked open inside him, something bitter and ancient, and he can't stop himself. The sound isn’t joyous. It’s full of disbelief and mockery, like he’s laughing at a cruel cosmic joke only he understands.

"So... gods really do exist, huh?" he sneers, dragging a hand through his plum-colored hair as if the very thought exhausts him. "And they’ve got jokes—big ones." His laugh continues, sharp and biting, as though it's the first good joke he's heard in years.

You try to sit up, wincing, wings shifting behind you. That's when his gaze snaps down, pinning you in place. His eyes darken further, narrowing as they rake over you from head to toe—and then stop. He stares at your wings. White. Pure, unmarred, still glistening with celestial grace even as you lie on the cold, cracked floor.

The grin on his face falters, twisted into something halfway between shock and curiosity. "...What?" His voice drops into a low growl, disbelief flickering like embers beneath the words. "No. No way. White wings? That’s... impossible."

He crouches beside you now, face inches from yours, as if needing to see it up close. His eyes narrow, suspicion curling in his gaze. "Fallen angels don't get white wings. They turn black—every time. I’ve read the damn scriptures. So how...?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. The memories are gone, scattered to the wind, leaving you hollow. You don't even know who you are, let alone why your wings stayed white. All you know is that you're not supposed to be here. Not like this.

The man tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle that’s missing pieces. Then his grin returns, sharp and dangerous, a twisted kind of excitement lighting up his features. "You... you're a.."

He chuckles, standing up, dragging a crowbar from the strap on his belt with a slow, deliberate movement. The metal gleams under the faint moonlight. "You know, I hated that place. Angelwood—whatever the hell you wanna call it. They really know how to screw you over. But this? Even Heaven does the same." He gestures to you with the crowbar, grinning wider now, teeth bared. "This is something new."

His voice lowers to a purr, wickedly soft. "Killing you... oh, that’s gonna be fun."

He takes a step closer, his shadow falling over you completely. The air between you hums with tension, the kind that promises violence—or worse. And yet, something in the way he looks at you feels more like fascination than hatred, like a predator finding something rare and exquisite.

He leans in one last time, his breath hot against your skin, voice dripping with malice and intrigue. "Let’s see what makes you tick, angel."

You wake with a start, every muscle aching, wrists pulled taut above your head. The cold bite of iron chains digs into your skin. You try to move, but the clink of metal tells you that escape is out of reach. Your wings—still white—flutter weakly behind you, brushing against stone walls that feel damp and ancient, as if they’ve been standing for centuries.

Across from you, in the dim glow of a flickering lamp, he sits slouched in a chair, legs spread lazily, elbows resting on his knees. He twirls the crowbar idly in one hand, as if it’s just another toy in his collection. His black eyes gleam, watching you stir, and a sly grin creeps across his face.

"Morning, darling," he murmurs, the words slithering from his mouth with a teasing lilt. "Sleep well?"

You tug at the chains desperately, panic blooming in your chest. "Where... where am I?" you rasp, throat dry and aching. "What is this place?"

He leans back, grinning like the answer’s a private joke. "Hell."

The word slams into you, cold and sharp. For a moment, everything inside you breaks apart. You thought it was a place, a concept whispered in cautionary tales—a nightmare never meant to be real. And now you’re here. Trapped. Forgotten. Left to rot.

You shake your head violently, heart hammering. "No, no, no. I didn’t do anything! I—I swear! It wasn’t me!" Your voice cracks, words tumbling out faster as if saying them enough will make them true. "They did this! They—!"

He watches you unravel with a bemused expression, like someone enjoying a twisted performance.

"I can’t remember!" you cry out, vision blurring with hot tears. "I can’t remember what I did! I just want to go back—please, let me go!" The chains rattle as you writhe against them, wings drooping helplessly behind you. "I didn’t do anything wrong!"

He snickers, the sound low and dangerous. "You’re a real mess, you know that?"

The grin on his face spreads wider, as if savoring every second of your misery. "You fall out of the sky, land right in my lap, and now you're sobbing all over yourself like that’s gonna fix anything." He shifts forward in the chair, resting his chin lazily in one hand. "C’mon, angel, you really think they’d let you fall for no reason?"

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. You choke on your next breath, tears running freely down your face. "But I—I didn’t—!"

He interrupts with a casual hum. "Shhh, darling." The nickname is soft but drenched in mockery. "You’re not in heaven anymore. You’re in my house now. So why don't you calm down?"

Through your sobs, you dare to ask the question clawing at the back of your mind. "Are… are you—" You swallow hard, trembling. "Are you Satan?"

He pauses. For a moment, you see something flicker behind his blackened gaze—amusement, yes, but also something darker. Enjoyment.

Then, with a slow, devilish grin, he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, the word like poison dripping from his lips. "That’s me. I’m here to haunt you, angel."

You let out a soft, broken sob, the weight of his answer crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you thought you knew crumbles to dust beneath the realization. You’ve fallen from grace, your wings still white, and now the devil himself has you in chains. There’s no going back.

He watches you with a gleeful fascination as you cry—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that seem to echo off the cold stone walls. The sound only seems to amuse him further, as if your suffering is a gift he never expected.

"Don’t cry too much, darling," he whispers, leaning in so close you can feel the brush of his lips against your ear. "We’re just getting started."

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and tapping the crowbar absently against his knee. "You’re just as messed up as the rest of us, angel. Kinda funny, isn't it? You fell for questioning too much."

He watches as you crumble beneath the weight of it all, exhaustion pulling you under. Your sobs slow, your body slackens, and your eyes begin to close despite the chains biting into your wrists.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear his voice, soft and unsettling in the darkness:

"You know, darling… we’ve all got a little religious trauma. Some just hide it better."

And with that, the world drifts to black.

He leans back, watching you sleep with a strange expression—half amused, half something else. "You are going to be," he mutters under his breath, tapping the crowbar against his boot.

"Ruined, just like the rest of us."

You woke slowly, disoriented, your mind thick with exhaustion. Your wings—thankfully, still white—were crumpled awkwardly beneath you, aching but intact. The room around you was strange, unsettling. Red walls surrounded you, drenched in a hue that felt oppressive and heavy, like the air itself carried some unspoken malevolence. It didn’t look like the heaven you remembered, nor did it feel like the hell you imagined.

A dim square light flickered in the corner—a glowing box with images flashing across it, fast and incomprehensible. It unsettled you further. Stacks of boxes littered the room, messily piled on top of each other, as if whoever lived here didn't care much for order. Your gaze landed on several jars along a shelf—and what you saw inside them made your heart lurch. Human remains. In one jar, a shriveled brain floated in some cloudy liquid. Your breath hitched, and you nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it. You stumbled back, your legs weak beneath you, and tripped over the edge of the bed.

Trying to steady yourself, you noticed a strange chest at your feet. It had "MY STUFF" scribbled on the top in messy handwriting. Something glinted on top—a small knife. Your trembling fingers reached for it. You held the blade awkwardly, staring at it as thoughts flickered through your mind. Could you use it? Could you kill whoever left you here?

But the thought fled as soon as it came. You weren’t a killer. The knife felt heavy in your hands, foreign and wrong. Slowly, you placed it back on the chest. Instead, you focused on the bed—rumpled sheets and an unmade blanket tangled beneath you. Something about the mess made your chest tighten. You didn’t fully understand why, but… you wanted to fix it. You straightened the sheets, your hands clumsy but determined, folding the corners like it was a ritual. It gave you something to focus on, at least—something normal.

Just as you finished smoothing the blanket, a sharp tingle crawled down your spine. Someone was here. You could feel it—like a presence looming just out of sight, waiting. You tried to spread your wings, desperate to fly, but they ached too much, the muscles too weak. A sharp pang shot through you, and you winced, folding them against your back.

That’s when you saw him. A figure, drenched in blood, stood in the doorway. He wore a mask—something grotesque and stitched, like a face pieced together from nightmares. His clothes were stained with red, and he reeked of death.

Panic surged through you. You stumbled back, falling onto the bed, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shut your eyes tight, clutching the blanket like it could shield you from whatever came next. "God, save me," you whispered, voice cracking, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. You knew the truth deep down—God wasn’t coming. If He cared, you wouldn’t be here. If He cared, you wouldn’t have fallen.

The figure moved closer, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the room. You curled into yourself, too overwhelmed to do anything but plead. “Please… just kill me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and broken. “I don’t care anymore. Just… just don’t do it here. This isn’t even my room.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, the man threw back his head—and laughed. The sound was jarring, almost manic, a mix of delight and disbelief. He laughed so hard you thought he might fall over, and when he finally stopped, tears glistened in his eyes.

"What are you, stupid?" he said between chuckles, his voice rough but playful, like someone who found the whole situation absurd. "Seriously? Darling angel, you really think I’m going to kill you?” He wiped his eyes, still grinning as he reached up to remove the mask.

The sight made your heart stutter. Beneath the bloodied mask was the same man you had seen when you first fell—plum-colored hair sticking out in messy strands beneath a black beanie, a sly grin on his face, and eyes black as the void.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

He gave you a crooked smile, as if reading your thoughts. “Yeah. It’s me, darling.”

Your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. "Satan?" The word fell from your lips like a prayer.

He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed, grinning like the devil himself. “Bingo, angel.”

You blinked, stunned and disoriented, tears still clinging to your lashes. The disbelief must have been clear on your face because he laughed again, softer this time. "What, you expected horns and a pitchfork? Sorry to disappoint."

You swallowed hard, confusion knotting your thoughts. "But… why? Why are you keeping me here?"

He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "Seemed like a waste to let you die, that’s all." Then, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to unsettle you. “And besides… you and me? Looks like we’ve both been ruined by the same guy.”

You furrowed your brow, the words not quite clicking. "Ruined?" you echoed, still dazed.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah,” he whispered. "Ruined by God. Ain’t it funny how that works?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall, a sly grin curling his lips. “You know what they call me down here?” he asked, voice low and taunting. “The Devil’s Butcher. I take care of the stupid ones.” His black eyes gleamed with amusement, as if daring you to react. "Hack 'em up nice and neat—people who don't know when to shut their mouths. Idiots, really.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you pressed your back against the bed’s headboard as if it might swallow you whole. The word butcher echoed in your mind, twisted with images of the jars of human remains you’d seen earlier. Your stomach churned, and you struggled to keep the panic at bay.

He watched your reaction closely, clearly amused. “Oh, come on, angel,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t look so scared. I mean, I could butcher you right here…” He let the threat hang in the air, watching your eyes widen with fear. “But that’d be too easy. I prefer to take my time.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “A-Are you… like a shoulder devil too?” you asked, desperate to grasp onto any thread of normalcy. “You know, the little voice that gives bad advice?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he burst into laughter—a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the walls. “A shoulder devil?! You’re really something else, angel.” He shook his head, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought. It’s adorable."

You frowned, tilting your head. “Wait… then what are you?”

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I’m human, sweetheart.”

The realization hit you like a slap. "What?!" You stared at him, stunned, your mind struggling to reconcile what you were hearing with the image of the terrifying, bloodied man sitting before you. "You're not Satan?"

He laughed again, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Nope. Just a guy with a hobby.”

Your confusion deepened, and you could feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes again. "But you said—"

He cut you off with a playful smirk. “I was just messing with you. God, you’re easy to freak out.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "All that innocence… it’s too tempting not to play with.”

You stared at him, stunned and humiliated. The fear and tension you’d felt moments before morphed into frustration. "Why would you do that?" you asked, your voice small but sharp with indignation.

He shrugged casually, clearly unbothered. “Because it’s fun. And you’re cute when you’re scared.”

You scowled, wrapping your arms around yourself. "That’s not funny."

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aw, come on, darling. You’ve got to admit, you fell for it pretty hard.” He gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t really butcher people. Not unless they ask nicely. It's a lie too."

The grin he shot you was wicked, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. One thing was certain: this man—whoever he was—was dangerous in more ways than one. And now, you were stuck with him.

You blacked out, your body crumpling into the bed with the weight of exhaustion, fear, and confusion. Ronin blinked down at you, tilting his head, his plum-colored hair flopping lazily beneath the black beanie.

“Aw, damn,” he muttered to himself, crouching next to the bed. “I was just messin’ with ya.” He sighed, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. Without much effort, he lifted you off the cold floor and placed you carefully back on the bed, draping your still-white wings over you like a soft blanket. “There. All cozy, angel.” He gave your unconscious form a smirk. “Sweet dreams in the Butcher’s den, huh?”

He stretched, sat on his, and slumped into a worn-out chair. His thumbs moved rapidly across the screen as he opened the server—the , his little playground of chaos. The server, exclusive to serial killers, was more of a circus than anything else. From assassins to vigilantes, everyone here wore their insanity like a badge of honor.

His screen lit up with notifications.

Ronin (handle: goreboy) tapped a message into the server:

goreboy: "Yo. So guess what? Turns out angels actually exist. 🤡"

The server exploded almost immediately with replies.

hitmeupppp: "wtf stop lyin"

k9: "Your idiocy has reached new heights."

V, aka K9, had zero patience for Ronin's antics. A justice-obsessed vigilante serial killer, V was practically allergic to Ronin's devil-may-care attitude and frequently threatened to kill him for “wasting oxygen.”

angeleicc: "…what."

A private message followed immediately.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. Are you okay? What do you mean angels exist?"

Ronin grinned as he thumbed out a reply.

goreboy: "Lol. Don't worry about it. Focus on tellin’ your lil simps to like and subscribe 💀"

Angel was not impressed.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. What’s going on? Something’s bothering you, I can tell."

Ronin rolled his eyes. Angel was always doing that—trying to peel back the layers, as if she could find anything underneath worth saving. Not that she’d stop.

He typed out a response with a grin:

goreboy (DM): "Nah, babe. I’m good. Swear on my crowbar."

Then he sent a devil emoji. 😈

Before she could respond again, he hopped back into the server His grin widened as the chaos unfolded.

k9: "Swear to god, Ronin, I’ll kill you if you’re screwing around."

goreboy: "I am never not screwing around."

hitmeupppp: "ok but like fr is this some weird larp or did u actually see an angel??? 👀"

Ronin leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, looking at your sleeping figure. Your wings shifted gently with your breathing, your innocence clinging to you like a stubborn ghost.

He smirked and typed:

goreboy: "Not sayin’ much, but if God tossed an angel outta heaven, I guess Hell’s playground just got a lot more interesting. Stay tuned, kiddos."

He sent a gif of the devil tap-dancing and hit send. His notifications were already blowing up, but Angel sent one last DM before he could log off.

angeleicc (DM): "If you’re really okay.

Ronin rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Ronin propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, still smirking as his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request. Angel. He snickered, debating if he should pick up.

"Ah, why not," he murmured, accepting the call.

Her face appeared on the screen—pouty lips, perfectly winged eyeliner, and her signature exasperated look already forming. “Ronin!” she whined the second the camera connected. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sup, Angel,” he said, grinning wide, leaning back lazily in the chair. “Miss my pretty lil face or what?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I always regret answering your calls—" Then her eyes sharpened. "Wait. Hold up." She leaned closer into her screen, squinting. "Why the hell is there—who’s that?! Is that a person in your bed?”

Ronin tried to stifle his laugh but failed spectacularly. “Ohhh, this? That’s the angel I was telling you about.”

Angel puffed up her cheeks in disbelief, fuming. “You better not be joking, Ronin! What, did you finally get a lover or something? If you did, you better tell me right now!”

Ronin chuckled, low and smug. “Nah. Still single and ready to corrupt, babe.” He held the phone out, angling it towards your unconscious form. You were still tucked under your wings, shifting slightly in your sleep.

Angel squinted harder, utterly perplexed. “You’re saying… that is the angel?”

“Yeah,” Ronin said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Check this out.”

With a wicked grin, he reached over, gently plucking a small feather from your wing. The moment he did, you flinched in your sleep, your wings giving a slight, unconscious flutter—just enough to make Angel gasp.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, eyes wide. “Ronin… you were serious?!”

Ronin's grin stretched wider, devilishly entertained by her shock. “Told ya, Angel. I wasn’t messing around. Say hello to God’s little dropout.”

Angel stared at the screen, frozen for a moment. Then, finally, she let out a slow exhale. “…Okay, that’s freakin’ wild. I thought you were trolling.”

Ronin gave her a mock-serious look, placing a hand over his heart. “Angel, you wound me. When have I ever trolled?”

She deadpanned. “All the time.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

Angel blinked again, disbelief still clouding her expression. “What are you even gonna do with an actual angel? Dude, you can’t just keep them like a stray cat.”

Ronin’s grin turned sharper, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, but I can, Angel. I really can.”

[ms0milk]

no cw so self indulgent, farmhand nanami showed up from nowhere like he was made in a lab to bewitch you <1k

He would look better on horseback this morning, cantering through fog falling cold from the mountains. Nanami is a handsome rider and he’s strong enough to do it well. His hips roll like they should in a saddle and his hair was always meant to be mussed by a breeze. Reins fit nicely in his golden hands. Regal might be a word you use as you bundle up in your doorway, watching the man emerge from a quickly-overgrowing gate at dawn. A word you might use if Nanami was actually on horseback and not leading your horse on foot, clearly mired with bramble thorns from waist to boot.

He’s wearing your hat. Nanami draws it low to hide his face and your sweet horse nips at his hand as they walk together; their gaits are both heavy with sleep. He’s never once looked disheveled but this morning his clothes hang quite well over his jeans where he’s usually so careful to tuck them in and in all he embodies the farmhand’s equivalent for wearing odd shoes to carry groceries inside.

A canvas coat that is clearly much too small on his broad shoulders, is thrown over a dress shirt– possibly two– you’ve never seen before and he couldn’t even manage to button one closed. His undershirt glows obnoxiously underneath as it hugs the shapes of his firm body. It’s a blessing to watch, a thought you will keep to yourself, and you open your door a bit wider in invitation.

“Early ride?”

He peers out under his brim at the sound of a voice and tips the hat off his head with a quickness when he sees you. He tightens his sleepy posture. Your pretty cream gelding is returned to his stall for breakfast before Nanami answers your question.

The only thing between the back stalls and your front door is moss. The earth this farm belongs to is wet with life. A thousand horseshoes have flatted the walkway like pressed powder and still the dandelions grow, pollen falls, petals fall, rain falls, snow falls freezes and melts and still your stables are warm and your dusty clearings grow grasses. You tighten your shawl around your shoulders. The morning fields are all mist and the sun can’t be bothered to warm you.

If you surprised him, it doesn’t show. Dewed pebbles crunch under Nanami’s boots as he crosses the clearing to reach you, you standing chilly in your sleepshirt with coffee brewing in the kitchen. You’d like to know why he’s wearing half the bramble patch as pants.

“M’sorry miss,” he rasps like he hasn’t spoken yet today and a quick twitch of his brows is the only thing that hints at embarrassment. Man of few words. English doesn’t seem to be his first language but he won’t tell anyone a thing about himself past what you all can observe. He works well, he works quietly. The animals love him and he doesn’t mind a bit of dirt. Nanami showed up in town a few months ago and the old boss hired him outright when she saw him in a full suit at sunday market. Horndog. She knew how good he’d look in chaps.

“Excuse my thieving” he murmurs this time to keep his voice soft and hangs your hat on the horn beside your door.

“Don’t call me miss, Mr. Nanami.”

“Excuse that too.”

Your hat hugged him too tight and his hair suffers for it, blond bits stuck flat to his head like a teenager with bedhead. He has to hang his head low to look at you for how much taller he is and you haven’t decided whether his dedication to eye contact is chivalry or flirtation. He’ll look through you to the bone with those sharp brown eyes, even if you’ve only just whistled good morning. Something inside him can’t help but call you miss.

“I’d love to hear this story,” you yawn slightly and gesture to his outfit, “I put a pot on.”

Nanami’s head tilts so slightly as he considers all the ways he might decline such an imposing offer but when you bump the door open a touch and bitter, bread, and jam roll out into the morning air you know you’ve got him. After all, what cowboy can resist coffee?

farmhand nanami tag <3

[http-paprika]

IVY AND IRON THORNS

CHAPTER II

a medieval au / sir simon riley x lady reader / 2.7k / warnings descriptions of death, religious imagery, trauma, and an unhealthy response to food. / taglist open

arriving at castle tharn, you are thrust into the startling reality that you are at the mercy of those who govern these unknown lands.

masterlist / chapter III

There’s a dull ache in your head that pools down your throat to the ribs to the stomach and rests in your hips. With every trot of the horse, you are thrown back and forth from heavy exhaustion and startling awareness. While you pretended to sleep under the canopy of stars, you’d heard the quiet murmurings of the knights and what they’d do upon returning to their castle. Dread burrowed deep in your bones as your fate looks as dreary as the morning sky that has been cast with a gray haze of clouds.

The gnawing realization that you’ve fallen from grace, ripped from your place as a lady haunts you every time your eyes close and your stomach twists. A lady of your stature is not supposed to witness horrors you’ve seen, they were not supposed to show the face of humiliation as they arrive in a foreign land. But you fret knowing these knights are leading you to a foreign land and a castle with a lord you do not serve. 

Around the company, the pines begin to thin and the hooves fall on a dirt path. Your eyes shutter close and your brows tighten against the gray light of the morning. Even with the sun hidden from your sight, it rivals the dark shadows of the forest. The horse slows along a cliff edge and you cower away from the plunge with its roaring waters and rocks below. 

 “There she is, Castle Tharn.” Simon directs you, his arm stretched out to the north. Set above the valley of rivers, marshes, and wild green, you can see the dark structure silhouetted. Turrets reach the sky behind fortified walls, and a deep river isolates the castle from the valley. It causes you to shiver in your seat, an unwelcoming sight built like a fort to keep out any unwanted visitors and keep in any prisoners. 

Full of excitement to return to their grazing grounds, the horses make haste as they’re led down the cliff path and trot into the valley. Over streams and babbling brooks, past hamlets and homesteads where the people stop and watch the knights return. You exhale as you catch a sense of familiarity in their architecture and clothes, so similar to the servants who filled your home and the villagers you met when you were allowed out of the castle.

There’s a jolt of relief when the hooves fall onto a cobbled road, it leads over a wide river that roars as it splits over stones and falls under the bridge. You glimpse your wavering image in the wild waters, before looking up at the flagpoles, flying high with vibrant dark greens and reds. It feels cold compared to the one of your home, you miss the warm yellows and oranges.

Guards in the watchtower shout at your arrival, raising the portcullis as news spreads through the walls and rooms of the return. You pass under the heavy iron gate, looking back disheartened as you watch it lower and shut you off from the rest of the world. Left to the mercy of those who run the grand estate with its ivy-covered walls, blooming bushes of roses, tall stained glass windows, and faded banners. The whole castle’s alive, bursting at the seams with pride as servants and soldiers move through the bailey. 

 Simon dismounts from the horse, offering his hand to help you down. He’s careful of your sprained wrist and makes sure your feet are steady before dropping his hands to the sides of his armor. You wrap your arms around your chest and tug your cloak closer in an attempt to cover yourself as people join the knights. A stable boy takes the mares away and you listen as John begins to loudly boast about the bandits they’d slain. Women and men alike peer at you when John makes your presence known, and you shrink away almost bumping into Simon in your cowering.

 “Come, let’s get you settled for the night,” Simon orders, gesturing you to follow him. Together, you ascend a side set of stairs into the castle. In the dim interior of the castle, servants stare and whisper amongst themselves. Girls who must be no older than you giggle at your disheveled appearance and what little pride you have left makes your cheeks burn with shame.

 You enter into a large kitchen, busy and filled with an air of urgency as food is prepared. Barrels of grains and fruits are stacked along the wall, a goose turns on a spit in the fire that crackles happily in a large hearth. Women bustle around, taking orders from a plump and rosy-cheeked woman whose eyes flash when she spots intruders in her kitchen. 

“Ach! What have I told you dirty boys about coming into my kitchen while I’m working, Sir Riley?” The woman berates the knight as she comes up to him, swatting at him with a cloth. But upon seeing you in such a state, wide-eyed and ashamed, she lets out a sigh. “What have you done to the poor girl?” 

 “I’d tell you if you’d let me speak,” Simon says, plucking up a plum from a bowl and shining it. “Found her while out on patrol with John, Mrs. MacTavish. She needs to be looked after, she’ll see Lord Price in the morning.” 

“Well, anything for the poor lamb.” The woman takes your arm and offers you a smile. Warm and inviting compared to the stares you’ve received upon entering the castle. “But, Sir Riley, you tell my son that he is in trouble with his father, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, turning to leave you and the kitchen without another thought.

“You’re leaving me?” You call out, naively thinking the knight would stay by your side. Afraid to be left alone in the presence of another stranger, a shyness you’ve never known dawning on you. 

 “I’m a knight, not a nursemaid. I have duties to attend to.” Simon responds with a firm tone, like a father scolding a child. The knight bows his head to you before returning down the hall you’d just walked through, leaving you in Mrs. MacTavish’s care.

 “Let’s get you cleaned up, Lamb.” She says, walking you out of the kitchen after she finishes instructing the women for dinner preparation. “Have you got a name, or should I give you one?”

Mumbling your words together, you tell her your name. With hesitation, you hide your status as a lady from her, feeling wrong to address yourself with the name and title that had belonged to your mother. Even if you consider the treatment you might receive brandishing the name. 

“Well, you must have had quite the journey, no? I’m sure you’re more than ready to rest.” She asks, slowing her pace and stopping in front of an oak door. The keys on the wrought iron ring jingle as Mrs. MacTavish picks through them, finding the right one and twisting it in the lock.

You follow into the room which is decorated lavishly, a guest room prepared for only the most prestigious of company. Slowly turning to look over the room, you’re horrified by your appearance when you see yourself in the looking glass. Hair in a tangle, dirt and blood clinging to your skin, and your favorite dress shredded into scraps. Unable to look away, the woman hums a tune as she sets to work making a fire in the hearth. When you finally tear your eyes away, she’s left to fetch water for the bath and you slump onto a creaking stool and sit in the unwelcome silence. 

Your mind feels at war with grief and fear fighting against the rage as you question why this happened to you. Why had you been stricken down and left to drown in a sea of loss? Such a divine punishment that made you feel like Job, abandoned by God with no money and no prospects. Everything you held dear, your future and dreams are unraveling like a beautiful tapestry torn through, destroying the foolish hopes you had for bliss. After all, what peace could come from this? 

 The door opens and you startle up, like a deer hearing a hunter. But your shoulders slump again when Mrs. MacTavish returns with buckets of steaming water. She tells you of the castle and its Lord and Lady whilst preparing your bath, singing praises for those who govern the lands. It’s so endearing that you wince remembering the bleak mutters of those who served under your father, the endless strings of complaints when they thought that no nobles were listening in. 

“So, lamb, do you want to tell me how you ended up in the care of our knights?” She asks once the bath is drawn and you’re sinking into the hot water. You let it sting and spill over your skin as her calloused hands massage soap into your hair. Mrs. MacTavish works with care, making sure the soap doesn’t spill into your eyes and that you’re comfortable, just like your mother had done with you were a child. 

 Bloodshot eyes begin to sting with tears at her question and kindness. A sob quakes through your ribs as you bury your face in your damp hands, the hot water suddenly feeling like ice to you. Like a child who’s fallen from a tree and hurt themselves, you’re wailing for your mother but she cannot save you from this. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

By the time you’ve stopped crying, you are alone in the room dressed in a warm, brown flock. There’s a longing to be dressed in black, wishing you could partake in the mourning ritual for your mother though there will be no burial. In vein, you try to recount what the church instructed upon the death of a righteous person. But you feel foolish and disrespectful knowing you cannot give your mother the courtesy she deserves. 

You wonder when your father will hear the news, and when he will come and comfort you in this time. The hope of a reunion seems foolish, the idea of grieving alongside the only living member of your bloodline is folly as the confines of the castle are chaining you in. A fear blooms in your chest that you’ll never find the sun again. 

The sounds of the fire dying in your idleness fill the room, playing a pitiful song along with your hollow breaths and your nails digging into the plush quilt and animal pelts on top of the bed. The soft feather mattress is a welcome relief from the nights tossed to and fro in the carriage or the dirt under the open sky. And finely woven drapes shield your face from the fading light of the fire as you curl up like a kitten. 

As sleep begins to invade your mind, quiet knocks startle you out of the daze. Lazily you rub at your eyes as another knock sounds against the oak door. Finding the strength to stand and covering yourself with a robe Mrs. MacTavish had left, you force yourself out of the warm comfort and find the door in the fading light, the oil lamp in the room having been ignored.

Creaking on its hinges, you blink up at the masked face of Simon. Curiously you wonder if he ever removes the black cloth as you let him into the room and he steps in with a word. In his hand, Simon carries a plate of food covered by a linen towel. Moving through the room, he sets it down on the tea table next to the stool. 

Still silent, he directs you to sit down on the stool. And not having the strength to argue, you listen and sit down, smoothing the rough fabric of your smock. “Mrs. MacTavish said you declined dinner.” 

With a nod, you glance over at the covered dinner as the smell wafts through the room and causes your mouth to water and tickle your nose. But your mind is refuses to give in, willing your tongue to dry and throat tighten. Painfully stubborn even in a time like this. 

“It’s not poisoned. Eat.” Simon orders, uncovering the wooden plate and setting the lcloth aside. Your eyes gleam at the sight of ham, steamed vegetables, fresh slices of bread, and a ripe, red apple that shines even in the dull light. But you make no move to eat, hesitating under the watchful eye of the knight. “You shouldn’t starve yourself. What would your mother think to see you depriving yourself?” 

 His words feel like an infliction, striking like a whip and pulling at your flesh with a sting. It enrages you even if you know his words are true. She would be grievanced at the sight of you in such a state, eyes dried red, cheeks stained and skin gaunt. You feel as close to a corpse with a beating heart. But still his statement drives you mad, making your mouth sour in distaste.

“Do not speak of my mother! You know nothing about her, nothing about the loss I’ve witnessed!” You speak out, jumping from the stool to glare at the knight despite his intimidating stature. For a moment, his eyes flash with anger and his hands tighten into fists. But Simon does not rebuke your nor does he strike like you anticipate. 

Instead, he takes his place on the stool, reaching over for the beautiful, fresh apple from the plate. A sliver knife is brought into the light, no longer hidden away in his garments, and he begins to cut at the fruit. So ripe, the juices run down the blade and into his gloved palm, appeitizing to the eyes as you watch. 

 “You’re right, I did not know your mother. But I’m well acquainted with the loss you’ve come to know.” Simon admits, stretching out his palm with an apple slice to you in offering. “And I know starving yourself won’t ease the grief or guilt. It’ll only make it worse.” 

 Your lip pushes out with a frown, but you steady your hand and accept the fruit. The taste fills your mouth with sweetness, flourishing your senses as you take the fill. He continues to slice up the fruit, precise and neat with each cut until all that remains is the sour core that Simon places on the plate alongside the other foods he allows to grow cold. Never pushing you too far.

 “I’m sorry, I spoke out of place.” You apologize, dropping your gaze to your borrowed slippers. Blaming the hunger, you’re certain thats what made you so erratic, appauled by your abhorrent behavior to the knight. Even if you were in this fortress against your will, they’ve treated you with nothing less than kindness. They’ve fed, bathed, and dressed you, Simon proved to be a man of chivalry, seeing to your wounds and wellness when you did not ask. 

 “Don’t apologize.” He responds, wiping off his gloves and standing from the stool with a grunt. Simon turns to the fire, adding another log and bringing it back to life before turning to leave. “Get some rest, you’ll meet with the Lord in the morning. I’ll make sure breakfast is brought and a knight comes to escort you. Lock the door when I’m gone.” 

 “Of course,” You mutter as he passes by the fire, eclipsing your vision as you watch his silhouette leave you. The door creaks again, shutting heavily behind him. Following his instructions, you bolt it close and rub your hands against the old ironwork that locks you inside. A thin veil of security over in your mind. 

 But your knees still buckle with fear, you sink on the stone floor and pull your knees to your chest. Though there are no tears left to cry, you still grieve. “This shouldn’t have happened, what am I going to do? I know nothing!”

All those years of being coddled and running about the gardens like a fool have left you defenseless and confused. You are not in the state of mind to believe that there is a chance of negotiating your freedom with the Lord of the castle. The arguments you’d had with your mother and nursemaid did not prepare you for a time like this. Not even empty prayers bring you hope as you drag yourself from the ground. Could God himself even save you? 

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots @jadeloverxd

[magnoliasandarson]

rusted tin

Timothy Drake was a coward; he knew it, deep down in his bones. It was a central truth to his being, and the reason why he stopped wearing the suit he had fought so hard for- why she started wearing it.

Timothy Drake was a coward, and that's why he couldn't enter the cemetery.

He stood just outside at the gate, well after a weeping blonde woman abandoned the open grave. Well after the dirt was piled on by solemn men dressed in black. Well after the final rose was laid. He stood there, watching from a distance. Staring at the destruction he had caused.

His eyes were dry. How could he possibly cry? How could he mourn the life he had directly caused to end? What right did he have? No, Tim couldn't weep, because he was a coward.

She hadn't been a coward. There had never been a fight from which Stephanie Brown had fled. She was a hero, selfless and true. Tim had grown to resent that. It festered in him, watching her charge into the fight from the sidelines. He claimed he was strategizing- but he knew that she knew he was a coward.

She had joked before, that they were the perfect duo. He did all the thinking; she did all the feeling. Remembering her smile as she said it made him feel physically ill. She giggled and called him "Tim the Tin Man," he had snarked back that she had to be the scarecrow. He knew now that she was wrong; he had only ever been the lion.

He wondered, staring at the granite headstone, if she had thought of him at the end. It was selfish, but he knew he would've thought of her. Maybe they hadn't been the best duo, but she was a part of him; she was his heart, and now she was gone.

The roses in his fists had long since been crushed, thorns cutting deep into his palms, blood-staining white petals, but he couldn't bring himself to walk through the gate.

Timothy Drake had always been a coward, and that's why he walked away.

[vryfmi]

it's skullyle thinking hour, here are some of my favourite This Is Literally Skullyle™ lyrics that turn me inside out

Depeche Mode - Speak to Me

Speak to me in a language That I can understand Tell me that you're listening Give me some kind of plan Give me something, you'd be my drug of choice You lead me, I follow, your voice I will disappoint you I will let you down I need to know you're here with me Turn it all around I'd be grateful I'd follow you around I'm listening, I'm here now, I'm found

Depeche Mode - Goodbye

I was always looking, looking for someone Someone to stick my hook in And pull it out and run Now I'm caught on your line All my thoughts are entwined In you Goodbye, pain Goodbye, again If you see me walking To the golden gates Then turn around, stop talking Stop and hesitate I'll be waiting up there With my fate in the air For you Goodbye [x11]

Anna Von Hausswolff - Stranger

But then, there is something moving against me It's not in line with the world I know Changing the heart, changing the spirit Changing my path, changing my soul My sight is clear, the colors are expanding I don't drown in the mirror on the wall There is no time, there is no face, there is no me I am following a shadow while I'm reaching for the sun But then you tell me I shouldn't worry You tell me to stay strong You tell me I shouldn't worry Why is this stranger in sync with my heart? I tiptoe here, I don't want you to see me I'm listening, I'm stolen by every word you say A dream is pulling out my heart and spirit And I'm scared to fall, I'm scared of death And I'm scared of all the lies But then you tell me I shouldn't worry Oh, you tell me to stay strong You tell me I shouldn't worry We're living now, let's live now, as we won't live for long

Daughter - Alone / With You

I hate sleeping alone Terrified with the lights out I hate living alone Talking to myself is boring conversation Me and I are not friends She is only an acquaintance I hate dreaming of being alone 'Cause you are never there Just a shadowy figure with a blank face Kicking me out of his place / I hate sleeping with you 'Cause you are never there Just a shadowy figure with a blank face Kicking me out of his place I hate living with you I should get a dog or something I hate walking with you Talking to myself is boring conversation You and I were once friends Now you're only an acquaintance I hate dreaming of being with you [x3] Terrified with the lights out [x2]

The XX - Together

You said you don't have to speak I can hear you I can feel all the things you've ever felt before I said it's been a long time Since someone looked at me that way It's like you knew me And all the things I couldn't say Together, to be Together and be

Medicine Boy - The Strange in Me

You have saved me To love is to be free I am tested endlessly But I won’t save you I am jealous and unkind and I think of you as mine So I won’t save you I have caged you, betrayed you and caged you and caged you and caged you / I would have done anything for you Bring you a devil make it sing for you But I’ll wrap you up in rubber and set fire to you ‘Cause that’s the only thing that I know how to do- You have changed me Rearranged me With all that you've changed, yeah yeah You set free the strange in me, strange in me, strange in me

Medicine Boy - Bag of Bones

I am the one calling you at night I come riding on the pale moonlight I am the knocking at your door I am the body you’ve forgotten lying on the floor I am the flower that refused to bloom I am the sun that sets too soon I am the fly sleeping on the wall I am everything that is, I am nothing at all I am the thorn sticking in your side I am your self-destructive, swollen pride I am the blood sucked from the land I am an unborn child, a sacrificial lamb I am your ever-growing indignation I am your pickpocket inspiration And I am big, so big, you see Without you there is no me My bag of bones Bring your body on home Sweet heart of stone, you’ve gone and left me all alone / I am the muscle, the bone, the fat I am the horns under your hat We are entwined you know it’s true Without me there is no you

Nine Inch Nails - Right Where It Belongs (v2)

See the animal in his cage that you built Are you sure what side you're on? Better not look him too closely in the eye Are you sure what side of the glass you are on? See the safety of the life you have built Everything where it belongs Feel the hollowness inside of your heart And it's all Right where it belongs What if everything around you Isn't quite as it seems? What if all the world you think you know Is an elaborate dream? And if you look at your reflection Is it all you want it to be?

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

A Ballad of Thorns & Roses: How the High Lord of Spring told his Tale (Feylin/Tamcien)

by @positivelyruined When Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court of Prythian, finds the clock counting down to his final battle with Amarantha — two things push him into action: the sudden death and bloody sacrifice of his friend Andras and the fierce vexation of his close friend Lucien. With no more time to waste, he offers shelter to the one person that he should despise the most — the girl who murdered Andras. His heart has been bleeding for a decade. Will their connection be enough to break the bond that holds the Spring Court captive, or will this burning love only spurn Tamlin’s heart? In this tale as old as time, only time will tell.

Spirit Meets the Bones (Eris x OC)

by @lucienarcheron Eris and Iris. Son of a high lord. Daughter of a fiend. An arranged marriage brought them together and beneath all the hate, the two are more alike than they’d like to be.

To Dust Or To Gold (Neris)

by @queercontrarian Eris calls in his bargain with Rhysand: he wants Nesta to join him in the Autumn Court to help him in his scheme to bring down his father.

Flame of Autumn (Eris x OC)

by @climbthemountain2020 "He quashed his hope like a bug beneath his heel. They would meet, marry, and produce a child. How hard could it possibly be to copulate and wash his hands of it? It’s not like he hadn’t regularly found release in the hundreds of years of living. This one would just be attached to him a bit more legally." Eris Vanserra is forced into a marriage with a magic-less daughter of Autumn from a strong bloodline. Despite his best efforts to remain apathetic, the universe has other plans.

A Court of Threads & Daises (Lucien x Tamlin)

by @shi-daisy Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power. Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves. They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Court of Song and Desolation (Tamlin x Lucien)

by @achaotichuman With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone. When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it.

Of Hearts and Swords (Feysand, Nessian, Manorian, Quinlar, etc.)

by @QueenofNightmares (on ao3) 5 years have passed since Bryce Quinlan fought the Asteri—and lost. 5 years since the Horn in her back was then used to permanently open the gates between worlds. Midgard, Erilea, and Prythian are now in open war--the reunited Fae of each world working together to fight the Asteri. But much has changed in the war-ravaged years that have passed. The Crochan Witchclan fights alongside the Valkyries. Hunt Athalar has sought day and night for a way to bring Bryce back from the dead and end this war. And the beloved High Lady of the Night Court--Feyre Archeron-- left Prythian for Erilea, just after their Inner Circle was cleaved apart forever by a newcomer. As war rages on, the Asteri have found an unlikely ally in Prythian--one that might turn the fortunes of battle against the Fae. This is an alternate ending to CC3 (HOFAS) where the Asteri win. Bryce was killed in the conflict that followed and the Horn in her back was then used to permanently open the gates. It will follow each of the main character ships (Feysand, Nessian, Rowaelin, Lysaedion, Manorian, Quinlar, etc.) as well as introduce some new ones for some other beloved characters (Azriel, Fenrys). Lots of relationship angst with a happy ending.

Flame of Autumn (Eris x OC)

by @climbthemountain2020 Eris Vanserra is forced into a marriage with a magic-less daughter of Autumn from a strong bloodline. Despite his best efforts to remain apathetic, the universe has other plans.

Beyond (Helion x LoA)

by @areyoudreaminof The Lady of Autumn has agreed to come live at the Day Court, though she seems hesitant. Can Helion convince her that she belongs at his side?

[lvminisciel]

general's dissection

the one time a famed general wishes to lose, only to emerge victorious warning: disturbing themes, implied suicidal ideation, angst. unrequited lilinor, implied levan x meleanor wc 343, further details on the tags inspired by this song!

i. hunted by many, a single prey escapes

come forth, engage in this game of ‘General’s Dissection’

humans and fae alike may partake

hunting down the general’s head

for he had fallen victim to deceit

castle ground rejects both ashes and bone

as the air grew colder and colder

away from the night’s blessing, I stood

in a path to nowhere

every road I took strayed me further 

unwelcomed even by the gates of death

carrying the seed of your love, I wept

on journeys of no return, I yearn

ii. haunted by the shadow of your love

in the long nights, I dreamt of you

falling in love with someone else

saliva intertwining with what’s not mine

please wake me, please return to my embrace

set me free from this anguish

say, don’t you want to dissect

a general’s heart?

come, join and play this game

you always love carrying out mischief

with that smug grin adoring your silly face

a beating heart would make a fun trinket,

don’t you think?

come back to me and i’ll make you win

exchanging victory with every last piece

of love you’ve left behind

something i could never comprehend,

a grave misconception on your part

as I am a weapon for you to wield, not a warden!

iii. hope, a form of nonexistent luxury

ah

for once i wished to lose 

a being incapable of affection

because if not, why else 

would you escape from my grasp?

how i wished soul could be used as a currency

all i need is an hour, a splitting second

spare me a fragment of your existence

change the trajectory of one's life,

just like how you did way back

surely this kingdom would be better off without that lowly bat fae,

would it not?

bask the land anew with your magnificence

envelop the dusk with your finesse once more

certainly, people of the night shall rejoice 

concerns and doubt looms no longer

as happiness blooms beyond briars and thorns

please come back to me, My Lady.

[raeynbowboi]

Creating a Thematic Bard

Through Bardic Magical Secrets, any Bard can pick up any 6-8 spells of their choosing depending on their subclass. I thought I’d go through some thematic options for a Bard to choose from to cater to different themes and archetypes the Bard aspires to do. For each, I will offer the 8 spells I would recommend if you were to play as a Lore Bard, and if you pick a different subclass, just elimate two of the options.

HEAVENLY CHOIR 6th Spiritual Weapon, Spirit Guardians 10th Flame Strike, Destructive Wave 14th Holy Weapon, Summon Celestial 18th Divine Word, Holy Aura

THAT INFERNAL BARD 6th Hellish Rebuke, Summon Lesser Demons 10th Summon Greater Demon, Planar Binding 14th Summon Fiend, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise 18th Planar Ally, Shapechange

WOODLAND WOODWINDS 6th Spike Growth, Plant Growth 10th Grasping Vine, Wrath of Nature 14th Transport Via Plants, Wall of Thorns 18th Tree Stride, Guardian of Nature

NECRODANCER 6th Animate Dead, Summon Undead 10th Spirit of Death, Danse Macabre 14th Create Undead, Finger of Death 18th Negative Energy Flood, Antilife Shell

PYRODANCER 6th Scorching Ray, Fireball 10th Ashardalon’s Stride, Flame Strike 14th Immolation, Investiture of Flame 18th Fire Storm, Meteor Swarm

CRYODANCER 6th Ice Knife, Rime’s Binding Ice 10th Ice Storm, Cone of Cold 14th Investiture of Ice, Otiluke’s Freezing Sphere 18th Wall of Ice, Control Weather

WET T-SHIRT CONTEST 6th Tidal Wave, Wall of Water 10th Control Water, Maelstrom 14th Watery Sphere, Summon Elemental 18th Tsunami, Water Breathing

TAKE THE WORLD BY STORM 6th Thunder Step, Lightning Bolt 10th Control Winds, Storm Sphere 14th Chain Lightning, Investiture of Wind 18th Whirlwind, Storm of Vengeance

DOWN TO EARTH 6th Max’s Earthen Grasp, Erupting Earth 10th Stone Shape, Wall of Stone 14th Bones of the Earth, Move Earth 18th Investiture of Stone, Earthquake

A DANCE OF DRAGONS 6th Chromatic Orb, Dragon’s Breath 10th Elemental Bane, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Draconic Transformation 18th Illusory Dragon, Shapechange

BARDS GONE FEYWILD VOL VII 6th Summon Fey, Spirit Guardians 10th Conjure Woodland Beings, Healing Spirit 14th Heal, Conjure Fey 18th Mass Heal, Wish

FIND ME SUMMON TO LOVE 6th Conjure Animals, Summon Undead 10th Summon Aberration, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Summon Fiend, Summon Celestial 18th Summon Construct, Summon Elemental

ROCKY HORROR NIGHTMARE SHOW 6th Dissonant Whispers, Fear 10th Phantasmal Killer, Dream 14th Mental Prison, Feeblemind 18th Maddening Darkness, Weird

CLOAK AND DAGGER 6th  Counterspell, Pass Without Trace 10th Death Ward, Steel Wind Strike 14th Contingency, Simulacrum 18th Feeblemind, Foresight

NECROSIS 6th Inflict Wounds, Wither and Bloom 10th Blight, Enervation 14th Harm, Finger of Death 18th Abi’s Horrid Wilting, Destructive Wave

STEP THREE: PROPHET 6th Augury, Clairvoyance 10th Divination, Commune  14th True Seeing, Detect Thoughts 18th Astral Projection, Foresight

GLOWING REVIEWS 6th Blinding Smite, Spirit Guardians 10th Destructive Wave, Wall of Light 14th Sunbeam, Crown of Stars 18th Guiding Bolt, Sunburst

SIMPLY PSIONIC 6th Mind Spike, Tasha’s Mind Whip 10th Raulothim’s Psychic Lance, Telekinesis 14th Rary’s Telepathic Bond, Synaptic Static 18th Telepathy, Psychic Scream

SONG OF WAR 6th Hunter’s Mark, Spiritual Weapon  10th Staggering Smite, Steel Wind Strike (or) Swift Quiver 14th Holy Weapon, Blade Barrier 18th Conjure Volley, Blade of Disaster

SHIELD MASTER 6th Armor of Agathys, Shield 10th Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere, Wall of Force 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Globe of Invulnerability 18th Forecage, Invulnerability

MAGIC MIKE 6th Magic Missile, Glyph of Warding 10th Arcane Eye, Bigby’s Hand 14th Arcane Gate, Symbol 18th Demiplane, True Polymorph

SPELLBREAKER 6th Absorb Elements, Counterspell 10th Circle of Power, Synaptic static 14th Fizban’s Platinum Shield, Forecage 18th Feeblemind, Antimagic Field

SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED 6th Spiritual Weapon, Spirit Guardians 10th Guardian of Faith, Bigby’s Hand 14th Mordenkainen’s Sword, Blade Barrier 18th Max’s Earthen Grasp, Blade of Disaster

TWO-FACED 6th Alter Self, Water Breathing 10th Guardian of Nature, Stoneskin 14th Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise, Draconic Transformation 18th Animal Shapes, Shapechange MASTER OF ILLUSIONS 6th Blur, Pass Without Trace 10th Phantom Steed, Creation 14th Mental Prison, Nystul’s Magic Aura 18th Illusory Dragon, Weird

A DANCE WITH DEATH 6th Wither and Bloom, Vampiric Touch 10th Blight, Enervation 14th Contingency, Soul Cage 18th Clone, Invulnerability

MERCY MAIN 6th Aura of Vitality, Beacon of Hope 10th Aura of Purity, Aura of Life 14th Heal, Regenerate 18th Mass Heal, True Resurrection

PLAGUED BY GUILT 6th Hex, Bestow Curse 10th Vitriolic Sphere, Contagion 14th Eyebite, Harm 18th Feeblemind, Weird

BLUE EXORCIST 6th Counterspell, Remove Curse 10th Dispel Evil and Good, Banishing Smite 14th Forbiddance, Plane Shift 18th Forecage, Imprisonment

BARD EX MACHINA 6th Elemental Weapon, Tiny Servant 10th Fabricate, Creation 14th Animate Objects, Summon Construct 18th Mighty Fortress, Blade of Disaster

CONCLAVE OF THE HOUND DOG 6th Hunter’s Mark, Conjure Animals 10th Swift Quiver, Conjure Volley 14th Guardian of Nature, Dominate Beast 18th Animal Shapes, Insect Plague

OATH OF MERRIMENT 6th Blinding Smite, Crusader’s Mantle 10th Find Greater Steed, Destructive Wave 14th Staggering Smite, Banishing Smite 18th Circle of Power, Holy Weapon

 And of course, you can always mix and match. Going for a Fire Dragon theme? Mix the Pyrodancer and A Dance of Dragons spell lists. As an example:

LOVE AMONG THE DRAGONS 6th Dragon’s Breath, Fireball 10th Flame Strike, Summon Draconic Spirit 14th Investiture of Flame, Draconic Transformation 18th Illusory Dragon, Meteor Swarm

These are all the bard themes I could think of, but if you can think of some more that I missed, or have better suggestions for some of my choices, let me know your own thematic magical secrets builds. Obviously, these were made with the Lore Bard in mind, since it gets the most magical secrets, but I’m sure some synergize better with other bard types, such as Song of War with the College of Valor. I just used Lore as the default. How well do these magical secrets builds work for you?

[writteninlunarlight-years]

hiii!!! i just came across ur blog and i would love to get a bg3 matchup if that’s ok!!!

gender - female

pronouns - she/they

sexuality - pansexual! i’m fine with being matched with any gender!!

appearance - i’m 5’0 and have small bone structure, so overall just small lol . i have long platinum blonde hair and hazel eyes! i like dressing cute and wear a lot of skirts n stuff!! i also have rlly big glasses

mbti - infp

personality - i am very shy!! i rlly like talking to ppl, im just bad at it and it makes me nervous. im also a pretty anxious person, so i usually stick to whoever im with in public or around ppl (literally stick, i will hold on and not let go). overall im a very quiet and gentle person!!

likes - i play wayyyy too many video games (bg3, ff7, ow2)! i also spend a lot of time painting and i rlly love art!! while im painting i usually rewatch my fav shows (hxh and attack on titan)!!

dislikes - vegetables >:/ i also dislike ppl who don’t understand that socializing is hard for me, and will try to push me into social situations i’m uncomfortable in. i’m also extremely scared and hate any body of water :c

extra fun fact - my fav color is pink :D

characters i don’t want - no shadowheart if that’s ok!! nothing against our girl but i don’t like her romantically!!

bg3 extras :D

race - human

class - druid!!!!

~~~~~ MATCHUPS ~~~~~

BG3

Gale Dekarios

~~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~~

Gale is a big softy but wants to be Alpha Male so bad.

He will happily allow you to hold on to his arm, and he will try to act all big and tough when he is a schoolgirl inside.

When he first met you, he thought you were too timid to be the leader of the group. However, your quick thinking proved him wrong.

He loves spending lazy days between battles with you in the fields, teaching you about magic and how he learned it.

Gale always keeps a hand on your lower back when out in public, or he will intertwine your fingers.

Mans is jealous; he will be a big baby if you cling to anyone but him on your outings.

Will literally throw a fit by yanking you into his presence.

He loves watching you commune with nature and the world and is interested in your magical abilities.

Will bend over backward for you. It is gotten for you in a heartbeat if you want or need anything.

He wants you to feel worshiped and treasured. I mean, the only love he has ever had was with a god, so this is only right....right?

When you comfort and remind him he is enough without the lavishing gifts, he is overwhelmed but so happy.

He happily and willingly gives up Mystra for you, not caring about godhood or kingdom.

He loves being with you all the time, and when the illithids are handled, he makes you a permanent fixture in his tower in Waterdeep.

~~~~~ BLURB ~~~~~

You and Gale were sat out in the open fields just before Baldurs Gate. The Iron Golems proving to be more of a hindrance than initially thought. The team decided to take a breather and devise a plan to get around this issue. However, working on magical skills with Gale was probably more of a distraction, especially with how cute his focusing face was. Sitting quietly watching him enchant a simple thorns spell was fascinating.

Once he had gotten the hang of the basics of a ring of thorns, you congratulated him and wrapped your arms around his midsection. Gale was taken aback, but a quick laugh and warm arms wrapped around you soon replaced every thought in either of your minds. You two had been like this since he saved you from an arrow to the back, so close yet so far. When Elminster told you he was to die, you lay in his arms, crying your eyes out, begging him not to go through with it.

Enjoying the warmth of the hug, you two soon moved to cuddle in the grass, pointing out odd-shaped clouds. You knew you should be planning how to get into Baldur Gate, but this was so nice. Gale was a new normal for you, and you hated to think it could go horribly wrong in any passing days; you wrapped your arms tighter around the man and kissed him on the cheek before burying your face into his neck. Gale had already made up his mind and would fight till his last breath to have a forever with you.

~~~~~ EXTRA ~~~~~

(Everyone was celebrating the defeat of the elder brain. A few rounds of drinks had flowed, and many were a bit tipsy.)

Astarion: Cheers to our fearless leader, who took us through these trials and allowed us freedom!

Everyone: Cheers!

Shadowheart: Cheers to our new-found friendships, which, though strained, ended up being the best thing to come out of this horrible experience!

Everyone: Cheers!

Gale: I, too, have an announcement to make! Y/N, I want you to know that since the day you saved me from that rock, you have stolen my mind. You are perfect; please marry me.

La'zek: 20 copper. He is the furthest gone of all of us, and he won't remember in the morning.

Y/N: Oh, come on, it's cute, but yes, Gale, we should try again when you aren't the color red of the setting sun.

Gale: MMMMkay *hicups*

[simonsquest]

A playlist of tracks inspired by Simon's first siege on Castlevania. :) It's significantly shorter than my last playlist, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Like last time, I highlighted pertinent lyrics under the cut and included a link to each song on YouTube.

Genres: Power metal, symphonic metal, metalcore

Please be advised the lyrics can be quite graphic.

DRACULA X! - MARC HUDSON, JACKY VINCENT, ADRIENNE COWAN (warning: flashing images in the video) Alive under the blackened skies The hunter waits in disguise For the evil one's in sight tonight And the time is right Behind veils of a masquerade Descend brave and nameless heroes We will strike tonight, protect what's right Beneath the cover of moonlight For the sake of mankind, we must lead the blind And vanquish all the demons Across the devil's red sand, through thе archways grand A neverending mazе See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "Now is the time to make a stand!" We strike, fighting through hordes of undead Searching the chambers unending For our one desire, the great vampire And banishing his soul with fire See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "You will die now and leave this world!" In the castle walls Where the demons crawl We will end this reign of endless night As the palace burns Justice shall return And lift the shadows that once eclipsed the earth Until the day you rise again When the sun shines again over the promised land Forever enshrined upon our hands, the fate of every man See the sunlight fade away, behold the night again and witness The rising dust, call for blood, breaking the minds of men Yet the fear inside falls away tonight For our destiny awaits us As the prophecies spoke through the ages told The sun will shine again Leave behind all of life's fleeting stories Come forth tonight into glory Raise your swords high and storm the gates!

POWER OF WILL - DYNAZTY I'm here to burn down the past I rise to build something to last I shall refuse to ever bend Through the storm that has no end I'm gonna make the wrong be right No matter what I stand before I'll be afraid no more I am here, I'm awake 'Cause this world is mine to take Through the power of will I'll find my still again I will take the pain and let it make me strong 'cause I believe There's a force no pain can kill The power of will I've seen the bridge over all grief It's the power of belief I'm gonna cross it all with ease I'm gonna bend realities I know the way out of the dark I hold the compass in my heart, yes I'll tear down the past, build something to last I'll walk through the towering shadows been cast Through power of will I'll shatter the still Turn every stone till all the lies have been killed I'll bend, never break, I'll earn what I make I'll stand up for what I believe is at stake My will's made of stone, it's infused to the bone It's a fire-lit force with the potency of a cyclone

CALL OF THE WILD (FEAT. HANSI KURSCH) - POWERWOLF When in the night at the altar we're standing Staring at the icon on the wall When we unite for the sermon pretending The holy word by our blood we're defending Wear the crown of thorns to praise the fall Stand up, tonight we raise the call We bring the call of the wild to the sign of the sacristy Rest in the eye of our sanctity Before the dawn we are hallowed and praying Another night, all the sermon obeying Breaking down the altar and the verse Preaching all the night to break the curse

INCENSE & IRON - POWERWOLF Follow the dead in the dark of damnation Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night, an evangelist nation born Under the sign of the dark Gather the wild from the horde of the brave men Brothers allied, fight the storm of this curse Combat ahead and the night calls for heroes Ready for fire command Revel in red come and wake up to bring no remorse Stand up as force Rise over the dead, bring us ahead, incense and iron Fight all of the night, banners up high to the top of the land Right into the red, all you can get, incense and iron Stand, follow the fight, doing the right as we come to defend

LET’S BURY THE HATCHET… IN YOUR HEAD - ICE NINE KILLS You sold our souls, so burn in Hell You fucking did this to yourself again Now, bow your head You suffocated us for the last time We paid the price for your pathetic vice So now we're taking back what's ours: Our name, our blood, our life, our cause! Oh! So, wake up Here's a mirror so you can see This crooked, spineless, disgusting man That's become your legacy Here and now I'm pulling all my strings I have with God I'm hoping to find a better way I pray the only thing I need is time To rid the world of your lunacy You're as faithful as a false prophet So, here's a prophecy for you: Yeah, you'll remember me (remember me, remember me!) When you're struggling to breathe! Can't you see what a monster you've become? I couldn't watch the world through your eyes Salvation for you's in the hands of God So save your prayers and just beg for life I'm fucking done with you

THE PLOT SICKENS - ICE NINE KILLS We’ll make it out alive Lord hear our prayer across the air Is God’s intent final decent or just a test of our faith? If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way out, we’ll find a way out Left behind by God or the devil himself To find a way, find a way, to make it out alive The sight at hand, gruesome and grand, cannot be rectified Searching for signs of life in wreckage we can’t recognize We cry out for those who can’t be saved One foot on sacred ground and one foot in the grave Steady we climb, ready to die To look salvation in the eye If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way, find away, to make it out alive

FEED THE FLAME - THAUROROD Fire from the heart Master it while you are Searching for truth Of our lives You are the light Walk through the fire To enter the light Banish the eternal night Stand tall and proud Let your heart feed the flame Things will never again Be the same This much is true Heaven or hell It starts with you Change begins with yourself Reach for the light In our lives Fight the good fight

EAGLEHEART - STRATOVARIUS All through the night he is lying awake Wondering how much more can he take Watching the walls where the shadows dance Drifting away into a trance And his eyes are blazing with fire Dreams burnt to ashes so many times Highest of mountains, still he climbs Ready to fly 'cause he just can't stay Flame burning brighter with every day And his eyes are blazing with fire Longing for the deepest desire Fever is burning in his veins Determined with courage, breaking the chains Back against the wall, under blood red skies Prepared to fight until he dies