#TW; murder

[ijwrsmff]

I need your take on romantic yandere Luffy. But please make the reader spineless and too afraid to fight >:)

Yandere Luffy is "good" boy. It's about your first meeting Luffy, and his promise to you >:3

Word Count: 1,326

Tw; Blood and murder

If you would have known making awkward and blushing eye contact with a boy in a straw hat would lead up to this…you’d have seriously reconsidered. But no one could have predicted the lengths the seemingly innocent and carefree boy would go. Maybe not even himself…

When he met you, you were simply relaxing at the cafe. Studying a bit, just to pass the time. The ambience of the cafe with its music and sounds of people talking and running around just helped you focus so much better. Him and his crew were laughing and joking while drinking booze at what couldn’t have even been noon. 

The boy in the straw hat was much louder than most of the others, so he stood out above the others. Cheering, and talking even while he was in the middle of chewing. It was…kind of funny. At some point, you were barely focused on studying and rather wondering about that boy and how long he would be on your island. If you weren’t so nervous…you might have even tried talking to him. But it was out of the question, he had a whole group to spend time with, and the anxiety of breaking up a conversation just to ask his name seemed wrong. 

Somehow he looked familiar, and curiosity consumed your mind. Has he been here before? Perhaps…but you didn’t remember seeing him with a group like he was in now. You tried and tried to think about where you had seen him before, but you were drawing a blank. In your unintentional focus, you didn’t realize just how long you’d been staring at him…until he looked back at you. 

You blushed, and hid your face back in your book. It wasn’t long before he’d walked up to you. It registered in your brain he was there, but you were too embarrassed to look up from your book. He slid the chair across from you and sat down beside you. For some reason, he seemed like he was used to people staring. What made you so different from the others in this cafe?

“Why are ya staring? You seem different from the other people here…” He tilted his head and you almost giggled at how cute it was. You did have to admit, with your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, you did look a bit different. Some people on your island did wear such clothes, but not often. Aside from children. It was pretty hot usually, but you liked to wear oversized things to try and hide away. “I got it! It’s hot. You’re wearing heavy clothes. Why though?” 

“Uh…” It stopped you in your tracks and you couldn’t form the words. “I don’t know? They’re comfy? I-I guess?” He was just as bubbly as he was at the other table. Is he always like this? “What…brings you to the island?” His enthusiasm was honestly welcome. You didn’t have many friends, and he seemed pretty fun to be around! Carefree in a way. Possibly with a lot of ADHD given how many times he looked around and changed topics. 

Even though it was awkward at first, you opened up a bit. Mentioned your studies, and how you’d never left your island. “It’s…safer here. Than a lot of places. I can’t really fight, so I haven’t tried to leave.” You looked down and fiddled with your hands. It seemed silly to say that to a stranger, but you had to have been talking for over an hour now. He talked for most of it, never running out of things to say. 

The conversation stopped, when a small group of your island’s marines came in. You tried to avoid them, they were…not always on the “good guy” team. Very confrontational, and you hated it. So when they came in, you didn’t mean to, but you kind of hid behind Luffy. You didn’t know why they were there, but they were fully dressed in uniforms carrying their weapons. 

They stopped, and saw Luffy and his friends, immediately drawing their weapons. “Monkey D. Luffy you’re under arrest, for acts of piracy and thievery. Give yourself up, or we’ll take you in. Dead or alive, by any means necessary.” The marines looked serious, but that didn’t stop you from squealing. 

“Y-you’re…a pirate? With a bounty?” It was a whisper, and you found yourself backing away from him. You didn’t even get far, when he reached back and grabbed you arm, placing you close behind him once more. 

“Is this a crewmate? We’ll be taking them in as well, and anyone who falls under your command.” The leader of the group of marines chimed in, and turned to look around the bar. He saw the green haired swordsman, the orange haired girl, the man with the long nose and a blond man with…curly eyebrows? 

He waited a moment, but you had begun to shake. You couldn’t move! Luffy was holding your arm so tight! Apparently, Luffy interpreted this as you being afraid of the marines. He turned around, and put both arms on your shoulders holding you even more in place as tears fell down your face. “Don’t worry. They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them.” His wide smile turned into a serious scowl, and he let go of you to spin around and use his whole arm to fling the commander down to the ground. 

It was absolutely terrifying, when he went from silly and bubbly to lethal. You looked between him and his crew, and even they looked shocked. Luffy pounded on them, before one of the marines ran out, only to come back with an even larger group. One shot a weapon straight at you, as others began to shoot around the bar, causing you and everyone else to scream in terror. However as you closed your eyes and fell to the ground, you looked up to see Luffy being shot. His skin contorted, and the bullet was flung right back at the marine who fired it. 

The swordsman stood up, “Luffy. They called for backup.” He walked over and placed a hand on Luffy’s shoulder as he hit the man lying on the ground over and over. “Come on, let’s go.” Neither seemed worried, they were clearly capable of handling themselves. The woman and long nosed man seemed petrified though, hiding behind the blond. 

Luffy stopped, and turned back to you with a smile that didn’t suit the blood stained on his face. “Come on! We’re setting sail!” He grabbed you as you cried and pulled you close. Did he really expect you to go with him? After what he did? He killed marines…and with a smile on his face. The outside world was far too dangerous, and you would get yourself killed just like those marines! 

“I-I-” You wanted to say ‘I can’t, I don’t want to’ but the words couldn’t come out. If he would kill people supposed to bring order and peace to the world, how would you know that he wouldn’t do the same to you? Get bored, decide you’re weak and cast you aside? “I can’t fight!” Was all that you could get out, as the thoughts raced and tears fell. 

“It’s okay…” Luffy said, and pulled you into a hug before lifting you up into his arms with ease. He chuckled, and earlier in the day it would have sounded cute…but now? Spine chillingly alarming. He wasn’t stable…it’s not safe…you need to get out of here…but…

You were sure he meant the next words to sound reassuring, but they were far from so. It showed you…that this would be your life now. Running from the good guys, trapped with Luffy. A pirate, capable of murder. It was far from what you wanted in life, but you were so scared…and that fear only grew and developed the longer you were in his presence. He spoke, and it sounded cold. Unwavering. Maybe even determined. 

“I’ll protect you.” 

[terrence-silver]

How would Terry cope with accidentally killing beloved?

---

Same thing that happened with Ponytail happens.

He usurps beloved.

Embodies them.

Adopts mannerisms. Adopts speech patterns. Habits. Beliefs. Quirks. Flaws. Outward aesthetic presentation he adapts to himself. Everything that they were before it happened and it wouldn't even be the first time either because Terry Silver already feels he was pretty directly responsible for someone's death before (A death he was actually impacted by for life and one he actually, dare I say, regrets? Or is at least haunted by?) that death being, yes, you guessed it, Ponytail's. That too was an accident and a loss of control so deciding it changed the trajectory of Terry's entire existence, just about. And call it what you will; identity theft, usurpation, claiming someone, paying homage and coping with wartime survivor's guilt, depersonalization and re-personalization into something or someone else during times of trauma and duress, mirroring, face stealing or plain old imitation for imitation's sake or all of the above, but point is --- this is the closest to how Terry Silver was shown coping with another close person's death and in the off chance he doesn't actually follow after beloved and offs himself too in mourning, I can genuinely see him posthumously taking over their personality too and ensure they...in a weird, parasitic sense continue existing and living through him like that.

[blondegemini]

The blonde stood before the desiccating body before her, holding the blood filled stake up as tears filled her eyes. She'd not been expecting to have to go to such measures when she came here. But it had to be done they were following her, they attacked her, what else was she supposed to do? Josie was going to kill her she was changing the future even more than Hope was. They were going to be stuck here forever. They'd never know their lives as they were again, and the thought petrified her. ''I-I don't know what happened..''

[ddollfface]

𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤!𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

"Show me your thorns and I'll show you hands ready to bleed." ♡ Aaron O' Hanlon

Trigger Warnings; description of body mutilation, description of murder, mild panic, regret, angst (?), possessive behavior, toxic behavior, irrational behavior, reader is described as 'she' and 'her', reader is afab, bad writing.

If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡

It's 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤!𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭's first murder! Poor reader doesn't know what's coming... :(((

In and out. In and out. Just keep breathing, that's what he told himself. He could feel the blood rush through his head. The world was going in and out. God, when did it get so hard to think? It was as if he was spun around to tumble and fumble around. Where was he? Why does he feel so warm, but cold at the same time?

His pupils were dilated, zooming in and out, causing a wave of adrenaline to cloud his brain. He could feel everything but nothing at the same time. He could feel his lungs expand and contract, creating a vacuum. It felt as if his heart was being stabbed, the squeeze he felt in his chest every second was like someone clawing at his flesh. Tearing and ripping him apart, from within. It was like he did something wrong, something very, very wrong. What had he done?

Suddenly, it felt as if the elephant in the room was right there, right on his shoulders. That dread he was feeling was looming over him like a disappointed parent. Like a father's warm hand squeezing his son's shoulder, as if he felt bad for what had been done.

That's when he saw it. The blood. It was everywhere. God, fuck. It was everywhere. It was fuckin' everywhere. What had he done?

"Shit. Fuck. Shitting, fucking, hell! What the hell!"

He mumbled, finally realizing where he was. The noises of the city blared in his ears, the drizzle of the rain, the patter of peoples' fancy shoes, the whooshing of cars passing by. This wasn't good, at all.

What had he fuckin' done!? He needed to do something.

"No shit!"

He cursed, looking down at his hands. Blood seeped through the seems, ingraining in the palm of his hands, a flashing reminder of what had occurred. This wasn't good. The adrenaline was dying, his rage was dwindling, and his regret was blaring.

He needed to dispose of it. The man looked over his shoulder, at it. It was sprawled out, arms laying out on his side, and guts spilling out. His eyes were wide. You could see the murder in his eyes, every stab and every hit that thing took. It was all there. A sliver of blood dribbled from the body's lips, which are crisped and chapped. A shiver ran up the man's spine as his gaze wandered down to the body's torsor, if you could call it that...

The pancreas ripped and torn, yellow fluid slipping out, and pooling on the stoned ground. The intestines slithered out, clumped together like a decapitated snake. Blood had painted everything, but the rain washed it out, though barely scratching the surface. There was so much blood that the rain did little to cleanse the sinful scene.

The fat from the body's gut was spilling out. It was tinted yellow and looked like honeycombs from a beehive, but more plastic-like. It could barely contain itself from within the man's body, as if it was desperate to escape the confines of it's mortal body. Of course, it too was covered in that thick, red, goo.

What's the saying? Bloods thicker than water? Yeah, that checks out. It felt as if the blood was choking him, clogging his airways, and making it difficult to think, to breathe, to do anything. The scarlet liquid seemed to entrance the man, causing him to lose thought and reality.

HONK

Shit, what the hell? The man jumped and spun around. Nothing. Just New York traffic, it's fine. He's fine. It's okay. He just has to dump the body. Yeah, that's it. He can do that.

He gets to work, ignoring the gut-wrenching feeling that flooded his system. The feeling practically screamed at him to run away, to not grip the man's side, to not look at the intestines that dragged behind the body as he picked up the man. Or to not look the body dead in the eyes. Don't.

He did. He regrets it. God, it was like the man's eyes were looking through him, at something behind him. This made him nervous, it was like the dead man knew something he didn't. As if he was being pranked like he was the fool.

He's not a fool.

If anything, this man is the dunce. He's the one who touched her, his sweet, sweet angel. He's the one who allowed you to be dirtied, his beautiful muse. He's not the fool, the sick bastard, instead, it's the man who's now dead.

Maybe, if he didn't mess with what's not his, then he'd be alive. Maybe, if he wasn't a fuckin' pig, then he'd live another day but no. He's not. He was gutted like a fish, and it was rightfully deserved.

This man had gotten in his way, in his darling's way. He made you uncomfortable. He inconvenienced you with just a few words, and suddenly you wanted to cry. He wouldn't let you feel that way. He has to preserve you, your natural beauty. He had to kill this man! Honestly, it isn't his fault!

Sweat began to pebble on his forehead, the mental load being too much. He sighed, exasperated from flinging the corpse into the nearest dumpster, surprisingly not catching anyone's attention. Then again, it was late in the night in the busy city of New York. People don't have time to worry about others, even if someone did see him, he doubts they'd care... Well, you would... you'd notice him...

He knows that. God, you're so loving and caring, looking out for others. It didn't matter if you were tired or in a rush, you'd always make time in your day to help someone in need. You're such a sweet angel, his little angel. You just need protection, you need to know that you can't help everyone. You're going to wear yourself out, don't you know? Just let him take care of you. You do too much. You need a break, just relax and let him do everything...

He can make you feel good. He knows he's not the most experienced man, but it's the thought that counts, yeah? He'll show you, all you need is some convincing! He's sure.

I mean, for what is he, a poet, without his muse?

If you or someone you know is in an abusive relationship, then please, please call this number. Relationships, like the one written above, aren't normal and should be left immediately. Please, take care of yourself and your loved ones. 800-799-7233 (National Abuse Hotline)

[ladyimaginarium]

Hey y'all, just figured I'd let y'all know about something that's been going on in "Canada" lately.

The RCMP is planning on disposing the evidence of the victims of Robert Pickton, one of Canada's most notorious serial killers, with most of them being indigenous women and/or sex workers and/or addicts; there were also a few Black women that have gone missing and/or murdered, as well.

For more information on the victims, here's a list of a few of them. Just be warned it's very graphic & tragic. This is important because today, on December 17th annually, is The International Day To End Violence Against Sex Workers.

Advocates, academics, indigenous women's groups & lawyers have repeatedly said that this is a violation of human rights and it's extremely telling that the RCMP is trying to borderline cover this up and dispose of evidence when it's not even just Pickton who did this, he's stated that there were others involved and people who knew about what happened and nothing's being done about it. It's genuinely horrific that this is even being considered, and the victims and the families of the victims deserve better, especially the lives of indigenous, black and/or sex workers, because the fact that this is even being considered is basically telling them that their lives — these women's lives, but also the lives of Native women, Black women, addicts and sex workers — don't matter. It's fucking disgusting, especially as a reconnecting two spirited person.

Please keep the victims & their families in mind!!

[shiroi---kumo]

We love our tragedies We're both broken in our own little ways We're broken, but we fit together just right You know I saw the black inside your eyes I saw they were eclipsed by mine

[ijwrff]

Oh can I get a yandere Damien from Who Killed Markiplier oneshot?

@monster-scribe-tya @nerdqueenkat @serenitydusk @thattiredanimator1t0mblr

It had been a couple months since the first time you went to the Mayor’s speaking event. You asked him a question at one of his public speaking sessions, and he actually answered! He was so sweet…kind in general. It didn’t take long before you had gone to more…and more…and more of these sessions. Something drew you to him. And he was just so photogenic…

You weren’t necessarily a reporter, but you did like to take pictures of people. Their smiles, their frowns, their laughter. Damien’s smile was like no other. But despite not being a reporter or journalist…that smile seemed to have something behind it. What that was, you didn’t know. But you were determined to find out. 

You tried playing it off, but he seemed to always answer any and all questions you had. There’s no way…he wasn’t picking a favorite was he? What would you have even done if you were to become a favorite? You shook it off, feeling silly for thinking such. He was just doing his job. You think…but one way or the other, you came up with a simple solution to this. 

Follow him.

A simple solution, although you never would admit it was a twisted one. Maybe you’d make a good reporter afterall…you would follow him around for the next couple weeks. He never seemed to notice you there. Every once in a while, he would turn in your direction, and you’d turn to take a picture of the nearest cafe or even just a store. By the time you turned back, he’d be gone. 

How was it he always seemed to disappear the second you looked away? Maybe he knew someone was following him…no, he probably did know. He was the mayor. It would be foolish of him to not think someone was following him. He was often swarmed with people, and you snuck many pictures of him talking to the other townsfolk. It seemed to be the only time he didn’t disappear. When he was surrounded. 

You wanted just one…just one picture of him with a scowl. Irritation on his face. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so…he always looked happy to be there. He would look around every once in a while, as if looking for something. His eyes would land on yours through the lens of your camera, and you’d look away. 

Today, he was at another public speaking event, and you snapped picture after picture. This time he seemed caught off guard. He still smiled, but he seemed…distracted almost. He locked eyes with you, and tilted his head to the side every so slightly and smiled. Was he smiling at you? Or just trying to look good for a picture?

After a bit, he cut the event short, stating he wasn’t feeling so well. Now was your chance! He walked off after whispering something to his bodyguard, and the people in the crowd dispersed. For some reason, no one else was following him. Not even that guard. Perfect. You’d get your picture posted everywhere! A picture showing Mayor Damien wasn’t as perfect as everyone said he was. 

Where was he even going? He made a couple turns, and you followed behind a good block or two. You wanted to catch him by surprise. If all went well, he’d have a nasty look on his face, or even a picture of a cough or sneeze would suffice, and he’d never even know you were there. Every picture you’d ever seen of this man looked photoshopped as all hell. He looked fantastic. It wasn’t natural for someone to look so flawless. 

He turned down an alleyway, and you rushed to catch up with him. You turned the corner and…he wasn’t there. Where did he go? How did he just vanish like that!? Looking up and down the alley, you realized you were at a dead end. It took several minutes of searching, only to find a door to the next building over. It was locked of course, but it was the only possible solution to where he could have gone. 

You groaned, and gave up for the day. You’d have to find that perfect picture another time. Turning around, you were met with a sight…you really didn’t wanna see. A man was there, one you’d never seen before. He looked out of breath. He panted and looked around the alley for a moment, before locking his gaze on you. “Where. Is. He?” The man glared. It was terrifying. His voice was laced with venom, and his eyes were dark. He was clearly not messing around. What was he going to do to Mayor Damien? Sure you were borderline stalking him, but you didn’t want him hurt! 

“I don’t know who you mean.” You stood up straighter, and tried to look composed. Even though you were not. Not even a little. You attempted to walk past him, but he grabbed your shirt and threw you onto the ground, deeper into the alleyway. 

This…was not good. If he would hurt someone like the mayor, who’s to say he wouldn’t do worse to you? You tried to get up, but he slammed his foot down on your chest and kept you pinned there. Your camera was flung to the side, and it being broken was truly the last thing on your mind. 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” He put even more pressure on your chest, and you panicked. If you didn’t do something right now, he’d break your ribs. He leaned down to look closer at your face, and the pressure on your chest was reaching a literal breaking point. “I saw you following him, too. Tell me where. He. Is.” 

Your eyes were wide with fear of what this man would do to you. He was clearly not above hurting someone. “I-I don’t know! He disappeared! I think he’s in that building but it’s locked!” You didn’t want to throw the mayor under the bus, but this could potentially be a life or death situation for you. It seemed to be you or him. Besides, he probably had guards in that building he went into. You were out here alone…and something told you if you screamed? It’d be all over. 

You didn’t hear the door open behind the man, but you did hear a sound of something hitting the man on the back of the head. There was blood. So much blood…and the man’s eyes widened before his body fell limp on top of you. That was when you screamed, and all your tears began to fall. 

You shoved his body off you, as the blood dripped onto your chest and face. Scrambling backwards, you saw the sight before you. Damien was standing behind where the man was, and his signature cane was tinted red with the man’s blood. 

His look was cold. If you hadn’t just been threatened, you would see this as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of that face. It made your blood run cold. But that feeling only got worse when he took a step closer to you with a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, and took one step closer. You didn’t know what to do! The mayor of all people just killed a man! For…for nearly hurting a citizen. “It’s okay, y/n.” He shushed you as you cried, and sat on the ground in front of you. He didn’t care if his suit was now cakes in the blood. 

“Mayor Damien?” You looked everywhere in the alley. Everywhere but at him. Your gaze kept returning to the body. It looked awful…like a person…but unmoving. You have seen dead bodies on TV, but never in person. Especially not so close to you. 

He reached out a hand to you, but you didn’t take it. “Yes?” He looked at you with nothing but love in his eyes, but you were too scared to look. You didn’t want to see the face of a man who had just become a murderer. 

You tried to breathe steadily, but it was easier said than done. “How…do you know my name?” And at this point you did look at him. His face was appalling. He looked so unfazed by this! 

He looked shocked. “Ah…I see. I shouldn’t know your name, correct?” He leaned closer to you, and you were too scared to move back. He carefully placed his forehead on yours, which made you shut your eyes quickly. “Well you see…how certain are you…that you’re the one that’s been following me, and not the other way around, hm?” 

His words struck fear into your heart. You scrambled back as far as you could, as he stood up to follow you. There was only so far you could go, and eventually your back hit the fence. He had a point, and that’s what made it even scarier. 

All the times you lost sight of him, you never once thought to look behind you. All the times you were running through the streets in search of him, you always seemed to discover his location rather easily. All this time…was he really following you?

He clicked his tongue, and held up his cane, clearly ready to strike. “Let this be known, my love…this is the first and last time I will ever harm you.” And swung his cane down onto your skull. 

You fell over, and the pain sent a burning sensation throughout your whole body. Vision going blurry, consciousness fading…body numbing…what was he going to do to you?

As you succumbed to the feeling of the darkness around you, he spoke. “In fact…no one will hurt you, ever again. I promise.” 

[second-wife-playbook]

Last Drink (Coronis Drabble)

(tw; dark themes, mass murder)

The Marquette is cold.

The three siblings did not often gather for tea. It was often just the two eldest, talking of their lives, their plans, their social calendar. But once in a while, they sought entertainment for these tea-times. Someone to compare, to complain to, to chastise. There was only one easy target, one who could be plucked from her perch and summoned at will.

Coronis drank very meagerly from her cup and kept her eyes down. Even sandwiched between Stella and Andrealphus, she was trying to hide.

"At least Stolas can offer a nice place to live! Even if living with his dishwater-dull arse is about as exciting as watching paint dry-"

"Well that's hardly our little Cori's fault, now is it? The market for marriage is so slim these days, and it's hardly easy finding a match for someone on the older side-"

She was not there. That was what she told herself. I am simply not here. They already talk like she isn't sitting right in front of them.

I'm not here. She thought. I'm not...really here.

"Cori? Cori? Coronis!"

She snapped to attention. "Yes?"

"Weren't you listening?" Andrealphus made a disappointed look. "Do focus when someone is talking to you. Stella was just saying she had a nice idea for the ball next week."

Coronis swallowed hard. "Is that so?"

"Oh it's delightful." Stella smirked. "It's the most darling little game, and best of all, you'll be part of it!"

A cold lump formed in her stomach. She already had goosebumps from sitting in this room. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to play. "Is...is that right?" She muttered nervously. "What kind of game?"

"Just a little game of numbers." Her cruelty was keen and sharp-edged. Stella wore her edges beautifully, but that was what made them horrific. There was never a Goetia as dangerous as one who held grace and wickedness with a careless, lovely hand. "We're going to let everyone guess what your dowry is!"

Andrealphus chuckled. "Though if they undersell it, I think I'll take them up on the offer."

Something...

Pricked.

I have to play this game. She realized. And it's going to go too far. The siblings were already chortling at the idea of it. Making plans, thinking of how amusing it would be to see all those numbers put into place for a twisted game of profit and value. And I'm going to be sold like a cow for the lowest bid...going to be just another toy to play with.

The cup in her hand began to sweat.

The Marquette was a little less cold. But Coronis felt that perhaps...her mind was made up.

______

"Andrealphus, there's something I need to talk to you about."

The ball was only three days off. Plans were being made by the caterer. Coronis was certain the guests were clued into the secret game; she had been forced to sit through Stella's little get-togethers with her repulsive friends and heard a lot of sinister giggles gestured her way.

Andrealphus didn't look up from his desk. His youngest sister visiting the Marquette on her own was rare, but not worth diverting his attention. "Mm? Make it quick, I'm very busy."

"Do you mean to marry me off like you said?"

That earned one short glance.

Just one.

"You're overripe as far as brides go. And even if we're immortal, one does not want to risk their future with a spinster." He said with the most casual air. "I have done what I could when you were young enough for it, but even I cannot achieve miracles."

"But you're going to do it over a game?"

His face curled into a sneer. "What of it?" He snapped. "You haven't been an active participant yourself Cori. You can't go leeching off our parents and me for long. I've done what I can for you." And yet Coronis could tell that in his impatience and anger, that could not be farther from the truth. "Consider it a charming anecdote to tell your future children. You'll do well with anyone in attendance. Don't be so selfish."

Had Andrealphus looked up, he might have seen Hell's rarest sight.

Anger.

"....you will go through with it?" Coronis's tone might have hinted at her fury. "Whoever wins?"

"Yes, yes." His tone was impatient. Wishing she would go away. "Is that all?"

"....no. I only wanted to ask if I could purchase something for the engagement toast." She continued. Her voice was calm. "If you're really going through with it, we should celebrate it properly."

A huff, a sigh, and he turned his chair around to pay more attention to the paperwork of his principality. "Oh I suppose. I cannot exactly expect us to be looking cheap if we're celebrating a marriage in the family." Andrealphus puffed. "Go and tell the housekeeper to spare no expense. I'll have some money put aside for you to buy yourself a little treat."

Coronis watched his back with a long, long gaze.

You look so safe. She thought. Do you feel safe? Have you always felt safe?

"Thank you." She curtsied. "I'll find something worthy of the event."

_______

The ball arrived. Coronis was dressed a touch better for the event, and though Stella gave her a nasty look at the shimmery quality of her gown, she did resisted her natural urge to stain it or tear it to shreds. "Only the best for my little sister's engagement ball! Once we find out the winning number that is-" And shot her the nastiest smirk.

Coronis did not speak. She watched.

There was a big glass jar where people wrote their names and guessed the number. Everyone was laughing, laughing. I didn't even put a number in. Said one. I bet a couple of bottles of Chateau du Bachs.

That's too much! Laughed another. I just counted the change in my wallet!

The Marquette was growing warmer. Andrealphus held his ice magic thick and heavy, and stood by his ice sculptures. But something was too warm. He complained, brought a servant to turn the temperature down. It was still too warm.

Coronis watched him sweat.

The winner was about to be revealed.

Andrealphus took center stage, but found himself surprised. Coronis had indeed procured a white wine for the event, high-quality, vintage. One of the last strains of Nemeses Vineyards. Those grapes withered away and the vineyard with it over a hundred years ago, but Coronis had found some surviving bottles after all. Enough for the guests.

She poured it into his glass. There was sweat gathering on the sides, but the wine was so peerless and pure it was like liquid light, and shimmered prettily in his glass. "Why thank you-" He said, smiling and simpering prettily. "-now was all this so hard? I think the winner is going to surprise you."

"...yes I imagine so." She answered. Andrealphus raised an eyebrow. Did she always speak so coldly? "I hope you'll respect my request for a wedding gift when it's all said and done."

"Spoiled." He teased, but didn't elaborate. He could always say no, after all. "Well be a good girl and come with me."

They took to the center of the room, Andrealphus dinging his glass. "Come and gather round everyone! We've got a special treat, and a special announcement!" One hand lifted up his younger sisters. The glasses were being poured by imps, passed around. "Tonight announces the formal engagement of my darling sister Cori to a very special guest among us!" There was a ripple of giggles and laughter. They were going to find out the winner of the bet. "It breaks my heart to see her all grown up! A toast, all of us!"

The glasses were raised. Andrealphus drank his deep. The flavor was exquisite. So pure, so, so fragrant-

"Andrealphus?"

"Hmm?"

Coronis held her glass. It was still full. "I thought of what I want for my wedding gift?"

"Oh?" Why did she look so cold? Why did he feel so hot? "What is it?"

"....choke."

Andrealphus heard the shattering of many glasses before he realized he couldn't breathe. He opened his mouth to ask why, and black blood gushed forth from his throat.

The horror set in suddenly, like wildfire. Stella had been sneering, smirking in the front row, but now looked absolutely terrified as she squawked and clutched her throat, coughing black blood and bile, wheezing as her high voice was reduced to a whimper. Everyone was gasping, coughing, spitting, and the peerless icy floors were being besmirched in blood, spit and bile.

Andrealphus could not breathe. He felt his airways clogging up.

Coronis stood over him and tipped the contents of the wine over his head.

It burned.

It burned!!!!

"My contribution to the wine." She answered. She sounded so cold. So, so cold. "I thought a little holy water would spice things up."

You traitor! You bitch! He tried to scream, his bloody hands grasping at her dress. You've killed us, you've ruined us you psychopath you witch-

"Aaaaagghhh-"

The voice that came out instead was so tiny. So weak.

The edges of his vision went black. Coronis seemed to be relaxing, sighing as if she'd finished a particularly laborious task. "You've been pushing me for so long. You've been hurting me for so long." She said. It was almost mournful, and might have been mistaken for pity if her expression wasn't so pitiless. "Did you think I wouldn't retaliate? Not even once?"

You weren't supposed to fight back. Andrealphus thought, eyes bulging. You can't fight back, you can't.

He fell. The floor was hot and sticky with blood. The horrific sound of a hundred choking royals echoed around him. I feel so cold, I feel so cold- He thought, his body spasming in terror. -I don't want to die I don't want to die-

____

"Coronis!"

The Goetia snapped to attention.

"Yes?"

"Pay attention." Andrealphus said, a touch annoyed. "Stella was saying the next ball is going to be a week from now. Are you going or not?" He frowned. "Do tell me you're not going to hole up at Mommy and Daddy's house again."

What was that stare on her face? Andrealphus couldn't understand the stunned look, the utter surprise. Just where was her head going when these conversations were happening?

"S-sorry. I wasn't listening." She said. "I was...somewhere else."

She didn't finish her drink as it would turn out.

Andrealphus wondered what was wrong with it.



[hcrexcellency]

@swordsandcrownsxx ( lorelei & sophie ) Location: the gardens

"A poisoning spree and two explosions?" Lorelei asked, a horrified look on her face as her delicate fingers graced her collarbone, "and only two people died?" She scoffed. "Someone really should teach your family the art of finesse. One can get so much more done with half the efforts."

[bells-of-black-sunday]

🗯️ Danny and Haru ooo

Dirty Thoughts | Accepting

That pale gaze stared at Haru from across the dinner table mulling in his own thoughts while Robin was away, how loud and boisterous he was. Beloved even. Though the company he kept wasn't stellar, a tattoo artist whose one bad date away from a drug addiction and a scam artist who preyed on the desperate to give fake life advice to those two were certainly something to write home about, huh? Oh, but Tarhos wasn't any better was he? A washed up veteran with more baggage than an airport, really he was waiting for him to snap or throw himself into an early grave one thing or another. But... Haru.

Oh yes Danny could make quite the story out of Haruko Nakasone. An unusual name, but sometimes you just needed a little spice to get the creativity flowing. He'd start preparing a month in advance, Robin would understand after all he'd need to keep his precious guard dog by his side for as long as possible to make sure everything would go off smoothly. Stalk out his workplace, find out what he actually liked drawing the most something to pull inspiration from.

He couldn't do that with their apartment easily, he knew they had security systems. They'd be stupid if they didn't with what his war dog did for a living. Oh, but the anguish would be so sweet to write about if he did. Being killed in your own home while you beg and plead for your boyfriend, anyone really to come and save you and to think the artist probably begged for one parent or another the first time someone tried to kill him. Funny how thematic that would be. Almost like a movie.

He'd enter through the front door when Haru takes his dog down the stairs like he always did every night before bed. And while he didn't expect an elderly dog to get in the way, especially when he's met her before, he wasn't above neutralizing it or locking her outside if she did become one. Still... he'd start by closing the front door again, that'd certainly get his attention. Make him come out into their living room to search for his beloved boyfriend to welcome him home from work.

But no one would come. He'd probably be confused, shrug it off and turn to go back to what he was doing when he'd notice the tv turn on. That'd scare the shit out of him. He'd always been one of the idiots afraid of the paranormal, but there'd be a sinking feeling in his gut that this wasn't that. This was something far more dangerous and only when that feeling is more realized is when he'd strike. A perfect crescendo of emotions, a hand over a mouth and a knife in the side. The pretty crimson that'd flow down his tank top and drip onto the floor.

He'd struggle of course, probably try to scream, he's not totally helpless, but Ghostface was more than capable of handling people like that. He'd stab his throat to make sure he couldn't be as loud as he wanted though maybe he'd toy with him first. Maybe between his ribs or cut his tendons so he couldn't move while he carved his own designs into his flesh. A perfect spectacle to capture the readers eye. How fun it would be, "The Ghostface Strikes Again: Local Tattoo Artist Found Dead, Strangle Symbol Carved Into The Deceased!" a working title naturally, but he could spin it as him taunting the police.

But oh how he'd love watching him choke on his own blood, tears streaming down his cheeks as he begs for anyone to come and help, or maybe he'd realize he's dead. He loved to see them break. The moment where their mind finally realizes the inevitability of their death was the best part, he loved capturing those moments in photographs. Maybe he'd pose him like the Ophelia painting in his bathtub and stick around to watch Tarhos sob.

Oh the aftermath would be fun, to be so closely connected to those that would be effected Danny almost wondered why he never killed people he was close to before. To see the very real effects his stories had up close would be so breathtaking, but alas... it'd have to remain a fantasy. The killer focused back into his surroundings as Robin tasseled his hair. Only then did he notice how deathly pale Haru seemed to look while he stared at him.

The cool sweat that clung to his brow as Tarhos tried to get his perfect boyfriend's attention. Danny smiled something saccharine, "What's wrong Haruko? You look like you seen a ghost."

[frostbittenfemme]

Wild enters the next room and is completely puzzled by its contents or the lack there of. It’s a square room completely empty apart from another door at the opposite side of the room and the security cameras littered around the ceiling.

Wild’s not naïve, she knows there’s going to be more to this room than meets the eye. A strange EM field brushes over Wild’s frame. She whips around in an attempt to find the cause; only to be greeted with more empty space. She’s not alone in here.

Just when she least expects it, the razor sharp pain of a blade pierces through her shoulder, drawing a pained shriek from the femme. The pain only getting worst as the blade is hastily pulled out, tearing its way through metal mesh. Wild backs herself into a corner of the room, small arm desperately trying to reach her wound as energon trickles down her back.

Sometimes she can really curse being small. Guess she’s leaving this one to bleed. An annoyed sigh escapes the femme. Obviously her opponent is using an invisibility cloak.

“You’re a coward if you can’t face your enemies head on. Show yourself!” She growls, watching for any change in the room.

Didn’t think that would work.

Alright then. We’ll do things the hard way.

 Once again that strange EM field brushes against Wild’s frame. Her opponent is close.

The outlier moves her pedes slightly and even that is enough to cause a sheet of ice to spread and overtake the flooring of the room. Her opponent realises this too late, slipping on the ice causing them to come crashing down. Ice cracks beneath them, indicating their position to the small outlier.

The femme smirks, wasting no time as she pounces onto her invisible foe, swinging an axe in the hope that she lands a hit.

A static filled screech fills the air as her blade tears through armour, prompting the invisible frame to rock beneath Wild, flailing as the former gladiatrix rips her axe free from the gash its created become slamming it down repeatedly.

Once again a knife is forced into the frigid femme’s frame; this time it’s lodged in her side, energon oozing out from around it. Wild snarls, dropping one of the axes in her servo in favour of removing the blade from her side.

She tosses the knife across the room, its clattering rings out as it hits the ground. With her phantom opponent disarmed Wild resumes her vicious assault. Hacking away at the enemy beneath her, an enemy that she is only certain is there due to the energon splattering her frame with each vigorous movement. Wild pays no head to the staticky screams and agonised wails, nor the thrashing of invisible limbs as they smack at her small frame in desperation.

The barrage of hits quickly lose their ferocity and eventually come to a halt and the static turns to gurgling before the silence take over. Wild’s assault ceases when she can no longer feel the frame writhing beneath her and it isn’t long before the illusion fizzes away, uncloaking and revealing her opponents butchered slim frame. Their chest plating completely shredded with arterial fuel lines in their neck severed. That explains the gurgling, her foe drowned in their own energon.

There’s something very immature about the way this mecha had fought her, she can’t quite place why.

Shaking her helm Wild finds herself to her pedes, clutching the oozing stab wound on her side for a few moments to freeze it over. Every now and then she can feel a trickle of her own energon as it creeps its way down her spinal struts.  That wound is going to be quite bothersome to deal with.

Once again, armed with her axes Wild heads to the door at the other side of the room. She’s certain another battle awaits.

[julianobungus]

Amity is cuckholded by Luz with Philip, her enemy of all people.

He even sends her videos of him fucking Luz in a much rougher and non-vanilla way to show her that he is a better lover to Luz than Amity ever will be.

Worst yet for Amity, Luz is enjoying it and crying out many lewd and lovey things to Philip.

She's absolutely devastated seeing her 'awesome girlfriend' getting it on with someone else - with a man no less - and seemingly having the time of her life doing it. It's hideous and heart-breaking all at once, and she knew she should have left the human a long time back.

And the constant videos he sends on a seemingly weekly basis just make it all the more worse for her. As though she was nowhere near as good a lover as she thought she was. She wants to be sick.

As she sits there drinking, Amity holds up the knife from the kitchen drawer, examining it lazily, and wonders how it'll feel when she plunges it into Luz's neck.

[terrence-silver]

Would Terry kill for his beloved?

With absolute, sadistic relish. It would be his life's most pleasurable, triumphant moment and he'd gleefully drag the punk's corpse in front of beloved's feet like a trophy. Like a cat presents a dead mouse to it's owner.

[musesofthemoon]

Kotori + 10. the worst thoughts they have, whether about themselves or others

Angsty Questions | Accepting

"I guess... The worst, to me, is more of an absence of thinking something. I don't..." she sighs, moving the camera strap on her shoulders. "Well, I should start from how it happened. My job, now that the bells have been found, is to keep people from entering, or getting too far into the spirit forest. After all, who knows what havoc they might end up causing? Anyway... Sometimes, if we have repeat offenders, we're ordered to kill them."

"And I don't know if it's just me, or the exposure to it, or what... But when I have to kill someone, I don't... Feel anything. I think there's something wrong with me, I know there's something wrong with that. But I just can't help it..."

[autobot2001]

Painful Death

@themerrywhumpofmay: box @mediwhumpmay: first night in hospital Tw; drugs, murder, death (Snippet from Hidden Killer)

A man walks down a row of storage units, looking for number forty.   There's little in the storage unit, but the man is looking for a particular box. "I knew It was wise to copy the files," he whispers once he finds the box, "hopefully there's something in here that'll help the police. "Too bad they'll never find the box," a voice taunts. The man recognizes the voice and panics, clutching the box close to him. "You should have been given the death penalty!" He yells. "I believe you have evidence that you've committed a federal crime in that box." The man can run out of the storage unit and down the street. Hoping to reach the buddy street before the man chasing him does anything.

The man makes it to the busy street, running on the side. He doesn't make it far before being tackled to the ground. Resulting in losing his grip on the box. The box lands on the ground, the lock remaining intact.   "I could kill you no problem," the man taunts, "but I'm returning the beating you did to me." The man is used as a punching bag. Not for long until several cars park on the side of the road to stop the attack. The attacker gets one last good punch to the head, knocking the man out.

The man wakes up, slowly realizing he's in a hospital room. A nurse walks in, pleased the patient they came to check on is awake. They leave to get a doctor.

"You've been unconscious for three hours. Aside from a serious concussion, you're fine, but I want to keep you here at least overnight. Do you remember who you are?" "My name is Charles Curtis. I was targeted because of — the box! Where's the box!" "Police custody. Why must you have the box?" An officer walks into the room, carrying the familiar box. "Care to explain why this box contains medical records?" The officer asks. "Intuition. I worked at the asylum that burned down two years ago. Not during my shift, but Austin hoped I'd be there. I copied his files, hoping they could help the police get him. I should have brought the box to the police when he started attacking..." Charles stops talking, realizing what he thought was a great idea two years ago now has him in serious trouble. "That's enough," the doctor demands, "he looks fine but has a serious concussion." The officer leaves.

"An expensive kill," the drug dealer comments, "we could have worked out a deal." "No, this is going to be worth the price," Austin smiles. "Fine, it's your five hundred and fifty-eight dollars." "Actually, this will look like my victim made the purchase."

Charles tries to rest, but his mind worries about Austin's next move. Knowing Austin will not give up until he's dead. "Death or life in prison," Charles sighs. "I can decide for you." Charles panics but has no time to react before Austin pins him down with one hand and puts a piece of tape over his mouth. Two others cuff his hands to the rails of the bed. "Be ready to remove all evidence and run," Austin tells them as he prepares the syringe. Enjoying Charles' muffled screaming, "a nice cocaine injection. Three, two, one, move!" Austin cuts the line for the nurse call button before the three leave. Austin would love to watch Charles die, but leaving a camera behind would risk being caught. Charles knows he has no time to get out into the hallway for help. Tears roll down his face.

Within minutes Charles feels the effects of the drug. Before he can't move, just me, Charles writes a vital note. Struggling with chest pain and feeling like his heart is exploding. Knowing even if nurses hear his scream, there's nothing they can do. Yo Charles' luck, his scream is heard. Several doctors and nurses rush into the room. By now, Charles struggles to breathe. The medical staff work as fast as possible, fearing only a blood test or scab will tell them what's happening, but their patient only has a little time. A nurse rushes to get a crash cart.

When the nurse returns to the room, Charles is having a seizure. The doctor by the bed thought Charles was only unconscious once the seizure ended. "No pulse; we have a code blue."

"Ten minutes with no change," the doctor sighs, "time of death, ten-thirty p.m." "Something is not right about this," one nurse comments. "An autopsy will tell us." "Sir," another nurse calls out, holding a piece of paper. "This adds to the mystery. The note reads Donald Garza is in danger. Protect him. Even has where this guy lives written." "This is going to sound crazy, but this suggests someone came in here. The only way Charles' condition could determine that he's now dead is by injecting something into his IV. Call security and the police."

Austin exits the hospital and walks down the alleyway. Police cars speed by. "He's dead, perfect. You're next, Donald."

[ladyimaginarium]

all of the missing girls are hanging out without us — olivia gatwood / owl song — margaret atwood / have you seen me? — nicole dollanganger / abecedarian requiring further examination of anglikan seraphym subjugation of a wild indian rezervation — natalie diaz. / questions for ada. / linda hogan.