#bless those cretins

[tiklart]

I’m so normal about this…

Unleash the Gremlins!

This is a Lee!Dazai, Ler!Atsushi and Ler!Tanizaki tickle fic! if this isn’t your forte, no need to read!

Summary: Dazai absolutely should not have let Atsushi and Tanizaki become friends. Now that they bring the chaos out of each other, he ends up paying the price of their mishief.

Keep reading

[jamesdeniscouldnever]

Alright, so hurt/comfort won the fic vote, so here we go! Written on mobile since my laptop is broke, so forgive formatting errors. Yall, this is so long. I got carried away. This is part one of a two parter, the other will take place in act 3.

Them. pt 1.

Summary: When Rolan fails to stave off the shadow curse after leaving to find his siblings in the shadowlands, he ends up more than a little bruised and lost. So, of course, it had to be them who showed up to save him again. It just had to be Tav.

Rolan wasn't quite sure where he was. Where anything was, now that he was thinking about it. The shadows and darkness that obscured the land around him made it hard to see if he was anywhere near moonrise towers or if he was truly hopelessly lost. He could feel frustrated tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away and squared his shoulders, reminding himself of the whole reason he had come out here - Lia and Cal. He *Would* find them if it was the last thing he did.

He set off down the path once more with renewed determination. He would move the Heavens and Hells to find them. He would cast himself into Avernus once more if it meant they would be safe. If they could be saved...if they weren't already dead. What if they were already dead?

The thought has him stopping in his tracks and clenching his first. Damn this. Damn Thorm for taking them. Damn Zevlor for freezing on the group. Damn himself for going after the children first. And damn that stupid cretin Tav for playing hero at the grove and then leaving them to the darkness. If they had stayed with the group of teiflings, would they be in so much trouble now? Would it have changed anything? Would Lia and Cal be safe?

Rolan aggressively wipes away a tear that's escaped and is rolling down his cheek. He takes deep breaths to try and hold back a sob and looks around once more. He's stopped under a lantern, like the few that seem scattered around the area. Probably left by those long gone. Selúne's blessing keeps him safe from falling to the curse, but he's still grateful for the light. It gives him a moment of comfort. One that is quickly cut short by the sound of inhuman shrieks and groans. Rolan quickly whips around, a cold shard of fear running through his spine. Shadows.

4 of them, to be exact. And they're quickly inching their way closer to him, not willing to step into the light but also unwilling to let him escape. He immediately conjures the first cantrip he can think of - a ball of fire - and without thinking, launches it at the nearest shadow. It shrieks and evaporates into itself, leaving three still staring at him with their featureless faces. He grounds his feet and readies himself to take them on or die trying, anything but being dragged off into the shadows.

His focus is broken when the shadows move in, enraged by the fall of their compatriot, no longer afraid of the mere light of a lantern. Before he can even move necrotic claws are ripping into his flesh, horrifying shrieks and screams fill his ears. He's desperately trying to focus, to conjure something, anything, to free himself long enough to have a chance at a fair fight. But as the shadows advance and drain him of any hope he had left, he begins to give in. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be with Lia and Cal again. Maybe he could stop constantly running for his life...

Just as he's about to finally stop fighting and let go, a blast from somewhere up the hill sends the three shadows flying back. Not yet defeated, but away from him. Rolan lifts his head. When had he bowed it? When had he fallen to his knees?

The first sight he's met with is *them*. Tav, in all their glory, advancing with both weapon and magic, a look of furious determination on their face. They make such quick work of the shadows that had almost taken him that he's almost embarrassed to have fallen to them. As the last shadow falls they whip around, immediately making for him.

"Rolan! Thank the gods, you're alive! Are you hurt? What in the nine hells are you doing out here alone? I heard you yelling, thank Selúne I found you in time."

He had been yelling? Their hands are flitting over him, not quite touching him. Their face holds concern, their brow pinched with worry. Why were they here? Why the hells did they follow him? Why couldn't he do anything for himself anymore?

"Damn it! Damn you. All I came here to do was to look for my family, and I can't even do that! Not without needing you to swoop in to save me," his voice catches and his shoulders hunch, his will finally leaving him, "and if I had that much trouble just walking through the woods...they're dead aren't they? Lia and Cal are dead."

Bitter tears leave his eyes before he can stop them. They had come all this way, survived so long! And for what? Just to be taken by shadows and monsters. To be taken by what resembles a child's nightmare. He's about to scream every foul word he knows when two hands cup his face. Tav now kneels in front of him, having joined him on the ground. They stare into his eyes with stallworth determination and care.

"Rolan, Lia and Cal are back at the Last Light Inn. When you told me where they'd been taken I set out immediately. Lied my way into the dungeon and snuck them out of a hole in the back of their cell, the others who were taken too. And some other friends of mine. We got back, and you were gone. Umi said you'd set off into the dark alone, and I immediately came looking for you. Gods, how awful would that have been? To get them out only to lose you?"

This whole time, they've been holding his face, trying to get through to him. He was vaugley aware of their thumb stroking his cheek. He wondered if they knew they were doing it. He felt a sort of numbness spread over him. Lia and Cal were safe. They were at the inn waiting for him. His family was alive. He doesn't speak, merely tries to struggle to his feet so he can run back there as fast as possible and strangle those two idiots for worrying him and then cry on their shoulders later that night in the privacy of their room. However, as soon as he puts weight on his feet, he finds himself falling back to his knees, Tav scrambling after him.

"Rolan, stop, stop! You're hurt. There's blood everywhere. Gods, have you even noticed? Those claws shredded you like an owlbears lunch!" They're fussing over him and trying to pull him back, now searching through their pouch for something.

Now that they've mentioned it and the adrenaline is wearing off, he's keenly aware of pain blooming over almost every part of his body. The blood soaking his robes, too. Fear strikes through him once more. Would he get back to Lia and Cal after all? Just as he's about to let doubt creep in, tav places one hand on his shoulder and holds a bottle to his lips.

"Drink. It's a healing potion. It's not enough to heal all your wounds, mind you, but enough to get you back to Last Light."

Rolan drinks without another word, the bitter taste sliding down his throat. The pain lessens. Small wounds mend themselves. He let's out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Thank you." Is all he can utter. Tav helps him to his feet and braces one of his arms over their shoulders. Slowly, they begin their trek back to he inn. Back to safety. Something feels odd as they walk. And it suddenly hits him what it is.

"Where are your friends? I've never seen you travel alone. are they okay?" He questions, wondering if their found family had fallen the way his nearly had.

Tav's face flushes just a little, along with the tips of their ears. Rolan worries for a moment that he's upset them, that their friends really are gone, before they pipe up in a voice that is laced with embarrassment.

"They're fine... they're at Last Light still, I imagine. I, uh...I wasn't kidding when I said I ran to find you after Umi told me you were gone. I don't think any of them were able to keep up with me." Tav's smiles a little sheepishly at him as they walk, and he feels his own eyes soften at them. They really were such a hero, weren't they?

They approach Last Light so much more quickly than he'd thought they would. He hadn't been very far at all...damned shadows must have had him walking in circles. Despite his embarrassment, he feels himself trying to pick up the pace as the lights come into view. He wants to see Lia and Cal for himself. He wants his siblings.

Tav complies, and they quickly approach, nodding at the guards who recognize them and moving straight to the main building. Sitting at the back of the room at the bar, he spots his brother and sister, looking just as worried as he had mere hours ago. Lia sees him first.

"Rolan! There you are! What in the hells were you thinking?! What happened to you?" She's a mix of angry and relieved, he can tell, and he wraps her in a hug before she can scold him and more. After a moment, he releases her and moves to grip his brother in the same manner. A bolt of nervous anger overcomes him he wasn't truly mad, but when someone scares you in such a way what else can you be?

"You're okay. What is wrong with you two?! I was worried sick, I thought you were dead!" He begins to bark in return. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Yav giving him a look.

"I was expecting a bit of a warmer reunion." They say with an eyebrow raised. He growls at them.

"I thought my family was DEAD. But... You're right. This isn't the time. I... thank you. For everything." He sighs before turning to his siblings once more, "Are you okay? Do you need anything to eat or drink?"

Cal smiles at him and grips his shoulder.

"We're alright, we promise. We're just glad to see you." And Rolan can't help but sigh, his bluster gone.

"I know. I know. I was just so worried about you."

"And we're still worried about you. Look at you! Covered in blood and bruises! You need to get that taken care of. Is there a healer in this camp?" Lia cuts in, angry little sister that she is. Tav smiles, that same kind smile they always have.

"There's not, but I know a bit about medicine. I could take care of it." They say calmly, as if afraid to trigger more yelling. Lia only smiles in relief.

"Could you? We'd be so grateful."

"Now hang on a moment, I never-" Rolan begins before a wuthering look from Lia shuts him up. He sighs and simply nods along, knowing she won't be pleased until he's well. Tav chuckles quiet before putting a a hand on his back and guiding him to one of the few bedrooms in the inn.

"Little privacy, yeah? I'm probably going to have to get your shirt off to bandage you up." Tav says with quiet encouragement. Rolan nods and finds himself sitting on the bed, pulling his robes over his head. Tav pauses when they see him, and for a moment, he swears he sees tears in their eyes. He looks down at himself and finds deep bruises and gashes covering his abdomen. He truly looked like he had been cast back into Avernus.

"What? Don't I look as handsome as ever?" He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Tav blinks a few times, fighting the watery feeling in their eyes and smiling sadly.

"Of course. You always look handsome." They say it with such earnest that Rolan feels himself blushing with heat. Thank the gods for red skin. He goes silent and allows them to look him over, applying salves and bandaging cuts where they need to. They work with such gentle hands and a feather-light touch that he wonders at them. These same hands cut and slice enemies down without hesitation. He's rarely seen These hands not covered in blood. And yet, in this moment, he could mistake them for the touch of a healer or a nurse maid. He sighs despite himself when Tav's hands caress over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder blade.

Tav gives a gentle smile and laughs quietly, their fingers smoothing over the ridges in his skin without judgment. They finish and pack up their healing items and give him a gentle smile.

"You should rest now, okay? I'll get your brother and sister and send them up. Let them keep an eye on you." All while saying this, Tav is gently pushing him to lay down and drawing the blankets over him. He nods without complaint.

Tav smiles again and leaves the room. Moments later, Lia and Cal appear, fussing over him and continuing their scolding. They stop, however, when Rolan begins to cry in relief. His family is alive. He is safe. And it's all thanks to that stupid hero. His hero. Tav.

They hush and talk and jabber on as the night goes on, until eventually he falls into a peaceful half-sleep. He can hear the voices of his siblings but not discern what they're saying. His relaxes in the moment and welcomes the oncoming sleep. He thinks he hears a door opening and a third familiar voice joining the others. Who is that?

He is too far gone to wake and check for himself, but when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a cool hand gently pressing against his forehead as if checking for fever, he knows. Its them. He finally let's go and allows himself to give into a full sleep, but swears the last thing he feels before all fades to black is a mouth gently kissing his forehead. Them.

@illidariiii @potato-dragons @miwn8 @tieflingteatime

[swallowedbyfandom]

She can admit that perhaps she over performed this morning during calling hours. She has not had a moment of peace since she set foot into this ball. She has been swept out to dance for every set so far. She has been fetched so many drinks she is now just pretending to drink for courtesy sake. Really if she attempted to drink even half of the beverages offered to her, her bladder would burst on the dance floor.

Her poor brain will need all day tomorrow to recover from all the mind numbing small talk and horrifying revelations she has forced it to endure this evening. Case in point, Lord Fife unfortunately seems to have a fondness for verbal degradation. With every cutting remark she makes at him, his pupils dilate further and the blush riding high on his cheekbones deepen. To traumatize her further when that vile cretin attempted to let his hand drift she pinched him, hard. She is fairly certain she felt his member hardening at it. He is so repugnant. She could have gone her entire life without knowing what type of sexual deviant he was and died a happy lady. She is going to have to bathe in a vat of lye to rid herself of his disgusting touch. Yuck!

Lord Debling signs her dance card for two waltzes with a smirk, that thrills her. Perhaps,it is the fact that he is normally so contained and refined that makes it so obvious to her. Tonight he is lighter, his gait is more graceful, and his shoulders appear looser. He has stopped being so restrained and is finally giving her a glimpse of the man he must be when he is exploring the wilds. He brims with playful mischief. The bow he gives her is so overly dramatic that she cannot stop the peal of delighted laughter that escapes her. She gives him a grand curtsy in return. She greets him with a cheeky, "How nice to finally meet you, My Lord." she knows what this is. Alfred wants to leave an impression. He has finally stopped playing by the rules of the herd. She cannot find it in herself to deny a few outcast a helping hand.

Their first waltz is fun. They tease each other with quips and fleeting touches. Her cheeks ache from smiling and her voice is hoarse from laughter. They twirl around like gleeful children. There is an honest enjoyment to their movements together. Tonight, they dance for themselves without expectations. It is wonderful she decides. One does not need to be a professional dancer to communicate through dance, one only needs to be fearless. He escorts her over to her next dance partner after giving her a playful wink.

She unfortunately has to spend another 6 sets dancing and pretending to be charmed by the lemmings of the ton. Were it not for the respite Benedict and Anthony provided by taking up two of those sets, she would have thrown her drink in someone's face by now. Really Lord Hardy should count himself blessed Anthony rescued him from her. Anthony, she is sure has something diabolical planned for him. After all, he had to listen to her rant about that sleazy excuse of a gentleman attempting to peer down her neckline.

She finally manages to find an opening to throw herself at Lady Danbury's mercy. She adamantly declares, "I will name my firstborn daughter after you if you can keep these salivating savages off me for at least an hour!" Lady Danbury takes pity on her and allows her to remain attached at her side. They enjoy their time together exchanging friendly banter, and heckling Benedict's attempts at dodging the marriage hungry mamas of society.

Lord Debling collects her from Agatha's side for their second waltz with an intense look fixed on his handsome face. His entire bearing screams dominance, he is not a gentleman who will allow another to cut in currently. He will accept no interference, her belly clenches with arousal. It seems she prefers wild masculinity over genteel falsehoods.

They are off after that, all direct eye contact and lingering holds. They are incandescent together. None noticed before how very talented both were as dancers. They moved in perfect sync together, and seemed perfectly content to ignore the rest of the ballroom.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning, before I end up entrapped into a marriage, I do not want."

He holds her firmly as he guides her seamlessly through the last steps of their waltz.

"I understand why you have denied me, I do. I am once more in awe of your perseverance. I implore you, to wear my ring. Wear it on your right hand as a promise to a fellow misfit, please. Do not let the herd diminish your splendor Penelope. Promise me, my Dove."

She lets a small watery laugh. "I promise. You take care of yourself, the northern passage is dangerous. This world, would be a lesser place without you."

He places a guiding hand on her back as he escorts her to Lady Danbury, who is now joined by Violet. He bows once more to her, before kissing her right ring finger in parting.

"I shall carry you with me, Miss Featherington." He saids tenderly before departing.

She smiles at him radiantly one last time.

Violet places an arm around her in comfort.

"Are you certain you made the right choice child?" Agatha bluntly asked.

She nods her head once while retorting, "Yes, he is not ready to put in the work a strong marriage would require. We have the potential to grow into something grand but not the time. I am not so desperate for a union that I am willing to settle for less than I deserve."

She rests her head on Violet's shoulder.

Violet strokes her hair. " You must be emotionally exhausted. The last three days have been wrought with drama. Let us get you to your carriage so you may go home and rest. "

She heads home to write her latest Whistledown edition. She is too tired to make the run herself. She sends Rae to drop it off at the emergency dead drop location. Rae of course believes she is dropping off a love letter.

Just before slipping into her bed she places the gorgeous ring Alfred gave her on her right ring finger. She has a promise to keep after all. She is asleep as soon as her head touches her pillow.

[doodle-pops]

Golden Hour

Erestor x reader

Request: Erestor fluff fic where you’re a regular at his library and you accidentally pick one of his favorite subjects and he proceeds to tell you all about it… and ask you for a date? And then you find out he’s actually a really cool person and a suave gentleman lol.

A/N: I did some tweaking to your request changing the part with him talking about his favourite subject; I found it a bit troubling to write. However, I kept the story's theme of him being suave and using his interest to drive the plot.

Warnings: none, it's all fluff

Words: 2.3k

Synopsis: When anonymity becomes your clue to uncovering your secret storyteller, it leads you to discover that mysteriousness wasn't all they had to offer.

The silence was interrupted by the abrupt crashing of the serene waves upon the rocks as the doors to the library opened and revealed a familiar ray of sunshine. One who was everything a certain librarian preferred over another ray of sunshine. More refine and elegant, respectable and knowledgeable, poise and composure. He would hate to admit it and should someone corner him with the impending question, he would bite his tongue. Yet, your presence caused him to ignore his fellow scholars, who he’s been lecturing all morning, and turn to catch the sun reflecting off your hair as you passed near the bookshelves. The others could hear the slight crack of his joints from the rate at which his neck spun around to glance at your graceful figure.

Noon, the hour you always came to see him. The hour you would bless his eyes with your radiant glow. The hour he most appreciated. You were a delight to be around—he would confess to himself at night as he sat under Isil and chatted away—but he still wanted to maintain his strict librarian composure around you. Anything to prevent the snoopy cretins from calling a ‘sappy old man’. Much to his unfortunate delight, you would easily chip that façade away with a simple smile.

Craning his neck in search of your head, he found it frozen by the bookshelves in the novel section. Dismissing himself and leaving the scholars to handle the rest of the antiques and scrolls, he glided across the soundproof carpet and meandered a few bookshelves away from where you stood with your head lost in the clouds. He couldn’t tell or acknowledge the fact that his lips were stretched across his cheeks, however, he knew his cheeks were burning. The brilliance in his eyes the more he gazed heartily at your nonchalant figure, back turned to him and body crouched over the book, an opportunity to make himself known.

Perhaps it was the way the wind blew throughout the stifled room and rattled a few loose parchments across the floor, disturbing your concentration and causing him to catch sight of your face. You craned your neck to glance at the commotion, the thousand fluttering of your lashes, the parting of your lips to moisten them and the slight inhale you would take every now and then. Those were images he had captured millions of times from each moment you both meet and no matter if it were the first of the tenth time he saw the simplest gesture, he would swoon. Swoon and curse at himself for appearing like a lovesick puppy.

What would anyone say if they saw him like that? Mostly how they never imagined the grumpy librarian capable of being soft for anything besides his books.

That part wasn’t false. Even Erestor never imagined a fragile butterfly like yourself finding comfort among the thorns. But thorns were always attached to beautiful things; roses or a beast cursed and doomed to stay in a horrid form and await for someone to truly love him. A fantasy where his desires to be loved by you could come true—your most treasured story and one he knew you returned to read time and time again. Even the light that reflected off the brown leather cover told him it was his story.

Exhaling and straightening his blue robes, his elbow almost knocked a stack of books over and announced his presence before he could. Fumbling to catch the potential culprit, he took another glance over at your refocused disposition and advanced. Taking the least expected route, knowing that you were expecting him, he came from your left and glided closer. His eyes observed your fixed appearance on a particular page, the beast reveals his true identity but demands a deal in return, a chance. The veins in your neck were raised as he could tell you were eager for the deal to be struck; your enthusiasm rippled throughout the spacious room, and it mattered. Your love for his creations, as silly as they might have been to a professional novelist, were eternal treasures.

Feeling the room growing still with anticipation lingering, he crawled closer and shuffled to stand behind your left shoulder. Your peripheral vision was blocked but the chapter appeared more thrilling than a shrouded figure looming pensively in the background. Though preferring the lack of interruptions, this time, your lack of awareness bothered him and gave rise to a frown marring his face. Silently huffing, he peered over your shoulder and then darted to your face before making his presence known. “Back for your seventh reading, I see.”

Jolting out of your skin at the break of tension and tranquillity, you squeaked and stumbled a couple steps away from him. Hand over your mouth while the other cupped the book into your chest to soothe your erratic heartbeat, you annoyingly glared at the wannabe funny library. He had an odd sense of humour at times, and you couldn’t understand if it was sarcasm or just him.

“Dammit Eres, why are you like this?!” you shouted.

Shrugging nonchalantly and turning to look at the other novels on the shelves, anything to avoid a grin from spreading across his face. Teasing him was the last line of action which was a necessary defence he refused to face. You were in his library, you had to suffer his consequences.

Glancing at you still clutching your chest and book, he squeezed his lips together and gave a curt roll of his eyes. “I came to ensure you weren’t disorganising my books, you never leave them as they originally were,” he grumbled while adjusting a few books to stand upright to prove his point.

Scoffing while you walked over to stand before him, you took a moment to observe his hygienic and organising abilities as he readjusted the books. Swiping his fingers to collect dust bunnies and then blowing them away before reshuffling everything in alphabetical order, reminded you of someone you came to be aware of. The frown on his face, the pursed lips, small grumbles and mutters or the little huffs of annoyance were all the characteristics of the grumpy librarian you came to know, who unfortunately bore similarities to another.

“Yes, I came here for my seventh reading to discover the anonymous author of my favourite love story,” you beamed and waved your book around his face to catch his attention, “I’m looking for clues to who the author can be…written patterns and such…”

“And have you found anything so far?” Behind his innocent question, a smirk was hidden as he enjoyed seeing you play investigator to catch the mysterious author.

Perhaps he would turn this into another story and watch as you fumble over recognising the familiarities if you do since he placed himself in the open for you to identify. You were quite the overthinker and it was enjoyable to play with that and watch you become a frantic chicken; it gave him the chance to initiate more time with you without directly throwing it out there. More time for him to devise the proper way to break his silence on matters of the heart.

“I did,” you boasted, “a few striking resemblances to someone I know. But I’m more curious to know why you would allow an anonymous story sit in your library?”

“And who might this person be you assume?” he inquired, taking his head away from his second beloved to stare at you with a grin dancing on his lips.

“Hey, don’t answer my question with a question!” You jabbed the edge of the book into his stomach and watched as he winched. “Oh come on! I didn’t poke you that hard you overdramatic old man!”

Flabbergasted that you would resort to using the term that twins cast upon him after an old incident, he gasped and frowned. “Firstly, I’m not an old man, that’s a term used for mortals. And secondly, how should you know that doesn’t hurt? You’re not the one on the receiving end!”

Rolling your eyes with an exasperated sigh, you walked away and returned to the shelf to resubmit the anonymous novel. “You know, I thought that you’d be honest and willing when it came to things like this instead of acting like it’s taboo,” you languidly whispered once you slide the book in the nook. Your back was still turned to him and your eyes staring off into the distance. “Do you not trust me Erestor? Do you not trust me enough to tell me that it’s you writing all these anonymous stories?”

Silence befell you both. All breathing was withheld from intruding the moment, but it was you who moved first to face him once again as the air shifted from suffocating to anticipating. Yet, he still said nothing as he looked at your discovery. His face held no thrill or mirth despite it lingering in his heart. It was not the reaction he was hoping to gain from you, quite the opposite in fact. He had read it endlessly from other love stories. You were supposed to continue chasing until you came to him for the truth and then the story would begin; his unwritten chapter. The mysteriousness is what kept the reader going, even when they found out. Why the despair and gloom?

“Are…are you disgruntled by my lack of assistance?” he murmured too soft to be the tone of the librarian you knew.

Swaying your head from side to side gently, you hummed, “In a sense, I am, but not to any extremities. I just don’t see why you would keep it a secret from me. Do you believe that I would embarrass you by revealing it to the entirety of Imladris or you simply did not wish for me to know?”

An apologetic smile graced his face, and he was forced to dip his head to meet the floor, but not swiftly enough to hide it. Your eyes caught it but decided not to push on since he wasn’t someone fond of being confronted for every little unusual action. Some things were better left unspoken and only observed in peace.

Chanting in his head to compose himself and walk away instead of spilling his heart, his heart took hold of the reigns and halted his intrusive thoughts. There would be none of that today!

“It’s not that, it’s…” he lifted his head and looked at the opposite end of the aisle, “…that page you were reading about the beast striking the deal for his identity…”

Ah! “…You wanted to strike a deal between us for the revealing of the author?”

“Yes, but I also wanted your persistence. The thrill of watching you attempt to discover it was me before giving up and turning for help.”

I wanted the deal so I can confess without coming forward because I can never say ‘I like you’ openly.

Those were his true words.

Finding the willingness to laugh at his reason and the innocence he displayed, you stepped closer. This was a side of the librarian that you found impossible to exist after his displays of solitude and reluctance towards romance novels. He would grumble or roll his eyes and call them immature or ridiculous while actively praising adventurous and mysterious stories. The distance some people would go to keep the truth hidden was remarkable, and in his case, phenomenal.

“And had I come to you, what would have been the deal made to learn of the author?” you curiously inquired, crossing your arms.

Widening his eyes and darting them downwards, his hands shot out to fidget and adjust his robes as though he had an itch. Straightening out his collar, tightening the belt around his waist, dusting imaginary dust off his clothes, he was doing everything to avoid your question. While the thought process went smoothly in his head, the reality was a lot more complex and left him tongue-tied.

“The same thing the beast asked in the story, isn't it? For a chance?” At first, there was a longing stillness washing over the tranquil ambience of the studious room before a curt hum buzzed and shifted the frequency. You were now on another wavelength, that you’ve desired for years. Brought there by the stoic old man who still refused to make eye contact now that all was revealed to your eyes. “You never struck me as someone who enjoys romance Eres, but then again, you were personified as the beast in the story. He was very sweet, so, there must be some romantic aspect about you.”

You did this all because you wanted to be closer to me. What other secrets do you keep Eres?

His head whipped over to turn on his famous Erestor annoyed glare as your taunting words slipped out. “Sometimes I do regret telling you things.”

“Aw, come one now Eres! After all the running around we both did, you’re going to let one little comment ruin an opportunity.” His eyes became saucers at the final word. He half expected you to continue laughing in his face or shrug and walk away, returning things to normalcy between you both and forget this ever happened, however, your response felt like a mirage.

“So, you would agree to the proposal?” he asked and stood at attention to face you head-on. No shakiness or fear in his stance and voice. Standing before you were your brave librarian.

Nodding and giving him a tender smile, you agreed, “Hm, it would be wrong of me to reject when I can get to see more of this romantic side. You have made me intrigued. Tell me, have you written any other novels about yourself in love?”

Closing the unwanted gap between you both, he mirrored your amused expression while standing no more than a foot taller. He took a leap of faith, or he would blame the wind curling around his body as his left hand lifted to push a lock of your hair behind your ear. “If you agree to have a walk with me tonight, I’ll tell you about one I’m currently working on which involves you.”

“Then I believe we have ourselves a date and a deal then.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777  @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar

[upwards-descent]

Guillotine

(mild body horror/gore, m! Durge/Gale)

What a fight. Changelings were no joke, Gale was learning. Not that he'd been ignorant; of course not, avid reader that he was. No amount of text compared to the real thing, however.

He was providing support, hauling himself up a ladder before leaning back and firing off a few Missiles. One shapeshifter fell, battered to death. As the wizard claimed overwatch, he studied his companions, trying to determine the best time to strike. The air was heavy with apprehension, given the ambush, and soon that uneasy feeling was bolstered by the scent of freshly spilled blood.

Jaheira was like a one-woman tornado, alternating the twirl of her twin blades with expert druidic magic. Lae'zel was as fearsome as always, blood and spittle flying with every proud githyanki war cry. Between them, himself, and the terrifying power Autumn had been steadily culminating, the enemy didn't stand a chance.

"Whoo!" The warlock sighed, swiping sweat from his forehead. "Thrilling. That was a good warmup coming back into the city."

"Good except for my Harpers." Jaheira drawled, more melancholic than angry.

"Oh, right, yeah. Sorry about that," A genuine frown passed over Autumn's lips as he assessed a steaming corpse. "How did they even slip in I wonder..."

"We've seen how both incessant and creative Orin can be," Gale rolled his eyes as he clambered back down the ladder. "I'm sure she keeps a diary full of the worse tortures known to man on her person at all times."

"Hah! I should get one of those," Autumn laughed brightly. "Maybe I'll even--"

There was a sickly sound, the running of a sharp blade through flesh and bone. Of course Gale had to have been staring right at his lover as the warlock's head was promptly cut from his neck. Silver eyes, like the stars on a crisp clear night, held the wizard's gaze.

"Oh," Autumn gasped. "Oops."

Before his head even hit the floorboards, Lae'zel and Jaheira handled the final cretin. Between blades and magic, all the changelings in the building were properly dispatched, leaving behind hot blood and a shrill scream.

"AUTUMN!" 

Gale ran, but strong wiry arms snatched him about the middle. In a rare moment of kindness, Lae'zel wrestled him back, ensuring the wizard didn't catch a look at his fallen beloved. Writhing, wailing, Gale did his damnedest to struggle free but he was no match for the githyanki warrior.

"O' Oakfather, Silvannus above, around, and below," Jaheira dropped to her knees, folding the warlock's cloak over his cooling body as she prayed. "Please shepard this great hero... May your light and benevolent blessing guide him..."

"Hey, whoa, I'm not dead yet!"

Everyone went utterly still, eyes wide and haunted. Autumn's body twitched, the toes of his boots scraping along the floor.

"Uhh, hullo?" Jaheira stood, head cocked as she studied her supposedly slain companion. "Even for an old elf like me, this is... Strange. Are you... Alright, Autumn?"

"Evidently not," Even relieved of his cranium, the warlock found room for sass. He was facedown which humourously muffled his voice. "I can't believe that bitch snuck up on me like that. Embarrassing," Another little flutter of movement kicked up his cape. "I'll need a hand, no pun intended. Oh, and Galey? Look away, babe, I don't want you to see this."

"How are you-- this is madness, I--" Gale spluttered. "I... I need a drink after this, I think."

"A round at the Blushing Mermaid on me," Autumn's voice became clearer as his severed body was revealed. At least Gale obeyed, turning with his back to the gore. "Once I'm righted. Lae'zel, would you just... Grab my head? Hold it straight so I don't fucking pop it on backwards. I don't know if I can make this magic happen again if we fuck up."

Lae'zel was silent. She did as she was told, seemingly numb to the scene save the slight tremor in her gaze. Carefully, she swept the hair off his inch of neck before offering the stub of his spine to the body. Autumn's majority half suddenly jerked upright, a lifeless puppet being hauled and manipulated by shadow strings. It was macabre, and probably hilarious out of context, but the scent of the Dark Urge's heady blood seeping into the floorboards was beginning to turn everyone's stomachs. It was far more intense than any other man or beast, as if it was aged or cured or condensed.

With his hands on his knees, Autumn's body hunched over. Lae'zel tenderly held his head in place and made sure to press forward once both halves of his neck connected, like pressing down on a seal to ensure it'll stick. Gasping, Autumn jolted straight, flashing a big bright smile as his fingers assessed the damage.

"There we are! Good as new!" He clapped his hands once in triumph.

"How the bloody hells did you do that?" Gale was the first to demand, twisting around to catch any last glimpses of the carnage. He watched as a needle and thread made of smoke and darkness finished sewing Autumn's head into place. They vanished once the work was done, the skin around his throat looking perfectly normal without any scarring. "I'm relieved, don't get me wrong! That was absolutely horrific. But you... Shouldn't be... You should..."

"I'd say take a deep breath," Two big warm hands settled on the wizard's shoulders, their familiar heat calming him somewhat. "But if you guys inhale any more of this shit, you might pass out. Let's get to clearer air."

"And then you'll spill your secrets?" Lae'zel watched him warily, even as the smallest smile tugged at her lips. "I should be disgusted by such acursèd dark magic and yet I can only muster up admiration. Your unwillingness to stay down goes beyond impressive into world-warping insanity."

"Hey, that's my domain, baby," Autumn flashed her a sharp-toothed grin, eyes glinting unnaturally even as the room was well lit. "Darkness, madness, bloodlust, only the funnest shit."

"I'm still reorienting but I'm on board," Jaheira held her hands up in mock surrender. "I've seen what you are capable of and, freak as you are, you continue to prove your decent nature and righteous justice. Let us get to clearer air, yes, before I vomit all over my boots."

Both women began to take the ladder upstairs, to traverse from the remnants of a bloodbath to the more civilized society that awaited overhead. As Gale set a hand on the wooden rungs, he glanced back at his boyfriend.

"... Was that the Urge or your patron?" The wizard asked, a flicker of knowing reflected in his pretty brown eyes. "Mastery of shadow isn't quite a Bhaalist attribute, eh?"

"... They've been quiet recently."

In the brief bubble of intimacy, Autumn's true feelings were willingly bared. The tension in his shoulders cramped up to his temple and the bags under his eyes were stark against his freckles.

"Oh?" Gale wasn't sure how to react or respond. Warlock patrons typically got a bad rap but that clearly wasn't the relationship before him.

"... It's foreboding. Once I inherit their power, their kingdom, they'll cease to exist," The soon-to-be demigod let out a frustrated huff. "The quieter they become, the more worried... The more worried I am that I've just heard their last words," When he met Gale's gaze, the wizard could keenly feel his despair. "They're the closest thing I've ever had to a parental figure, Gale. They've guided me, empowered me, raised me since I was 5 years old. I'm fucking 40, Gale. This is the first time I've been alone in this body for 35 fucking years."

Gale held his tongue, wanting to empathize without sounding like some self-centered asshole; perhaps now wasn't the right time to comment wow, that's how old I am.

"You won't be alone, Autumn," The wizard tried to soothe, laying a hand on his forearm. "You have me. You have my family. You have our companions, our allies, our dear friends."

"It's alright, Gale, it's beyond understanding," Autumn managed to mumble before an insistent hand attempted to raise his boyfriend's rear. "Go on up now, before you inhale too many fumes."

Reluctantly, Gale complied, glancing back once more before fully ascending. While he and the others idled outside, it took Autumn a little while longer to join them. He didn't seem better but his smile was somewhat less forced, like he'd found some little relief. Whether that was done in silent contemplation alone or aided by the sickly sweet stench of gore and death around him, Gale didn't know. If either helped, he didn't much care what had to be done.

[masonhawthorne]

What I read in October

Hoo boy, I sure did forget to post this earlier, didn't I!

Honestly I've been so busy so far this month that I just didn't even think of it. Also, this month is sort of evaporating. Before you ask, no I have written nothing at all for the not-NaNo that I was planning to attempt. But I did come up with another great idea for something that I'll probably start and not finish, so you can't say I've done nothing!

Anyway, on to the list:

Unfortunate Elements of My Anatomy, Hailey Piper ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ghost Bird, Lisa Fuller ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Forest of Stolen Girls, June Hur ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Liar's Dice, Jeannie Lin ⭐️

Straya, Anthony O'Connor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Toxic, Dan Kaszeta (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Illuminae, Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Penhallow, Georgette Heyer ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Myth of the Self Made Man, Ruben Reyes Jr (ss) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Call, Christian White & Summer De Roche ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Death of the Necromancer, Martha Wells ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Cretins, Thomas Ha (ss) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Kill Your Brother, Jack Heath ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Doors of Perception, Aldous Huxley (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Valley of Terror, Zhou Haohui, tr. Bonnie Huie ⭐️⭐️

The Curse of the Burdens, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️

Amazons, Adrienne Mayor (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Kraken Wakes, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Dead Mountain, Donnie Eichar (nf) ⭐️⭐️

Family Business, Jonathan Sims ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

In the House of Aryaman A Lonely Signal Burns, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Blessing of Unicorns, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

METAtropolis Anthology ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Plan for Chaos, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Fatal Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum, Emma Southon (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Outward Urge, John Wyndham ⭐️⭐️

King Solomon's Mines, H. Rider Haggard DNF

The Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle tr. David Ross (nf) ⭐️⭐️⭐️

This was a bit of a mixed bunch!

At the end of September I went to a writer's conference, where Lisa Fuller and Amie Kaufman were guests of honour. I was a bit annoyed at myself because I had bought Ghost Bird the week before, not realising that she was on the program, so I had the book the whole time but hadn't yet read it! Oh well, better late than never.

Ghost Bird was a solid spooky read, dealing with family history and tensions, small town disturbances, and the violent inheritances of colonialism and racism in Australia. I originally bought it because it was on a list of books to read if you enjoyed Catching Teller Crow by Ambelin Kwaymullina and Ezekiel Kwaymullina, which I did.

Illuminae was one that I had heard @slushrottweiler mention several times, but I'd never gotten around to it (YA, not my most favourite! Epistolary, not my most favourite!). But after the conference I figured I'd check it out, and I'm glad I did. While I wouldn't say that it's my favourite thing ever, it was a solid scifi story, with an interesting form and style, and I'll probably check out the sequels eventually.

Straya by Anthony O'Connor was the other book on this list that I picked up after the conference. Kind of a goofy action romp through post-apocalyptic Sydney, I was expecting to be a kind of brain-off funtime read (and it is! Don't get me wrong!) but it also had a lot of very clever little twists and turns that kept it really engaging. Also a refreshing take on the 'love interest' character, being that she's asexual, and when the protagonist confesses his feelings for her she says well... that's sweet and all, but I don't do that. Can we still be friends? And then they are still friends! A lot of the goofyness of this book is held up by a backbone of sincerity which is really nice, too. In all, a fun read.

Also revisited some faves this month, re-read Penhallow for my book club, and I have to say, it is one of those books which just gets more complex with each rereading. It's up there with Rebecca as some of my most books of all time.

There's one big fat DNF on the list this month, King Solomon's Mine, which through a combination of Victorian era racism, and very poor audio quality was pretty much unlistenable, and I don't think I'll be bothered trying to find a better recording.

And that's that!

nf= non fiction

ss= short story

stars awarded at my whim

[etherealvoidechoes]

Me: Hm I wonder if we got translators going or are all the Chosen just speaking English(or a major language of your choice)to Resistance or XCOM specifically.

Brain: The Chosen are speaking English/language of your choice, all three for different reasons.

Assassin: “Professionals have standards. How else are they to know their crimes against the Elders? And for those that are “allowed” to live, they may spread the impending judgement upon the others unless they turn to our Masters for forgiveness.”

Hunter: “The human tongue just has something to it that’s neat. Maybe it’s a touch of nostalgia for the human I once was. Who ever that unlucky bastard was. Also, I do love how it freaks out the humans. Hearing my voice speak their language flawlessly inflicts a special kind of terror in their minds. Intoxicating really. And, ticks off the Elders when I solely use it to communicate with Them… some of the time.”

Warlock: “Regretfully, it is needed to communicate with those lowly cretins, but it is the only way for them to understand the Elders’ will and righteous judgment to oblivion. Then those wretched ears are not fit to hear the blessed tongue of my Masters.”

[nightmare-the-cat]

Crimson Wings

An AU where Hunter successfully kills himself and Belos in TFTM- only to wake up in hell.

Yeah. Yeah this is Hazbin Hotel Hell

Will there be a continuation? Maybe. Is this depressing as fuck? Yes. Is Hunters name mentioned even once in this? No.

Proceed at your own risk

Flit

A streak of red and white darted across the blood soaked street. One would assume it to be a trick of the light, if it wasn’t followed by two foreboding streaks of grey. On this day, they were abundant, striking down anyone that caught their gaze.

The chase was on it seemed. Some poor soul was attempting to flee the Exorcist’s wrath, woefully unaware that superior speed had yet to save anyone. Those hiding among the crevices of the urban hellscape dared not interfere, but only those with the blackest of hearts didn’t pity whoever the victim of the demented chase was.

He just kept flying, panic blinding his sense of direction. The poor boy had nary a month after his manifestation to even understand the dreaded Extermination was on the horizon. He’d been unprepared, hiding out in an abandoned estate when the Exorcists descended, only to be discovered mere hours later, trembling in a corner as the holy executioners circled in.

So he did the only thing he could do, what he had been doing near constantly every day since his death.

He fled.

His speed and experience with evading others mid-flight were his saving graces, dodging every wayward attack thrown his way as he struggled to ditch his pursuers. It would be an impressive show should anyone have been observing, expert dives and weaves like the demon had been born to fly.

Still, pure skill in the air wouldn’t keep him alive forever, he already had a few scrapes from near-misses. Thirty minutes in he was running out of steam, while his pursuers seemed limitless, slowly gaining on him while his wings strained to stay ahead.

So, when he saw a break in the storm of violence that was the Extermination, he took the opportunity and dived, holding his arms up in front of him after he aimed for a window in the near pristine manor below.

CRASH!

The small sinner didn’t waste time popping back up on his feet after the impact, frantically taking in every detail of the cavernous room he’d broken into. Cold coloration framing oddly plain marble doors made the space feel even more hollow than it already was, empty of any decoration or furniture. Dread pooled in the young demons stomach as a panicked check of one of the doors revealed they were locked.

“Ah, you have to love it when the prey corners itself!” One of the exorcists crooned in a high voice, making Hunter tremble as he turned to watch the pair of angels casually slink inside using the window he’d just broken. “Aww, cute, he thought the Fallen One would be stupid enough to leave ANY doors unlocked during the Extermination”

The blondes crimson wings flared, falling into the familiar stance of self defense as one of the Exorcists approached, the mouthy one guarding the only exit. He couldn’t go down without fighting-not again.

A slamming door interrupted the confrontation, light cutting through the gloom, and all three beings snapped their heads towards the newcomer.

“Did you jokers break my window AGAIN!?” An oddly performative voice cut in, the owner looking little more than frustrated despite the carnage going on outside. “How many times do I have to tell you the manor is off limits to you bloodthirsty little cretins?”

“We weren’t the ones who broke the window, sir” the quieter Exorcist hissed, jabbing her spear towards the cowering sinner, stopping just short of piercing his throat. The blonde winced as the blessed metal tip then pressed into the underside of his chin, refusing to break his terrified stare towards Lucifer as his head was forcefully tilted upward. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this quick-“

“Not in here you’re not! I’m the one who’ll have to clean that up” the king of hell snapped, before jabbing the apple head of his cane at the broken window. “Just-get out of here, I can dispose of this one myself”

“Sir-“

“That wasn’t a request- GET OUT” the demon ordered, dropping the aloof tone, and both Exorcists scrambled for the broken window in a panicked haste.

Lucifer Morningstar, for what it was worth, planned to make the intruders execution quick. Many came to his manor expecting mercy before, back when the yearly Exterminations first began, and in a sense they got it. Being instantly obliterated was a better option than bleeding out on the pavement-but the message was clear; Lucifer would not spare any sinner, survival was up to them.

Still, he occasionally got the odd straggler who’d plea for Sanctuary, and at this point he’d heard it all when it came to his “subjects” begging for mercy.

He’d spared none.

Even with all that experience dealing with the scum of his “kingdom”, he was woefully unprepared for this particular intruders reaction when he turned on him.

“No-no, I’m sorry-I was just trying to get away-“ the sinner stuttered, trembling as Lucifer approached, tears forming in his panicked magenta eyes as he fell to the ground. “The bells-The light in the sky-they just came down, started killing everyone! I don’t want to die again, please-“

Lucifer stopped short as the sinner’s begging dissolved into genuine crying, his words becoming indistinguishable among the sobs.

None before him had done that-cried so genuinely. Sounded so confused about the Extermination-even though the date was so heavily broadcasted throughout Pride as the day drew near.

“Are you slow or something?” Lucifer found himself asking, startling the crying sinner quite badly. The tears didn’t stop, but he seemed to be trying to process the question.

“W-what?”

He was scarred.

“You’ve clearly been through an Extermination before, this isn’t fresh” Lucifer pointed out, using the end of his cane to poke at the thick, old scar on his cheek. “Got amnesia or something?”

The small sinners hand ghosted over the old wound, shivering as he looked back outside.

“Not them-I don’t know them” was all he said, wiping the remaining tears away as best he could, taking on an empty smile. “I guess he was right though-nothing I did mattered in the end”

He started laughing.

“I mean-I didn’t see him when I woke up, he’s probably still up there!” He cackled manically, holding his forehead as a wide, disturbed smile finally broke out across his face, stumbling to his feet as he continued to laugh, staring out the window. “He’s probably already doing something like this back home-all because I couldn’t even drown myself properly-“

Lucifer stepped back as the sinner suddenly turned on him, not knowing what to make of anything he was spouting off about. None before him had expressed such genuine regret-ever turned to face him, or their own sins, without excuses.

“I ran from what I rightfully deserved, just because I stupidly thought I could get out, fix my mistakes, save the ones who cared about me….” He was slowing down, the laughter turning into something far more pained. Despair, lifetimes worth of it, echoed in what he said next, the young demon stepping back, bowing his head. “I’m sorry- even now I’m delaying what should have come my way long ago”

He dropped to one knee.

“Please-I deserve no mercy”

His voice was empty now.

“Everything was a mistake”

[viitlumi]

❝ you took those bastards down like it was nothing. it…was amazing. ❞ @ solveig

Her face pulsated, blood streaming from her right nostril, but Solveig grinned as she looped her arm around Jean and the two of them departed from the scene. She erupted in raucous laughter, like a blissful child who had been blessed with a pet of its own for the first time.

___________________

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the cobblestone streets of the city. Lanterns flickered to life, their soft light illuminating the bustling market square where vendors were packing up their stalls for the night. The air was filled with a mix of savory scents from nearby food stalls, the distant laughter of children playing, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the stone as a horse-drawn carriage made its way down the narrow lane. Solveig and Jean strolled in a leisurely fashion through the square, their conversation punctuated by the occasional greeting from passersby who recognized the young woman as part of the alliance. As they continued walking, Solveig pondered the unlikely rapport she had forged with Jean. Despite her characteristically aloof and frigid manner, she had grown to appreciate Jean's straightforward demeanor and capacity for emotive resilience. Both had witnessed and endured more than their share of hardships, and in each other they strangely found a kindred spirit who understood the weight of their burden without having to say much. She wouldn't call it a blossoming friendship of any kind, but it strengthened their camaraderie — after all, both of them were on the ground on the same side, and engaging in conflict with allied combatants was a foolish stance to take. As they moved away from the busy square, the streets grew quieter, lined with quaint shops and taverns that were beginning to fill with the evening crowd. The brick buildings, with their ivy-covered facades and flower boxes under the windows, exuded a charming, old-world feel. The cool evening breeze carried the faint sound of a violin playing in a distant tavern, adding a touch of serenity to the scene. It was at this moment of tranquility that their path was blocked by three shadowy figures, their intentions clear from the menacing grins and the glint of steel in their hands. The lead thug, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "Hand over everything you've got, and no one gets hurt." Solveig's initial reaction to the sudden threat was a combination of irritation and amusement. Irritation at the audacity of the thugs who dared to interrupt her rare moment of peace, and amusement at their apparent ignorance of who they were dealing with. She had faced far greater dangers than these petty criminals, and the thought of them attempting to rob her and Jean was almost laughable. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing on her lips, Solveig addressed the lead thug. "You must be joking," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Not willing to waste any more good time with these cretins, Solveig pushed past the leader, motioning Jean to follow her and disregard them while her eyes were fixed on the path ahead. She was determined to move on, dismissing them as nothing more than a nuisance. But before she could take another step, she felt a sharp, stinging blow as the thug's hand struck her in the face. The force of the blow sent her reeling, and her nose immediately began to bleed. There was silence for a moment as Solveig put her fingers to her nose and felt the warm blood running down. Slowly, she looked back up at the bat, her eyes blazing with fury. “Big mistake,” she muttered in a low, throaty voice, and prepared to teach the thugs a lesson they would not soon forget.

Solveig inhaled deeply and channeled her anger into a calm, focused energy. She would not draw her axe; this was personal now. Her underlying muscles, hidden beneath the layers of her clothing, tensed like a spring. The thug, emboldened by his first success, struck at her again. This time Solveig was ready. She dodged his clumsy blow with ease and countered with a quick, powerful blow to his solar plexus that took his breath away. The thug doubled over and gasped for air. As the second thug lunged at her, she grabbed his arm, twisted it painfully behind his back and delivered a sharp kick to the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. Her movements were precise and efficient, each strike and grip executed with the skill of an experienced fighter. The third thug hesitated, wondering if he should attack. Solveig didn't give him a chance to react. She closed the distance between them at lightning speed and gave him a powerful uppercut that flung him to the ground. “You took those bastards down like it was nothing. it…was amazing”, she heard Jean in awe as Solveig took out the thugs with remarkable ease. Her suave countenance and svelte exterior belied her tremendous strength and prowess. She turned to Jean and wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand, her expression a mixture of irritation and satisfaction. The adrenaline was wearing off, and she could feel herself starting to feel a tad nauseated, but assured the male that everything was alright. After all, she had suffered far harder knocks than a slap in the face from a delinquent. “Let's get out of here,” she said calmly, as if nothing unusual had just happened, when she urged him to leave the scene with laughter released from her throat and an arm wrapped around him, before the men would decide to get up and chase them down. “But… don't tell Vito, please.”

[authorcacao]

I don't know why, but someone gave me this power. I certainly didn't ask for it. If I did ask for a power of any sort, it would be invisibility, clothes and all. Dealing with people is annoying, to say the least. Any way to avoid them - including being looked at - would be a blessing. Unfortunately, someone else got that power, but she loves talking to people.

Damn you and your cat Walnut, Mrs. Jenkins. Actually, the cat didn't do anything wrong. No, wait, he bit my toe that one time she asked me to cat-sit. He too is a sinner in this case.

In what I can only think to be out of existential spite, I got this. This power where I had to have people look at me. A lot of people, and that too consistently. Just yesterday I stopped a bank robber, and this one dude didn't even blink. I checked, and clearly he needs eyedrops or something because there wasn't even one tear.

That's besides the point. Because today, when I was taking a walk to relax after finishing a research paper for class, this dude came in front of me out of nowhere. Claimed something about taking over a rotten world. Destroying everything in its path, no matter the cost, yada yada yada, hate, destruction...and probably some daddy issues sprinkled in somewhere, but I didn't listen it.

"And you can't stop me, hero!" he pointed to me and my decrepit-looking ass. "Even if you're hungover!"

I took a long sip of my coffee, the bitter taste matching exactly how I felt about his inherent fashion sense in the coming silence. Bright yellow and orange hues against blush pink boots and gloves...ew. Not to the colors, but he looks like a screwed up lava lamp with the design. Not really like a villain, but like the 60's puked on him and didn't pay for his dry cleaning.

"I haven't slept for 36 hours," I made eye contact with him. "So either you shut the fuck up and leave, or you shut the fuck up and leave."

"But those are the same options?"

"That's the point."

"Well, you can't stop me!"

"Then I won't."

I lifted my mug to my lips, the man staring at me as if insulted. I don't like people. I don't really like this power either. If he destroys something in my presence, I may actually stop being asked to catch criminals and fight villains; my record would be smudged.

He looked around, as if anyone else was seeing what was happening; As if I was Moses parting the Red Sea. He pointed to the kid across the street who had his phone up.

"You," he shouted, brow furrowed and cheeks turning pink as the bitter taste hit my tongue yet again. "Stop recording me!"

"Let him record the last seconds of the humanity you're going to destroy."

"I'll do it!" he puffed out his chest. "I'll really do it."

"I'm waiting," I motioned for him to hurry up, the man fumbling as I continued in monotone. "You're wasting time. Last second of mercy for humanity? Truly evil. Diabolical even. Hear ye, the false hope this cretin gives us."

"I - why won't you fight me!?!"

Hold on a second. Why is he so angry about it? Don't tell me he's —

"D-Do you want me to fight you?" I couldn't help the uncertainty in my voice, the horror within me mounting as my voice went quiet. "Are you a masochist?"

"No, I'm not! I'm the supervillain Fury! I've destroyed whole armies, nations will crumble beneath my feet —!"

Oh my god, it is daddy issues. And he might be delusional. Like, I know I haven't kept up with the news in a while. But it's only been 4 months. There's no war yet, that's all I know. But no new supervillains should have showed up then either.

I'll let him go. A metaphorical slap on the wrist should be fine. I'll just give him a flick on the head; shouldn't hurt much, at most a concussion since there's one person, and that's being generous. I stepped forward, the man babbling about some sort of death ray before I flicked him in the head. I don't think I've ever seen someone fly back that fast. I looked around, only to find the lone kid staring at me with his jaw open. Then where is this strength coming from? There's only one —

Oh. The camera. His phone.

"Are you live-streaming?"

A slow nod.

"Fuck."

Your power is simple, people looking at you make you exponentially stronger. Today you find yourself on international news fighting a villain.

[senatushq]

NAME. Arturo Guerrero AGE & BIRTH DATE. 256 & February 14th, 1768 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Demon ( Familiar ) OCCUPATION. Bartender at Flirt FACE CLAIM. Diego Tinoco

biography

( tw: blood, violence, satanism, death ) Evil wasn’t always made, sometimes it was born. Arturo’s grandmother had sworn that was the case, that her grandson had been born with sin running through his veins, a curse left on their doorstep that was discovered too late. An orphaned witch wrapped in blankets, blessed with mercy the small and humble family welcomed the child into their home. Raised with the mediocre beginnings of an average childhood, something hateful burned behind Arturo’s eyes from even his childhood hour. He’d been a child running amuck with siblings who never let him forget he was of a different blood; there was a thought at the back of his mind, a whisper like a serpent from someone other than him. Their parents had told them not to play in the kitchen, especially while the stove was hot, but one push and the elder sibling who’d chided him for so long suddenly spent the rest of her years disfigured by the burn from her face planting against the searing surface. 

In the pews of the old church they told him that God would forgive those who supplicated themselves on their knees. Forehead pressed to rotted wood, mould seeped through old stones, and the drawl of a Father droned forward. Forgiveness found the pennant but Arturo never asked for penance, wrapped knuckles and back breaking work. If he would not humble himself before the eyes of gratitude then he would be humbled instead through arduous labours and menial tasks. The nuns that he’d been left in the care of never stopped, the boy had the devil in him, that’s what they’d say: they could see it in his eyes. With their lectures, their punishments, and their litany of prayers. He heard her again then, the woman from the flames, the serpent of his dreams. It was only when the dented, bloodied chalice for communion was in his hands, and the nun was dead at his feet that Arturo began to listen. That beautiful pool of crimson ichor spilled across the stones he’d swept and scrubbed for years, Arturo could see himself in it, hateful eyes and a grim smile. Gray matter slipped from her skull, her face forever frozen in something between outrage and fear: she’d never looked better. 

Ashes were all that Arturo left behind, his work was sloppy and unclean. He was a witch but he was untrained, he knew nothing of schools or reserves but he knew a great deal about pain. About blood. First the church, then the home that had ousted him and one last time they had screamed that that boy was a demon. Not quite yet, but Arturo was on the right path. 

A bright star that flamed out young, hubris and inexperience had been his downfall, Arturo had flitted from violent delight to violent delight and had suffered a violent end as a result. He did not crawl to hell willingly, but had been dragged kicking and screaming by the jaws of hellhounds as the would-be demon was dropped before the judges three. His soul long claimed, his judgement befell a commandment of the wicked but where he thought to look upon that woman enshrined in flames, he found only virulent madness. Arturo’s skin turned to bark, his body twisted in upon itself, and the devil was joined in the forest of the blood witches. The grove of the many and the damned, where few but the most vile managed to escape. 

One century rolled into another, Arturo watched how these trees would decay, how’d they’d rot and concave upon themselves before crumbling into the dirt. Hell food for the scavengers and the cretins; too spiteful to go quietly, and too hateful to stay stagnant. Will alone broke the creature free as he carved a way through the forest, the ichor of those that were like him flowed freely when he snapped their limbs. They could speak when they were broken, and if they could speak then they could scream. Hungry lips and the curved tongue of a demon lapped at their power as he consumed them with violent urgency. Their strength became his own, Arturo had given the Inferno its meal, and as he gorged himself he would take his own as well. 

Corruption was in his veins; the desire to see others fall had already been bred inside him when a witch conjured him into a luxury city. The world had evolved, ripened by decadence, fattened by greed, it was just waiting to bleed; and the would-be necromancer that had invoked him was begging for defilement. The woman of his dreams had coiled herself inside this one just as she had Arturo all those years ago, while the Inferno had stripped his memories away, the demon saw them restored the first moment he could. Curiosity to start, satisfaction after; Arturo had been born violent, the Inferno hadn’t needed to cement his status as a demon. 

personality

+ observant, honest, protective - violent, hedonistic, jealous

played by shane. est. he/him.

[lovlorne]

your funeral.

you can play around with these bottoms that have even less spine than old-world jellyfish all you want. you can sit there and get guys and gals off by stepping on their throats and pocketing their money afterwards. you can try and get in bed with a girl that'll 'fight back' and immediately give up because they confused 'switch' for 'bottom' and decided to just let you top. but we both know that isn't what you want. what you want is to be taken to bed by a girl that breaks you before it even begins. what you want is to be start with theatrics, maybe push them onto the covers. pin them down. just to get thrown off the bed completely and held against the floor. you want to squawk out a complaint only to shut yourself up when they sink their teeth into your collar and dig their fingers into your ass with enough force to leave bruises in the back and blood in the front. you want to make an effort to push them off, only to get slammed back into place, and held there by one hand around your throat while the other slips around and digs into you knuckle deep. you want to try to squeal only to get cut off by them tightening their grip and curling their fingers inside you, leaving you seeing stars from how short of breath you suddenly are. when your weak will gives out, you want them to keep going. you want them to let up just enough so you can breathe, but only so they can hear you scream when they rip your earring out with their teeth and tongue-fuck the wound they just made. you want them to rock off you, pick you up, and hold you against the wall with enough force you leave an indentation in it, only to get hiked up further so they have access to your hips. you want the only thing keeping you from doubling over being one hand on your shoulder, one on your thigh. you want to feel your heart stop when those shark teeth move downwards. you want to scream your voice so raw the next two days are nothing but letting your throat recover all from how hard and fast the first climax is. and you want to be held there, and made to finish again and again, until you black out from exhaustion. and when you wake up, you want them to cup your face gently, pull you in close, and let you taste your own blood on their lips while they click the collar on your throat. the only thing i don't know you want is if you would rather the little charm say 'pet' or 'good girl.' ~b.

———— 🖤┊   HEIGHT BE DAMNED,   a lofty button nose held skyward through indignance supplemented her confidence where vertical disparity could not. deciphering whether admiration or arrogance bound her tongue would be a tall order, but one should simply count their blessings — the alternative is being interrupted come any perceived discrepancies. that being said, nothing stopped her from mentally rebuking any fallacies this cretin may have concocted.

... or she would have, had the first wave bore a flaw. a cleared throat conceded as arms cross along tautly against her bosom. a simple shot — nothing to fret over. 'twas an obvious attack, a blow low enough to put even her dick kicks to shame.    ( please. is it not normal to want a challenge? )   a rabbit - wrinkle of that nose, and its subsequent flare, adds little else.

the second wave, she admits, holds no quarter. nails dig into biceps as teeth grind against one another come her begrudgingly locked jaw. already, her gaze escapes its once cocksure position, taking solace in the right corners of shaken eyes after bright white sclera nigh consumes those irises.

there is little to say; to speak is to confirm interest, even if her words refused acknowledging accuracy: the swallow of saliva clogged up her throat, making for a potential waver even if she was to deny the accusations, and to a shark such as herself, there was no way it wouldn't be perceived as weakness.    ( haaa... the blood is a little much... i-isn't it...? it's not like anyone's here to do that to me, anyway... )   

though a dragon's exhale oft accompanies flames, hers is muted by the hand quickly clasped across her lower visage. it had been long since she ever squealed, thank you very much, but to insinuate she had not missed the attraction of possessive ownership would be a lie.    ( she gave considerable contemplation to borrowing octavio's therapist, but following through would mean admitting there was an issue to resolve )   

though running low on things to spurn, the meek, pitiful bounce of her jaw implies she had but one qualm to verbally retort, but her clamped digits keep her quiet, akin to having fingers pried betwixt gasping lips.    ( my earrings are expensive, don't damage those goods! )   in her weakness, her leg bounces, a soothing tic to keep her mind from floating astray. potential destruction of property aside, there's something… riveting about being flush against a barrier, unable to move and left to one's desires—    ( a-all right, i think that is more than enough. quit it! )   

this is all quite explicit!    ( and wrong, if anyone were to insist on prying such crude fact, er, fiction from her lips )   thrice does throat clear, a desperate attempt to remove rock from gullet. quite tough is this medicine to swallow, once bouncing ankles shifting to squeezed knees and thighs pressed taut as she corrects her posture as best she can.    ( shark teeth… someone else has those…? wait, no, that's not something to focus on! )   

no amount of clearing can free her from the clog keeping her silent. what was once out of sheer confidence had now become discomfort. the tremor in her voice, come gasp feigned as yawn, gives more than she'd like away.    ( i… i would never make such a fuss! no one can get me to yield. and… and m-my voice… i've t-trained it to stay within a safe decibel, s-so… )   

she'll cradle her own face, thank you — a necessity, considering the malfunction of her "freckles" and pupils had resulted in a short - circuit in both mind and body. with both palms shielding her from further onslaught, digits parted only when the silence marked the end of war, she swallows once, then coughs, hacking out her very heart. her glance still remains to the side, but at last, at last, the final wave, and the singer's relieved blockage, allows for speech.    ❝ c-can i request 'brat' instead? ❞   

[alitheakorogane]

"Who's your favorite Genshin Impact character?"

Your friend had asked you when they found out that you play Genshin Impact. To be honest, you think that you were just a humble f2p casual player, but you really love the game and its characters so much, to the point of reading the current lore and learning how the game works. You even spew some Genshin theories and make some fanworks in your free time, even though you can't afford some official merch to show your love for the game.

You then stared at your phone where a picture of your favorite Genshin character was shown as wallpaper. You flashed a grin as you waved your phone in your friend's face as you proudly told your friend about your favorite character.

"Well, my favorite Genshin Impact character is..."

------------------------------------------------------------------

You were running for your life...

Literally.

You did not sign up for this, you were just an ordinary human being who just lived a normal life. Yes, you may or may not have mental issues, but that's not the point in this situation. In fact, your pursuers may not even care about your sanity right now, they wanted your blood in their hands.

You just arrived in this strange world, holding nothing but your sanity. You were wearing your usual t-shirt and pants ensemble, with your now dirty tennis shoes. A while ago, after reaching the nearest city, you were just approaching some people to ask for directions, but they suddenly attacked you when they saw your face and suddenly branded you as an imposter of their Divine Creator.

Who the heck is that Divine Creator anyway?! And do they really have the same face as you, to the point people are chasing you to the ends of the earth once they see you?!

As you were trying to dash from your pursuers who wanted your head on a pike and now wanting to breathe in relief as you approached the nearest nation border, you were suddenly picked up in the air by a heavy gust of wind, and a smell of spring and malice wafted in the air. Leaves of the trees are blowing harshly in the wind, and the clouds are forming like there's an oncoming storm brewing and blowing you out of the forest and into the sky.

If you are not terrified out of your wits, you will be amazed at how some glowing flower petals and feathers laced around the icy wind.

"Well, well, well...Who knew that the rat can be so feisty and so weak at the same time?

Out of all the nations, we are blessed with luck from the Divine.

They had to pay for committing this world's biggest crime...

And the cretin was in my domain all along and it's our time to shine!"

Fear creeped out in your veins as you saw the speaker speaks in rhyme and approach you with a malicious look on his young-looking face. His dainty hands holding onto his fancy-looking bow and a glowing teal arrow pointing at you, ready to strike you once and for all. His usual friendly emerald eyes darkened into something sinister, glowing like small lamp grasses, but he is like a predator looking out at his prey. You noticed that his irises were also laced with reddish hues, like a drop of red dye on water.

This time, he really is a predator prowling in his domain and you were his prey that was just as lost and pathetic as ever.

Then you feel like the air was sucked out of your lungs as you were hanging in the air like a puppet. You then choked and gasped for air as you were clutching at your throat as if you were trying to take back the air taken from you.

The being in front of you now grinned like a crazy person, with his once-beautiful eyes looking at you with such loathing. The storm now approaching its peak as he summons his winds to push you back to him, the glowing arrow now pointing at your heart.

"After all, you have the guts to copy our Divine Creator's face right at the bat, and I hated you for that."

You wanted to cry and snark back at the same time when you heard those scathing words coming from him.

Who knew that your favorite Genshin Impact character was declaring some hate on your face just because the face you were born with is similar to this world's Creator...when he had done the same with his dead friend?

Such a hypocrite.

[evilminji]

To be fair... the man didn't bring Blessings to the Bash. I mean? Holidays have RULES and Mr. J here broke um. If he had FOLLOWED the rules they would have let him stay. Morally repugnant cretin or not.

Glass houses and shit, ya know? Some oh those deity are not exactly squeaky clean. But! And this was his undoing~

Fucker thought he was Too Good for the Rules. Nuh Uh, you lose, you bless! Where is there Blessing Candy or something?

He? Probably tried to hand them a "Funny" poisoned candy.

Whiiiich? Is a CURSE!

Traditionally? If you are expected to give blessing but DONT? You are Rude.

But if you CURSE when expected to Bless? Unforgivable Offense. He effectively turned EVERY Supernatural Entity in the area against him in one action. Punishment Time.

One of my personal headcanons is that, if Amity Park is entirely liminal, Jason is always the first person to discover it and regularly goes to visit on holidays. Amity's enthusiastic and incredibly violent holidays.

So, Jason is super excited to go see his girlfriend during the Walpurgis Night festival. So excited that he has entirely thrown caution out the window and has been gushing about this festival to his henchmen.

Gotham being Gotham, word makes it back to the Rogues. While some of the meta Rogues are planning to cause havoc while the Bats are without a heavy hitter, some of the Rogues more involved in organized crime (Penguin, Two-Face, Black Mask) decide to try and take out Hood while his guard is down.

The City Spirit of Amity apparently finds this hilarious as it does nothing to stop them from crossing its borders and actually giggles at them.

Thoroughly creeped out by the disembodied laughter, the Rogues spread out to find Hood.

Penguin gets accosted by his Cousin Jack and is dragged off screen. Two-Face somehow starts a fist fight with Box Ghost over whether the number 2 or the number 4 is better. Black Mask actully holds Hood at gun point for all of 3 minutes before he gets bowled over by the brawling duo.

The Amity residents consider this is as good a reason as any to kick off the festivities a couple hours early.

The next three days proceed like the chorus of The Irish Drinking Song. The fighting is only interrupted by offers of food and alcohol.

Hood and the Rogues roll back into Gotham still drunk and slightly concussed. They all stay on friendlier terms once they sober up and at least one of them takes Jason up on his offer of going to another Amity Park Holiday.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Out of 9

Dream of the Endless x Reader, Corinthian x Reader

Summary: Headcanons of how Dream and Cori would exact revenge to whomever left you broken after the death of your cats.

Word Count: >600

Warnings: Depictions of (as mentioned) your pet cats dying, animal abuse, mentions of violent intent, crude language, nsfw content for Corinthian, hurt/comfort, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: yeah i will never get over how my cat (Mochi) died. i thought of this whole idea as i was petting my cat (Jinjin) and realized he was most definitely God sent, because of how similar his personality is with my Mochi.

You were too kind for your own good. He could not even fault you for it, for it was precisely what drew him to you in the first place. Your light could fight the darkness in him. And yet the tenderness of your heart was both your greatest strength and weakness. You regularly bought canned cat food on your way home from work. It bothered him that you routinely lingered in dark alleyways at night, but then again, had that alley not had the cover of darkness it did, he would have never hid there and met you. His worries were regrettably materialized when you bawled at him over the news that they were all dead-- from the adults to the kittens, all the strays you fed were dead. Someone poisoned their food, the food you had left them. It crushed you to know those hungry kitties saw the food and ate it, not knowing some monster tampered with it. It made you reevaluate your choices heavily. Indeed, the thought of someone being comfortable enough to kill those helpless creatures was unsavory, but it was the fact someone did that and could have harmed you, had you been there, was what really sent him off the rails. And so:

Dream

would find the person who did such cruelty and repay them with nightmares.

He would haunt them by trapping them in the mind of a cat, who had the unfortunate fate of meeting the wrath of the very people like them.

The King of Nightmares would make it so that the murderer would understand the value of strays, understand their pains,

and then would inspire mice to multiply in their abode.

All the while he would bless you with dreams where you could still be with your darlings.

He would hold you while you cried,

and rub your back as you emptied your sorrows on his chest.

He would remind you that it was not by your kindness that the evil sprung out,

but that evil had a poisoning nature and grew wherever there was festering hearts.

Dream would even have Death visit you, to reassure you that the souls of your lost cats bore no scorn.

Your grief would never truly leave you, but you were eternally grateful by the comfort of both siblings,

especially because the usually withdrawn Endless made efforts to draw you closely.

Corinthian

would destroy whomever fucked around with that poison.

He would make sure to pepper you with kisses and make you cry over his dick instead,

but he would meticulously plan how he'd catch the rat who thought up the bright idea to increase their population by killing those strays.

And so he would lure them and coolly wait in the alley before butchering the cretin in the very spot those cats souls were robbed of tomorrow.

Corinthian would reassure you that the vermin would get what they deserved soon enough as you wept against him.

He would cradle you in his arms while he hushed you,

and faded your sorrowful grunts into moans of pleasure when he ate you out.

The Nightmare would never admit to killing the cat killer, knowing it would break you, but he did continuously reassure you that people like them would get what they deserved for causing someone as sweet as you such heart ache.

All the while he would worship your being,

because he really was no different than who caused you great pain, with his murderous tendencies,

and yet he had your love.

Damn anyone hell and back who causes his love to grieve.

Fuck around and find out.

[five-miles-over]

I've Decided, I Will Not Let Your Shadow Separate From Me

Pairing: Yandere!Coriolanus x Reader

Author's Note: This is somewhat of an AU based on the original play (since Shakespeare's ending is quite tragic). In this fic, Caius Martius Coriolanus actually wins the election for Consul, leader of the Roman Senate, instead of losing and being banished from the city. 

Thank you to the anon who requested this, I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: After being elected the consul, Coriolanus receives many things - sleepless nights, pointless riots from the lower-class citizens, and you, his new personal slave. While the sleep deprivation and the noise from the plebeians annoy him to no end, he finds himself obsessed with you.

Warnings: obsessive behavior, implied non-con

Caius Martius rubbed his eyes, his elbow perched against the wooden desk. The longer he looked at the document, the more the letters upon the parchment began to smudge into meaningless blobs of ink. None of it made sense to him to begin with, the senate's ideas about opening the granaries to the plebeians. They wanted to let those cretins take resources of the city into their own filthy hands, and for what? Because they cried like infants and claimed they were starving? They did not deserve such privilege to go and march, but rather they should have been grateful for their lot. Take it up with the gods themselves, if they have such a problem.

He had never wanted to be in politics. If it were up to him, Caius would simply lead another campaign, perhaps one that would kill even more barbarians than the one that earned him the title of Coriolanus. But his dear mother coaxed him into running for the Consul. He saw the gleam in her eyes when she narrated tales of how all of Rome would be at his feet were he to be elected, how he could have unlimited power. Out of the devotion that he once bore towards her, Caius honored her wish. and after quelling two stupid riots from Brutus, he finally won.

The memory slowly returned to him as he slowly felt his eyelids grow heavy. When the results were announced, his mother expressed so much emotion that she embraced Caius over and over again, ordered for a banquet, and even bought him a new slave to aid him in his duties. And that was how you entered Caius's life. You were made his personal slave to accompany him to meetings, collect things on his behalf, and keep his study clean, to name a few of your duties.

"Dominus (master)?"

Caius's eyes flew open. You placed a cup of water before him, with one hand gently perched upon his forearm. Once he was fully awake, you quickly removed your touch and went to light a candle in another part of the room. Caius could only gape as the small flame illuminated the room, allowing him to finally see all of you. Wearing a sleeveless red and orange stola, you delicately placed the candle far away from any parchment. 

"You were falling asleep at your desk, my lord. Shall I bring some food for you?" You politely asked, turning to him.

"No."

"Wine, dominus?"

"It won't help."

With a quiet nod, you went about tidying any papers or quills that were strewn about out of place. Just then, Caius's voice pierced through the air like a sword. 

"Stop." He ordered. "Let me look at you."

You did as told, turning to face your master without flinching. 

Caius drank in every detail of you: the way your shoulders and chest lightly rose and fell with each breath, the way your eyes barely fluttered in his presence, and the way your lips…your lips, perfectly shaped, gently pressed together. You did not appear to fear him…nothing like his wedded Virgilia, who insisted upon weeping profusely whenever he came to her. He had thought that entering politics would assuage her fear for his mortality, but to no avail. Over time, Caius began to detest hearing Virgilia's sobs, as did his mother, and strangely found comfort in the fact that his work often kept him away from her. 

And as another blessing, you were given to him as a result of his entry into politics. You, who did not tremble before him, bearing the calm strength of a swan. You stayed awake to keep him company, while Virgilia never stayed for long in his presence. You silently stood without trepidation, while Virgilia wailed as if she were already a widow.  Caius curled his fingers, his breath ragged. You were better than her, more devoted. You were the one he needed close now…perhaps you would be a better Roman wife than Virgilia, though Caius knew he was getting ahead of himself. Still, Caius knew he wanted you more than he wanted any other woman in his life. He needed to touch you, to feel you, to…

"Go."

Without a word, you bowed and retreated. You untied your hair and took a deep breath. It had truly been a long day, and now you would finally get some much-deserved sleep. But just as you mustered a yawn, you were startled by a bright candle held close to your face. When you turned around, your eyes widened at the sight of your master, Caius Martius Coriolanus, holding the burning candle close to your chest. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, though you knew it was too late to scream.

Your eyes darted about the study, and you swiftly backed away…only for Caius to grab your wrist. You looked up and forced yourself to see the dark, mad glint in his tired eyes.

"You belong to me, remember that." Caius menacingly reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of your knuckles, yet something about this seemingly courteous gesture felt…horrifying. "I will not hurt you," Caius whispered. "I need you."

"You need sleep, dominus."

Caius threw the candle onto the floor, causing the flame to disappear with a hiss.

"I don't like to play games, my lady," he gritted through his teeth. "I will have you, one way or another, and I will claim you as mine. I swear it by the gods."