#gore mention for ts

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@thedasguarded

The wound is deep, gashes across his breast and belly as if mauled from a wilde beast, lines across his arms like tender threads, and Roland's face is gaunt, white-tinted; horrified at the pain and at the scent and vision of his own blood.

'Tis a whirlwind of care, happiness and warmth whistling through every pore; that hint of magick, of potions, his own, precious Curse keeping him stout and hearty and ready to born again onto the ever-On world.

He huffs laughter at that sense of a sweet peace; his ruined tunic discarded, his leather satchel-- which is always upon Roland's person-- stuffed tightly 'to his bandaged side upon that rumpled bed.

Sweat cools along Roland's brow, and he reaches out a hand: made for a friendly, relieved gesture. "Thou art borne of the Title: 'Life-saver'," rasps he, grinning, the edges of his eyes crinkling in his handsome, tired dimples. "And thou art now my Friend, upon this malicious, glorious circumstance. Whom art thou?" asks he kindly.

[eritvita]

Communication as the Key to another astounding Situation: none is Roland meant to judge, for the Being's meal is not in front of him, not in this public space and gone 'way from the darkest corners of Roland's rampant imagination. His is naught of this Plane, Roland's brain, and none shalt he nag nor beg nor cajole to release nor to repent these readily-admitted, heinous acts.

But the breath 'whoosh'es out from him at that stark honesty, and his face puckers in to prevent that knee-jerk laughter, brighter than the Father Sun and louder than a thunderclap. "Hath I so gathered," eeks he, and dissolves he into a smothered snorting.

Dost now Roland's handsome brows bounce in thrice. "Hath I met thee now, dear Zero, and none am I so trusting to accept thine offer for house and hearth, none of 'tasting' if thus is our First Meeting. Wilt I survive thine taste?" inquires he, beautiful in rhetoric. "Thine curiosity, with all my limbs and blood and body whole? Wilt thou, instead," comes he, and struck'd by sudden inspiration:

"-- hath a drink with me?"

It’s a subtle reaction, but he gets a reaction. Zero loves to get a reaction. He smiles, growing ever-more confident. 

          “Varu seems to be doing fine. Besides, it’s only a little treat here and there.”          He ensures the health, well-being, and immortality of the entirety of his menagerie, thank you very much—even if he has to resort to magic and witch-tricks to do it.          “Anyway, yes, verily, I eat the flesh as well. Waste not, want not. A heart—a fresh, still-beating heart—oh, what a delicacy! You can make a man into a fantastic steak once the initial feeding is over, too.”

The initial feeding being the consumption of blood, and with it the emotion—or the soul, as Roland so elegantly put it. Zero likes that wording. It makes him feel very powerful.

          “I would very much like to taste you.” 

[acexsmhking]

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑻𝒐𝒃𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒆/𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔

: ̗̀➛ Toby lore/facts

Summary: I wrote a document of Toby that contains my personal lore/facts for him along side non-canonical and original content. Get to know my perspective of Toby better!

Warning(s): 18+ content, dark themes, child abuse, alcoholism, descriptions of gore, descriptions of child abuse, cannibalism, non-canonical mentions

Subject - SCP-524-S

Full name: Tobias Erin Rogers

Date of Birth: 4/28/1994

Place of Birth: Trier, Rhineland-Palatinate Germany

Height: 6ft, 0in

Weight: 165 lbs

Name Origins: Hebrew - Good of God

Zodiac: Taurus

Immigrated to Denver, CO. US at age 5 with parental family (Father, Mother, Aunt and Sister)

Multiple detected physical disorders: TS (Tourette Syndrome, class: both), CIPA (Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis)

Multiple detected mental disorders: SAD (social anxiety disorder), Depression, Bipolar III (Cyclothymic Disorder), D-PTSD (Dissociative PTSD), Autophagia, Amnesia

SCP-524-S ranges from multiple Northwest states: Oregon, Washington, Alaska, Idaho, Wyoming and Montana

SCP-524-S rarely visits Middle/South states, typically more active during Spring, Fall and Winter. Moves to costal areas during Summer.

Subject experienced symptoms of interaction with the creature known as The Operator (SCP-582) through juvenile development. Faced interaction with the creature as 14yrs

Subject has a complicated case with D-PTSD (Dissociative PTSD), and Amnesia. Cause of D-PTSD being after death of family member: Lyra Rogers, Subjects age was 17yrs.

Shortly after tragic events SCP-524-S showed an increase in irrationality and hostility. SCP-524-S experienced increasing memory loss, waking up either dirty or with strange marks, bruises, and indents on body.

Subject is noted to have chewed through the flesh of his left cheek. Other notible scars being a long cut from Subject left eyebrow to eye cause after altercation with Father. SCP-524-S also chewed flesh on both hands, right being severely injured

Seven months after tragedy event Subject was forced to wear a metal wire muzzle fitted to face by pulling wires tighter. Two years later Subject went aggressively brutally killing Father, multiple citizens in a fire

Amnesia later induced on Subject after final contact with SCP-582

SCP-524-S kills in large numbers, typically aiming on office buildings and neighborhoods. SCP-524-S may kill a few victims before entrapping builds in large man-made fire

Singular kills are mainly done in forest areas. SCP-524-S will used leftover body parts from past victims to lure in new ones. Ambushing from trees and bushes

SCP-524-S has a talent of mimicking crying, whispers, and human sounds

Prior to capture, SCP-524-S was elusive. Scent trails and tracks always cut off mid-way and Subject would be lost. Subjects infected by The Operator possibly have chameleon like abilities, blending into their surroundings but not quite teleportation

SCP-524-S has yet to willingly show these abilities

Subject described waking up in the middle of woods with no prior memory after making contact with The Operator. There Subject was met with another proxy to The Operator, Kate the Chaser

Another Subject that has remained unseen by eye or photograph. Subject described learning, living and bonding with Kate which also resulted in his habits of consuming human flesh

“We had to find our own food, eat whatever we caught” — SCP-524-S

Subject stayed in territory of SCP-582 and Kate for six years before leaving, stating SCP-582’s behavior grew increasingly hostile and violent towards him. Kate guided him to the Northern states before leaving

Subject refuses to give location of Kate

While not certain and test remain negative SCP-524-S exhibits behavior of AIWS (Alice In Wonderland Syndrome), could be cause by stressful events and ill-maintained health

When captured, it became apparent that SCP-524-S grew a bond with SCP-225-S as creature could be spotted in distance watching. Subject also had a relationship with a murder of crows

The flock could be seen at sights where victims had been found in woods, and swarmed the capture-spot of SCP-524-S seeming irritated. A few members of the flock attacked personnel

More later….

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*

: ̗̀➛ OMG WAS THIS STUPIDLY ANNOYING TO DO. I was switch between this and preparing Jack’s Masterlist and general head-canons ugh. Anyways eat this up my goofy goobers I’m gonna work on another Toby smut — Ace

-`♡´- tags list: @vanyatas @moriitis @theredservant

[eritvita]

Yea, the tadpoles, that heinous corruption of a sacred Archetype whittled into that wet nesting of minds and glowing viscera. Roland's eyes dost narrow, and, thus, in a sudden flash of genetic ingenuity, his pupils begin to melt: to change Shape, to split into geometric Spaces and sharp ridges and expansions of the swirling Iris that flits and flaunts and grows like that spinning orchid amongst orchids of glittering, perfume'd starlight.

Within this Power, this second, third, thrice Sight, dost Roland See through Gale; that sparkling Aura what permeates through his pores like sweat as sweet as the turbulent Sea, that refraction of energy clumped onto gore for that organic wriggling behind his left eye … and it sees him, too, and whimpers in that galactic Threat what Sees It. 'Tis all connected, and with his pulsing eyes dost Roland see that Worm connected onto other worms, past the Veil of iron-tight threads all across the sky, and beneath the ground in pulsations so similar to a hearty, moist heartbeat.

And is there another Power, another Force, embedded deep within the kindly Wizard's breast; a spherical Energy that gnaws with razor'd teeth and a voracious Hunger that never tires, that never sleeps, and that which is attracted to the sprawling, opened Compassion that seeps through Roland's nose, burnt like scarlet as it drips onto his upper lip.

Dost he reel backward, now, and dost he close his eyes tight. His nose continues to bleed, and dost he grasp at it to lean heavily against that resting log. The delicate veins of Roland's eyes art burst whence they open again, and his brows furrow down for a look of empathetic hurt. "Oh, Gale," breathes he.

"Allyship." He clarifies, one worded and simply put. "We aren't exactly fond and gathered out in the wilds here for a riveting little camping trip." But the Wizard cannot blame the star. He does not know what he doesn't know, and Gale has been less interested in sharing their plight when he has been asked to clarify it.

"I mentioned those tadpoles in our heads, less than pleasant little hitch-hikers. They seem to be connected to a cult, one that wishes a certain ascention upon the world, a godly takeover perhaps. We've been trying to figure out how to remove these parasites and put an end to the proverbial monster on the horizon."

"It is in that quest which we seek more allies. Powerful ones who may help give us a fighting chance."

[eritvita]

❛ You die when you kill. You feel you deserve to die and you stint on nothing. ❜ / couldn't decide on just one so i sent both, feel free to choose c:

@ariveth

How poetic, how marvelous, how terrible that cycling Path of violence of the Boethian cultist: Roland sits upon a fallen log, splattered with scarlet blood still pooling in their congealed rainbows as the dead, silent body of that raving madman lies skewered, and very, very dead, at the place of his booted feet. He holds his face in his hands; staring.

The reasoning is simple: survival, to prevent his own blood to splash upon that sodden, black ground in the rhythmic Beat of Roland's own Life, and to keep living, and the war screams of that secular band still ring within his wind-mussed head.

His face is haggard; his eyes wide and red-ringed from crying, now dried; staring.

The cultist is dunmer, their black hair cut short. Is their family looking for them, this forever-gawking vigilant? Didst they claim continual contact with them, their mother, father, nieces and nephews, whence fled for that wargod in Her many Forms and iron stone?

He makes no movement hath her heard his Darling in her strict, vital statement, and merely sits, and stares, and contemplates his own, precious morality.

What hast he done?

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (1994) .

[puffballthesheep]

LOVE ME BACK — PIECK FINGER.

vamptober — slight edging ; find masterlist here

synopsis. In the hidden depths of Attack on Junior High, a captivating character named Peick appears, emanating a captivating vampire-like presence. The reader finds solace with her comrades Zeke, Reiner, Porco, and Annie, longing for a sense of belonging. Filled with seething rage, Peick sets out on a mission to unleash her fury upon the one who rejected her love.

length. 5.2k words (I attempted to make ts short)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, vampire peick! high school au (reader is a senior student), age gaps (100+ difference), vampire, manipulative peick, blood, gore, dead bodies, hurtful words, heavy make out session, slight edging, slight smut, names (love, dear, sweet & ect.)

Notes. this took so mfkn long to write bc first I can’t make anything short, nor can I function w/o it being long, but anywho whoever requested this, wassup dude, I been doing good n I hope u are too, but now we finna get into it but If I were you I'd lock my doors before reading this 🤸🏾

Eighteen-year-old (name) had experienced a great loss at a young age when her mother passed away, yet she had been blessed with an incredible relationship with her father who had raised her alone since then. Growing up in the peaceful suburbs, the two of them had grown incredibly close over the years, having an almost psychic connection - they would always know what the other was thinking and even feel when the other was near.

One morning, (name) came downstairs to have breakfast with her dad, and with a smile she said cheerfully, "Good morning, dad! Thanks for breakfast this morning." As she started to eat, her dad asked her how she had slept. She took a sip of her orange juice before answering, her eyes twinkling with joy as she said, "Pretty good actually, no nightmares or anything," and she shrugged as she set down her cup, before taking another bite of her food. "That's good to hear," her dad said warmly, his face beaming with love.

The two of them chatted as (name) enjoyed her breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and sausage, the aroma of the food filling the air of the quaint kitchen. Suddenly, her dad said he had a meeting later and he'd be home late, so not to wait up for him. (Name) nodded and looked up at the clock on the stove, realizing it was almost time for her to leave for school. She stood from the table, put up the leftover food into the refrigerator, and grabbed her backpack. "Bye Dad, I love you," she exclaimed, her voice filled with warmth. Her father smiled and waved as he was putting away his dishes and getting ready for work. "Love you too, have a good day at school," he said with a kind smile, his eyes twinkling with emotion and pride.

As the final bell reverberated through the halls of Attack on Titan Junior High, signaling the end of yet another mundane day, (name) found herself enveloped by her group of friends during passing period. "Well, well, if it isn't (name). It's been ages since I've laid eyes on you," Reiner, with a beaming smile, pulled her into a tight embrace, his arm naturally draping over her shoulders. Looking up at him, (name) playfully squirmed out of his grip, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Maybe because I get to class, unlike some of you," she retorted, her voice laced with a touch of sarcasm.

Not one to back down, Porco quickly stepped forward, his emotions getting the best of him. "But hey, at least some of us manage to make it to class and get our work done," Porco fired back, his words dripping with a ruthless edge. (Name) let out a soft sigh, fully aware of Porco's tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. "Ah, Porco, always ready with a comeback," she replied, raising an eyebrow in a knowing manner. The mention of Porco's impending Saturday school attendance struck a chord, and (name) couldn't help but smirk as Reiner let out a hearty laugh, his firm grip on Porco preventing him from lunging at her in frustration, as he often did whenever she struck a nerve.

Leaning against the wall with a casual air, Zeke joined the conversation, his voice calm and composed. "You know, (name) has the best grades among all of us. I'm genuinely proud of you," he remarked, his admiration shining through. (Name) scoffed, readying herself to make her exit. "Eugh Zeke! Can't you stop sounding like someone's overprotective father? It's just plain creepy, especially when you already look like you're in your forties in the twelfth grade."

Just as (name) was about to leave, her path was unexpectedly halted by Bertolt, who gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Curiosity flickered in (name)'s eyes as she turned back to face him, her tone guarded. "Whatchu want?" she inquired, her voice tinged with caution. Bertolt handed her a stack of photographs, captured through his camera lens. Being the resident photographer, (name) possessed the unique skill of working in the darkroom, a talent unknown to her friends. "Could you possibly take these to the darkroom and meet me there after I find Annie?" Bertolt requested, his eyes filled with hope. Glancing at her phone to check the time, (name) nodded and then proceeded to walk away, leaving Bertolt to his search. "Sure thing. Enjoy your quest, but I can inform you that Annie hasn't graced us with her presence in days."

Reiner and Porco watched (name) depart, the latter still holding back a torrent of insults, assuming that she was too intimidated to confront them again. "She's always slipping away," Reiner murmured, a hint of sadness echoing in his voice. Porco, unable to contain his frustration, unleashed a string of profanities. Suddenly, the authoritative voice of Assistant Principal Levi cut through the air, causing the trio to turn their attention towards him. With a stern expression, Levi addressed Zeke directly. "Zeke, report to the principal's office immediately." Reiner and Porco exchanged glances, astounded by Zeke's audacity to smoke a cigarette in plain view of everyone. "What a delightful evening we're having, isn't it, Mr. Ackerman?" Zeke remarked, his words dripping with disdain. Zeke nonchalantly dropped the cigar and extinguished it with his foot, begrudgingly following Levi's lead. "Tch, shut it, you piece of shit," Levi retorted coldly, the tension between them palpable.

Unbeknownst to her, as she weaved through the bustling school hallways, a cacophony of noise enveloped her senses. The crowded corridors echoed with the hurried footsteps and animated conversations of students. Amidst the chaos, an eerie atmosphere hung in the air, gripping her with an unsettling feeling of being watched.

Glancing around, she found everyone engrossed in their own affairs, oblivious to the hidden observer. However, her gaze inexplicably landed upon Pieck, a former member of her friend group who had become a subject of her disdain. Pieck stood alone, seemingly detached from the bustling crowd, and she knew better than to trifle with her.

Pieck's appearance had changed subtly over time. Her once-tanned complexion and deep brown, sometimes gray eyes had transformed, giving way to a hint of red. It was a drastic alteration that intrigued her, though she concealed her fascination beneath a veil of hostility, conforming to the unkind treatment perpetuated by her friends.

As she passed by Pieck, their eyes met, and the chilling effect of Pieck's gaze sent shivers down her spine. Pieck always seemed to gravitate toward the shadowy corners, exuding an aura reminiscent of a vampire's allure. Yet, she dismissed such notions, knowing better than to believe in mythical tales.

Despite the bullying that she subjected Pieck to, she met her actions with an unwavering sweet smile, leaving her perplexed and questioning her own motives.

Determined to avoid further interaction, she rolled her eyes in defiance and briskly turned the corner, attributing her unease to the unsettling encounters of the day. With a sigh of relief, she pushed open the heavy door to the darkroom, immersing herself in its mysterious embrace.

As the door closed behind her with a resounding thud, the room enveloped her in darkness. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space, revealing an enchanting sight. Pulsating red lights bathed the room, casting an ethereal glow that danced upon every surface. A chill, inexplicable yet tantalizing, crept down her spine, captivating her senses in an instant.

In the dimly lit dark room, she set the photos down on the table, soon feeling chills run down her spine. As she turned around, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest, and she let out a loud scream. There stood Pieck, a girl she just saw in the hallway, yet her vampire-like appearance commanded attention. Pieck's hinted red eyes, dark brown and almost black under the blood-red lights, seemed to possess an irresistible power, drawing her in.

Suddenly, she was snapped out of the trance by Pieck's voice. "Good afternoon, (name)..." Her soft, delicate, tired voice sent a wave of excitement through her. She couldn't help but admire Pieck's beautiful, disheveled hair, lazy eyes that complemented her Greek nose, and full lips that begged to be kissed. Despite the pressure to dislike Pieck, driven by the disapproval of friends, she secretly felt an unexplainable attraction towards her.

Pieck's gaze seemed to search for something deep within her, as if she hadn't entered the dark room without making a sound. She finally gathered the courage to speak. "Pieck... how did you get in here so quietly?" She began to walk past Pieck, her backpack hanging from her right shoulder.

Pieck watched her intently, carefully observing every movement. Her cold, icy hands sent a shiver down her spine, further fueling her 'dislike' towards her. "Uh, can I help you?" She prepared to break free from Pieck's grip, but suddenly found herself pushed against the wall, with Pieck's finger pointing directly at her, holding her wrists above her head.

As she stared into Pieck's eyes, the room's atmosphere turned chillingly cold and the light of the red lights reflecting off Pieck's eyes. Trembling under her touch, she was astonished by this sudden change in Pieck's demeanor, as she was usually gentle and polite. It infuriated her to admit her feelings for Pieck, especially after speaking negatively about her. Unbeknownst to her, Pieck was more than just a human; she possessed an uncanny ability to read people.

Despite her attempts to break free, Pieck's grip remained unyielding. Pieck's small frame overpowering her seemed inexplicable, reinforcing the perception that she was peculiar. "Let me go!" Even with a tight grip, Pieck's movements were slow and delicate, while her eyes seemed to hypnotize her.

Pieck spoke softly once again, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. "How can I, when you know just how much I love you, (name). Why do you ignore me?" Her free hand traveled from her shirt to her hair, twirling a lock around her finger. Pieck listened to her heartbeat, every move she made on her accompanied by the red dim light that accentuated her every motion, revealing a glimpse of her razor-sharp fangs.

Pieck's words quickened her heartbeat, as they shared the same feelings but couldn't express them. "Pieck, why are you doing this...?" She asked, struggling to free her hands from Pieck's grip. "Listen to me, (name). Tell me how you truly feel... no more lies."

Pieck knew there was something about her that she held dear, but she refused to grant her desires. After numerous attempts to escape, she kneed Pieck in the stomach and forcefully pushed her away. The impact was hard enough to cause Pieck to spit up blood, and she slowly lifted herself up with the support of the file cabinet next to her.

Turning back, she picked up her backpack and uttered hurtful words, "Wanna know how I really feel about you? Nothing but a disgusting disgrace. Loving me? Oh please, move on because who would ever love you?" Pieck's heart sank upon hearing her cruel words, reaching out her hand, ready to say something. "Don't leave me alone, (name)..." Her voice filled with sorrow, as she had nobody left in her life, with her mother gone and her father gone as well.

She opened the door to the dark room, preparing to step into the brightly lit hallway, making Pieck flinch. But before leaving, she turned back, saying, "You know... no wonder why people despise you. I'm certain you were the catalyst behind your father's tragic demise... you're nothing more than a repugnant disgrace and an insufferable burden. It's no surprise you find yourself utterly alone." She closed the door behind, leaving Pieck in there alone.

Pieck took her hand out of reach and wiped the blood from her mouth, knowing (name) had made a big mistake. This was the last chance Pieck gave her.

Just like that, she left Pieck in the dark, red room, unaware of how far Pieck would go to hear the words she desired. As she turned to her left, she saw Bertolt standing before her, wearing a puzzled expression. "What happened?"

At the eerie hour of 6:30 in the evening, (name) returned home from school, a lingering sense of unease enveloping her. The house, usually filled with the comforting presence of her father, was now shrouded in an unsettling silence.

With a heavy heart and a hint of trepidation, (name) settled herself at the kitchen table, desperately attempting to immerse herself in her homework. But then, out of nowhere, a searing pain pierced her delicate neck, causing her to wince in agony. The pain subsided momentarily, leaving her bewildered and unnerved. Determined to dismiss this inexplicable occurrence, she carried on with her work.

However, the pain returned with a vengeance, intensifying with each passing moment. "Ow! The fuck is this pain coming from?" she cried out, seeking solace in the freezer's icy grasp. Placing an ice pack on her throbbing neck, the pain gradually dissipated. Puzzled yet resolute, she pondered the enigma that had befallen her.

As the clock mercilessly ticked towards 8 o'clock, her father's absence weighed heavily on her mind. Homework completed, she ventured into the living room, hoping to wait a little longer for her father's return.

Engulfed by the flickering light of the television, hunger began to gnaw at her insides. With a resigned sigh, she reached for her phone, intending to order pizza from a nearby establishment.

"Hello, I would like to place an order," she spoke into the phone, her voice trembling ever so slightly. After conveying her desires, she set the phone aside, letting the monotony of the television lull her into a state of drowsiness. Unbeknownst to her, sleep gradually entwined its insidious tendrils around her weary frame, veiling her consciousness in a nocturnal embrace.

Suddenly, she was transported back to memories of her childhood, back in the house where her late mother once resided. Sitting at the kitchen table, she cast her gaze towards the stove, where an ethereal figure stood with its back turned, preparing a morning feast. Approaching the table, the figure placed a plate of eggs before her, whispering a chilling warning into her ear: "Don't open the door."

Abruptly, her surroundings shifted once more, this time to the side of a bustling highway. Amidst the cacophony of vehicles, a distant figure beckoned, its voice rendered incoherent by the clamor. Straining her senses, (name) discerned her father's voice, urgently imploring her: "Don't open the door!"

Startled, she jolted awake, her mind racing to comprehend her surroundings. The couch, her only companion in the dimly lit room, offered no solace. "what a weird dream. It felt so real," she mused aloud, its vividness leaving an indelible mark upon her psyche. Yet, her respite was short-lived, as the doorbell abruptly shattered the silence.

*Ding dong.*

Her body, guided by a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, propelled her towards the door. However, as she passed the window, she recoiled in terror. Darkness had descended upon the world outside, a foreboding sign that time had slipped away unnoticed. Doubt plaguing her thoughts, she retrieved her phone, only to discover that the clock now displayed the witching hour: 3 AM. Her heart pounding, she turned back to face the enigmatic intruder lurking beyond the threshold.

"Dad! Are you home?" she called out, her voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and fear. But the doorbell persisted, its relentless chimes growing more frenzied with each passing second.

*Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.*

It struck her then - something was dreadfully amiss. A chill crept up her spine as the memory of her dream resurfaced, her father's caution echoing in her mind.

"Don't open the door!"

With trembling hands, she refrained from unlocking the door, instead choosing to seek confirmation from her father through the peephole. There he stood, unflinching, his eyes fixated on her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. This inexplicable stillness, coupled with the incessant ringing of the doorbell, struck terror into her very core.

*Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.*

"Dad! Is someone with you? answer me! I refuse to open the door until you respond!" she pleaded, her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

*Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.*

Overwhelmed by panic, (name) collapsed, as she pressed herself against the door, desperately avoiding any action that would invite further dread. She couldn't explain it, but an overwhelming sense of terror gripped her, eventually lulling her into an exhausted slumber beside the door, the relentless toll of the doorbell serving as a haunting lullaby.

As the morning sun bathed the world in its gentle glow, (name) stirred from her restless sleep. Recollections of the previous night flooded her mind, urging her to action. She cautiously rose to her feet, distancing herself from the door that had become a harbinger of nightmares. Glancing out the window, the sight of daylight offered a modicum of solace.

Summoning her waning courage, she approached the door once more, swallowing the fear that threatened to consume her. Peering through the peephole, she met her father's gaze once again. she opened the door and only this time something was horribly wrong. Her father's severed head, grotesquely suspended from a hook, greeted her horrified gaze. The weight of despair settled in her stomach, threatening to engulf her entirely. Clutching her abdomen, she stared at the blood dripping onto the doorstep, uttering a feeble question into the abyss.

"W-who could have done this?"

Her eyes fell upon a note lying on the ground, soaked in crimson. Trembling, she picked it up and read its chilling message:

"Now, who's all alone now?"

The note slipped from her trembling grasp, and in that moment, the door slammed shut with an otherworldly force. Just as she turned to face the darkness that encroached upon her, (name) was violently yanked backward, her screams drowned by the suffocating embrace of the abyss.

(name) awoke to find herself trapped in an unknown and eerie place. The stench of blood assaulted her senses, causing her to gag as she cautiously surveyed her surroundings. The walls were cold and made of rough stone, barely allowing any light to penetrate the darkness. Above her, a single flickering light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting sinister shadows that danced along the walls.

Suddenly, a chilling sight caught her eye. A table stood in the corner, and blood dripped steadily from its surface, pooling on the floor below. As her eyes adjusted further, the true horror came into focus. A headless body lay upon the table, its life force gruesomely drained by some unseen force. (name)'s heart sank as she recognized the victim - her own father - his lifeless form bearing cruel bite marks.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze shifted to another figure, their body still bleeding profusely, crimson liquid flowing perilously close to where she was bound. With growing dread, she followed the trail of blood, her eyes widening in terror as the truth unraveled before her. The wounded person, dressed in a gray hoodie and jeans, was none other than Annie, her friend. Weak and trembling, Annie turned towards (name) with pleading eyes, her blonde hair matted with blood.

"(name)...help...me..." Annie's plea was cut short as death claimed her, right before (name)'s horrified gaze. A gut-wrenching scream tore from (name)'s lips, echoing through the blood-soaked chamber.

The single light bulb overhead flickered ominously, casting erratic shadows that danced upon the walls, heightening the sense of impending doom. (name) desperately struggled against her restraints, feeling the cold, rusty chains digging into her flesh. She strained to stand, but the unforgiving grip of the chains held her captive, an agonizing reminder of her helplessness.

As she cast her gaze towards the middle of the stone door, footsteps grew louder, each one a chilling symphony of dread. The light bulb's flickering intensified with each approaching step, accentuating the darkness that enveloped her soul. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the figure responsible for her torment.

A shiver ran down (name)'s spine as Pieck entered the room, her disarming smile mirroring the gentle facade she had worn the day before. Clutched in her arms was (name)'s father's severed head, blood still dripping from her mouth. The sickening truth became undeniable – Pieck was a manipulative and sinister vampire, masquerading as a sweet and innocent creature.

"Peick!! You did this, didn't you? Why would you..." (name) choked on her words, her voice trembling with fear and disbelief. Pieck's crimson gaze bore into (name), her expression devoid of remorse as she callously dropped the decapitated head to the cold, blood-stained floor, splattering the crimson liquid onto (name)'s tear-streaked face.

(name)'s heart pounded in a terrifying mix of fear and sorrow, overwhelmed by the loss of her father and the horrifying uncertainty of her own fate. Pieck moved closer, her graceful steps belying the monstrous creature she truly was. She knelt before (name), placing a hand on her trembling thigh, while her other hand wiped away the tears that stained (name)'s cheeks.

"(name)...don't cry. You brought this upon yourself," Pieck whispered, her voice both soothing and haunting. She tilted her head, her bloodstained lips curling into a sinister smile, revealing her sharp, elongated fangs. (name) recoiled at the sight, transfixed by the blood that stained Pieck's teeth, her long tongue leisurely licking away the crimson droplets.

Terror consumed (name) as she finally found her voice, tremblingly uttering, "You aren't human, are you?" The realization of the monstrous truth sank in, sending shivers down her spine.

Without breaking eye contact, Pieck continued to explore (name)'s body, her touch moving from the thigh, to the side of her stomach, and finally to her breast. Her thumb caressed the delicate flesh, while her other fingers sought the pounding heartbeat beneath (name)'s chest.

"I'm surprised you didn't realize it sooner, (name)," Pieck whispered, a sadistic pleasure lacing her words. As (name)'s heartbeat raced with increasing panic, she struggled to breathe, her gasps for air growing more desperate. Drawing nearer, Pieck's voice slithered into (name)'s ear, sending a bone-chilling shiver down her spine. The words dripped from her lips like venom, a sinister promise hanging in the air.

"Breathe, my dear. I won't harm you... yet."

Pieck's presence alone was enough to unleash a torrent of fear within (name). As she leaned back, a sickening curiosity mingled with her terror, unable to resist the allure of Pieck's touch, even in the face of impending doom. But reality crashed down upon her when she looked down at the ground, her eyes fixating on her father's severed head. In a desperate attempt to shield herself from the grotesque scene, she clamped her eyes shut, refusing to witness the horrors before her.

Suddenly, an unnatural weight settled upon her lap. Her gaze shifted downward, revealing Pieck perched upon her, her icy hands caressing (name)'s cheeks. She compelled (name) to meet her gaze once again, their lips tantalizingly close. However, Pieck abruptly withdrew, her movements betraying a calculated cunning. With a slight tilt of her head, she fixated her piercing gaze upon (name) and silence descended like a suffocating fog.

"Why did you say those hurtful things to me, (name)..."

(name) froze, the memories of the cruel words she had hurled at Pieck resurfacing. In that dire moment, she struggled to conjure any justification, realizing that her desperate attempts to fit in had only birthed destruction. "I... I didn't mean it," (name) stammered, devoid of any coherent explanation. "All I wanted was to hear you say that you love me..."

Peick's soft plea echoed through (name)'s ears, weaving a spell that threatened to ensnare her mind. Her eyes, hypnotic in their intensity, seemed to coax (name) into surrendering to her will. Doubt crept into (name)'s thoughts as she began to forget the atrocities committed against her father and Annie. Deep down, she started to believe that she was to blame for their suffering. "No... it's all my fault... I caused my father's death..." (name) whispered to herself, her gaze falling into her lap.

Tears welled in her eyes as (name) succumbed to the hypnotic allure of Pieck's gaze and voice. "I love you too, Pieck... I couldn't tell you because..."

A wicked grin twisted across Pieck's face, her eyes narrowing with a malevolent glint. She relished in her manipulative power, reveling in the opportunity to make (name) forget her sins. "I always knew you loved me, (name), my sweet. The words I've longed to hear... It didn't have to come to this, but you drove me to it, my dear..."

Pieck's grip tightened on (name)'s bound hand, refusing to release her hold. Finally, (name) snapped out of the bewitching trance, realizing the depths of Pieck's depravity. "No, Pieck! What you've done cannot be undone! Yes, I loved you, but how could I ever love you now?! What you've done is unforgivable!" (name) cried out, her eyes drawn to the lifeless bodies of Annie and her father, a grim reminder of the carnage wrought by Pieck's insidious actions.

In the face of (name)'s defiance, Pieck fixated her gaze upon her, an insidious silence punctuating her ominous presence. With a sly sigh, she sharpened her nails, a wicked transformation taking hold. "(name)..."

Pieck exhaled, refusing to relinquish her grip on (name)'s conscience. "I never wished for it to come to this, but you continuously rejected my attempts to connect with you... I tried to do it the right way, but you denied me at every turn... I only wanted to know why..."

(name) cast her gaze downward once more, her heart heavy with guilt. She recognized her own fault in pushing Pieck away, knowing all too well the countless times Pieck had tried to bridge the divide. Compassion stirred within (name) as she contemplated what it must be like to stand in Pieck's shoes. "I know... and I'm sorry! I shouldn't have pushed you away or uttered a word about your father... But why did Annie have to suffer too?"

Pieck's smile contorted into an eerie gentleness as she gazed upon her lifeless victim, Annie. "Poor, poor Annie," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "She'll be back soon, my heart...but for now, just focus on me." The words of protest began to form on (name)'s lips, but a sinister calm washed over her, drowning out any resistance. Pieck was up to her dark deeds once again.

As (name) shifted uncomfortably, a chilling sensation spread across her body. It was then that she realized she was lying in a pool of her own blood, her life essence draining away. Panic gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the horrifying reality unfolding before her. "When did..." (name) managed to stammer, but Pieck interrupted with a gleeful grin, relishing in the terror she had instilled.

Unbeknownst to (name), Pieck had viciously slit her back while she was caught in a fit of righteous anger, berating Pieck for her unforgivable actions. The cunning vampire ensured that (name) remained fixated on her, her mesmerizing voice and piercing eyes numbing any sensation of pain. It was all part of Pieck's twisted plan to manipulate (name) into becoming her companion for eternity.

Pieck forcefully turned (name)'s face towards her own, their eyes locked in a macabre dance. "Everything's fine, (name)," Pieck hissed, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness. "(Name), I still want to be with you. I'll protect you. I just want you to be with me forever..." Dizziness overwhelmed (name), her mind clouded and her willpower crumbling. A faint smile crept across her face as she succumbed to Pieck's wicked charm. "I'm sorry for everything I've done...I love you too, but I was wrong..." (name) whispered, their voice barely a breath. Pieck hushed (name) with a tender gesture, then pressed her lips against (name)'s, a kiss filled with twisted passion.

Pieck's hands slithered from (name)'s cheeks down to her shoulders, intensifying the heated kiss. Her tongue hungrily sought entry, licking at (name)'s bottom lip, leaving a taste of the blood she had recently fed on. Their tongues clashed in a battle for dominance, fueling Pieck's insatiable bloodlust. Her nails dug deep into (name)'s shoulder, drawing fresh blood that sent shivers down Pieck's spine, igniting a primal desire within her. The once gentle vampire grew more aggressive, her hunger escalating.

Within the depths of their twisted embrace, (name)'s faint moans echoed, a symphony of pleasure and pain. (name) weakly placed their hands on Pieck's sides, attempting to push her away. Pieck's concern was thinly veiled as she gazed down at (name), a hunger in her eyes that matched the thirst coursing through her veins. "Pieck...I feel so weak," (name) managed to utter, struggling to catch their breath. "You're doing so well, my sweet," Pieck murmured, her voice laced with sadistic satisfaction. "Just hold on..."

With a renewed hunger burning within her, Pieck reclaimed (name)'s lips, savoring every moment of their macabre union. The overwhelming scent of (name)'s blood intoxicated her, driving her to taste every inch of their being. Kissing down (name)'s jawline, she gradually made her way to the vulnerable expanse of (name)'s neck.

(name) willingly offered up their neck, granting Pieck unrestricted access. Even as their life force slipped away, (name) squirmed beneath Pieck, feeling a perverse wetness between their legs. Pieck seized upon this opportunity, grinding against (name) with a primal hunger, their moans intensifying as the friction between their thighs ignited a twisted pleasure. While Pieck marked (name)'s neck with countless hickeys, her hand returned to caress (name)'s cheek, her thumb pressing gently against their skin. As Pieck's fangs grazed (name)'s neck, a surge of pain mingled with a familiar sensation, reminiscent of the mundane discomfort of doing homework at a table.

Deep down, (name) knew this was wrong, but they were ensnared in Pieck's web of manipulation, unable to break free. As Pieck sank her razor-sharp fangs into (name)'s neck, the pain was numbed, replaced by a tingling sensation that mirrored the bite of a pen on paper. (name) turned their head slightly, groaning weakly as their strength waned, their eyes fixated on Annie's lifeless body. "We have... to save Annie..." they whispered, their voice fading.

Pieck withdrew, her fangs dripping with the crimson elixir of her beloved's life force. Her wild, disheveled curls framed her bloodstained face as she wiped her lips, gazing down at (name), teetering on the precipice of death. A wicked grin spread across her visage as she kissed (name)'s forehead. "Very soon, my love," she whispered, her voice echoing with sinister delight. "Soon, you will be just like me... and we can live together forever."

(name) mustered the last remnants of their fading energy to gaze at Pieck, a feeble smile gracing her lips. Unbeknownst to (name), a new set of fangs had sprouted in her mouth during this unholy transformation. Pieck watched with rapt attention as (name) underwent their metamorphosis, relishing in the macabre beauty of her creation.

y’all the theme of this ‘lil’ one shot is basically to be yourself, don't try and play who you're not to fit in with the crowd cs y’all saw what happened to ol reader girl, but anywho y’all prepare yo self for a hange x fem! reader x yelena vamp one shot cs das what’s comin next 😭

[eritvita]

"Thou art bed for loyalty," defines Roland. "And, yea: brilliant courage, as thus for the interstitium of the white Ivory of the canine Tooth. As thus in literal for the blessed Vernacular," comes he suddenly, and cackles shortly for the Prose of amiable Humor.

"Why dost thou ask me for Want of a new tooth?" inquires he, both curious and innocently direct. "Surely none dost thou wish for the Gift-Giving to a simplistic Individual whomst hast no present boundary of the First Meeting to thee; wilt thou suffice of Trade?" asks Roland.

"Of which tooth wouldst thou offer me? None to borne fresh with the littlest piece of skin still attached, nay? Naught couldst I bear So." Strange, beguiling Creature interlaid with the undulating threads of a hissing snake, and with colorful Madness hiding beside his eyes. How enchanting; how dangerous.

The predator light that had so beautifully lifted his expression turned dim. He nodded politely as the other spoke, though it seemed to him they were spinning a thread that never ended but would only clump into knots instead. Still, he listened. 

“It isn´t always painful. Not when they're dead. Sometimes the teeth I take are the source of a man´s pain.” Gabban looked disappointed, unable to mask the sad twinge at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, you´re asking for something animal.” As strange as he was, he couldn't understand other people's fascinations with birds and beasts alike. What was so special of a foul smelling creature with too much fur? But yes, he´d plucked a few of those teeth before. As retribution, revenge…

Gabban dug the heel of his boot into the ground, if only to have felt the soil resist the pressure and scrape the leather of his shoe. “I have dog teeth.” All of which he had acquired by his own hands. “Male, adult, dog teeth.” 

“Sometimes, if it's convenient, I´ll take a tooth from a dead dog- or cow! I almost forgot I had those. They're very large. Funny, how could I forget something so big?” His nose wrinkled with a smile and a curt chuckle. Again, he was back to that gentle deceit. 

“Is that what you want? I could give you one.”

[samsno1]

Liberty or Life

Billy Butcher x Gn!POC!Reader

hello i fucking suck at titles? anyway, i wrote this at the beach while i was getting tanned because i never found a butcher fic with this exact vibe so i said "yk what, imma write ts"

ill maybe do a part 2 if i feel like it

Sumary: The reader finds something about Liberty and wants to check it out. Butcher thinks it's just too easy to be true.

Warnings: SPOILERS THE BOYS S2, english isn't my first language, kinda mean butcher but he means it well, poc!reader (wrote it with latinos in mind but i didn't mention us especifically so dig in), use of y/n, HURT/COMFORT, blood, violence, gore (?), cursing (i mean its the boys), hom*lander mentioned (yes he gets a fucking warning), i didn't make the reader speak neither spanish nor portuguese, up to ya, i had no idea how to transcribe his british accent but i did my best. NOT PROOF READ

WC: 3.3k

You can learn how to change the "Y/N" for your actual name here

if you enjoy it please lmk!

Of course it was a trap. A fucking trap.

While confined in your apartment, searching more and more about Stormfront - AKA Liberty - after the encounter with the poor woman that ended up losing her brother to her hands right in front of her eyes you found a clue, something that could help take her down.

According to the document you spent the whole night reading with several cups of coffee and a killing migraine, there was a file hidden in a building close to Vought's that gave away all the racist behavior of Liberty's past (and present). It would be more than enough to make the people mad.

Hell, it made you mad. An immigrant trying to bring down an incredibly popular Supe, who would definetly get rid of any of your people out of North American territory? Definitely a perfect situation for your ass, not dangerous at all.

But still, if not you and The Boys, who? Even if Butcher's focus wasn't her it was for you, as a personal offense.

You knew racism wasn't foreign in the Superhero industry (or in the United States as a whole, you lived it constantly) but executing people of color is borderline a genocide and it was happening right under the peoples noses. God, praised even.

You scoffed at the screen of your computer and picked up your phone to call either Butcher or MM about what you found, to see if they could back you up on the mission.

You dialed Butcher first, putting your cell to your ear as you got up from the chair, your legs needing a stretch, as you walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge to get a beer. It is 6pm somewhere you thought.

As you popped open the can the familiar british accent hit your ears and you subconsciously smiled to yourself.

“Wha’ d'ya want, luv?” He asked, voice gruff, clearly woken up by your call. You imagined his tousled hair. Maybe he was shirtless.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, taking a sip of the bitter drink on your hand, the alcohol much appreciated in your stomach.

“Maybe” He said and you could hear the teasing smile on his face.

“I'm sorry, I just called to say I found something on Liberty…Stormfront…whatever her fucking name is” You clarified as you mindlessly play with the seal of the beer can with your index finger “There's a building nearby that hides some documents about her, y'know, the shady stuff. I wanted to go there tonight, see if I find it”

You hear shuffling in the other line with a grunt, assuming he was getting up from the bed – or wherever he was sleeping.

He didn't speak for some moments letting you hear his bare feet walking around his apartment.

“I don’ know abou’ it Y/N, how'd ya even find those?” He asked, his voice hesitant.

“Butcher, I'm a hacker and Vought's system sucks ass compared to what I've already done” You explained “I just got in, easy”

You can't see it but he bites his bottom lip on the other line. He was still skeptical, would it really be that easy to find stuff on a Supe like Liberty? He knew your abilities, hell, he admired it but he was always extra careful when it came to you.

“Really?” He asked and you could feel the way his eyebrow raised and you scoffed “Okay, I'm jus’ doubtful, Liberty hasn’ been talked abou’ in ages an’ ya find stuff…easy?”

“What, lost faith in my abilities?” You teased. You finished your beer and threw the can in the thrash, it hitting the bottom of the thrash with a loud thud “C'mon, it will be easy. In and out”

“I'm not sure it's a good idea, luv” He said and you frowned, sitting on your island in the kitchen, your feet dangling off the edge.

“Y'know I called to warn you I was going, not to ask permission, you ain't my father” You mumbled with the intention to let him hear it, the tone in your voice serious “Just wanted to know if you wanted to come with”

“Nah” He replied, his voice loud and clear over the phone and you make a shocked confused face to yourself. Did he not want to keep you company? “Ya ain't going, it's risky. It looks too easy. Nothin’ with these cunts’ easy” He said firmly and you scoffed in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah, I am, alone or with you, I'm busting into that building” You said just as firmly as he did “You know how I feel about that racist cunt” You cursed. The more time you spent with Butcher, the more you started using his British vocabulary. Cunt was the most common but Bullocks also came with from time to time.

“Of course I know but still, we have to be smart abou’ it” A tip of anger laced his voice. He often got pissed at how stubborn you could be and this was one of those times.

“I'll be in there tonight. Goodbye Butcher” You said and turned off the call, not wanting to hear him going on and on about your ‘recklessness’ as he called it, scoffing and smashing your phone down on the island beside you, running a hand through your head.

You liked when Butcher was caring towards you, it was what made you start catching feelings for the man in the first place, but sometimes he just treated you like a kid, as if you could do nothing without him lecturing you beforehand.

On the other side, Butcher groans angrily as he notices you turned the call off and he throws his phone on the bed. “Fucking ‘ell” He curses to himself as he rubs his temples with his thumb and index fingers.

He knew you wouldn't drop it. You were a force of nature, but impulsive. Sometimes he loved it, sometimes he hated it.

This was time he wished you just listened.

The feeling in his gut that something wasn't right remained for the whole day, his head barely able to focus on anything else as he was too worried. Worried about you.

At about 8pm he was nervously biting on the side of his thumbnail trying to ignore his phone besides him as he told himself over and over he should call you to see if you were fine. The other (minor) side of him telling himself he should drop it. You were strong, you could pull it off and he didn't want to bruise his ego giving in to your stupid idea.

Fuck it.

He checked his phone to see a message from you. The address to said building. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Maybe you weren't so stupid after all.

He grabbed his keys and put on his black trench coat and a gun in the waistband of his jeans.

As he closed the door behind him he rushed to his car, wondering if you were okay or if something happened.

At the thought of you hurt he hurried his feet on the pavement to get faster to his car. To get faster to you.

He drove above the speed limit after he tried calling you 3 times, all going to voicemail. He cursed to himself as he arrived at the building and took in the sight in front of him.

The windows were busted and, as he got in, he could clearly see bullet holes on the walls and his heart started beating faster in his chest. Please be okay, please be alive, I can't lose you too.

He moves through crumbles and remains of the walls, taking his gun in his hand and moving slowly, aware of any danger.

The more he walked without any sight of you, the more worried he got.

As he went down the stairs to the basement he heard a low groan and his eyes widened and his whole body turned towards the noise.

The basement was a complete wreck. Shelves down on the ground, glass and books everywhere.

Then he saw you and his heart sank to his stomach. You were sitting down against the wall, a huge stab wound in your side where your hand was trying to keep pressure, which clearly wasn't enough as he took sight of the amount of blood beneath you and in your hands.

He took a quick look around and rushed to you, kneeling in front of you. He took notice of how pale you looked but still, at least, half conscious.

He held your shoulder with one hand and pressed the other over your wound making you wince in pain. His face was serious, angry. He didn't know if it was at you or at whoever did this to you but he was livid.

“What the fuck did ya do?” He asked through gritted teeth, not expecting an answer but you put your hand over his forearm, the blood staining his coat and smiled. You fucking smiled, that beatiful smile that could make Butcher melt from miles away.

“You came” You said, your voice low and hoarse and then you went into a coughing fit and Butcher held you to his chest.

“Easy, easy Kid” He said as he took a deep breath so as to not get emotional. He took your hand and pressed it over the bloody wound “I'm gonna need ya to keep pressure in this while I get ya out, c'mon”

You nodded weakly and pressed it as hard as you could while his other arm wrapped below your knees and lifted you up, the movement making you hiss.

He carried you out as quickly as possible as he placed you in the backseat of his car as he went to the driver's, turning the vehicle on and sprinting back to his place.

At the feeling of being safe, the adrenaline started wearing down and you were suddenly very tired. Your eyes closed as you felt your consciousness slip away and then you didn't feel anything anymore.

When you woke up again you were laying on a bed that wasn't yours, in a room that wasn't yours. Your head was pounding and breathing hurt and you let out a groan.

As your vision focused, you looked around and took in the place until your eyes caught a glimpse at someone on a chair besides you. Sleeping, with his arms crossed over his chest, was Butcher and you started remembering what happened.

You mindlessly put your hand over the neatly done bandaging in your stomach and looked at Butcher again.

“Butcher” You said, your voice low and weak. The man besides you stirs awake, his eyes opening slowly.

As he notices you're awake he gets up and places a hand on your forehead hurriedly, breathing deeply as if it was a relief seeing your eyes staring back at him.

“You're awake” He said, looking between your eyes.

As you looked back up at him guilt started pooling in your heart and you looked away, you smiled sadly.

“You were right” You mumbled and he pulled his hand away from your face and sighed angrily. He brushed a hand trough his face, his nostrils flaring up.

He didn't say anything, just stared at your bandaged wound, lost in thought, so you continued talking.

“They jumped me, some people that worked for Vought. I knocked some down but one of them caught me. Thay ran away after that, leaving me to die, apparently” You explained, still refusing to look at him “I'm sorry.”

At that, he looked at you again and you looked at him. He was angry and sad, his face gave it all away and you felt small under his stare. Maybe because you were laying down but still, you felt helpless.

“Why didn't ya fuckin’ listen to me” He said, his voice low, apparently calm and that was the most scary of it all. You preferred that he yelled at you, screamed in anger and never looked at you again then to act like this.

“You– I fuckin’ told ya” He said squinting his eyes as a hand goes to nudge at the wound and you grunt as he aplies pressure to it “Look at where your stupidity gotcha”

Tears prickle at the corner of your closed eyes as you grab at his wrist to pull it away from your skin, your own hand covering the bandage protectively as you glare at him. You knew you fucked up but what was going on with him?

“What the fuck Butcher!” You exclaim through your teeth as the pain eases away “I know I should've listened to you, I already said I'm sorry!”

“Sorry don’ cut it!” He finally yells at you, making you shrink as he points a finger at your face. “When I arrived the color on your face was gone! You were basically dead as I carried ya out! There was blood everywhere, Y/N”

He turned his back to you, and sighed loudly. If it was possible, smoke would be coming out of his ears.

You felt your eyes water. He seemed more than angry and you hated that you were the reason that he felt like this.

“How long was I out?” You asked lowly as you forced yourself to sit with your back against the headboard, making a face at the sting in your belly.

“About 52 hours” He replies, his back still turned to you and your eyes widen in shock and look at his back.

His head was down and his hands were both on his own waist.

You nodded even if he couldn't see you, more so to acknowledge it to yourself. As you let the information sink in, Butcher leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

He couldn't let you see the tears forming in his eyes as all his thoughts went back to your limp body on his arms and the hours he spent beside the bed, holding your hand and talking to you while you were in your coma. He wanted to hug you, hold you and he couldn't bear the idea of losing you. Not when he hadn't told you anything about what he wanted from you.

How everytime you looked at him with those bright eyes he felt like he could drown in them, how your smile was the reason he got out of bed every morning, how your voice was like a beautiful tune that was hypnotizing. How your lips always provoked his deepest desires to emerge.

Seeing you bleeding broke him apart further then it should've and that scared him. He had sworn to never care for someone this much since the last time he felt this his heart got torn to pieces by Becca.

He shouldn't. He couldn't.

But he also couldn't help that every time you touched him he felt his skin warm up and his heart accelerate.

He pressed his forehead to the shut door and mentally cursed himself over and over again, he didn't know what to do until he saw the handle turn and the door slowly open.

You opened the door, a hand on your waist to ease the pain as you looked at him teary eyed.

He made a confused face with slight worry but then you choked out a sob and threw both of your arms around his neck and started to cry against his shoulder.

Butcher was shocked until his arms eased themselves around your lower back. One hand rubbed up and down as he felt your tears wet his shirt.

“I was– so scared” You admitted, shaking with your sobs and gripping his shirt tightly under your fingers to make sure he wasn't going anywhere. “It was so cold. The only thing that kept me breathing was when…when I looked at my phone and you– you were calling” You sobbed harder after each word, your body trembling.

“When you left voicemails…I was happy because if I…” You swallowed “If I died I would at least hear your voice one last time”

His grip around you tightened and one of his hands went into your hair as he adjusted your head into his chest, his jaw above you as he closed his eyes. He felt a tingle in his heart at your words, a spark of love lighting itself up in bad weather.

“Shh, you're fine now, you're ‘ere, alive, I'm 'ere” He whispered comfortably as you kept crying and he thought of all the things he wanted to tell you.

“And I know I was stupid. That I– That I should've listened but I want her dead, I want Homelander dead and I just–” You choked “I just wanted to have control over something, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry”

He gently swayed both your bodies side to side, a comforting hand rubbing at your scalp. Butcher didn't say anything, just letting you get it all out until your breathing calmed down.

The tears had stopped flowing and now you were just sniffing, your cheeks puffy and your eyes red. He grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you back to look into your eyes, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Feel betta’?” He asked and you nodded slightly and he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking into your beautiful orbs again. “I'm sorry too, luv, I really am”

You opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you before you could speak.

“I shouldn’ have said those things t'ya, I was just– Angry, but not at you” He gently brushed his thumb over your cheek, drying a stubborn tear rolling down your face. “I was angry at myself”

Apparently you made a face at him because he gave you a thin-lipped smile.

“I was angry because I knew you were going anyway an’ I let'ya go alone. If I was there, this wouldn’ have happened”

He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I was scared that I'd neva see ya smile again, see your beautiful eyes look into mine, hear your stunnin' voice” He hugged you again, his hands wrapping you in a warm embrace. He didn't want to let you go in fear this was a dream and he buried his face in the crook of your neck before finishing.

“I was scared I would neva be able to tell ya tha’ I love ya” He mumbles in your neck as his arms tighten around you and a shiver runs through you.

William Butcher loved you.

Your hands grabbed at his shoulders and pushed him back lightly as you looked into his eyes.

Your expression doesn’t give anything away and Butcher starts to feel sick as he thinks he's going to be rejected. He prepares for impact.

Then you smile.

Your smile wide because you feel warm. Warmed by his love. Diferently then the cold night at the building.

Your hands travel up to both sides of his face as you pull him in. You go slowly, waiting to see if he'd pull back but he surprises you with a strong, passionate kiss, making you gasp in surprise.

The world feels small around you as his hands grab at your waist, careful not to hurt you as you pour out every feeling you bottled up through the years in that kiss.

And Butcher was consumed by you, by every single inch of you, by every part of your being. Your voice was a melodic chorus to his ears, your lips a river to which he was drowning in, your body the perfect fit for his.

When you pull away from each other with rushed breaths you're still smiling, your hand caressing his beard covered cheek.

“I love you too” You whisper and Butcher smashes his lips against yours again, making you giggle in surprise.

Now that they had each other it was them against the world. Nothing could tear them apart because they were made for one another, the flames of their souls dancing together in a single rhythm.

They didn't know or didn't feel it but ever since the first time they had locked eyes the destiny made their paths merge into a single one at one point in both their lives. And this was it. Two souls bound, forever.

☆

☆

☆

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing. Feedback makes those writings better. Thank you very much for reading. Xoxo

[dominterlude]

sunburn

pairing: beth greene x fem!reader

summary: the governor’s attack, the aftermath of terminus, eugene’s revelation, and a secret of your own — you’re running out of hope and the possibility of seeing beth again is the only thing keeping you going. until it isn’t.

cw: canonical character death, canon-typical gore/violence, angst, slight comfort, mention of self-harm and suicide. no use of y/n, lowercase intended.

word count: 3.2k

the hollow deception of eugene’s assurance had been unfairly ripped away as quick as the prison, faster than the feigned sanctuary of terminus.

the overcompensation for his lies — hidden in the form of a blunt “it’s classified” — that you’d all foolishly ignored in favour of an end to what had previously brought everyone together. that you ignored. you knew better. you were at the cdc and you’d seen the playback of ts-19, heard what jenner said about the future of civilisation.

this time you watched, haunted. the ghostly admittance ringing in your ears as abraham landed harsh, unrelenting blows to the scientist’s face. you flinched like you had when the gunshot killed jenner’s wife for a second time.

the confession that he didn’t have the answers, that he couldn’t help the world heal from a singular injury that had torn it apart, unable to prevent the fate that you’d all inevitably end up as a member of the herds you avoided and fought. it was all a ploy to ensure his own safety, and the realisation was growing louder with each punch.

although, gratitude was brimming at the fact that the redheaded man’s anger had taken the different, more explicit route. he had the strength to mould the mess he’d left on the side of the road that you weren’t sure you were capable of.

leaving you to scrutinise the aftermath of his fiery temper. beaten, bloodied and understood in a way that made you angry you weren’t the one responsible.

the man who was, drifting from the matted mullet and silently falling to his knees. tears of disbelief stinging his eyes and leaving a trail of mortification on the length of his cheeks. your anger replaced with something softer as the five of you stilled. rosita’s usual fluidity of comfort absent as she rooted herself to the cracks in the concrete. disappointment souring her pretty features.

glenn and maggie’s expressions twisted with regret, remorse that they’d abandoned a group they’d been with since the start for a promise they admittedly doubted, mirroring your own thoughts. regardless, you busied yourself with the flash of guilt that passed over tara’s face. misinterpretation nestled in the furrow of her brows, part of her lips and paling of her skin.

she resembled the dead that eugene had falsely sworn he could fix.

beth’s soft footsteps approached from the shadows of the group’s sanctuary for the last few weeks, her home, a stark contrast to the harsh flickers and cracks of the fire that burned too brightly. sickeningly similar to the colour of her hair — too bright — and the blood the shard of glass had left when they heard your cries. too bright.

she hesitated when she saw you sitting there, stopping on the blades of grass twisting under the heel of her boot, her silhouette painted amber as she just watched. pushing her nerves down, she took a deep breath and then the a step in front of the other. you felt her presence before the rustle of her clothes as she sat down beside you, a small huff at the hardness of the ground and a spike in your heart rate at the sudden proximity.

you couldn’t hide the surprise in your eyes as they flashed to her and then back to the fire, an unreadable expression on her face but an inability to hide her own uncertainty.

for a long moment, you both sat in silence, the only sound the persistent crackle of the fire. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, a tapestry of questions and answers that remained untouched. her gaze fell to your hands, folded neatly in your lap, the knuckles white from the tension you held within.

she reached out, gently placing her hand over yours, and you flinched at the contact. but then, you relaxed, your hand itching to turn and intertwine your fingers. you sighed, wishing that you’d had an inch of the confidence she felt to touch your scarred skin in the first place as her thumb moved back and forth.

the silence grew heavier, each moment thick with unspoken words. you felt your throat tighten, the words you’d rehearsed in your mind earlier feeling awkward and clumsy. the fire crackled on, as if urging you to speak, to break the tension that hung in the air like mist.

finally, beth spoke, her voice low and grateful. "thanks for that- helping, i-i mean," her eyes avoided yours, looking for the something that you couldn't offer. you took a deep breath, knowing that the conversation you'd been dreading was now unavoidable.

"it's nothing, beth," you replied, your voice choked and heavy with emotion. "i had to." she nodded, but the silence remained, a wall between you two that felt hopeless.

your hand slid away, leaving a coldness in its wake. she picked at the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit you had noticed over the weeks at the farm. the fabric whispered under her fingertips, and you wondered what she was thinking.

you cleared your throat, deciding it was time to bridge the gap you normally aimed for with other people. "why’d you do it?" you asked, doing nothing to ease the tension. beth looked up, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

"i had to," she echoed your earlier words. "andrea told me i had a choice and i made it." she paused, swallowing hard. "i-i was scared."

you studied her profile, the light playing across her features. "you were stupid."

beth flinched, then nodded. "probably," she murmured. "but i’ll be okay now, i’ll protect myself."

her words hung in the air, a declaration of resilience amidst the inferno inside of you. you felt the weight of her gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. instead, you focused on the flames, watching them devour the twigs and branches daryl had gathered earlier. the smell of burning wood suffocating, mingling with the faint scent of the peaches she was eating before she got the wound on her arm. it was a smell that brought comfort and warmth, but now it felt like a barrier, a reminder of what was left unsaid. of the state maggie found her in.

“go to bed, beth.”

your voice was firm. the guilt of letting lori leave beth alone with andrea was eating away at you. she was ready to argue but instead she nodded, standing up slowly. the fire cast a warm glow across the ground, but the shadows grew colder as she moved away from you.

"goodnight," she murmured, and the night grew darker. leaving you once again in the cocoon of your thoughts. the sound of her walking away from you was the only sound, a solitary witness to your failure fading into the dark.

you sat, the tortuous sound of the dead in the distance that was just a reminder of how you’d survived. how beth had survived.

you were going to see her again.

the firetruck lurched forward, the engine groaning as it navigated the desolate streets. the windows were cracked, allowing the cool evening air to whisper secrets of the outside world. you clutched the seat in front of you, heart pounding with melancholy and anticipation. it had been so long since you had seen her, felt her warmth beside you in the chaos.

abraham’s anger. tara’s guilt. maggie’s own excitement and the trickle of grief as she recounted the memory of her baby sister.

the faces of your family swam in and out of focus as the wheels rumbled along, each emotion etched into their features like the scars that lined their arms. they talked in hushed tones, sharing their own thoughts on what awaited at the hospital michonne had told them about. you nodded along, not really hearing the words, your mind racing with images of beth. telling you horrible jokes in an attempt to get you to laugh, the sound of her singing lullabies to judith, but you knew they were for the group too, the fiery determination in her eyes as you imagined her planning her escape.

the vehicle shuddered to a halt, jolting you back to reality. abraham called out, "grady’s up ahead. we’re gonna need to move fast and keep quiet. those things are attracted to noise like flies to shit sticks." his words snapped you out of your daze, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. the doors hissed open, and the group spilled out, weapons at the ready.

the memories of beth.

you picked up your knife, the blade smooth and comfortable in your grip. the sun blistering as you wiped beads of sweat off your forehead with your forearm, the rays making it difficult to see the rows of stumbling walkers lined up at the fence with outstretched arms and starving moans.

you lunged forward, blade glistening and finding its mark in one of their eye sockets, met with an overfamiliar squelch and splatter of red. it crumpled to the ground, movements ceasing and many following as the morning dragged on. a rhythm you knew too well to get distracted, a dance of life and death you’d been doing since the world had gone to hell.

which is why the sound of someone’s voice shouldn’t have went unnoticed.

“daryl said you haven’t ate.”

you jumped at the softness of her tone among the clang of the fence, beth had crept up behind you, her eyes fixed on the undead. her expression was calm, almost serene, as she held a plate of food — your eyebrows furrowing when you noticed judith wasn’t in her arms, but the smell of warm meat wafted over, making you forget about your concern for the toddler. your stomach growling loudly.

you took a step back, wiping your knife clean on your shirt. "yeah, been busy," you replied, trying to keep the exhaustion from showing. she looked at you with a knowing smile, the kind that said she saw through your facade.

beth stepped closer, her voice a gentle whisper over the undying symphony of groans. "daddy said you gotta keep your strength up. we can't have you collapsing out here." she offered the plate again, and this time you took it, the weight of it feeling surprisingly substantial in your hands.

you looked at her, then at the food, and finally back at the walkers. "wonder when it’s my turn," you said aloud, the statement hanging in the air like a lead balloon.

beth paused, the smile fading from her face. "what do you mean?"

you took a deep breath, the smell of death mingling with the scent of cooked meat. "if i don't make it,” you shrugged. beth's eyes searched yours, a hint of worry creeping in. "lay me in the sun — when i die. make sure i’m lying in the sun.”

beth looked at you, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "that’s a weird thing to ask."

you gave a half-hearted chuckle. "i know, but it’s important.” you took a bite of the food, the flavor almost lost on you. you didn’t dare to elaborate on the morbid thought, but you knew beth understood. she’d seen enough death to recognize the peace in the simple things.

she didn't say anything at first, the silence stretching between you like the fence itself. finally, she nodded, her voice firm. "i promise."

you felt a weight lift off your shoulders, but it was immediately replaced with a heavier one. you had always known this was a possibility, but saying it aloud made it real.

the two of you stood there, side by side, for a moment longer. the fence was a blur of movement as the walkers shuffled against it, their hunger never-ending. but you weren't thinking about them anymore. you were thinking about the promise you had just made.

"thanks, beth," you murmured, swallowing the bite. "it means a lot."

beth gave a small smile, then took the plate back from you. "you're going to make it," she said with a conviction that you couldn't quite mirror. "we all are."

you nodded, trying to believe her, and turned back to the fence, knife at the ready. the walkers didn't care about your fears or your promises. they just kept coming, like the endless tide of a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

as you stabbed another through the eye, you couldn't help but wonder if today was the day your luck would run out. you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. but deep down, you knew that beth's promise was more than just words. it was a bond that went beyond friendship, a pact forged in the fires of a world gone mad.

and as the sun reached its peak and your arms grew sore, you realized that the fear of dying wasn't just about you anymore. it was about leaving someone behind to carry on, and hoping that when your time came, they'd do the same for you.

rick’s face was tense, the grip on his weapon tight.

daryl's steps were sorrowful, his mind elsewhere.

maggie dropped to her knees. an agonising scream ripped from her throat as she tried to claw at her chest, instead clutching the arms that glenn threw to catch her; falling with his wife with the last scraps of comfort he could offer.

the rest of the group stood still, the deepest reminder of their humanity was their grief and they were trying to find something shallow in this.

your heartbeat was the same, one you’d felt countless times before, but now it echoed differently. more pronounced, more solitary.

you advanced forward, bidding daryl to let you hold her. he obliged, reluctantly, supporting her limp neck as he passed her to your arms. once she was resting in your grip, he harshly rubbed his nose, turning away from the rest of you. the blood from her hair staining his bare arms.

your hands, though gentle, trembled slightly as you held her, and you could feel the sticky warmth of the her blood seeping through your fingers. you slowly collapsed with beth in your arms, holding her body even tighter and placing her forehead atop of your own.

"no, no. no, please," your voice quivered, your eyes brimming with tears.

the air grew thick with unspoken dread. the light from the burning sun cast long shadows across the concrete ground, as if trying to escape from the grim scene it had witnessed. daryl, his eyes reddened and jaw clenched, stepped back, his arms now at his sides, useless without the weight of her body to hold onto.

your tremors grew more pronounced, your breaths shallow and erratic. the soft whimpers that escaped your lips were like a mournful melody echoing in the silence of the abandoned streets. carefully, you cradled beth’s head, your fingertips brushing against the lifeless skin that had once been so full of warmth and vitality. the smell of burnt hair and metal filled your nose.

“you’re okay,” you sniffled, whispering to the unresponsive form in your arms.

the others hovered nearby, unsure of what to do. they had seen their share of horrors, shared them, but this was a different kind of pain. it was personal, a wound that bled into the very fabric of their makeshift family. they had lost many, but beth was a symbol of hope, a reminder that goodness still existed amidst the decay.

rick’s gaze was fixed on the two of you, his eyes reflecting the same mix of despair and anger that was no doubt etched on daryl’s face. he took a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew that words would fall short. instead, he focused on the practical.

"we can't stay here," he said firmly, his voice a stark contrast to the gentle whispers coming from you. "we need to move. we need to bury her.”

you blinked up at him, nodding slowly. you understood the urgency in his voice, the need to keep moving. you knew they couldn't stay here, but the thought of letting go of beth was unbearable.

with a deep, shuddering breath, you started to stand, cradling beth's body tightly against your chest. each movement sending a fresh wave of pain you her, but you pushed through it, your eyes never leaving the still form in your arms. your legs felt weak, like they might give out at any moment, but you willed them to hold steady.

you glanced at maggie, the lifeless body of her sister weighing heavily in your arms. maggie's eyes were wet, her face a mask of grief and disbelief. she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"we have to honor her," maggie said, her voice thick with emotion. "we can't just leave her here."

rick nodded solemnly. "we don’t do that, maggie. we’ll find a safe place, somewhere quiet. we’ll do it right."

the group fell into a heavy march, carrying their grief with them like a shield. the sun beat down, unrelenting, as if the world itself didn't know or care that their hearts were breaking. they moved quickly yet carefully, scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger that might seek to capitalize on their vulnerability.

you all found a clearing a short distance from the chaos, a small patch of earth that had somehow remained untouched by the decay that consumed the rest of the world. the grass was a vibrant green, and a few lonely trees stood sentinel, offering a modest amount of shade. it was here you decided to lay beth to rest.

the digging was hard work, each shovelful of dirt feeling like a piece of your soul being torn away. sweat mingled with tears as you worked together, the rhythmic thunk of metal against the ground creating a somber beat to match the pounding in your hearts. the silence between you was palpable, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle or choked-back sob.

as the grave grew deeper, so did the realization that this was real, that beth was truly gone. your eyes never left the lifeless form of her, your mind racing with memories, trying to cling to every moment you had shared. the sound of the shovels grew more muffled, as if the earth itself was weeping, absorbing the echoes of your sorrow.

the air was still, the only sound the crunch of gravel underfoot as the group approached the freshly dug grave and a part of you wished that you could swap places. that beth could’ve kept her promise.

your eyes searched the group, finally settling on rick. you took a deep breath, the weight of your request heavy on your chest. "rick, i need a gun," you said, your voice firm, yet tinged with the slightest quiver.

he parted his lips once the meaning behind your words became clear, but you held a hand up to stop him from speaking. "i'm not going to leave her here alone," you added, your voice growing stronger. "i was living for her, rick."

rick studied you for a moment, the lines on his face deepening with understanding, flashes of who you were when you’d met suppressing his judgement. he nodded slowly, reaching to his belt and unbuckling the holster. with a firm grip, he pulled out a pistol and offered it to you, handle first. his eyes bore into yours, a silent goodbye.

"keep it safe," he murmured, planting a gentle kiss to your hairline.

you took the gun from his hand, feeling its cold weight in your palm. the metal was slick with sweat, but you didn't let it slip. you had made your decision.

"thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

no more words were exchanged as he turned away from you. his steps were heavy as his figure blurred with the trees, the rest of the group ahead.

you took a deep breath. eyes shifting down to weapon in your hand, feeling the cold bite into your palm and the peeling redness on your nose.

the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow across the clearing, painting the world in a bittersweet light that seemed to mock the coldness in your heart. you closed your eyes, putting the gun where you needed it to go.

this time you didn’t flinch.

[slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea]

CW: OC talk + Rambling / Blood / Gore / Censored Nudity (character sheet) / Mentions of Drugging

(idk why these warnings are so intense, but I swear it's all just silly OC talk T^T)

I’m kinda sorta working on more (comprehensible) TS OC stuff in between studying right now… I wanna hurry and talk about them but without info dumping (if given the opportunity I will without hesitation 😔…) because in terms of the best stories I have conjured up for OCs in general Naudedel and Noble are surprisingly good and I’m very excited to share how deranged they are together…

Right now it’s just about making Naudy readable and working on extra fun stuff… like monsters!

I’m trying to work out his “monster” form…. The concept is there, but the execution is just not ticking the right boxes for me right now… also, the line art at the end is old and probably will go unused, but thought it was something to add here because like hehe look at my deranged son :)

When it comes to the writing I'm going to split it into two chapters. The first half will be a summary+ of his upbringing, and the second on how he fucked up his arm and why. Just enough info to get a read on what his deal is pretty much. I just need to edit the first chapter and rewrite some parts then it's ready to annoy the world!

I'm trying to think of a good design for his original mother... I'm thinking dark hair and milf (¬‿¬)･ﾟ✧ ... honestly I need to start drawing out the designs for all the other TS OCs I've accumulated over the year (?) here's a fun list-

Hickery (bloodhound OC... dilf oc...I've already been made fun of for his name, but it stuck to me so I'm keeping it!)

Maya (another bloodhound OC)

Cove (Hound's ex-husband)

Cetcher's gf + informant, who still needs a good name...

and that one guy! (doesn't have a name yet... but is important in Hound's part of the story... she bashed some of his guys in the back of head with a hammer... it was a whole thing... Leander got involved... gang war stuff, don't worry about it...)

There are technically more OCs, like that Hightown lady Noble befriended during their first few weeks in town. However, I'm not sure if I'm including her in the final plot meeting. But yeah, anyway I'm rambling so on to Noble news!

For Noble, everything is plotted out in advance surprisingly…character playlist and all... just need to find the words to explain their story other than “parasite with a weird God complex feels guilty” I do have some old memes and art of them though!

Noble curse stuff...

Childhood cult stuff...

Current reality...

Poor person masquerade dress censored for tumblr...

Noble folks!

I actually wrote out a whole little thing for the black dress in a what-if scenario of...

"Oh! ,,,What if there is a masquerade in Hightown and Noble sneaks in to get some information on a certain individual who might know a thing or two about curses, but turns out the whole event if devious and their all eating babies or some fucked up shit,,,, and what if while sneaking around they see Leander and are like 'what's he doing here?' and they lock eyes but he ignores them as he ducks into a closed off area with some important looking people,,, once he comes out he walks past them and they lock eyes again as he leaves,,, Noble chases after him and once they catch up they get to see his cold and detached side right before he hides them from the other guest,,, after they talk for a bit, or more like Leander talking over them and their worries as he slowly wipes their memories while they protest that it's not fair only to wake up the next day back in their room,,, thankfully their curse is good for more then just silly bouts of insanity so they have a hunch on what happened, everyone around them who knew where they went the night before were obviously worried and the general consensus is that they might have been drugged and should go check in with Kuras just in case (wow this is getting long...) but on their way to the clinic they run into Leander and of course discusses their current problem with him ,,, words are exchanged,,, a kabedon may occur,,, as he whispers in their ear,,, all fun till he erases their memories again, or at least tires before receiving a little gift that makes him look at this whole curse thing from a different angle." DEEP BREATH! ...Anyways... yeah.

But it was taking so long to write out that I ended up losing motivation so yeah... like everything else we will pray the motivation comes back so I can finish that... plus who knows, I might make an x reader version of it if I can. (don't hold your breath... I'm extremely slow)

Anyway, I'm gonna to shut up now because I've yapped enough. I'mma make some hibiscus tea (ironic) and head to bed... Night night, if you made it this far, thank you for listening to my craziness <3

[eritvita]

He pauses whence this wounded warrior tightly flinches, keeping himself still. Roland waits for the shining light of the Father Sun from the shimmering canopy; a go-ahead, and verily, dost he acquire one.

Roland handles this thickened, bloodied wrist with all the precious carefulness as if handl'ng porcelain, all the more delicate, as he swallows down his instinctual revulsion to see shredded flesh and mauled epidermis so closely up to his face.

He wets the rag, squeezing it with one hand into the bucket. He gently, ever so gently, begins to wipe away the jaded, sluicing lines of the warrior's scabbing, old blood.

"I am Roland," dost he offer, freely. His face is jovial beneath the weight of humane worry; his eyebrows pulled open, amiable.

The wolf hasn't left Muriel's side since they escaped the Colosseum. She rests her head on his thigh, tail wagging slightly. He isn't sure why she's attached to him, but he doesn't mind it. He decides to call her Inanna. Maybe she'll like that name.

When Roland offers his hand, he flinches out of instinct. Tension coils in his shoulders. Then he realizes what Roland is offering. Slowly, ever so slowly, he holds out one of his injured wrists for the other to examine.

He can't remember how long he had been wearing those chains. The shape of them are branded into his skin, now, and he knows that they will scar. That he will carry with him the memory of them always.

[devnmon]

Season One: Written in My Stars

Daryl Dixon x Reader Slowburn

↠ Series Masterlist | Playlist ↠ Era: The Quarry ↠ Summary: A man named Daryl's world changes drastically when a virus wipes out half the world's population. Coming from a history of trauma and unrequited love, Daryl Dixon copes through the end of the world by writing in a leather-bound journal, as he tries to find tranquil in a world that is everything but. When his plans with his older brother go out the window, he finds himself conflicted as to whether or not he'd be better off alone. How can the end of the world make a man like Daryl feel things for a person, for people, he never thought he would? ↠ Warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of past abuse, scary situations and trauma, [smut eventually... it's going to be a while], Daryl being shy but also an asshole...

Chapters

Chapter One, Days Gone Bye

Chapter Two, A Familiar Notion

Chapter Three, Long Winded Safe Haven

Chapter Four, Bellwood Quarry

Chapter Five, An Almost New Day

Chapter Six, Tell it to The Frogs

Chapter Seven, The Return To Atlanta

Chapter Eight, The Overnight Reckoning

Chapter Nine, TS-19

[back2bluesidex]

✨Milestone Celebration: Drabble Game✨

Hello Hello, My dear friends....

So, the thing is that I have crossed 2000 Followers as of today!!! I want to thank all of you for this incredible support!! and that certainly calls for a celebration. So, here I am opening Member X Reader and Member X Member drabble requests for you all.

There no specifications/rules associated drabble game. You can send me,

a prompt

a song

a photo

a situation

a scenario

and even requests for a follow-up of my existent stories.

Basically anything you want me to turn into a drabble, a story that you will like or love.

However, there are some basic stuff that you need to keep in mind while requesting..

NO dark stuff (blood, gore, r*pe, m*rder, yandere, stalking, obsession etc.) is allowed.

If you are requesting for explicit and mature stories then you will have to mention your age (if your blog doesn't mention so)

I can't write supernatural stuff (vampire, hybrid, ghost etc.). I am just not that equipped and I hope you'd understand.

That's all! Happy requesting!! 💋💖

(Also, I have 5 TS song drabble left to work on. I will release those alongside.)

[zhavorsamayes]

pinned!: quick info & guidelines for mobile 🐉

Hello! My name is Spark, I’m 30+, and this is an RP and ask blog for Daenerys Targaryen from GRRM’s Game of Thrones series! I am frequently lurking, but pretty slow when it comes to responding to threads and asks, so please be patient! Below are the abridged guidelines for this blog. You can find them in full here.

- This blog is anti-callout. They're easily faked and I really don't enjoy the kind of vitriolic community that callouts foster. I prefer to block very liberally; it isn't personal, it's just for my own comfort.

- Please do not follow or interact if you are under 18.

- This blog is NSFW and contains triggering content including but not limited to: mentions of rape, sexual assault, incest, child marriage, and potential graphic depictions of torture, murder, gore, and sex. Anything that is depicted in the Game of Thrones universe may be depicted here. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, depiction does not equal endorsement.

- My tagging convention for sensitive and triggering content will be #___ for ts.

- I have no triggers and no notable squicks, but please let me know if there’s something I should be mindful of in our threads for your own comfort.

- My portrayal of Daenerys is primarily TV-based with some elements from the novels sprinkled in. And, as I have not yet finished either the show or the novels, Daenerys will currently be S1 canon only. Please be patient with me as I learn about Daenerys and the lore of GoT!

Please give this post a ♥ if you’ve read it! Thank you, and if you have any questions or concerns, let me know. 🌻

[eritvita]

"You're not meant to look like that." ( because roland is too good and beautiful to be covered in blood )

@sunxdusk

Bandits; garbed in their tanned leathers and stolen bits of polished metal, wielding swords, axes, and long poles of iron and steel and broken knifes of fierce poverty.

The ruin is overgrown by the Wood as it comes in creeping vines and moss and lichen to come claim it, back again onto the black ground whence hast it berthed, and the Dremora Lord brandishes its ragged slice of a sword as it paces, soaked in blood and with torn bits of hair from its defensive fighting of those scavengers looking to garner quick coin. Roland is huddled upon a jutting stone, his elbows upon his knees, and his face held captive within his careful palms. His is soaked and splattered and dabbled with those slain bandits' blood, fresh as a daisy amidst Azura's enchanted paintings.

"Of how am I meant to look?" murmurs he, as he lifts his head and peeks through that curtain of roughened fingers. 

blood blood blood .

[paradubolical]

guys I need an alpha reader like pronto

writing this sick ass creepypasta right

but here's the lowdown. I need some wisemen to give me guidance, because my opinion of my own writing is obviously biased. and I want this to be really good.

so I need some dudes to read it while I'm working and give me feedback as I progress!

what is an alpha reader

it's like a beta but for wips lol

cws for descriptions(this means the process, not just mentions.) and mentions of suicide, death, body horror and gore, police brutality, fear, swearing! it is a story designed to shock and is probably fine for the average horror enjoyer but not for those who aren't used to it

if you typically beta read fanfic you're still allowed ofcc just use your own discretion here :] I don't want anyone to choose to read this and then get freaked out by it

yeah anyway pls hmu 🙏🙏 and I will share the doc w u I'm in desperate need rn no application necessary just sit back and read ts