#slowly burning to death and screaming in pain begging me for mercy

[ilovemagicbeans]

ranting about the ending of a band song:

^ this fucker

the piece is called the victoria peak if you wanna know

this ending is the most infuriating thing to play on trombone ever

you may look at the 1's i wrote in and deduce that they signify that all these notes are played at first position, that is correct

the funny thing about first position is that the notes that i can play on it are (from lowest to highest) b flat, f, higher b flat, higher d, higher f but i will name them 1 2 3 4 5 respectively for ease

this stupid part is telling me to play 2 4 3 5 for the first four notes

do you understand how fucking difficult that is for me???

i have to play a note, skip the next one, go BACK DOWN, then skip the next note. that sounds easy, but NO. youd be mistaken.

this is easily the hardest thing ive had to play and thats really saying something considering i could write an entire 5 paragraph essay on how one of the other songs we're doing, tribute to elvis, is the WORST song ever for my part

im first trombone by the way, soley because im the only one out of the three trombones that can play high notes, pathetic for the others, i know.

all in all this stupid ending sucks which is sad because i really like this song but this ending is making me slowly hate it

its got me like AAAAAAAAAA when i have to play that dumb ending, can i kill it slowly so that it can feel the excruiating pain that i have felt physically and mentally by playing this part? please say yes.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 7 (Judgment)

Pyramid Head x Male!reader

Your heart pounds in your chest as you run as fast as you possibly can. Your chest tightens as your lungs burn, pushing back all pain to the back of your mind as you try to escape the monster that wants you dead.

A man with a pyramid for a head.

A low growl rumbles in the creature's chest as it closes in on you. Its massive strides closing the distance between you two. Each step it takes shakes the ground beneath you.

You should've gone with James. You should've stayed where you were. You should've...

A gasp leaves your mouth as you stumble on a crack in the ground, and despite regaining your balance quickly, you glance behind you to see that the beast is right behind you

It raises its great knife, preparing to strike you down like the countless souls before you. It swings its arm back, ready to slice your body into two pieces.

Screaming, you duck down and hear a loud whoosh as the blade cuts through the air above your head. Your ears ring from the force of the blade slamming against the lamppost beside you. The post creaks under the pressure before breaking apart.

You take the moment to make some distance, your heart skipping a beat as you realize how close death was to claiming you.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Your voice cracks as you shout at the top of your lungs. Fear courses through your veins like electricity, making each breath feel like daggers slicing through your throat. Your heart races faster than it ever did before. Every beat feels like a explosion in your eardrums. Sweat drips down your forehead and pools in your neck, staining your shirt.

You take a sharp turn into an alleyway, sprinting towards the end of it, but as you reach the end, you find yourself staring at a dead end. Panic sets in as you realize that there's nowhere else to run. Your pulse quickens even more as adrenaline surges through your veins.

You're trapped like a rat.

You hear its stomping as the monster catches up to you, trapping your only way out. It looms over you with its massive frame, casting a shadow over your small form.

You take one step back, then another, and then a few more until your back hits the wall.

Its 'head' tilts slightly as it studies you, as if expecting something from you.

Then again, maybe it is simply waiting for you to break down. To beg for mercy.

James.... I'm sorry. I hope you find your wife.

And with that final thought, it closes the gap swiftly, moving far quicker than you imagined a beast that size could move.

Before you can react, a large hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly against your windpipe. Your nails dig into its forearm as you attempt to pry it away from you. But it's like trying to move a mountain.

You immediately stop struggling as it presses the end of the blade's handle against your stomach, almost as if warning you. Struggling to draw in air, you and the monster stare at each other.

Minutes pass, and even though it hasn't moved or loosened its grip around your throat, it remains completely still.

Then suddenly, it pulls away slightly, raising its massive blade.

With dread settling in your stomach like lead, you squeeze your eyes shut.

...but nothing happens. No pain. No death.

Instead of feeling the searing agony of steel cutting through flesh, you hear a metallic thud followed by a low rumble. Cracking open your eyelids slightly, you notice that it had thrust its blade into the ground beside it.

It watches you closely for several tense seconds before slowly reaching out to touch you with its hand.

You instinctively try to pull away from its touch, but its grip on your throat tightens slightly, holding you in place as its fingers trace lightly across your chest.

As its hand continues to travel further down your body, you again try to struggle against his grip. It doesn't try to correct your behavior. Not that it needed to.

Your breath hitches in your throat as its hand slides under your shirt. Its burning touch sends a wave of unease through your body, threatening to engulf you fully like fire.

Maybe you'll spontaneously combust and be free from this.

Whatever it was searching for, it seemed to have found it as its hand begins tracing over the jagged scar that runs under your left breast as if trying to reopen it. You wince in pain as its rough touch irritates the sensitive tissue surrounding the old wound.

After a few moments, its hand shifts over to the matching scar under your right breast. Its touch lingers longer here compared to the last one, almost tenderly caressing the marred flesh before pulling away suddenly.

Withdrawing its blade from the ground, it turns away and starts to walk out of the alleyway. Yet instead of releasing you, it drags you along by the neck. Its coarse hands digging into your skin uncomfortably.

"Let go of me," you choke out between coughs, attempting to pry its hand loose from around your throat. Although it doesn't seem interested in releasing you anytime soon.

You frantically try to dig your heels into the ground in an attempt to slow it down, but the behemoth seemed unfazed. As you finally stop resisting, one thought throbs through your head...

Where was it taking you?

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[syluslnd]

Just read House Of Cards and it got me good ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽ aksbsjsanoaksdjsnkasjian– *dead*

Anyways, can you make the continuation of that story?

(Tired of me being delusional so now it's his turn for him to be the one who is delusional)

From what I read, Sylus always in denial when his men sent every piece of her until the last moment he snapped. What if he goes back into being delusional then? That MC is still in bed with him. Or going to the arcade with her (clearly he go there alone because MC is ☠️)

How people inside there giving him a weird look because they see some disheveled man talking about he would buy the entire arcade (in the game. Canon.) for his beloved.

Thank you!! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

pt 2 to this story

house of cards;shattered

(note-It makes me so happy you liked it so much that you needed a continuation🥹thank YOU & I hope you really like this, kisses xx)

────୨ৎ────

The days following the discovery of your body were a blur for Sylus. The once-cold and calculating leader of Onychinus was unraveling at the seams, haunted by a rage so consuming that it drowned out everything else.

The names of the men responsible for your death, those who dared to touch what was his, had been whispered to him by his remaining loyalists like and kieran,sylus wasted no time tracking them down.

He wanted them alive. He wanted them to feel pain-slow, excruciating pain, the kind that would make them beg for death long before he was willing to grant them that mercy.

The first man was found in a decrepit building, hidden away like a rat. Sylus didn't speak as he dragged the man into the basement of one of Onychinus's many safehouses. There was no need for words.

He was beyond talking. His mind buzzed with one singular thought: revenge.

The man was tied to a chair, blood already trickling down his face from where Sylus had struck him. Sylus circled him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. The cold gleam of his knife reflected in the faint light and the man whimpered, begging for mercy.

"I wonder” Sylus muttered under his breath, his voice low "how long it'll take for you to break."

With a quick flick of his wrist, he slashed the man's arm, drawing a deep line across the skin. Blood welled up instantly, dripping to the floor in steady, rhythmic beats. The man screamed but Sylus barely heard it. His eyes were cold, unfeeling, even as the man squirmed in his restraints.

One cut turned into two. Two turned into ten.

Sylus worked methodically, slicing deeper each time, his hand steady, his mind eerily calm. He didn't rush. He savored each scream, each pathetic whimper. The man's blood coated Sylus's hands but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking about anything but the pain he wanted to inflict. Pain for pain.

Blood for blood.

He broke the man's fingers, one by one, relishing the sickening snap of bone beneath his grip. The man's pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Sylus didn't stop. He wouldn't stop until every single one of them paid for what they had done to you.

By the time the man finally succumbed to the pain, falling limp in the chair, Sylus had carved his face beyond recognition. Blood pooled at Sylus's feet, staining the floor. He stood there, panting heavily, his body covered in the man's blood, his chest heaving. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

The second man suffered a worse fate. Sylus had perfected his technique by then. He used a blowtorch, searing the flesh from the man's arms and legs, watching as the skin blistered and peeled. The smell of burning flesh filled the room but Sylus didn't flinch.

His expression remained cold, detached, as if he were performing a routine task rather than torturing a man to death.

The man screamed so loudly that Sylus had to gag him but it didn't make a difference.

The man's eyes told him everything. He was terrified. Broken. A shell of what he had once been. Sylus took his time, dragging out the agony for hours, refusing to let the man pass out. When the man's legs were charred beyond repair, Sylus ended him with a single, swift cut to the throat.

But it still wasn't enough.

Each time he killed one of them, Sylus felt a strange emptiness settle over him. He had thought that their deaths would bring him peace. That they would give him closure. But all he felt was a gnawing, festering wound inside him—a hollow void that no amount of bloodshed could fill.

The final man was the one who had sent the message, the one who had orchestrated the whole thing. Sylus saved him for last. This time, he wasn't quick about it. He made sure the man felt every second of pain.

Sylus shattered his kneecaps with a crowbar, slowly, deliberately. The man writhed, trying to crawl away, but there was nowhere to go.

Sylus grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look up.

"You think you've won?" Sylus hissed, his voice shaking with fury. "You think taking her from me made you powerful?"

The man spat blood, laughing through the pain. "She...was just...a toy..to you..."

The words hit harder than any physical blow could. Sylus's vision blurred with rage. He drove the crowbar into the man's ribs, one after another, each crack echoing in the cold room. The man choked on his own blood, gasping for breath but Sylus didn't stop. He kept hitting. Kept swinging. Until the man was nothing but a bloody, broken mess on the floor.

Finally, when the last man was dead, Sylus stood over the carnage, his breathing ragged. His hands, arms, even his face were stained with blood. But as he stared at the bodies, at the destruction he had wrought, something inside him cracked.

He had avenged you. He had made them suffer. But why did it feel so... hollow?

Then, something strange happened. A thought—no, a delusion-began to take root in his mind. You weren't really gone. You couldn't be. You were too strong for that.

Too stubborn. This had all been some elaborate trick, a twisted game to test him.

That was it. You had never been dead.

He just... needed to find you.

The next day, Sylus was smiling, genuinely smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He was covered in dried blood but that didn't bother him. None of that mattered. What mattered was that he was going to see you.

He walked through the streets of Onychinus with a spring in his step, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and gasps from the people around him. The blood that clung to his clothes and skin was irrelevant. He was happy. He was going to take you out, like you had wanted. You were waiting for him. You always waited for him.

Sylus reached the arcade, stepping through the entrance with a grin. The bright lights and sounds surrounded him but all he saw was you, standing at the claw machine. You were there. Of course, you were there. You'd always be there.

"There you are, kitten" he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "I told you l'd be back."

But the arcade had fallen into a stunned silence. People stopped in their tracks, staring in shock and horror at the blood-covered man standing in the center of the room, talking to... no one.

Sylus didn't notice. He walked toward the claw machine, where he could see you in his mind, laughing at your failed attempts. "Let me help you this time" he chuckled, reaching out as if to guide your hand but his fingers grasped only air.

A child whispered to their mother, "Mommy, why is he talking to himself?"

The mother pulled the child closer, her face pale as she hurried them out of the arcade.

More people began to leave, their eyes darting to Sylus in fear but he remained oblivious, lost in his own delusion.

He leaned against the claw machine, his bloodstained hand leaving a smear on the glass. "You always get so worked up over these games, sweetie" he teased, his voice dripping with affection. "But I always knew you could win if you just had a little patience."

A man behind the counter fumbled with his phone, clearly calling the authorities. His hands shook as he kept his distance, terrified of the blood-soaked maniac who was clearly not in his right mind.

Sylus's eyes sparkled with something close to joy. "You're laughing at me, aren't you?" he said, his tone playful. "I can't help it. I just missed you."

In his mind, you were there. Smiling.

Laughing. Perfect, as you had always been.

But the truth was a far darker reality. He was alone, talking to nothing but empty air, the ghost of your presence haunting his fractured mind and the onlookers could only watch, horrified, as Sylus-the feared, ruthless leader of Onychinus-spoke to someone who no longer existed.

The doors to the arcade opened and the authorities arrived. But Sylus didn't notice.

He was too busy laughing with you, too consumed by the fantasy he had created, a world where you were still alive, still with him.

In the end, the tragedy wasn't just that you were gone. It was that Sylus had lost his mind trying to keep you alive in his own twisted way.

and the reality, cold and unforgiving, was that nothing could bring you back.

[tojisun]

dunno where this came from bc i honestly just wanted a short ramble and not smthn long but here we are :'D this is an extension from my rambling yesterday about simon x reader but it's a dowry of blood au (brides of dracula retelling). i havent finished the book yet tbh but if ur planning on reading it, i do just wanna give a warning that it's dark and prose-heavy

cw: death/massacre; blood drinking; vampire-turning and stuff; inaccurate references to dracula lore

the village is gone. burnt. fire crackles amidst the broken hymns of the dead—they don't sing, not anymore of course, but their losses are catastrophic. you never realized how the apocalypse could be so loud.

you stand at the centre of the chaos, bloodied. bruised. ruined. the lone survivor.

the only one who was lucky enough to be saved.

brought out from the pyre, you were dragged into the shadowed corners and hidden from the pillagers who slaughtered everyone you loved and everyone you knew. you shook in your grief, screams erupting from the base of your throat, but all were silenced by an ice-cold palm over your mouth.

"shh, little one," he said. the first of his words; the first of his kindness. "you must be quiet."

your fury sputtered into anguish, the loss descending to you like the first drop of snow. tears spring from your strained eyes, staining even his hand; you did not know how to compress the bloating agony that was pressing into your lungs. your only comfort was that he seemed to favour you enough to keep you safe, even if just for a moment. 

rain had fallen by then—it seemed like it knew that tragedy had struck this little place. it extinguished enough of the fire, washing away the smell of ashes and leaving only the pungence of iron. blood.

with it, your adrenaline wore off, and you began to feel the extent of your pain. of course, you were not unscathed, but you didn’t expect your body to be so brittle. 

you fell, tumbling into the muddy ground and right before his feet. you croaked in pain, lungs constricting. it was becoming a lot more difficult to breathe, to speak. you wondered why death came to you slowly.

he knelt down by your side, cold hand brushing away at your dirty hair. he was speaking to you softly, words passing through his lips in soft lilts. you struggled to hear him, your ears ringing, numb, as your mind pulsed in your skull.

you groaned, begging him to stop. to go away. you had nothing to pay him back with, nothing to entertain him, so you told him just as much. you told him to let you die in silence because how else could he save you?

“that is troubling,” was all he said, his words were rumbled from the depths of his chest like he hadn't used his voice in eons. 

you peeled your eyes open, wondering what it must be that he was after, then you finally saw what he was—pale skin gleaming underneath the moonlight with eyes dark like wine. he was not a human. he couldn’t have been one.

your mother told you tales of the wicked. of those cursed and abandoned by the almighty father—she told you of their beauty, of their wealth, of their hunger.

(they do not know how to love, she said as she tucked you underneath your sheets. they only know how to deceive.)

your body locked, heart congested with fear—your body knew then, didn’t it? that this being that held you close was far more terrifying than the invaders. that your body survived the fire, the greed of humanity, only to be devoured by the devil.

“please,” you whimpered, the will to live burning inside you once again. you didn’t care about the pillagers, you didn’t want their mercy, but this being. this creature of the dark, oh how you craved his clemency.

“please, save me.”

“i cannot save you,” he said. 

his hand fell to your throat, grasping it gently, almost reverently. he swiped his thumb along the expanse of your skin to feel the way you swallowed. 

“but i can help.”

you tried to reply, to beg once more, but the words could not be sounded out, your throat having been too ruined for any prayer. you shook with your desperation, turning your eyes to him to express your ragged hope. you prayed that he may see your plea. you prayed that he may bless you with his curse.

he smiled, fangs glinting before your eyes. then, he murmured, “of course.”

(mama? how do you know when your prayers are answered?

well, sometimes it starts off painful.

painful?

yes, little star. but then, it becomes euphoric. freeing. good suffering.)

his teeth tore into your skin, ripping apart the muscles as it hunted for the blood. you screamed, throat scratching at the intensity of your pain; it was unbearable, burning unlike that of fire, scalding as it slithered down your very being. something was happening then. something unholy. 

you were being remade. reshaped. taken apart one bloodied fragment at a time.

you felt like you were at the precipice of death, so close to the edge and into eternal damnation, but he would not let you. chained to his hunger, your body writhed underneath the extent of his power; burning. burning. burning.

he was your new pyre. 

he was hell.

you begged for anything to subdue the pain; for a touch kinder, warmer; for the ceasing of it all. 

and it did.

his lips left the sensitive patch of your neck, pulling away with a hummed smile as though it were ambrosia he was sucking out of you. you stared at his lips, stained with your blood, and, within a fraction of a heartbeat, unrelenting hunger coursed through you.

you yowled, your mind heavy and your body sore. you felt lost; you felt like you were drained and left as nothing but a shell of what you once were.

“good. that’s good,” he crooned, his eyes wrinkled in his joy. “this hunger is proof of your new life.”

he brought his wrist to his lips and bit into his own skin. the first puncture oozed out with blood; you watched it pool, beading, before it trickled down the length of his arm. your throat constricted, tongue heavy all of a sudden in your mouth.

a taste. you craved for a taste.

he smiled as he pressed his wrist to your lips. “go on,” he murmured. “drink.”

you were delirious, or you must be, for you to have listened to him—your weak hands grasped at his wounded arm, pulling it closer to your maw.

you drank. 

that experience of having the first drop on your tongue was indescribable. it was like you have never eaten before; like you have never been fed. never been nourished.

it was like anything that sustained you before had been erased from your memories; you don’t remember the taste of your mother’s cooking anymore, nor the sweets that your grandmother brought home with her for you on occasions when her mistress remembered to reward her, nor the milk from your father’s cows. 

every sweet memory was washed away by the blood pouring down your throat; every gulp a sinister promise of what would be irreversible.

your body sang, skin mending itself, and bones healing underneath torn muscles. numbness filtered in—it had never felt like salvation before.

lost in your new paradise, you didn't notice as your saviour cupped your cheek once more. his touch was gentle. it was kind.

he leant forward and kissed your forehead—a reward for surviving.

“my name’s simon,” he whispered, nuzzling you. “and you will be my bride, won’t you, my dark miracle?”

your mouth left his arm, reluctant but necessary, because even before he said his name, you knew he was your master. you knew that in exchange for this new life he’s cursed you with, you were to be obedient to him no matter what. 

you nodded, breathless and ragged.

“yes, my lord.”

[anyasathenaeum]

Could I request the prompt: Knives going feral when the reader’s been hurt? Thanks so much!

A/N: OOOOOO this is my first request for Knives! I'm very excited for this one. *cracks knuckles* Okay, let's try this.

Warnings: Mention of violence, death, blood, Knives going feral, ending open to interpretation

The only thing Knives could process was a feeling of rage.

Pure, unaltered rage. How dare they think they could so much as look at you, let alone touch you, hurt you?

The moment Knives laid eyes on your crumpled form, bloodied and bruised, it was over.

All sense and careful calculations went out the window. Knives couldn't hear the screams of the people who had attacked you, their pleas for mercy and their cries of pain as they perished, nor did he care - the only thing he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears, pure hatred burning within him like an inferno, his eyes glued to your injured and unconscious self.

You hadn't even done anything. You'd been attacked and hurt simply because the humans didn't understand why you were siding with Knives. They saw you as a traitor to the human race.

"Filthy humans!" Knives roared viciously as he moved swiftly and without hesitation, cutting down every person he came across as he got nearer to where you lay, unmoving.

When Knives finally got to you, his heart twisted in his chest - you were even more badly hurt than he'd expected, a puddle of your own blood forming beneath you. You were breathing, albeit barely, and your skin was littered with bruises, scratches and cuts.

"(Y/N), wake up. Wake up, now," Knives commanded, kneeling down next to you. His tone was firm and cold and demanding, expecting you to follow his command as you so often did.

But this time, you didn't so much as twitch.

"(Y/N)," Knives repeated himself, and he tried his best to ignore the twinge of fear that coursed through him when you failed to react, "Enough. Get up this instant."

Yet again, nothing. Not a flicker of life from you, asides from your slow and shallow breaths.

It wasn't possible. You were not so badly hurt that you would perish... were you? Knives felt the fear building within him, alongside his hatred for the people who had done this to you. This would not be how he lost you. He would not lose you.

'I should have killed them slowly,' Knives thought angrily to himself, 'I should have made them suffer for touching (Y/N). I should have made them beg for mercy and shown them as much mercy as they showed (Y/N).'

"You will not die, (Y/N)," Knives growled as he collected you into his arms with a surprising amount of gentleness, immediately heading back to the lab to recruit Conrad's assistance in saving you.

"You do not have my permission to die, (Y/N), do you hear me?!"

[wardenofdragons]

|| Iskar of Ravenholm - formerly known as the Huntsman

They say that when he appears, it's like a great shadow passing over the sea. His dragon's wings are big enough to blot out the Sun, and before you know it, your ship has burst into flame.

Smoke envelops you, the air fills with the screams of your crew and the roaring of dragons, and through the hellfire you see his silhouette.

The Huntsman.

And next to him you see his dragon, already eyeing you.

It's a Night Fury. It's bigger than any other you've seen, with scales that blend into the black smoke and wings bigger than the sails of your ship. It's eyes look white against the sea of red around it, and as it begins to prowl closer, snarling, teeth flashing, you find yourself thinking,

This must be what Death looks like.

But the Huntsman holds up a hand, his voice rising above the crackling flames as he says, "Wait." and the dragon halts.

One word.

One word, and Death listens, and turns away from your cowering form to return to its master's side. The Huntsman's outline is dark against the raging inferno that is now your ship, and through your blurry vision, you can see dragons swirling along with the rising smoke. The same dragons you spent weeks trapping and transporting from ship to ship, now free, their angered cries loud enough to make your ears ring.

They all scatter like embers in the wind, until all that remains are you and your crewmates on the burning ship.

And the Huntsman.

He turns to you, then, and you see him properly for the first time since he arrived. The head of the black wolf skin he wears rests on his shoulder, it's glass eyes glinting in the firelight. The Huntsman's face is covered by shadow, but his eyes are bright, and for a moment you can't tell them apart from the wolf's. He's clad in black- or perhaps it's the light behind him that shrouds him in darkness.

He takes a step toward you, dragon in tow.

"Please..." you beg, certain of your demise. If he doesn't kill you, the fire surely will, but that doesn't stop you from trying. He stopped the dragon from attacking you that first time. He's only human. He can be reasoned with.

He stops to stare at you. The dragon at his side looks ready to rip into you at a moment's notice.

Emboldened, you continue, "Mercy, please...! I-I have a family waiting for me, I have a son. Please, don't take his father away!"

He seems to consider you for a moment. Firelight dances across his face revealing hardened eyes smeared with dark charcoal, but you can't read his emotions. Something in his eyes still makes your stomach churn, though.

You know that look. You see it on your crewmates' faces whenever a new dragon is captured and brought on board; a cold, uncaring nonchalance. Your life means nothing to him and you both know it.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours as he stares at you. You don't dare move from your spot, even though you're sure the rest of the crew has already fled the ship. You bought them enough time to escape, and you can't help but think that no matter what happens to you now, you would die a worthy death.

It happens before you realize it. The Huntsman steps forward in the blink of an eye- you see the flash of an axe head, hidden until that point, and feel a sharp pain in your temple before it all goes black.

...

You wake up on the shores of some foreign beach.

There's sand in your teeth, waves blanketing you up to the waist and a throbbing headache behind your eyes. Sunlight blinds you as you peel your eyes open to look around.

The charred remains of your ship surround you in the sand and in the water, blackened wooden planks floating like drowned corpses in the distance. You have no idea where you are. The Sun beats down on you mercilessly, and the water you sit in feels blissfully cold against the searing heat.

You're alive.

It dawns on you slowly and yet all too suddenly, the revelation making your head spin with relief. You survived meeting the Huntsman. You stared into the eyes of Death itself and lived to tell the tale.

And that is exactly what you'll do, you think to yourself, beginning to walk along the shore.

You will continue to live and to tell the tale of the man who arrives like a hurricane, sudden and devastating, bringing fiery destruction down on anyone unfortunate enough to stand in his path.

...

I cannot stress enough how much fun I had while drawing him. He holds a special place in my heart, so I'm very happy to finally have art of him that lives up to my own standards and expectations.

Please welcome the star of the blog and the whole reason it exists in the first place: Iskar of Ravenholm!

(The link in the title leads to his character playlist on Youtube. You can read an extremely abridged version of his story in the playlist's description.)

Alternate version under the cut to show off the Huntsman design better:

Booyah

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: When pushed to the limit, a pact is forged between two broken beings.

Pairing: Ember Nomad x Daemon of Khorne

Genre: Angst/ Drama

TW: A lot of descriptions to blood, bit of gore and foul language

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21 @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @beckyninja

To become a monster

I've been shackled here for over a entire millennia, my thirst for blood not sated even a single drop since my last kill. The mortals thought it would be enough to just put me in this prison and be done with it but they were wrong, the thirst cannot be quenched by anything except blood.

The fool had turned me to this….thing, this steel that would never break, never bend and would always pierce through the flesh of his enemies, promising my cooperation if I just imbued myself into that pathetic little sword; the fool, absolute stupid little mutt. I could feel the blood being drawn by the sword as it pierced through their hearts, their brains and their eyes. I could feel it's thirst, it's lust for blood. I reveled in it, I served the fool well, but he did not served Khorne good enough. He was too weak for me to let him continue his conquest without me.

When the time came and the fool was struck down by that bitch of a Saint, I took control of the body and continued the fight. I sliced, diced and chopped. I cut and tore through their bodies and laughed at the screams of the mortals around me, so delicious, so sweet. My laughter echoed through the hearts of every scared pathetic being that dared to challenge my gaze. I had it all, all!. The mortals came for me, those sons of bitches that served the Anathema, that were descendants of the Guilliman son. I would had killed them all, I would had been their doom, I should had been the one to kill them, Zoman the gore flayer had never been defeated and would never be!. Yet, they shackled me here, away from my prey. Away from the battlefield, away from the sweet scent of blood and flesh. They left me here, in this accursed place where none of my brethren can reach me and where I can't even be sure of their fates.

I curse them, I curse the Anathema and all of his bloodline, I curse the Guilliman brat and his cursed crusade and I curse those Gryphon bastards that bested my mortal body, that with their prayers and banners of valor severed my connection with my Master; that shackled me to the state of death and rot my mortal body suffered, pushing me to retreat again into the object that bound me, this sword. I hate them all and I would see them all suffer a thousand times more than what I am suffering, I would see them all beg for mercy as they are flayed alive and tortured with pain, I will see their souls burn to ash and become one with the Warp, with my Master. I, Zormand, shall have the 8 paths of Khorne flooded with their blood and guts, this I swear upon the Blood God himself.

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

Afriel gasped for air one last time as he tore through the debris in which he and his brothers had been entombed in, the Nomad looked up to the sky and saw how the rest of the Astartes ship were bombarding the city. The sky was filled with plasma shots, missile trails and burning space ships, the once blue sky of the city had turned to an orange and red, clouds of black smoke covered the battlefield like a curtain, slowly descending into the ground.

"Micah…" Said the Nomad as he took off his helmet and inhaled the thick and acrid air. The smell of ash and fire was intense but it was still breathable and he could still see the enemy positions bracing for the impacts and retreating to more secure positions. The Nomads were just as spread and desperately fighting like the genestealer cult was, the Gryphons aid had only being the doom for both armies "Micah….I'm coming…" The Marine hastily grabbed his Boltgun and stood up from the pile of debris, looking around at the carnage that surrounded him. The street that was once full of life and joy was now a hellish landscape of destroyed buildings, burning corpses, tanks and other vehicles. The city of Dorn's Keep was no more.

Stumbling from cover to cover as his inhuman senses were still stabilizing, Afriel called out through the intercom to the rest of his squad, attempting to see if some of them had survived the building that fell on them all. He got no response back. He pressed onward, not knowing what to do except for one thing: Find Micah, his beloved White Scar that, through the course of their stay together, had become more than just a comrade to him. Afriel moved across the battleground like a ghost, the remaining genestealer cultists that crossed his path were dealt with the same efficiency that as if he had been with all his senses at full capacity. His mind was focused on one single task: Finding Micah.

As he moved through the city he encountered both Gryphons and Nomads, many of them were already dead, others were wounded beyond repair and some of them were still fighting but were so close to death that they would be counted among the dead very soon. It wasn't until he reached the place where they had lost contact with the White Scar that Afriel found what had become of the shuttles that were going to make the remaining loyalist flee the death of that planet.

A burning heap of wrecked metal was all that remained of the once beautiful adorned shuttles, the smell of burned flesh and melted plasteel made Afriel gag and throw up whatever his stomach had inside it. The sight of so many of his comrades burning to death without a chance to escape made his blood boil with rage. This was no work of the cult, it was the Gryphons. Yet again those who his Chapter had trusted were brothers turned out to be murderers, traitors and bastards who didn't know what loyalty was. There was no way out of there; he would die just like every combatant still breathing the smokes and fires of the city, he would die. But not without a fight. With a snarl the Marine reloaded his weapon and went back to the battlefield, he would not go down without making the traitors pay for what they did, even if the only one who would know about this betrayal would be him.

For a full hour Afriel fought and killed with even more fury than before, his body was covered with wounds that would had killed any mortal but no Space Marine, and he was one of those. He kept on, raging through the streets and buildings he found, making no distinction now between Genestealer and Gryphon, only attending to assist the few fellow Nomads that remained alive; which were too busy doing what every Nomad was trained to do in their last moments of life: Save the innocent and laugh in the face of death like if it were an old friend.

Ultimately, however, numbers and time were two things not even an Astartes can defeat for so long; his knees grew tired and shook as he made bigger and bigger efforts to stay on his feet, his enemies started to get more and more shots through his armor and into his flesh. Afriel's body was failing him but his mind kept him going, even when he knew that there was nothing left to do but die, even when he knew that he should surrender and just lay down to die, he kept fighting, because that is what he was born to do: To fight. Eventually, his body finally failed him and he fell to his knees, his eyes heavy and his vision blurred by both pain and exhaustion, snarling as he felt pain and shame for the first time in many years.

"I'm sorry Micah…" Whispered the Marine as he felt blood running from the wound in his side, where he had taken a missile blast "I couldn't kill them all, I couldn't reach out to…reunite with you once again…."

He closed his eyes; grunting as he felt his breathing labored, trying to smile as to be received by the Khan and his spirits in the beyond; there was still the will to fight and to slaughter each and every single bastard responsible for his demise, but he was content with reuniting with his brothers, his squad, his family, once more. As he neared his last breaths, a whisper in the wind reached his ears, a voice that made him open his eyes once again and look around him for the source of that familiar voice.

"That is all?!?! You give in!?!?! Fool! Will you let them win? Will you let them wash the blood of your brothers without rightful punishment?!?!?!" The voice was deep, guttural and it sounded almost like a beast trying to speak through a man's throat; yet. "I cannot keep fighting…" Said Afriel through gritted teeth, the voice continued to speak, ignoring what he just said. "Your duty is not yet over, you have sworn to defend the Imperium and your brothers, how can you defend them if you're dead?" Asked the voice "The battle is not over, the enemy has not been defeated and your brothers need you!" Afriel groaned and tried to stand up, using his Boltgun as support but he could not move, his body was failing him, his power armor was failing him. The Marine fell once again, his back hitting the cold stone floor as his arms fell to his sides. He sighed and groaned as he tried to stand again; he felt the voice laughing at his attempts, mocking his shallow lonely efforts. It became clearer where it came from, just a few meters beyond his head, under some statue that had fallen during the bombing. "It seems that I'll have to help you get back on your feet, you fool" Said the voice as it laughed once again, a sinister glint coming from below the fallen statue. "Take me" Afriel groaned as he looked up the glint was just at arm's reach; some little effort and he could easily pull whatever was under the rubble towards him. The Nomad frowned at the implications of the voice words, he knew since he was a mere child of the spirits and Daemons that stalked the shadows ready to fall unto unsuspected victims and feast on their bodies as they possessed them. It was beyond wrong or heretical, it was giving in his soul to whatever or whoever lurked there. "Away apparition…if I die I shall do so with my soul intact-" "Ughrrrrah you humans! You foolish mortals with your flawed sense of right and wrong, of pure and unholy; can't you see there is no difference any longer? The Anathema will have your soul or the Gods will, you are a slave no matter what or whom do you serve!" The voice growled "I am trying to save you, to spare you from those chains! TAKE ME!" "Are you allied with the Gryphons to prove we are traitors?" Afriel tried to chuckle, but his lungs were no longer working properly to allow such an action "No….not them" The voice seemed to spit the words out "I wish their doom, just as you do. You need me to live and avenge, I need you to escape this shell and uphold my oath" "It is not enough to sell my soul and honor" Afriel closed his eyes, expecting to not open them once again "Begone and let us both perish here" "I see…your soul is more valuable than Micah; tell me, how long until the Scar meets another and forgets about you? How long until the pain drowns his memories of you? Oh and what a celebration will the Gryphons have once you are no longer in the picture, perhaps they will court your beloved" "No….not…." The memories flooding back to his mind, his brothers wishing him good luck, pushing him to have more encounters with Micah; a life that would never return, laughter than time would forget "You see it, don't you? You remember them. I can make their sacrifice worth a shit, all you need to do is take me, pet" Afriel inhaled deeply, rethinking his choices. The voice had spoken the truth, even if he survived today he would eventually die and never meet Micah again, but if he did accept the help of the voice and survive…he could kill those who betrayed them, those who slayed his brothers; the thought of it brought a smile to his lips. If the kindness was turned to a weapon, if the brotherhood had being uncovered to be discord and betrayal, if the line had been crossed already why would this be different? History had been marked only by those who stood up with violence to those who had been wronged, using the tools of the enemy did not made them equal. They had taken his family and his love, now he would take far more from them. "An oath for a vengeance" The Nomad muttered "And they shall be done"

[just-writing-a-bit]

How Agatha Met Rio

Spoiler Warnings for Agatha All Along, I guess

Summary: This is how I imagine Agatha and Rio meeting.

Warning: death (if you find more, let me know)

1693

The mumbling of her coven drives Agatha's fear higher up, making her desperate. She tugs at the magic keeping her bound to the post, right in the middle of her coven and in front of her mother.

Agatha begs them for forgiveness or help, anything really. Anything than being the victim of their spell. They used to belong together and help each other, but right now, no one makes a move. All they do is keep mumbling, the glowing in their palms growing more intense.

Agatha turns to the woman right in front of her. Her mother. If anyone should have pity on her, it should be her own mother. But she doesn't look sympathetic at all, more like she wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

Agatha winds against the pole, trying to get loose while pleading with her mother, tears in her eyes. She has done nothing wrong to deserve this. She simply bent the rules a little, but that doesn't make her deserving of this.

As her mother starts the chant, Agatha feels a deep cut in her soul, the feeling of betrayal seeping into her heart, leaving burning marks. How could her very own mother do this?

Agatha just watches her mother, horrified, knowing no amount of pleading can help her now.

The moment her coven blasts her with their powers an excruciating pain erupts inside of her and she screams out. She has never experienced anything like this. It's hot and cold at the same time. Burning and freezing and the worst she has ever felt.

Despite her screaming and crying, it doesn't stop, no one takes pity on her, not even now. They all want her gone and while suffering against their powers, Agatha realizes just that. She isn't a part of this coven anymore, hasn't been for a while now. They don't care about her, so why should she care about them?

The heat is crawling up her throat, as if it wanted to burn her alive, numbing her screaming until it fades out and her eyes land on her mother.

Suddenly, the pain vanishes and is replaced by a different feeling, a new one. One of power, of revitalizing. She takes a deep breath, not hurting anymore. It's like the opposite, the longer she's blasted with magic, the better she feels.

Her own powers grow, as if they are absorbing everyone else's powers. The witches around her make choking noises, their skin goes grey and they fall to their knees. Agatha watches, not sure what to do but also not wanting to stop this. They wanted to kill her, why should she show them mercy in return?

She ends the power blasts and her coven falls to the ground dead. Her mother glares at her with more hate than a mother should be able to feel towards her child. But Agatha isn't scared by it anymore. Hurt yes, but not scared.

Even when her mother yells at her and blasts her power right into her chest, Agatha doesn't scream. It doesn't even hurt anymore, it's more like a tingling in her chest, slowly spreading through her entire body.

She absorbs her mother's powers until she falls dead to the ground.

A sudden silence lays itself over the scene, like a thick blanket. Agatha looks around at the dead woman around her. Eight. She just killed eight people.

Although, she didn't actively do it, they did it to themselves. It's not her fault, she was able to absorb their power. It serves them right for trying to kill her.

She runs a hand through her hair and slowly steps down from the platform with the pole. Looks like she's going to get a second chance at this after all. But where to go from here? Without her coven. Without her mother. There is no one to guide her, no one to care about her. She's all on her own.

Slowly, she walks up to her mother, looking down on her. The woman who was supposed to protect her ended up being the one hating her the most.

Agatha crouches down and plugs the brooch her mother always wore from her coat. It will be hers now, just like her mother's powers are now hers. It all belongs to her. She just has to figure out where to go from here.

She returns back to the wooden steps and sits down, pinning the brooch to her own coat. The last thing she expected to happen today, was to be alive without her coven. She could never imagine what it would be like without a coven. She's never been coven-less. Born into one and raised.

There are the children of these witches, but they will just hate her for what she did. For what she had to do. It wasn't her choice. It just happened. Even if it could have been her choice, she wouldn't have done it differently. If they wanted to blast her with their powers, she would take it and not care anymore.

Besides, it feels empowering and she can feel her powers getting stronger as her body adjusts to the new forces it holds now.

The silence is interrupted by the sound of twigs breaking and Agatha turns her head to a green light coming from between the trees. Green isn't her color, nor her coven's color, so this must be someone new. Someone unknown.

Maybe, she thinks, she can play the poor woman, who just found her coven dead. It will surely cause some sympathy and she won't be facing another situation like this.

A woman steps into the clearing. She wears a dark coat, which flows behind her as she steps barefoot over the forest grounds. There's a torch in her hand, the flame as green as her clothes. Her hair flows down to her shoulders and there's something ethereal about her, but also something dangerous.

Agatha stands up, eying the woman closely. She is beautiful, she can't deny that and there's a lure to her, she doesn't understand.

The woman looks around at the dead women, before she looks up at Agatha. The silence stretches and Agatha shifts her weight, not sure what to make of this. Who is this woman and why is she not bothered by the dead bodies around them?

"Are you Agatha Harkness?" She asks, eyes fixed on Agatha. It makes Agatha shiver, but she doesn't show it and just pushes her chin forward. This stranger shouldn't know her name.

"I'll tell you, if you share your name with me." A name for a name.

The woman studies her, calm and yet dangerous.

"I have many names. Some call me Rio, others Lady Death and some just Death."

Agatha nods, trying to process. She certainly never envisioned Lady Death like this. Of course, she has heard myths and stories. But they all portray her as that skeleton monster, who comes and kills people. This woman doesn't look like she does though. She almost looks peaceful, even if that is surely a misconception.

"What name do you prefer?" Death shakes her head and points her torch at Agatha.

"That wasn't the deal."

Very well, Agatha knows to honor a deal, if the other end of the bargain is held up too.

"Yes, I am Agatha Harkness. What do you want from me, Rio?" Rio raises an eyebrow, seeming surprised at the choice of name.

Agatha sees no use in calling someone by their profession. She wouldn't like being called a witch either. It would reduce her to a craft she is learning and perfecting. And this woman is certainly more than her craft.

"I was sent to collect your soul," Rio states, voice as clear as the night. Agatha shrugs.

"I am not dead."

"I can see that. Why are you not dead?"

It's almost a silly question and makes her laugh, but she just shrugs and adjusts her coat. She is clearly still alive, so no soul to collect there.

"Why are you not dead?" Rio slowly steps closer to Agatha, who doesn't budge. She knows powerplays and won't fall for that anymore. She has suffered long enough under her mother to know what ways are deemed the most effective.

Rio stops right in front of her, almost too close.

"If you want souls, there are plenty here," Agatha says, motioning around herself. "Eight instead of one. Seems like a good deal to me. You can take them with you and do whatever you please."

Rio lets out a very soft chuckle, her features darkening for a second and Agatha swears, she can see Rio's boney jaw.

"It is a good deal and I will take it. I don't kill, I just take what's already dead. But I am curious, how did you survive this?" She eyes Agatha closely, her torch shining a green light on both of them. Agatha stands up a little straighter but can't get taller than Rio. Very well. She will not be intimidated either way.

"I took what wasn't theirs," she replies. The new power doesn't feel foreign anymore. It has become a part of her and makes her feel strong, almost joyful.

"You took," Rio echoes and glances around them before returning her gaze on Agatha. "You are a very interesting woman, Agatha."

Agatha inclines her head in a wordless reply. The words go deeper than she expected though. The first genuinely nice things said to her in years. It feels good to be appreciated, even if it's something as mundane as 'interesting'.

"Likewise," she replies. Something about Rio is different. Maybe it's the fact she is actually understanding. Or the fact, she has seen what Agatha did but doesn't seem scared or judgy because of it. As if she understood what it's like to be an outcast.

Maybe they can be outcasts together? It's a very silent voice inside Agatha's head, suggesting the option. It seems naïve to believe she could spend her time with Lady Death, but it might be worth the risk? They're both lonely, perhaps lost. Wouldn't some company be nice?

Rio reaches a hand up, fingers just barely skimming Agatha's jawline, but she still feels a tingle there. It nearly makes her lean forward, seeking the contact, but she doesn't.

Rio gives her a smile and turns around, starting her job on guiding the dead souls to the end of their path.

Agatha watches in silence, still feeling the almost-touch against her cheek. Even if Rio doesn't agree to be her companion, she knows what she has to do, to summon her again. If she just waits long enough, Rio will appear eventually, after she killed someone.

The thought excites her more than she likes to admit. But there is nothing wrong with a dance with Death. Is there? What's the worst that could happen?

[who-needs-reality-anyways]

Bellamy Blake: A Seven Season Anthology

Season 1x03: Earth Kills

Shrill screams pierce the air. Bellamy looks for Charlotte, but she must have walked off looking for Atom like the rest of them are doing. That acid fog had to have trapped him somewhere, they just have to find him. Bellamy runs towards the sound, and when he gets there, he finds Charlotte staring wide-eyed at a body on the ground. He can’t help but do the same for a moment. 

“Son of a bitch,” he curses. “Atom.” Bellamy runs to the boy and takes a knee beside him. His hand hovers over Atom’s body, but he can’t bring himself to touch him. There are blisters and burns covering every inch of exposed skin. He can’t begin to fathom the amount of pain Atom must be in.  

As Bellamy looks over him, he realizes Atom is trying to say something. Bellamy can’t make out the words until he gets closer. He looks into Atom’s eyes, but Bellamy can’t tell if Atom can actually see him or not.  

“Kill me,” begs Atom in a pained whisper, as if it takes all the breath in his lungs to muster the words. “Kill me. Kill me.” 

Bellamy hears his companions approach, but they don’t get very close. Atom’s breaths become even more labored and tries to speak again, but it turns into a coughing fit. Charlotte walks up beside him, and the next thing Bellamy feels is cold metal being pressed into his palm.  

They exchange glances between themselves and Atom. She tells him solemnly, “Don’t be afraid.” 

“Go back to camp,” he commands the group after a small pause. When Charlotte doesn’t move, he says, “Charlotte, you, too.” 

She doesn’t wait long before walking out of Bellamy’s sight, leaving him alone with an impossible task. He kneels down where he had been before and stares down at Atom. Atom begs one last time, barely audible, and turns his head to expose his carotid. In and out. That’s all it will take to end Atom’s suffering.  

So, why can’t he do it? 

Suddenly, he feels as though he is being watched. He looks over his right shoulder and sees Clarke staring at them. She doesn’t stay away long, though. She walks over to them, drops her bag, and kneels opposite of Bellamy. He watches her as she assesses Atom, as though she could possibly fix him.  

“I heard screams,” she says, still looking Atom up and down. 

“Charlotte found him. I sent her back to camp.” She didn’t need to see what Bellamy had to do. 

Clarke finally locks eyes with him and minutely shakes her head. Bellamy deflates a bit, bowing his head with disappointment. Because even though he was already sure there was no saving him, he had a sliver of hope that he was wrong.  

Clarke releases a breath, looking down at Atom with reassuring smile on her face. “Okay. I’m going to help you, alright?” She caresses Atom’s temple for a moment and starts humming a soft tune. He glances between them, but he can’t take his eyes off her once he’s there. How can she be so calm?  

Without turning towards Bellamy, she takes the knife from his hand. He continues to stare at her, mouth slightly ajar. He never meant for her to be the one to go through with this, but he can’t make himself stop her. He is frozen. The only thing keeping him in the moment is the sound of her soothing hum. 

Bellamy watches her sad, pained expression as she positions the blade over the most vulnerable part of the throat and slowly plunges it into Atom’s skin. But she never stops humming, even as the blood seeps from the open wound. She strokes Atom’s hair again, life draining from him with each second. All he can do is watch. 

He isn’t sure what he was supposed to expect, being responsible for the death of a kid, but the calm Clarke has was not it. Bellamy knows it’s a mercy kill, but it’s still a life. Maybe it’s her medical training that has made her able to handle this kind of thing. But he is beginning to realize that he isn’t half as brave as she truly is. He thinks he has misjudged her, because despite the privileged upbringing she had on the Ark, she is proving to be the strongest of them all. They are going to need that. 

[blackjackkent]

All right - time for the final climax of Rakha's playthrough! Let's get to it.

-----

The brain screams. It writhes. It howls.

And it begs for mercy.

"-reconsider-- -------assess- -implore-- ---SURRENDER--"

Karlach stands at Rakha's side, her tentacles twitching wearily, watching with that strange, alien placidity as the monstrosity spasms before them. "Subdued. At last," she murmurs. "This is its death rattle."

"--spare me--- join me--- -wield me--- BECOME ABSOLUTE---"

The brain wails and thrashes, and Rakha's head pounds and aches, feeling the tadpole writhing in answer.

Karlach turns, her strange black eyes piercing - and Rakha can see the effort straining in the muscles of her face. "This is it, Soldier," she intones, in that strange serene voice so similar to and yet so unlike her old self. "This is what we fought for."

Narrator: The brain is on the cusp of its final thought, and it's taking all of Karlach's strength to keep it there. An opportunity, perhaps?

She won't say she doesn't pause to consider it, just for a moment. It is, after all, what Minthara has suggested all along, and there was a time when Minthara's opinion was one of the driving forces that guided her. But... no. This was never really an option.

She wants to be done. She wants to be free. And she wants nothing more in her mind but her, ever again.

She shoots a look over her shoulder at the others looking on, finds Wyll's eyes on her and holds them for a long time. He nods, smiles wearily.

"Go ahead, Karlach," she says, still holding Wyll's gaze as she speaks. "This moment's yours."

Karlach nods, turns to face the brain again. Before her, the Netherstones whirl and twist wildly in the air, buffeted by the spasming of the brain and the Weave around it.

"No more tadpoles, brain," she hisses. "It's time to die."

The Weave begins to surge and tremble around them, a thundering, juddering pulse. The brain's psyche rips and tears through the fabric of reality that holds them, knocking them backwards back towards their home plane.

"---my master--- --i must-- --OBEY-- -i must END---"

Rakha comes back to herself standing on the brain's broad back, her body and mind both aching with exertion. She can feel the rumbling spasm of the brain's magic and the crown's, a building-up of sudden tremendous pressure like a pot about to boil over.

Narrator: Hopes, nightmares, and the screams of legions upon legions of unborn illithids...

And then--

WHAMMMMMMMM.

Narrator: The pain rips through you, obliterating all thought, all feeling. Your tadpole burns in your brain.

Rakha is no stranger to headaches by now, but this is an entirely new kind, something beyond what even she has experienced. It feels as if a white-hot poker has been shoved directly into her skull, the tadpole being suddenly immolated by the dying throes of the Netherbrain, obedient to Karlach's final order.

For a moment she can't see. She can barely breathe. She slumps to her knees and clutches at her skull with one hand; the other clamped tightly onto Wyll's who is crouched next to her. It seems to last a thousand years, that pain - the final wrenching removal of the thing that has haunted them all.

Then the pain slowly begins to fade. Her vision clears, and she lifts her head in time to see the crown shatter apart, its pieces tumbling downward into the river far below. The Weave calms, softens, brushing along her skin reassuringly as she struggles to her feet.

Narrator: Silence. Free of Urge and worm, your brain is battered and bruised, but it is yours. Yours at last.

She has never felt silence in her mind before. This is not the muffling peace of the Astral Sea, or Raphael's powers, or the nymph's "moment of ecstasy" or the myconid spores or any of the things that have given her brief and desperate relief from the never-ending voices. This is, at last, true silence. There is no beast, and no worm. There is no lingering, subtle connection to those around her; she cannot feel Wyll's presence or Lae'zel's even as they stand closest to either side of her.

There is nothing at all in her head except her, for the first time in her short and broken life.

She draws a breath, and as the brain begins to fall out of the sky, she bursts into tears.

-----

The brain collapses into the Chionthar in a long, devastating arc, its spine dragging behind it through buildings and wreckage.

Rakha clings on for dear life as it jerks and thrashes in its death throes, sending them all flying across its back. The tears are still coming, unbidden, her breath hoarse and jerky; in a way she barely notices the chaos around them, so focused is she on that inward stillness.

Eventually, with one final thrashing spasm, the brain dies, falling the last few feet into the water with a tidal-wave splash. Rakha is hurled sideways, hitting the water with a slap that knocks all the breath from her body.

Struggling for air, she lifts her head just in time to see the oncoming shockwave of the brilliant explosion that follows. And then her vision goes black.

-----

Slowly she comes back to herself, floating on her back on the surface of the water. Her head aches and so does everything else; there are no more tears, but she feels weak and trembly and drained, and for a little while she just lays there, letting the water rock her gently, watching as bits of debris, dead fish, and sloughed brain matter drift past her.

In a moment she will have to move, climb out of the water, find her friends, discover what it means to live without this terrible battle hanging over her. But for just a moment she lets herself think of nothing at all, nothing but the emptiness of the future and the silence in her mind.

We did it.

It seems impossible. But it is done. The brain is dead. The worms are gone. In the distance she can hear the people of the city cheering with exhaustion and relief and joy, and the Weave around her ripples as if in answer, prismatic waves in the sunset light.

Narrator: Everything you did... everything you sacrificed... it was worth it, for this...

[projectnewmoon]

Sonic - Project: New Moon

Chapter 9 - Ending Cycles

Summary: Sonic faces the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood and violence, minor body horror, minor character death.

Word Count: 2,163 words.

-

Dark Gaia has risen once more. It slowly approaches, treading through a pit of thick magma that painted the scales of its lower half in shifting orange hues. From its back, pure dark energy spewed out in the form of purple smoke. Its giant maw opens and it lets out a roar that shakes the entire planet and the heavens beyond.

Sonic had no time to waste. He turned to his brother. “Tails! Give me the Emeralds and get out of here!” he yells.

“Wait! But Rue is–”

Rue had walked back towards Nox, who pathetically dragged himself out of the now destroyed Egg Dragoon. They approached him with purpose, and with a swift kick to the gut, they knocked him towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the fiery abyss below.

“Rue! We need to leave!” Specter cried, but they ignored her.

The spider coughed, spitting out thick, red blood, staining his once immaculate suit. “Ah… is this it? Are you finally getting the so-called ‘righteous vengeance’ you've been seeking for so long? Are you finally going to kill me with your own two hands and satiate that monstrous desire–”

Rue interrupted him with a scoff. “After all you’ve done, a swift death at my hands would be mercy. You doomed yourself when you decided to play with the powers of gods. You've dug your own grave, now lie in it and rot,” she spat, venom dripping from her voice.

Nox's eyes widened, staring up at Rue. He was left speechless.

With those words, she turns her back on him as the ground starts to shake more and more. The edge of the cliff begins to crumble, and before anyone knew it, the man was falling down with the rocks and debris into a slow, fiery death.

“Sonic! Here!” Tails hurriedly handed the five Chaos Emeralds they’d collected on their journey to Sonic, which began to float and spin around Sonic along with the two he was holding, reacting to his subconscious calls for their aid.

The earthquakes grow stronger. Dark Gaia roars once more. It is getting closer now, green, reptilian eyes fixed not on the group, but on Sonic.

“Rue,” Sonic growled, struggling to speak through the pain, the burning of Chaos and Dark Gaia Energies swirling and buzzing within him, “Get them out of here… please…”

Rue nods, and the group hurries out of the collapsing cavern

Sonic turns to look at Dark Gaia. The dark god stands tall before Sonic. It stares him down, eyes filled with an ancient rage. Yet Sonic felt something else in its gaze. Fear, perhaps. Recognition.

He continues to call on the Emeralds' power, asking, begging, pleading for them to answer. To become a shooting star of hope. To turn into Super Sonic, like he’d done so many times before at the climax of his past adventures. Though, this time, it was as if they rejected his call, refusing to give him power.

Not in this state.

The Emeralds finally do something. They answer, shining brightly, light and energy stabbing into him over and over as his body, his entire being, is…

Unwound.

His vision goes white. He is in agony, an unimaginable pain spreading throughout his body, his skin, muscles, bones, every nerve and cell, down to his very soul. He feels himself scream, his heart pounding and his head throbbing, yet he can hear nothing but a droning noise in his ears. A moment stretches into eternity of nothing but the burning.

Then, suddenly, there is a voice.

“Sonic?! Sonic, listen to me! Focus!”

Chip…? Is that you? he thinks. Where…?

“I need you to focus, Sonic! Focus your energy! You can’t let it all end now, not like this! You have to put Dark Gaia to rest!”

There’s a familiar emerald green light glowing in the edge of his vision. The burning slowly fades, replaced with a gentle warmth, an embrace. He focused on that warmth, letting his thoughts slow and the static clear. He took a deep breath.

Sonic opens his eyes. He feels smaller, lighter. His mind is clear, now, thoughts no longer clouded with pain.

He looked down at himself. His body was back to his regular hedgehog self, though now shrouded in bright light. Golden quills sway with the waves of energy radiating from his heart. An aura surrounds him, the specter of his beastly form, still with him, giving him strength. He’d found balance, both energies coexisting and granting him a new power.

Right next to him floated a translucent figure- a small canine, with maroon and off-white fur, pure, golden eyes, and green, fluttering wings. The gem on his bracelet glows along with the gem on the figure’s chest.

Sonic smiles at Chip. Chip smiles back.

Together, the two fly off towards Dark Gaia, shining bright like a comet. Dark Gaia roars as it tries to swat them out of the air with its claws.

Tendrils of pure dark energy shoot out of its back, maws forming at the ends and biting down as they try and fail to reach Sonic. But Dark Gaia is too slow, as Sonic flies circles around the god. It hisses in frustration, rocks and debris crumbling and falling into the abyss below as the cavern caves in further.

Sonic dodges out of the way of its claws, using his own to bat away one of the tendrils. “Dark Gaia’s not at a hundred percent, is it? Seems like it’s not putting up as much of a fight as last time.”

“Neither of us are,” Chip explained, “But we weren’t back then, either. We haven’t had any time to recover from our premature awakening. But Dark Gaia could still cause a lot of damage in this state. And…”

“And?” Sonic flew out of the way of a tendril shooting for him.

“... It's in pain. I can feel it. It wants this to end.”

Sonic gave Chip a determined look, brows furrowed. “Then let's end it right now.”

Sonic slapped a tendril way with ease, then flew around it, tearing down the other tendrils as it growled and tried to claw at him. He spin-dashed its claw away, and he flew closer to its face, looking it in the eye. A green, slit eye reflecting the glow of the planet’s core stared right at him. Dark Gaia roars and attempts to slash at him again, trying to keep him away.

But while he was distracted, one of the dreadful dragon phantoms bites him, pulls him down. He exclaims in surprise and struggles against it.

Energy bubbles inside, and it bursts, an explosion of light burning the tendril away. Dark Gaia lets out a pained screech, and Sonic flies off to take down the other appendages, on spin-dash at a time.

Sonic then flies up, and his eyes once again meet those of the god. He reaches out a hand, placing it on its scaly head. The dark god’s giant body quivered at the touch, frozen, and he could suddenly feel the great weight of emotions that swirled within it.

Rage. Fear. Sorrow. Confusion. Guilt. Loneliness. Pain.

An ancient weight Sonic couldn’t even begin to imagine carrying for even a minute, let alone the billions of years it’s existed.

Sonic took a deep breath, steeling himself against the immense weight that now rested on his heart. “Hey. That’s enough of that.”

Sonic slowly descended onto the god’s scales, resting on its snout. “It’s alright. You must be real tired of this now, aren’t you?”

There was a rumble from the god. An agreement, perhaps.

“The seal that kept us trapped in the core was weak, but now it’s been completely broken.” Chip descended with Sonic, placing his little paws on Dark Gaia’s scales. “I don’t have the means to fix it. Not right now, at least. Our cycle can’t continue without destroying ourselves along with everything else.”

“Do you even remember why this cycle even started? Why you fight as hard as you do?” Sonic asked the god, “I know what I fight for. What all my friends fight for. Do you remember why you fight at all?”

Dark Gaia was completely silent for the first time since its release. It was listening.

Chip leaned in closer. “We fought over the balance of this world. To maintain it. But things are changing now. Too many people have interfered with the cycle, and we’re both exhausted from countless millennia of fighting. I can’t even remember when this all began, or why things had to be this way.”

Sonic gently rubbed its scales. It closed its eyes at the gesture, the emotions that once weighed on it slowly beginning to fade away.

“Looks like this cycle needs to be broken, then,” Sonic said with a slight, lopsided smile, “Let all that anger, and fear, and sorrow, and all those other horrible feelings go. Find a new balance. I know you two can do it.”

Dark Gaia huffs. It is calm, for the first time in who knows how long. Yet… its body begins to fall apart into purple smoke. Pure energy seeps out into the planet’s surface.

Sonic looks at Chip. His tiny body begins to deteriorate into a light, white mist.

“Chip…?”

“I think… it’s time for both of us to go.” Chip embraces Sonic in a hug. He’s warm, yet it feels like there’s nothing in Sonic’s arms at all. The mist mixes with the purple smoke, escaping out into the world along with it. “I’m sorry. I truly wish we could’ve met again without all of this happening.”

“It’s okay, bud. Not like you had much control over the situation,” Sonic reassured with a smile, “And who knows? Maybe we’ll get to meet again some day. Without the world being under threat of destruction next time, hopefully.”

That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?

Chip smiled back. A bittersweet smile.  “Goodbye, Sonic… Thank you for everything,” he said, his voice fading as his body fizzled out into mist. Dark Gaia’s body dissipated as well, the gigantic beast reduced to smoke.

Sonic was left floating within the crumbling cave, the ground still rumbling as the landmass, and the abandoned amusement park above it, continued to fall apart.

“Sonic!” Someone yells his name from below. He quickly turns to look at where the voice came from. Panic settles in.

Rue stood at the cliff, looking up at him.

What are they still doing here?!

Sonic rushes down, reaching both arms out to them as the entire ceiling begins to fully collapse. He needed to get both of them out, now.

“Chaos… CONTROL!”

And in a flash of light, the two were gone, and the pit, along with what remained of Eggmanland, was buried under rubble, never to see the light of day again.

-

A flash of light disturbs the quiet darkness of Spirit’s Grove. Sonic and Rue crash onto the forest floor, skidding to a stop right under a tree and leaving a trail of upturned soil in their wake.

Sonic immediately shoots up, standing above Rue, who still lay on the ground. His golden glow shines on their fur. “ARE YOU OKAY?! WHY’D YOU GO BACK FOR ME?! YOU COULD’VE DIED!”

“I… felt something change… I thought you were in danger…” she explained between labored breaths.

“I told you all to leave! It was way too dangerous for you all to stay there while the whole place was caving in! If I didn’t get you outta there with Chaos Control, you… you would’ve…”

The golden light from his body completely faded, and his quills returned to their usual cobalt hue. He fell, his body giving away completely, energy drained as the Emeralds rip themselves out of him and scatter out into the world. Rue catches him and gently pulls him close.

“You said it yourself… Us beasts should stick together, right?” she said as she adjusted herself to rest against the tree, having caught her breath.

“I… did say that…” He couldn’t argue with that. Not like he had the energy to argue. He could barely speak. Or move. Or think, even. “Is… everyone else…?”

“They all got out. Should be here in a few hours, I think. The flight from there to here is a long one.” She rested a paw on his head. It was warm, and soft. Comforting. “They’re safe. I made sure of that before I went back for you.”

“Ah…” He can barely keep his eyes open anymore.

“... Should get you somewhere so you can rest. You look like you need it…” Rue’s voice grows into a distant whisper as unconsciousness calls. Sonic can barely hear her anymore, can barely feel her pick him up and start walking off into the forest. His body is numb, heavy, cold.

All he could think about at that moment was how glad he felt to know his friends were alright.

His vision blurs, and everything fades to silent, comfortable nothingness.

[rasendamn]

like daylight

🌀 i once believed love would be burning red- but it's golden. 🌀

uzumaki naruto x reader

warning: angst

Rivals (noun): a person or thing competing with another for the same objective or for superiority in the same field of activity.

-> Synonym: Uzumaki Naruto

He was the bane of my existence; his annoying cackle and proclamations of his future as a Hokage.

Yet, he was as warm as the sun, if not warmer.

His nagging attitude gave me headaches whenever we were together; his protector complex and daily combat challenges.

Yet, his eyes were the most calming shade of blue I have ever beheld.

His constant need to one-up me was tiring; his inability to let me fight for once and prove myself.

Yet, he motivated me to become a better person, like he was always capable of doing with our enemies.

He was someone who never gave up no matter how dumb it seemed; his embarrassing need to persist in what he sets his mind to.

Yet, he lead the world into a new phase of hope.

He gave me hope.

His smile, his hair, his strength, even the whisker-like lines adorning his face. They screamed daylight.

A pure, golden beam of warmth. So addicting, and so, so dangerous.

I would be lying if I said I didn't begin to find him attractive after his 3 year absence from Konoha- and if his ninja way was to never go back on his word, mine was to stay true to everyone else and myself.

You can say that it's shallow: switching up from scoffing, arguing and competing to blushing, bantering and protecting. Why? Because of his looks?

Maybe it is, but one should know that it was his character that illuminated mine. I didn't have a wonderful childhood either. But like a coward, I let myself drown in it, while Naruto swum to survival.

He just happened to be the hand that pulled me out with him.

I don't know when he himself changed his mind about me, but I thank whatever God there is that he did.

And here, even as I lay staring up at the mourning sky, I thank that same God for making me strong enough to protect him. Even if it meant breaking his heart by leaving.

The once searing pain in my stomach subsided, and I like to think it's because he's holding me.

They say that the manner of a Shinobi's death is what measures their character. And what a wonderful way to die.

His tears are blessing my fragile state, and his hands are pouring his life into me, and his eyes are urging me to stay.

And despite all that, all I want to do is memorise every inch of him- his beautiful face, his admirable physique, his can-do attitude. What a wonderful way to die.

"Don't cry."

I hear myself say.

I see my hand cup his battle-ridden face, the dimmest I have ever seen it.

"You'll be okay," I bless him with.

He shakes his head furiously, breathing so intense with quivering lips.

Oh, his lips. One of my favourite things about him. I still remember when he first pulled me in. When both of us could no longer hold back.

Dinner at Ichiraku, like always. Only that we couldn't stop the tension from building up anymore.

He walked me home, even though I lived the opposite direction. We even took our time.

Glances here and there. Hands brushing. Laughs permeating the quiet air.

And when he suggested that the night was still young, he brought us to a breath-taking spot overlooking our village.

We talked. And talked. And talked.

Then, under the moonlight and stars, we told each other what we'd been hiding from each other even as teammates.

And slowly, every so slowly, he pulled me towards him. In that moment, I questioned how I was able to live all these years without him with me like that.

He brings me back from my distractions, telling me to stay awake. Telling me that Sakura will be here soon. Telling me that he can't let me go. That I can't leave him.

"Please."

Who is he begging? Who is he asking mercy from? Who is saving me, when I saved him?

Sasuke, my old friend, the person I used to confide in, the little boy I grew up lonely with. Even he stares in disbelief from a distance.

What have I done?

The question is written all over his face. But I forgive him. I understand his hurt. I just wish it could have gone differently. I think we all do.

I hear Naruto curse Sasuke out. And I feel his arms wrap tighter around me. So I kiss his tears away. But they keep coming. I tell him to find it in his heart to forgive, because my sacrifice was not only for him, but for the boy whom my sympathies went out to as well.

"I can't do this without you," he gulps, holding me with such care, like I could break into a million pieces. With him here? Never.

He makes me complete. Whole. Or half? Since he makes up the other.

"Yes," I smile, "You can."

"No-"

"You must." I urge softly, stroking his whiskers, line by line. Stroking his fluffy blonde hair.

"Please," he begs with my name; I love how he says my name.

"Let me bring you to Sakura-chan."

I shake my head again, holding his hand down as he makes a move to leave his fated battle.

Stubborn as ever. What did I expect?

"I gave you an opening, didn't I?" I say with as much grit as I can, trying to sound like my cocky self, "Now what are you gonna do about it?"

He ignores me, the azure in his eyes roaming my face.

"Please," his tears glisten with so much pain, "I can't let this happen. I just got you- I can't- please- I can't lose you now."

I wipe them away again, not caring if my own ran down my face.

"You always had me, Naruto," I whisper to him, "My heart and all. Ever since your annoying self at thirteen declared you hated me."

He cries even harder, hiding his face from me in agony.

"And you'll never lose me," I bring him back to bless me with his gaze, "You think you can get rid of me this easily?"

We both know what I plan on doing, but this man, this boy, isn't only mine. Everyone looks at him to create change in this dark world.

If he was my beam of hope, then he can be everyone else's.

I reach up, swiping a finger gently against his headband to keep it clean, Konoha's symbol adorning him in pride.

"I'm so proud of you, you know?" I focus on fixing stray blonde strands- he can't end this fight with hair I nagged him to cut in fear of obstruction; turns out I am always right, "I just know you'll make a fine Hokage."

He just watches me, freely crying over me, as if protecting the both of us from the rest of the destruction.

“You know, you’re as beautiful as when I first met you,” he plays with my hair out of habit, smiling in reminiscence.

And it seems, he’s also trying to drink in every single detail of me, unwilling to look away in fear of my departure.

"You liar."

I can't break down anymore. For him. I change the topic, needing to let him know that this? This is inevitable. I would much rather spend my last moments in peace with him.

"I can't wait to meet your parents," my voice cracks, for I can't help it any longer.

He sniffs, fighting against his closing throat.

"They'll love you."

We smile at each other, even daring to share a laugh.

He presses his lips to my forehead with so much love, even if it is the gentlest touch he has ever graced me with, "Just like I love you."

He leans in. I wrap my hand around his neck, and we close our eyes to savour this moment.

"I love you." I proclaim.

I pull back, letting him hear the words I have always wanted to say to him.

"Thank you," I say to him, "For everything. For strengthening me. For loving me. For fighting with me. For fighting for me."

All of my feelings, my unspoken words, my hopes and dreams.

No, he is all of that himself. He is everything I feel, every overwhelming thing I can't bring myself to say, every hope, and every dream.

With these parting words, I kissed him one last time, pouring my all into him.

I feel the power of the Tatsu, hidden in me as the only thing I have of my clan, empowering him; this will do well with Kurama's strength. How I'll miss that sly fox, too.

Both of you, keep each other safe.

Then, he can win as I hold his hand, letting him know that he will never rid of me despite his fears.

The will of fire, like it always has, burns brighter than ever.

For he: my rival, my teammate, my loved one, is the flame of hope.

He is the daylight that this world waits to see once more, over the horizon of a new dawn.

🦊🍥

[guiltiest-gear]

“You speak of him quite fondly.” Gabriel froze. Suddenly, the gazes of the Council upon him seemed much more intimidating.

“...Of course,” he began slowly, carefully forming his sentence in his head before speaking aloud. One wrong word could mean the death of him. “My instructions were to befriend him—”

“Your instructions,” a Councilor cut him off sharply, making dread pool in his gut, “were to gain his trust. Not to form… attachments.” They say the word with such disgust it makes him feel dirty. Faintly in the back of his mind, he realized he was trembling.

“Remove your chestplate.” The order made his heart drop to his feet. He hardly did anything, it was an honest mistake, he didn’t deserve—!

“Gabriel.” Caught up in his head, he had forgotten to move. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Hesitantly, he undid the leather straps holding his pauldrons to his breastplate, setting them on the floor beside him. The metallic clang when they collided with the marble floor echoed throughout the silent amphitheater. He worked his chest plate over his helmet, discarding it the same way. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his bare arm.

“On your knees,” demanded the Head Councilor. Gabriel knew it was coming, knew what they were going to do to him, and yet shakily dropping to his knees in the center of the amphitheater and feeling the gazes of the Council follow him to the floor was one of the scariest things he’d ever done. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the way they were shaking.

“Gabriel, you have been tempted by sin.” He couldn’t stop himself from flinching when he heard footsteps approach behind him, curling further in on himself with every step. “To purify your thoughts and deliver you from temptation, you will be lashed for every sin in hell.”

The footsteps stopped right behind him. The tension in the air was suffocating, his every muscle drawn taught like a bowstring, waiting for—

White-hot pain exploded across his back. The force of it knocked the breath from his lungs and had him curling his hands into fists. He grit his teeth and took a steadying breath through his nose.

“Speak your sin.” The Councilor demanded. Gabriel swallowed thickly.

“Lust.” There was an affirming nod from the Councilor, and then they struck him again. Gabriel jolted, feeling his obsidian skin tear open. Drops of blood pooled from shallow wounds in his flesh that would only be made deeper.

“Gluttony.” He heard the whip whistle through the air as it was brought down again. He exhaled slowly, attempting to ground himself while cool air bit at his exposed muscle. Flexing his hands, he closed his eyes.

“Greed.” Another strike. He felt the metal ends of the whip carve grooves into his flesh, felt his blood rolling in thin streams down his back, felt the irritated skin scream with every ragged breath. 

“Wrath,” he gasped, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to draw more blood. Another crack echoed through the amphitheater and with it, more pain blossomed on his skin. It took all of his strength to resist falling forward and begging for mercy.

“Heresy,” he sobbed, his voice cracking midway through the word. Another lash of the whip across his back and he broke, curling in on himself and sobbing under his helmet. His back felt like it was on fire, he could feel each cell breaking apart, every breath jostled his wounds and only brought more agony, he was going to puke—

“Violence,” he wheezed. He couldn’t breathe, every second that passed brought more and more pain, he could barely hold himself up anymore, he was scratching lines along his arms in an attempt to block out the pain pain pain pain—

Another strike. “Fraud,” he whimpered, haggard and small and pathetic as he was, holding himself tightly in some poor instinctual attempt at an embrace that brought him no comfort. He whined quietly on every exhale, his entire body stinging like it was being burned with acid. Blood waterfalled down his back and pooled under him, staining his skirt and leggings crimson. He couldn’t think through the pain, was only barely coherent enough to jolt when the final strike hit him. He felt it tear through the meat of his back, felt a metal tip catch on a ragged wound’s edge, felt as the Councilor behind him tugged and tore it out—

He couldn’t quite swallow the scream that ripped out of him, a half-broken cry that forced its way past his lips and reverberated around the amphitheater. “Treachery,” he coughed, his throat raw from his strangled screeching, falling forward to lay his head on the floor as he gasped for breath.

He was barely conscious as the Councillor stepped away, leaving him broken in the center of the amphitheater. There was a brief pause as the Council graciously allowed him a moment’s rest.

“Back to Lust with you,” said the Head stiffly. “Do not make this mistake again.”

Gabriel nodded weakly, the motion sending further spikes of pain down his back. Shakily, he pushed himself to his feet and began reattaching his armor. He tried (and failed) not to hiss as the bare metal pressed against his wounds.

have funnnnnnn

I fucking love this and I'm gonna explode /pos

Fucking love this tortured guy

[mashas-rotting]

The Slytherin Princess

Chapter 3

Chapter Warnings: fighting, blood purity discrimination, blood, pain, torture-ish, p in v sex, kinda soulmate au, attempted murder, death threats, again maybe dead dove. Idk anymore

"HOW DARE YOU!?" You screamed at the tall wizard leaning against the door way of your detention. Detention, you now had until the end of the year of due to you "tampering with the quidditch equipment" and almost killing Moore, the only muggleborn on the slytherin team. The head master told you if he had been killed you would have been expelled and never allowed to do magic again. "I don't know what you mean, but you should lower your voice. I hear they're trying to expel you." Tom taunted.

Infuriated you pull out your wand, but before you could cast anything you were writhing on the floor in pain. It was like being burned from the inside out. If the write-offs had been a 1 on a scale of 1/10, this was a 20. Only when you saw tom standing with his wand drawn did you realize he had cruxiod you. "Him" an ethereal voice whispered inside your head.

Merlin, anyone but him.

"You are pathetic. I tried to be merciful and have them take your magic away, but blank had to live, and now I'll have to deal with you how I should have from the beginning."

"Depulso!" You cast slamming him into the wall behind him before he could throw another curse.

"Exspeliamus!" He tried to unwand you but you were able to avoid it which also somehow put you closer to him. "Not many have been able to land a spell on me, you should be proud. It is both the only and last impressive thing you will ever do. The dark haired wizard laughed as you circled each other. His eyes held something wild and feral in them. He was enjoying this... and so we're you.

Spells flew through the classroom. Books were thrown from shelves and jars of various dead specimen shattered. Still, neither of you landed another hit on the other. Both of you were out of breath. Tom threw his head back in laughter and began walking towards you his wand at his side. You waited curious to see what was coming. He stopped closer to you than you expected. You could feel his breath on your face as he smiled down at you.

You don't know why, but when he raised his wand to your collar bone, you just let him. "Do it." You heard yourself say, although you don't remember saying it. Tom looked confused for a moment. Recovering quickly, he dragged his wand down your chest, slicing your skin and part of your shirt. You gasp at the familiar feeling. It wasn't meant to kill. It was exactly as deep as the quill had cut you.

Your eyes were locked onto each other's. "Again." You whisper. "Fuck" you groan as he adds another slice following the line of your hip bone, making you subconsciously arch your hips into him. The blood dripped slowly, staining his shirt as your bodies now press together. The sharp bite of his wand pressing harshly under your chin forced you to tilt your face up and therefore closer to his. "What... are you doing... to me." He questioned somehow making it sound like a statement

"Nothing."

"What do you want from me?" Finally, a question you could answer.

"Everything "

His lips were soft against yours before either of you realized it was even happening he pulled back as if he had been electrocuted. "Ruin me." You grip his house robes pulling him tighter against your body. "Please." You begged in a whisper when he didn't move. Suddenly he spun you around so that you faced the wall and pulled your hips back to meet his very apparently hard cock that was currently held back by his pants. The pressure made both of you moan in unison.

"Ah!" You bury your face into the wall as a familiar sting sliced across your back. This shirt would never recover. Your breath catches before you whimper at the both painful and pleasant sting of his tongue on your back licking your blood. "Tom, I need it." You're not sure if you meant more pain, or his cock. "Needy little thing." He sounded disgusted, but it sent shivers through you regardless. Slowly Tom lifted your skirt. Another slice caught you off guard this time across your ass, leaving you exposed as it cut through your underwear. Jerk, he could've just taken them off.

Before you could voice your disapproval at the loss of your panties you felt him sliding the head of his cock between your lips hitting your clit. "Fuck." You breathe out and grip the wall spreading your legs so he can get better access. "I could kill you." He says holding his wand against the side of your neck. "I still think you might." You reply laughing. In one motion he shoved himself inside you completely. The action makes him drop his wand and bite your neck to keep from groaning. You cry out at the sudden feeling of complete and utter fullness. Fuck you'd never been this full. It stung a little as he stretched you.

And just like that he was pulling your hips into his as he thrust into you. Every movement fueled pain from the cuts that littered your body and pleasure from the absolute insanity that was fucking Tom riddle. He was owning you, ruining you, destroying you. Somehow you had become completely and utterly his. In this moment you would have done anything for him. Your moans became more and more incoherent as he fucked you stupid. Neither of you noticed as the scattered items from your battle began to float.

"Gonna come for me, little one? Gonna make a mess? You know I can feel you tightening around me?" His words meant to taunt you brought you crashing down. You screamed as you came and the feeling was too much for him. He came hard with you. Pulling you back harshly by your hair,l he roughly kissed you as you both rode your release. He pulled back from the kiss as your orgasms faded.

Both of you jumped when the loud crash of pretty much everything in the room dropped. "How did you do that?" Tom asked. "As good as you feel inside me, I'd rather have this conversation after you pull out." As you separate his cum rushes down your legs and you hear him inhale sharply.

"You are the only person to ever survive a true duel with me." He states the accusation. "I don't doubt that." You reply, turning to face him, not wanting to disclose anything, even though you know you'll have too. "You hold back in defense against the dark arts." Another accusation. You nod and slide down the wall not trusting your legs after the brutal fucking you just received. You wince as your ass touches the ground, not caring that your skirt did nothing in this position to cover you. Tom smirks briefly at his view of your cunt before continuing. "Just because my cum is leaking out of you does not mean I've decided not to kill you. Explain yourself." You toss him his wand which he catches easily. "Have at it." You say in a challenge when he doesn't react you sigh.

"I'm not a mudblood." You finally answer. "Though I'm not sure their magic is weaker than a pure blood's." Tom scoffs at this. "L/n is not in any of the pure blood family books. They keep quite the record. Do not lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Then why hide it?"

"I... cannot tell you... yet. Please, don't tell the others. It's important that no one knows." You plead with him. He just looks at you with distrust. "Okay look, I can't tell you why, but I can tell you where to find proof. You'd have to make an unbreakable vow with me." Tom tilts his head in interest. "So you want me to vow, to not tell anyone you're a pure blood if you tell me where to find proof of your claim?"

"No. I want you to vow to never tell anyone of my blood status unless I say otherwise so long as I provide you with where to find proof."

"I would require something in return for this vow... If I am to do this, you will duel my... friends. Everyday. In private. No holding back. I imagine they could learn a thing or two from you. And any spells you know that they do not you will teach them."

You sigh. This is a mess. "Fine."

Tom nods taking in your ruined state. "And your detention tonight will be spent cleaning this room, since it's your fault it's in such a disarray."

Tom made you clean without magic and without changing. Which made the process longer and more humiliating. It seems he wasn't done torturing you. After you finished cleaning the two of you made the vow.

"Check the restricted section of the library. Look for dark witches and wizards." You tell him once it's done.

"If your family is so infamous, why has no one heard of them?" Tom crosses his arms. "It's a small family, with only one heir at a time. It's kind of our... tradition. Just find the information and we can be done with all of this." You answer exhausted and ready to sleep. "Not quite. You still have to duel my followers everyday until the end of your detention, which I believe is the rest of the school year." With that Tom turns and leaves

[shallyne]

Horns and Halos

This fic may remind you of The Heaven Receptionist (by taryntino21) and/or the Hells Bells (by see.ya.later) series on tiktok later on is because these heavily inspired this fic. If you see similarities, credit goes to these two angels. I love their series'

Words: 868

TW: death, mention of guns and violence, pain

After Feyre died, she's still in daze and barely notices her surroundings. An angel explains her what happened and where she is

Death wasn't painless. Death wasn't peaceful. Death isn't the things that you hear about when you're alive. None of the things people told you to calm you down. At least not for Feyre. She still felt the pain, still felt the trembles. She could still hear the sobs, the screaming, the gunshot. She still could hear herself begging for mercy, still felt the tears on her cheeks. No, it wasn't peaceful. Her body was burning, even after her heart stopped beating. It was burning and burning and burning, why didn't it stop? Why didn't she get the rest that was promised to her? Why, oh why, did her whole body hurt when she didn't even have a body?

Everything around her was so bright, she had to shield her eyes as she crossed a threshold. Feyre stumbled inside that….room? Nothing made sense around her, she couldn't remember how she reached the column she now leaned against. Surprisingly, Feyre didn't leave any red handprints. She could still feel the blood crusting her hands.

Feyre also didn't know how she reached the counter, which reminded her a lot of a receptionist's desk, no memory of waking over here.

Maybe she wasn't dead. No, she couldn't be dead because as the man turned towards her and smiled, "Hello! How may I help you?" Nope, that must be a hallucination. Ghosts can't have hallucinations. She must be alive because that man has horns.

"Help?" Feyre asked. She didn't know why she said that. She didn't know if she echoed the word or if she asked for help. The man took one look at her before he grabbed something and held it to his ear. A phone? Feyre shook her head.

"Mor," the man said, not taking his eyes off Feyre. "I know it's your lunch break but–" he rolled his eyes. "A lost soul just came in….yes…thank you." he hung up and then turned his full attention back to Feyre. "Do you need something, sweetheart?"

"Help," Feyre rasped again, gripping the edge of the desk.

The man in front of her nodded, as if he knew exactly what she meant. As if they already had that talk countless times. Feyre didn't even know what she meant.

"You must have a lot of questions. You can ask them all very soon, help should be here any minute."

Feyre nodded in understanding, not understanding anything at all. She opened her mouth, to say what, she didn't know, but then she heard doors open somewhere, followed by light footsteps. Feyre didn't turn to look, she couldn't turn. Everything was still hurting, until she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. "Welcome," a voice chirped behind her. Slowly, so slowly, Feyre turned her head, looking at the female. She looked…angelic, with her golden blonde hair, her white flowing dress and the way her eyes were shining. She smiled softly at Feyre, and a breeze was enveloping her that soothed her pain. "I'm Mor," she said as softly as she looked. "Come with me, I'll explain everything to you." Mor put an arm around Feyre and led her away from the desk, towards a lush seating area. "Good," she said as she helped Feyre on a cushioned couch, then sat opposite her. Mor suddenly held a file, she didn't know where it came from. "Do you know your name?"

"Feyre," she replied quietly. "Feyre Archeron."

Mor nodded. "Good. And Feyre, do you remember how you died?"

Feyre nodded slowly. "It hurts."

"I know, honey. I promise it will get better." she soothed Feyre, then explained, "Sometimes souls get ripped out of their life so suddenly that they reach the afterlife in something like a daze. Would you say that applies to you? Do you feel confused, tired, disoriented?"

It took Feyre a second to register what Mor had said but she nodded. Yes, she was in a daze. It felt unreal. The angel nodded and looked down at Feyre's file.

"You're a fighter, aren't you?" she smiled. "I can see that you fought to stay alive until the very end. You see that can sometimes lead to a shock when you enter the afterlife. You held so tightly onto your life that the echoes are still following you into this realm. That's why you still feel like you're in pain, you still have the sensations that you had on earth. Fortunately that will go away. You should already be able to think a little clearer than you did when you arrived."

"A little." Feyre admitted quietly. "I still– I don't feel good."

Mor nodded, her expression understanding. "That will all go away with time." she promised. "I will not leave your side until you are out of your daze. Does that sound like a plan?"

Feyre nodded again.

"Alright, my dear. Let's get you out of here, the front desk can get very chaotic sometimes." she said, extending her hand. Wordlessly, Feyre accepted it and Mor led her out a set of huge double doors. In her mortal life, Feyre would have admired the adornments but everything was so overwhelming to her.

Dead. She was dead. This was the afterlife. An angel held her hand. Holy shit.

[bucksfucks]

  𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚

      TFATWS EPISODE THREE SPOILERS.

summary┃the plan was simple. get in, get out, and always remember rule number three; no one gets hurt.

pairing┃tws!bucky x f!reader

word count┃1,935 words

warnings┃dubcon elements, soft!dark!tws, semi-public sex, choking, spitting kink, metal arm kink, soldat kink, death threat, degradation, mocking, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ANY MENTIONED ELEMENTS.

     “Is the plan understood?” It’s Zemo who asks the question, nodding to each of you as you all exchange looks before heading your separate ways.

    When you enter the scene, you can feel the floor shaking under your feet from the bass. Drinks are passed around with bodies floating through the space.

    “And I thought we knew how to party in New York.” Your voice is muffled over the music, but you know Bucky can hear you.

    “I haven’t partied like this ever.” He has to yell back in order for you to hear him as you both laugh.

    You have to push your way through the crowd before stopping at where Sam and Zemo are left waiting for you.

    Zemo nods towards Bucky, Bucky taking in a deep breath before giving him one nod.

    He’s wearing something you’d never seen him in; Winter Soldier gear sans the mask.

    “Longing.” You can see the twitch in Bucky’s metal fingers.

    “Rusted.” It gets worse as he tenses his jaw.

    “Furnace.” You have to look away when you see the pained look in his face.

    Sam looks at you, a look that tells you to stick to the plan so you drift back and mix into the crowd.

    You were nothing but a distraction, a distraction that would hopefully buy you guys some time.

    But something went wrong.

    Something always goes wrong.

    You can see the obvious and evident switch in Bucky—there’s something more sinister in his eyes now as he watches you move from side to side; standing completely motionless and trained on you.

    There’s a moment of realization when you realize just what’s happened.

    A moment of oh fuck before he’s striding over to you and grasping at your upper arms.

    “Come with me, Bunny. We have some unfinished business.” His voice is low and calm, parts of Bucky shining through, but you can’t seem to find him in his eyes.

    “Bucky,” you try remain calm, but his hip is firm and you know that this is a battle you won’t win in.

    You can’t help it when your voice falters in fear, but you can’t afford to bring any attention to yourself.

    Sam is elsewhere, Zemo in tow as your eyes dart to find them—at the bar, drinking.

    You were all alone, you had no backup; Bucky was your backup.

    He was no longer Bucky, but the Winter Soldier.

    “I said come. Don’t make me put you over my shoulder.” He threatened as you swallowed thickly.

    You quickly search for Sam or Zemo, but they’re long gone. The distraction worked and they’d be proceeding with the plan.

    What they didn’t know is that Bucky wasn’t Bucky.

    It didn’t feel like a threat, you felt your pussy jump in excitement at the prospect of Bucky’s hands on your body.

    Your feet moved instinctually through the crowd, lead by Bucky as he took one final scan of the room to make sure that you were alone; that no one was following you.

    You didn’t feel helpless, it was more than you felt like you were under a spell—inclined to do whatever Bucky wanted.

    Suddenly you were slammed up against a wall, the air being knocked out of your lungs as you let out a pained hiss.

    “Scream, and I’ll kill you.” He looked feral.

    “Try to fight back, and I’ll kill you.” Darkness consumed his eyes.

    “Do anything other than what I tell you, and I’ll kill you.”

    You want to scream, to kick and fight back—you know that you damn well could put up on hell of a fight.

    But you don’t.

    Instead, you submit and comply.

    “Yes,” you whisper, watching the smirk spread across his face.

    “There’s my good girl. A dumb and stupid, but a good girl.” He purrs, running his gloved finger down your cheek until it’s hooked under your chin.

    You whimper, lip shaking with your sharp inhale.

    “Bucky,” you croak before your face is tightly gripped between his fingers as he snarls and shows you his teeth.

    “You will call me, Soldat.” He rasped, dark and sinister with no mercy in sight.

    A silent mewl escaped through your parted lips as you shut your eyes tightly, trying to steady your breathing as your heart begged to be set free.

    “What’s my name?” He asks you, a test of your loyalty as you pry your eyes open.

    “Soldat,” you whisper back, a pleased smile on his face as he hears the syllables leave your lips.

    “Good, maybe you aren’t as useless as I thought.” He snickers, dropping your face but trapping you against the wall with his flesh forearm against your neck.

    Your airway is constricted for a second, laboured and painful before Bucky is pulling you off of the wall.

    “Follow me,” he barks, tugging you by the back of the neck until you budge.

    His strides are long as you’re forced to keep up with him, walking through hallways so robotically with a stiff body.

    You don’t know where you’re going, but the booming music is getting softer.....quieter, straying further and further out of your reach.

    Bucky’s shoulders look huge, absolutely massive in the tight leather outfit he’s wearing. You know he’s in there somewhere, you just don’t know how to reach him.

    But maybe you don’t want to.

    Suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall, with his metal hand covering your mouth as your eyes go wide and you try to gasp.

    “Don’t scream, Bunny.” He purrs, smirking as you hear two sets of footsteps go past you, completely unaware that there’s someone else in their presence.

    Your heart is in your throat when he removes his hand, tugging you off the wall again so he’s holding your entire body weight up with his arm.

    “Good girl, you learn quickly.” He praises, finger hooked up your chin. His lips hover right over yours, brushing them slightly—just enough to leave you wanting more.

    There’s a flutter in your stomach, a feeling akin to when you’ve gone over a large hill or descended on a roller coaster; exciting and terrifying all at once.

    “I’ve always been so,” he trails his finger down your jaw, “intrigued by you.”

    You don’t know what it means, but you want to.

    You’re shoved into a small room, a closet that barely fits the two of you. It’s dark and smells like aged wood.

    His thigh is wedged between your legs, “always following orders.” He hums against your ear, nipping the skin below it.

    “A Soldat’s dream,” it’s dark, the way he refers to himself.

    “You’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you, Bunny.”

    It’s not a question, you don’t have a choice, you’ve unwittingly sealed your fate as he meshes his lips against yours.

    It’s overwhelming; his thick, padded thigh creating delicious friction against your cunt. Or the way his teeth sink into your bottom lip, tugging it to hear your soft whimpers.

    You feel the wet, hot tell-tale signs of tears roll down your cheeks as Bucky pulls away to cradle your face.

    It’s dark but your eyes are fully adjusted. It’s just too bad that you can see nothing else but darkness in his eyes.

    “There’s no need to cry, Bunny,” he cooes, “I will take care of you.”

    You’re unsure why you trust him, why you feel your body giving into him, but that’s what happens next.

    A sinister chuckle passes through his lips as he tugs your pants down.

    “I can smell you already,” he hisses, his cock hardening against your hip.

    “You can try to fight me, Bunny. But your body tells me that you want this, that you need my cock filling you up.”

    Your pussy jumps at his words, breathing ragged and heavy as the ache in your core burns right through you.

    Your mouth falls open when you hear the whirring of his bionic fingers massage you slowly through your panties.

    “I never said I wouldn’t make this enjoyable for you,” he smirks, watching you closely as your hands go to the vest he’s wearing.

    He snarls, grabbing them at your wrists and lifting them over your head as you shudder at his strength.

    If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve already.

    “Maybe you are stupid,” he hisses. “Did I give you permission to touch?” He asks.

    He nudges your clit with more force making you squeak.

    He wanted an answer.

    “N-no, Soldat.” You croak, feeling an sensation of...fulfillment when he smiles.

    “Good little Bunny.” He sing-songs, “so wet and responsive.”

    You gasp, mewl, arch your back as he slips two vibranium fingers into you. A shiver runs down your spine at the coolness of them, your walls welcoming them warmly.

    “Can you hear that?” He asks, “hear how fuckin’ wet you are?”

    You can, you can hear your wetness coating his fingers as he pumps them inside of you.

    It’s absolutely filthy.

    His other hand drops your wrists to your sides, flesh fingers crawling around your neck.

    “Look at me, Bunny.” You don’t need to be told twice as your eyes shoot open.

    “Open that pretty little mouth of you,” his voice is low and raspy, but collected despite his aching cock pressed against your hip.

    His thumb presses into your bottom lip, folding it down to encourage you to open your mouth. Which you do, because he’s just too damn compelling.

    You gasp back a moan, thick digits inside of your cunt now brushing that sweet, sweet, sweet spot as you watch Bucky’s saliva trail into your own mouth.

    “Mine.” He growls, forcing your mouth closed, watching you swallow.

    Your heartbeat reverberates in your ears, blood soaring to and from your heart as you feel yourself clenching around him.

    “All. Fucking. Mine.” His words send you toppling over the edge, legs shaking and convulsing gently as he has to hold you up as you come.

    There’s a zip, a tug of something, a gasp for breath as you feel his cock at your entrance.

    “There’s no running now, Bunny. I’m gonna consume you,” he snarls, pushing himself past the threshold as he groans at the feeling of your wetness.

    You’re forced to dig your fingernails into the leather of his jacket—clawing at it as you relish in the stretch.

    He grunts with every powerful thrust, his chest colliding with your chest as he holds you up with ease.

    He’s using you. Eyebrows taut as he focuses on one thing and one thing only; his carnal instincts.

    “Shut up,” he seethes, shoving his fingers into your mouth.

    They’re cool, tasting like your own arousal and something you can’t quite decipher.

    “Say my name, say it.” He pants into your ear, something in his voice breaking.

    “S-Soldat.” You choke out, trying to focus on the words that are coming out of your mouth.

    “My name,” he whispers, “say, my name.”

    Your heart hiccups as you open your eyes, “Bucky.”

    He’s there, he’s looking at you—holding you tightly as you can see the same light in his eyes that you did just an hour ago.

    “Bucky.” You say with more conviction, more confidently as you crash your lips on his.

    “Your name is Bucky.” You whisper against his lips, feeling pleasure seeping in through your toes and spreading upwards.

    The air is thick and hot, sticky and wet as you both catch your breaths.

    You don’t trust your own legs to hold you weight, but when they hit the solid marble floor, you don’t have a choice.

    “My name is Bucky,” he whispers, holding your face in one hand.

    “But you are still my Bunny.”