#symphony of malice

[savagewildnerness]

I put Imagine Never Being Able to Dream to this tiny video I made, just so I could post it on non-IWTV instagram (I know there's a thing about sharing your love for art with anyone who'll listen, but... I cannot entirely... I have this thing inside me where I feel like I would die if I told someone "Watch this art I adore, it's incredible!" and then they watch is and say "Yeah... I didn't like it." Or, worse... "Yeah, it was ALRIGHT!" Like a KNIFE to the heart!

Anyway, this video of The Sea in Hastings is from 28th February 2020: the day before my birthday and only a few days before lockdown and the world changed forever... but then I realised, it is SO similar to how I imagine what Lestat sees in Nicolas' mind when he turns him into a vampire! Is it to you too? There's the bird even! And the vast, unending grey! And how poignant the metaphor, given what was happening in The World then, too... and for me, it is still not back to what it was before. I think it will never entirely be, ever again...?

Let's post the whole of Nicolas' turning. Why not...

"When I awoke, I heard his cries. He was beating on the oaken door, cursing me for keeping him prisoner. The sound filled the tower, and the scent of him came through the stone walls: succulent, oh so succulent, smell of living flesh and blood, his flesh and blood.

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She slept still.

Do not do this thing.

Symphony of malice, symphony of madness coming through the walls, straining to contain the ghastly images, the torture, to surround it with language . . .

And all the remembered scents mingled with it -- the afternoon sunshine on a wooden table, the red wine, the smoke of the little fire.

"Lestat! Do you hear me! Lestat!" Thunder of fists against the door.

Memory of childhood fairy tale: the giant says he smells the blood of a human in his lair. Horror. I knew the giant was going to find the human. I could hear him coming after the human, step by step. I was the human.

Only no more.

Smoke and salt and flesh and pumping blood.

"This is the witches' place! Lestat, do you hear me! This is the witches' place!"

Dull tremor of the old secrets between us, the love, the things that only we had known, felt. Dancing in the witches' place. Can you deny it? Can you deny everything that passed between us?

Get him out of France. Send him to the New World. And then what? All his life he is one of those slightly interesting but generally tiresome mortals who have seen spirits, talk of them incessantly, and no one believes him. Deepening madness. Will he be a comical lunatic finally, the kind that even the ruffians and bullies look after, playing his fiddle in a dirty coat for the crowds on the streets of Port-au-Prince?

"Be the puppeteer again," she had said. Is that what I was?

No one will ever believe his mad tales.

But he knows the place where we lie, Mother. He knows our names, the name of our kin -- too many things about us. And he will never go quietly to another country. And they may go after him; they will never let him live now.

Where are they?

I went up the stairs in the whirlwind of his echoing cries, looked out the little barred window at the open land. They'll be coming again. They have to come. First I was alone, then I had her with me, and now I have them!

But what was the crux? That he wanted it? That he had screamed over and over that I had denied him the power?

Or was it that I now had the excuses I needed to bring him to me as I had wanted to do from the first moment? My Nicolas, my love. Eternity awaits. All the great and splendid pleasures of being dead.

I went further up the stairs towards him and the thirst sang in me. To hell with his cries. The thirst sang and I was an instrument of its singing.

And his cries had become inarticulate -- the pure essence of his curses, a dull punctuating to the misery that I could hear without need of any sound. Something divinely carnal in the broken syllables coming from his lips, like the low gush of blood through his heart.

I lifted the key and put it in the lock and he went silent, his thoughts washing backwards and into him as if the ocean could be sucked back into the tiny mysterious coils of a single shell.

I tried to see him in the shadows of the room, and not it the love for him, the aching, wrenching months of longing for him, the hideous and unshakable human need for him, the lust. I tried to see the mortal who didn't know what he was saying as he glared at me:

"You, and your talk of goodness" -- low seething voice, eyes glittering -- "your talk of good and evil, your talk of what was right and what was wrong and death, oh yes, death, the horror, the tragedy . . ."

Words. Borne on the ever swelling current of hatred, like flowers opening in the current, petals peeling back, then falling apart:

". . . and you shared it with her, the lord's son giveth to the lord's wife his great gift, the Dark Gift. Those who live in the castle share the Dark Gift -- never were they dragged to the witches' place where the human grease pools on the ground at the foot of the burnt stake, no, kill the old crone who can no longer see to sew, and the idiot boy who cannot till the field. And what does he give us, the lord's son, the wolfkiller, the one who screamed in the witches' place? Coin of the realm! That's good enough for us!"

Shuddering. Shirt soaked with sweat. Gleam of taut flesh through the torn lace. Tantalizing, the mere sight of it, the narrow tightly muscled torso that sculptors so love to represent, nipples pink against the dark skin.

"This power" -- sputtering as if all day long he had been saying the words over with the same intensity, and it does not really matter that now I am present -- "this power that made all the lies meaningless, this dark power that soared over everything, this truth that obliterated. . ."

No. Language. No truth.

The wine bottles were empty, the food devoured. His lean arms were hardened and tense for the struggle -- but what struggle? -- his brown hair fallen out of its ribbon, his eyes enormous and glazed.

But suddenly he pushed against the wall as if he'd go through it to get away from me -- dim remembrance of their drinking from him, the paralysis, the ecstasy -- yet he was drawn immediately forward again, staggering, putting his hands out to steady himself by taking hold of things that were not there.

But his voice had stopped.

Something breaking in his face.

"How could you keep it from me!" he whispered. Thoughts of old magic, luminous legend, some great eerie strata in which all the shadowy things thrived, an intoxication with forbidden knowledge in which the natural things become unimportant. No miracle anymore to the leaves falling from the autumn trees, the sun in the orchard.

No.

The scent was rising from him like incense, like the heat and the smoke of church candles rising. Heart thumping under the skin of his naked chest. Tight little belly glistening with sweat, sweat staining the thick leather belt. Blood full of salt. I could scarce breathe.

And we do breathe. We breathe and we taste and we smell and we feel and we thirst.

"You have misunderstood everything." Is this Lestat speaking? It sounded like some other demon, some loathsome thing for whom the voice was the imitation of a human voice. "You have misunderstood everything you have seen and heard."

"I would have shared anything I possessed with you!" Rage building again. He reached out. "It was you who never understood," he whispered.

"Take your life and leave with it. Run."

"Don't you see it's the confirmation of everything? That it exists is the confirmation -- pure evil, sublime evil!" Triumph in his eyes. He reached out suddenly and closed his hand on my face.

"Don't taunt me!" I said. I struck him so hard he fell back wards, chastened, silent. "When it was offered me I said no. I tell you I said no. With my last breath, I said no."

"You were always the fool," he said. "I told you that." But he was breaking down. He was shuddering and the rage was alchemizing into desperation. He lifted his arms again and then stopped. "You believed things that didn't matter," he said almost gently. "There was something you failed to see. Is it impossible you don't know yourself what you possess now?" The glaze over his eyes broke instantly into tears.

His face knotted. Unspoken words coming from him of love.

And an awful self-consciousness came over me. Silent and lethal, I felt myself flooded with the power I had over him and his knowledge of it, and my love for him heated the sense of power, driving it towards a scorching embarrassment which suddenly changed into something else.

We were in the wings of the theater again; we were in the village in Auvergne in that little inn. I smelled not merely the blood in him, but the sudden terror. He had taken a step back. And the very movement stoked the blaze in me, as much as the vision of his stricken face.

He grew smaller, more fragile. Yet he'd never seemed stronger, more alluring than he was now.

All the expression drained from his face as I drew nearer. His eyes were wondrously clear. And his mind was opening as Gabrielle's mind had opened, and for one tiny second there flared a moment of us together in the garret, talking and talking as the moon glared on the snow-covered roofs, or walking through the Paris streets, passing the wine back and forth, heads bowed against the first gust of winter rain, and there had been the eternity of growing up and growing old before us, and so much joy even in misery, even in the misery -- the real eternity, the real forever -- the mortal mystery of that. But the moment faded in the shimmering expression on his face.

"Come to me, Nicki," I whispered. I lifted both hands to beckon. "If you want it, you must come..."

I saw a bird soaring out of a cave above the open sea. And there was something terrifying about the bird and the endless waves over which it flew. Higher and higher it went and the sky turned to silver and then gradually the silver faded and the sky went dark. The darkness of evening nothing to fear, really, nothing. Blessed darkness. But it was falling gradually and inexorably over nothing save this one tiny creature cawing in the wind above a great wasteland that was the world. Empty caves, empty sands, empty sea.

All I had ever loved to look upon, or listen to, or felt with my hands was gone, or never existed, and the bird, circling and gliding, flew on and on, upwards past me, or more truly past no one, holding the entire landscape, without history or meaning, in the flat blackness of one tiny eye.

I screamed but without a sound. I felt my mouth full of blood and each swallow passing down my throat and into fathomless thirst. And I wanted to say, yes, I understand now, I understand how terrible, how unbearable, this darkness. I didn't know. Couldn't know. The bird sailing on through the darkness over the barren shore, the seamless sea. Dear God, stop it. Worse than the horror in the inn. Worse than the helpless trumpeting of the fallen horse in the snow. But the blood was the blood after all, and the heart -- the luscious heart that was all hearts -- was right there, on tiptoe against my lips.

Now, my love, now's the moment. I can swallow the life that beats from your heart and send you into the oblivion in which nothing may ever be understood or forgiven, or I can bring you to me.

I pushed him backwards. I held him to me like a crushed thing. But the vision wouldn't stop.

His arms slipped around my neck, his face wet, eyes rolling up into his head. Then his tongue shot out. It licked hard at the gash I had made for him in my own throat. Yes, eager.

But please stop this vision. Stop the upward flight and the great slant of the colorless landscape, the cawing that meant nothing over the howl of the wind. The pain is nothing compared to this darkness. I don't want to ... I don't want to . . .

But it was dissolving. Slowly dissolving.

And finally it was finished. The veil of silence had come down, as it had with her. Silence. He was separate. And I was holding him away from me, and he was almost falling, his hands to his mouth, the blood running down his chin in rivulets. His mouth was open and a dry sound came out of it, in spite of the blood, a dry scream.

And beyond him, and beyond the remembered vision of the metallic sea and the lone bird who was its only witness -- I saw her in the doorway and her hair was a Virgin Mary veil of gold around her shoulders, and she said with the saddest expression on her face:

"Disaster, my son."

By midnight it was clear that he would not speak or answer to any voice, or move of his own volition. He remained still and expressionless in the places to which he was taken. If the death pained him he gave no sign. If the new vision delighted him, he kept it to himself. Not even the thirst moved him.

And it was Gabrielle who, after studying him quietly for hours, took him in hand, cleaning him and putting new clothes on him. Black wool she chose, one of the few somber coats I owned. And modest linen that made him look oddly like a young cleric, a little too serious, a little naive.

And in the silence of the crypt as I watched them, I knew without doubt that they could hear each other's thoughts. Without a word she guided him through the grooming. Without a word she sent him back to the bench by the fire.

Finally, she said, "He should hunt now," and when she glanced at him, he rose without looking at her as if pulled by a string.

Numbly I watched them going. Heard their feet on the stairs. And then I crept up after them, stealthily, and holding to the bars of the gate I watched them move, two feline spirits, across the field.

The emptiness of the night was an indissoluble cold settling over me, closing me in. Not even the fire on the hearth warmed me when I returned to it.

Emptiness here. And the quiet I had told myself that I wanted -- just to be alone after the grisly struggle in Paris. Quiet, and the realization gnawing at my insides like a starved animal -- that I couldn't stand the sight of him now."

[desceros]

reading ch 6. oh my heart. it is so full. so SO full. MY PREFICTION ABT SHOSHTY WAS RIGHT RAHHHH !!!!

oh how i love seeing ppl getting hyped over classical music and see that its more than what donnie calls the "frilly stuff." i was kicking my FEET. IN MY BED. GIGGLING. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME /lh

love the sonata 14 mention, little me saw that shit for the first time and my love for piano multiplied by tenfold

the tension between reader and donnie is actually making me rip out my hair /pos oh my god eating this up like this is my last supper

donnie: wait classical music is a bop actually insert-chan, gun to his head: always has been

if u can listen to 14 without head banging you're better than me, that's all i gotta say. and ho, ho ho ho hoho, if u like pining tension BOY you are IN FOR A RIDE

[finleyforevermore]

You’re at the Sonic Symphony??? :00

I’m gonna see that in like, January!!!!!

Hope you have/had fun, Finley! ^^

HAD THE TIME OF LIFE, MILES!!! 😁😁😁🦔🦔💙💙💙

You're gonna have a blast, I promise!!!

[chocopokkie]

Bound by Shadows

Summary: You attempt to break up with Alastor but it doesn't go so well.

TW: Non-con, yandere-ish Alastor, forced relationship, smut (let me know if I missed any!)

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"I'm really sorry, Al," you murmur softly, your gaze avoiding his once-adoring eyes, now fixed with a grin that cuts deeper than any blade. "I just don't think we should be together anymore..."

"We can still be friends!" you hastily add, your voice betraying the tremor of uncertainty, "I just don't think—"

But before you can finish, a dark laugh cuts through the air like a chilling gust of wind.

"Haha!" Alastor's laughter drips with disdain as he interrupts, his tone laced with judgment. "My dear, I truly don't think you know what you're talking about. You think after everything I've done for you, you can just leave me, little doe? I believe I need to give you a reminder of who you belong to," he growls, his words like a predator's low warning growl.

Suddenly, the room shifts and morphs around you, the comforting walls of your room replaced by the dark, dense canopy of a forest. Panic surges through you, but before you can even grasp the gravity of the situation, you're violently shoved to the forest floor. The earthy scent fills your senses as black tendrils snake around your limbs, rendering escape impossible.

"Alastor, please, what are you doing?" you plead, your voice shaking with a mixture of fear and confusion. You attempt to struggle against the oppressive grip of the tendrils, but they hold you firmly in place, like iron chains. "Please, you're really scaring me!" you beg, desperation seeping into your words as you realize the gravity of the situation.

"Oh, as you should be, dear~," Alastor purrs sinisterly, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Because I'm going to make sure this is a lesson you never forget." With a snap of his fingers, the tendrils forcefully flip you over, leaving you on your knees with your face pressed against the cold, hard forest floor. Dread washes over you as you realize what's about to happen.

"N-No... Please..." you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation tainting every syllable. "Okay, I'm sorry! Please, I'll never do anything like this again, I swear! I love you! Just please stop..." You plead, reaching out to him in a futile attempt to appeal to his humanity, to make him see reason. But all you receive in response is a dark chuckle that sends chills down your spine.

"Oh, I know, baby~," Alastor responds, his tone laced with a sickening mixture of affection and possessiveness. "But if you aren't punished, you might get that stupid idea of trying to leave me in that pretty little head of yours. And we can't have that again, now can we?"

Alastor moves quickly, his movements fluid yet unsettlingly precise. With a swift motion, he shoves your dress over your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. You gasp in shock and protest, but before you can utter a word, his clawed finger slashes through your panties, cutting them away with a cruel efficiency.

His dark chuckle cuts through the air like a blade through silence. "Bad girls don't get any foreplay," he growls, his voice dripping with malice as he works at his pants, freeing his cock. With grace, he positions himself at your unprepared entrance.

"I'm sorry, Alastor! Please, just stop," you plead, desperation lacing your voice as tears stream down your face. You know there's nothing you can do to halt his actions, trapped and powerless against him.

Your scream rips through the air like a haunting melody as Alastor mercilessly shoves his entire length inside of you, setting a brutal pace that leaves you gasping for breath. Each thrust is accompanied by a symphony of pain and desperation, your pleas falling on deaf ears as he revels in your suffering. Alastor savors the sound of your cries, finding perverse pleasure in the symphony of agony echoing through the forest.

One of his hands snakes around to rub your clit, sending a jolt of unexpected pleasure coursing through your body. Your muscles tense and spasm in response to the new sensation, but the relentless grip of the tendrils keeps you firmly anchored to the forest floor, rendering you utterly helpless against Alastor's desires. He continues his assault, relishing in the control he exerts over your body and mind.

As the realization sinks in, a cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach. You understand now that there's no escape from his grasp, no reprieve from his twisted desires. In that moment, it becomes painfully clear: you belong to him, body and soul, for eternity. Alastor has ensured that you'll never forget your place, sealing your fate with every merciless thrust and cruel manipulation. You are his forever, and he delights in reminding you of that fact.

You can never escape.

He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers with a cruel intimacy, "Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?" With renewed vigor, he increases the speed and pressure on your clit, driving you to the brink of ecstasy even as tears streak down your face, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations coursing through your body.

As you came around Alastor's cock, he resumes his brutal pace. His claws dig into your hips, leaving marks of possession as he relentlessly chases his own release. With a guttural groan, you feel him twitch inside you, his hot seed spilling deep within, painting your walls white with his essence.

"Now then, have you learned your lesson, love?" Alastor's voice cuts through the haze of pain and confusion, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. Gradually, you feel the tendrils loosen their grip around you, allowing you to collapse onto the forest floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and sobs wracking your frame.

"Y-yes," you manage to whisper weakly, your voice barely audible amidst the turmoil of emotions raging within you.

"Lovely~. Now get yourself cleaned up! We have reservations tonight!" His words, almost sickeningly cheerful, echo in your ears as he strides away, leaving you alone in the cold darkness of the forest. As you lay there, broken and defeated, you can't help but reconsider everything—your choices, your worth, and the twisted dynamic that binds you to him in ways you never imagined possible.

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. homemade love.

about. katsuki takes the pain of his middle-born daughter to heart, and does anything he can to fix it.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up, bakugou is a girl dad of three, reader is referred to as ‘ma’, their daughter is quirkless like deku lol, he makes her pasta, pro hero!bakugou, fem!reader, … a draft from a long time ago!! enjoy please <3

katsuki who cooks and makes his middle daughter her favourite pasta recipe whenever she’s down.

she comes home from middle school with scraped palms and knees, teary eyed and with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“they don’t like me ‘cause ‘m quirkless.” she says as soon as she’s through the door — the authentic bakugou twang thick in her shaky voice. her face is pressed into your torso when you make eye contact with katsuki, who’s emerged from the kitchen down the hall and to your left.

you see it all flash before his eyes — his childhood, his high school career and the day he died. the way he treated the number one, uncle izuku, for so many years. it’s all reflected in the familiar red of his middle child’s eyes and it kills him.

“c’mere squirt,” katsuki calls to her, drying off his hands with the red riot tea towel slung lazily over his shoulder. he’d been washing dishes before she got home. “we’re makin’ dinner together.”

“but i—“

“i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” the older blonde nudges his head towards the kitchen, reaching a hand out for his daughter which she tenderly takes. when she sniffles, bakugou tucks her into his side as if to protect her from the horrors of the world. you let them go without interrupting, knowing the importance of this moment for the two.

it’s not easy, being a bakugou when you’ve got dynamight’s reputation to live up to. he’s fearsome and fiery, confident and calculated. your husband and the father of your three beautiful daughters is one of the main reasons why japan is safe today. the burden and weight of his reputation that your children carry is unimaginable — only made worse by the fact that your middle is quirkless.

and yet, dynamight’s love for her doesn’t falter. since the moment he first held his baby girl she’s been his entire world, his moon along with his sun and now his stars. he’s adored her before she even became a twinkle in his eye — no amount of power or special ability would change that for him.

she’s katsuki’s girl, not just dynamight’s daughter. he’d tear the world apart to find anyone who ever hurt her.

“hold the knife properly. you cut your finger off ‘n yer ma will have my head.” his gruff voice, holding no malice, makes your sweet girl snort with laughter — a change from her earlier wobbly bottom lip and teary eyes. “we’re tryna mince garlic for the sauce, not yer little hands, squirt.”

she sticks her tongue out at him, bright blonde curls bouncing when she narrowly misses a playful swat from her father. “i’m trying,” your middle child wails with faux upset — her nose scrunches all too similarly to how yours and it sends an arrow of love straight through katsuki’s chest. for a moment, the kitchen falls to silence and the elder of the two turns his attention to the pasta dough in his large floured hands — focusing on shaping them into little bow ties just how his daughter likes, on occasion adding them to a boiling pot of water.

“i’m trying,” she says again, but quieter. “but daddy, everythin’s so hard.”

and like pot simmering away on the stove, her emotions start to boil over — tiny hiccups forming a sad symphony with the sounds of a working kitchen.

bakugou instantly springs into dad mode, dropping everything that he had been doing to take your daughter’s hand in his. despite how messy it may be. “hey now gorgeous, don’t cry…tell me what’s wrong, yeah?”

“i-i don’t want to disappoint you by not havin’ a quirk n not bein’ a hero…” she manages to get out through her blubbering — digging the heal of her palm into wet eyes. “i jus’ wanna make you proud!”

katsuki’s face softens, everything except for love for his daughter melting away. “‘nd i am proud. fiercely fuckin’ so…ah, shit, don’t tell yer ma i cursed, kay?” he stumbles over his words, he’s never been the best at comforting people but when bakugou’s child needs him, he’ll be damned if he leaves her in any pain. “from the moment y’first came into this shitty — i mean — crappy world, i’ve been proud of you. you’ve always pushed yourself beyond anythin’ i could achieve, you’re kind to people when they don’t deserve it, you smile whenever things get tough…”

taking a moment from his passionate rant, katsuki slows his breathing and composed himself — squeezing his little girl close. “yer the best thing that’s ever happened t’me ‘n yer ma. my proudest moment… i love ya so much. you’d never disappoint me.”

“really, daddy?” your baby sniffles, rubbing at her snotty nose.

bakugou nods with a gentle smile, cupping her face between his two floury hands before kissing her forehead z “really.” he affirms. “now get yer choppin’ skills together, this pasta sauce ain’t gonna make itself.”

the two blonde’s return to cooking, a comfortable silence settling in your family kitchen, also full of love. that night, your family of five sit together munching on homemade pasta bow ties in a sauce that your middle daughter had worked so hard to make. she grins brightly between her sisters, staring at her father with her shining red eyes thankfully.

in that moment, she knows that she is loved no matter what the status of her quirk is.

you link your fingers with bakugou’s under the table. “you did good, dad.” you whisper to him, stabbing through your pasta with your fork. “

“so did you, ma.” he whispers back gruffly, thumb running over your wedding band as he eats his pasta too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[soulofapatrick]

I Choose You - Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: What if Foyet makes Hotch choose between you and Haley during Season 5 Episode 9

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: angst; injury; kidnapping; near-death

Notes: Would you like a hospital part two?

Y/N’s POV

Foyet's voice, dripping with malice, reverberates through the room, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down my spine. I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on us like a suffocating blanket, a cruel reminder of the nightmare we're trapped in. "You have to choose, Aaron," Foyet's words hang heavy in the air, each syllable laced with malice. "Choose who lives and who dies."

My heart lurches in my chest as I steal a glance at Haley beside me. Her once composed demeanour now shattered, tears glisten in her eyes like unshed diamonds, silent witnesses to the terror that grips us all. But beneath the fear, there's a silent plea, a desperate prayer for mercy that hangs unspoken in the air. 

I reach out to Haley, my hand trembling with the weight of unspoken words, but she refuses to meet my gaze. Her eyes remain fixed on Hotch, her ex-husband, her silent cries echoing in the deafening silence of the room. I can feel the weight of her accusation, the unspoken blame that hangs heavy between us like a shadow. I want to comfort her, to offer her some shred of solace in this sea of darkness, but my words catch in my throat, suffocated by the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatens to consume us all.

Hotch's new partner, that's what I am. A constant reminder of the life he left behind, the choices he made. And now, in this moment of unspeakable terror, those choices loom large, casting a long shadow over our fractured lives. The pain and terror on her face makes me act before I can think about it, jumping to my feet and punching Foyet as hard as I can, hearing a cracking that I’m not sure is me or him. He stumbles back and Haley is crying out in fear. 

The gunshot that follows is deafening, the sound echoing through the room like a thunderclap. My head cracks against the floor, Haley screams and I can hear a muffled sound come through the phone before pain explodes in my shoulder, a searing agony that steals the air from my lungs. Everything around me blurs as waves of nausea wash over me, threatening to pull me under. I bite down hard on my lip to stile a cry, refusing to give Foyet the satisfaction of hearing me scream. 

Through the haze of pain, I can hear the sharp intake of breaths from the phone, the panicked shouts echoing in my head. But, amidst the chaos, amidst the pain, one thought pierces through the fog in my mind - Jack. I have to protect Jack at all costs. He’s upstairs, vulnerable and unaware of the danger lurking downstairs. 

With every ounce of determination I can muster, I push myself to my feet, the room spinning around me like a dervish of shadows and pain. Each step is a battle against the agony that courses through my wounded shoulder, threatening to pull me under with its relentless grip. But I refuse to yield. Jack needs me. 

Stumbling and swaying like a ship caught in a tempest, I make my way towards the stairs, each movement a Herculean effort against the overwhelming tide of pain. The world distorts and blurs around me, the edges of my vision swimming in a sea of darkness and light. But I press on, driven by a single, unyielding purpose - to protect Jack at all costs. He's my beacon in the storm, my reason to endure, and I will not falter in my duty to keep him safe.

The stairs loom before me like a mountain to be conquered, each step a monumental struggle against the forces that seek to drag me down. And then, in a cruel twist of fate, my strength fails me, and I stumble, my body crashing against the unforgiving carpet below. Pain explodes in a symphony of agony, a chorus of screams that reverberates through the empty halls of my mind. Blood pools beneath me, staining the carpet crimson with its silent accusation. 

But amidst the chaos, amidst the pain, there is a beacon of hope - Jack. With trembling hands, I crawl towards the wardrobe, my heart pounding in my chest at the sight of his small form nestled within its confines.

Relief washes over me like a tidal wave as I gather him into my arms, his warmth a balm against the cold embrace of fear that threatens to consume us both. In that moment, holding him close, everything feels right, as if the world has finally found its balance once more. But the illusion is shattered all too soon, replaced by the harsh reality of our situation. I look into Jack's eyes, so innocent and trusting, and feel a pang of guilt twist in the depths of my soul. 

I have to ask him to do the unthinkable, to press his small jumper against the bleeding wound on my shoulder, to stay as quiet as possible and pray that help arrives before it's too late. With trembling hands, I reach out to Jack, my fingers trembling as I gently clamp my hand over his small mouth, a silent plea for his silence in the face of danger. Another gunshot reverberates through the house, its echo a chilling reminder of the horrors that lurk below. My heart sinks as Jack has just lost a parent and he doesn’t even know it. 

“Don’t make a sound.” I whisper, my voice slurred with pain and exhaustion, the words a desperate prayer in the darkness that threatens to consume us both. 

Jack's eyes are wide with fear, but there's a determination there too, a flicker of strength that belies his tender years. Despite the terror that grips him, he nods, his small hand instinctively pressing the jumper harder against my bleeding wound, as if trying to stem the tide of blood that threatens to spill forth.

As I begin to fade in and out of consciousness, the world around me blurs into a hazy labyrinth of pain and uncertainty. My hand slips from Jack's mouth, the warmth of his breath fading into the chill of the night as I teeter on the edge of oblivion. The darkness threatens to swallow me whole, its tendrils reaching out with icy fingers to drag me into the abyss.

I reagin consciousness momentarily, hearing Jack’s voice, small yet resolute as it pierces through the darkness like a beacon of hope, calling out for his dad and the members of the team he can remember the names of, a desperate plea. 

And then, blessed oblivion claims me again, pulling me into its embrace with gentle hands and whispered promises of respite. 

As consciousness gradually returns, it feels like emerging from the depths of a murky sea, the world slowly coming into focus around me. Sirens wail in a cacophony of urgency, their shrill cries cutting through the air like a clarion call to salvation. They rhythmic hum of the ambulance’s wheels against the road lulls me into a strange sense of calm, a respite from the chaos that has consumed me. 

The pain in my shoulder, once a searing inferno threatening to consume me whole, now simmers beneath the surface like embers in the night, dulled by the merciful touch of oblivion. 

And then, as if guided by some unseen hand, my gaze falls upon the one constant in this tumultuous storm - the hand clasped in mine. It's warm and steady, a silent reassurance amidst the chaos that surrounds us. Following the line of the hand with bleary eyes, I find myself locking gazes with Hotch, his presence a beacon of strength in the darkness that threatens to consume us. His eyes, filled with worry and relief, speak volumes without uttering a single word, a silent testament to the bond that binds us together.

“I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.” He soothes despite being covered in blood himself. His other hand is shooting my hair off my face and I wanna snuggle into it but he’s covered in blood. 

“Haley?” I ask, remembering the second gunshot and Hotch’s face flickers for a second before he squeezes my hand, bringing it up to his lips and kisses the back of it gently. It’s all I need to know that the muffled sound I heard through the phone after the gunshot was Hotch choosing. 

A choked sob leaving my throat and Hotch presses a chaste kiss to my forehead, mumbling softly, “Rest, the others will meet us at the hospital.” 

“Hotch.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You chose me...” 

“I chose you.” 

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y

[teddypickrwritings]

The Beautiful Moonlight - Night Watch x Reader

A/N: Mainly inspired by Ithaqua’s 6th anniversary quote! I referenced some of his other quotes too. This can be platonic or romantic!

Oletus Manor was no stranger to big and lavish events. This party was no exception—everyone who had visited or stayed at the manor in the past had been invited to celebrate its 6th anniversary of hosting daring survival games.

The impostor syndrome was kicking in for you. You had only been a guest at the manor for about a month and participated in a fairly small amount of games. There were so many people you still had yet to make acquaintances with.

Simply put, you felt like you shouldn’t be here.

A whirlwind of chatter was enveloping your mind. Combined with the symphony of clattering and clanking dishes, it was all getting to be too much for you to handle. You slipped out of the dining hall without anybody noticing or caring to stop you.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips. A sandbag had been lifted off your chest. Maybe you should go outside and-

“(Y/N)?”

A soft voice made you jump. You turned to come face-to-face with the Night Watch, or Ithaqua as you had heard some people call him. It was slightly comforting to see a familiar face—er, mask—but maybe ‘comforting’ was pushing it. You had had only one match against him and his eerily playful giggles had unnerved you greatly.

“That is your name, right?” Ithaqua asked.

“That’s right,” you said slowly as your heartbeat settled back to normal.

He looked at the set of doors that you came out of. Everyone’s voices were still loud enough to be heard, but were thankfully muffled. “Why aren’t you in there?”

“I could ask you the same,” you said with a polite smile.

Ithaqua tilted his head, and you hoped that you hadn’t made a mistake with your little quip. “I don’t like socializing very much,” he said plainly.

You nodded, relieved. “It can be overwhelming at times. That’s why I stepped out,” you explained.

“I think it’s also such a waste to hold a party in here,” Ithaqua said with a sigh. “The moon is so beautiful tonight. We should all be basking in its light.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m guessing you prefer nighttime?”

Ithaqua let out one of those soft chuckles of his. But in this setting, it didn’t creep you out nearly as much. “Would you like to come along with me to see it?”

His request caught you off-guard. But this was a chance for you to become acquainted with him; after all, you should “keep your enemies close” as the saying goes. So you nodded after a bit of hesitation and followed him out to the gardens.

It didn’t occur to you once you both stepped in the darkness that he could kill you. A sense of dread overtook you as you realized this was the perfect time for him to strike. Everyone was inside.

Nobody would hear you.

But Ithaqua made no indication that he was going to strike. His stilts did not impede his smooth gait in the slightest despite the terrain changing from hard floor to soft grass. He crossed over to a smooth marble bench and sat down, staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed your fear and joined him in looking up at the night sky. Ithaqua was right—the moon was beautiful. A shining pearl in a sea of stars. No clouds in sight to ruin the breathtaking view.

A strange instinct overtook you, and you stretched your arm upwards. Your hand barely fit inside the moon.

Ithaqua’s soft giggles reminded you that you had company. You quickly lowered your arm as heat spread across your face.

“I am glad that you appreciate the moon like I do,” Ithaqua laughed. But there was no malice in his voice. “It was one of the few bright things in my forest…”

You smiled. “Thank you for asking me to join you. I was, um…looking forward to meeting you since our match together.”

Ithaqua stared at you intensely again. “What exactly were you looking forward to meeting…?”

Your embarrassment became greater. “I’m…not sure. But I want to have a friend,” you confessed. “I barely know anyone…”

The masked man hummed as he considered your words. “Ah, I see…I understand how you feel.”

His answer surprised you. “Really?”

Ithaqua looked back up at the moon. “I said earlier that I didn’t like socializing. But you…I remember you very well from our match. And that is why I sought you out.”

It had been strange for him to approach you, but you were glad to hear his reasoning. You took a deep breath and turned your body slightly so you were facing him more directly. “If that’s the case, then how about we be friends?” you asked boldly.

The ears of Ithaqua’s hood swayed a bit with how fast he turned his gaze back onto you. Your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in; in that moment, you were the piece of prey that the hunter was pondering whether to pounce on or not.

“How about I make it so you can never say you want to meet anyone ever again?” he asked with a menacingly playful lilt.

He’s definitely going to kill me now, you thought as a clawed hand emerged from his cloak. You couldn’t help but scoot away from him out of fear.

But instead of striking, his hand raised to his mask and pulled it off. It surprised you how…normal he looked. Granted, his eyes were pitch-black with almost ghostly-looking blue irises. But aside from that, he looked like a normal young man with messy pale hair falling into his face.

His small grin widened a bit when you said nothing. “Did you think I was going to kill you just now?”

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. What else were you supposed to think?

Ithaqua laughed. “Just because I am a hunter? I would not do something like that unless you gave me a reason to, (Y/N)” he said. His smile became a bit eerie as ne leaned closer to you. “Something like…telling everyone you saw my face…?”

Your eyes widened. “I would never!”

“Good, good…friends have secrets, yes? So this will be ours,” he mused. He straightened back up and returned his gaze to the moon yet again, closing his eyes as the moonlight made his alabaster skin almost luminescent.

Ithaqua was definitely a force to be reckoned with. And it would probably be some time before your heart would stop racing with fear around him.

But in that moment, as you watched his face become peaceful and his smile become content, you knew that you could trust him.

[devourcr]

he never likes to give nicki the satisfaction of his anger. like a teacher tried by his student, he tries not to take the bait ( openly ). but he knows he's failed this time, if not by the frustration bubbling up inside of him, but from the grin plastered on the younger vampire's face.

❝ until when? what's the plan, to lock down your ideas forever? to hold them hostage out of spite? ❞ he knows nicki's right, that even if he steals the ideas, he won't make sense of them the way nicolas could. he can't compose them into the masterpiece that the vampire in front of him was capable of. it's why he won't bother. besides, armand had made it clear that he would write for them. as the master of the coven, it's his job to ensure that everyone upholds their piece.

armand doesn't know that they can rely on human ignorance forever, not if they have one of their own attempting to shove death in their faces, outside of the controlled environment of the theatre. the stage allows lulls them into a false sense of security and the shows make them just uncomfortable enough. ❝ and what's an artist without an audience? ❞ as if hating them was unproductive. long fingers grab for nicolas's jaw, dark eyes bearing into his. ❝ act like a beast, we'll cage you like one. ❞

There it is. A flicker of anger in Armand's face, like a candle flame. Nicolas grinned wider in entirely petty satisfaction. Armand was very good at masking his fury, which made it all the more of a game to reveal it.

"Oh, I am" he taunted when Armand posited he must be overflowing with ideas. "Positively bursting with them. But you don't get them. You can pluck the thoughts all you want from my head but you can't turn them into plays. Into compositions." The river of his inspiration was a constantly babbling brook but he would dam it all up for his purposes- and to spite Armand.

"It's not enough" he said. "They don't understand it. None of them do, it's not enough. They come here and they see the writing on the wall and the blood sticking their boots to the floorboards and they clap and they coo and I hate them". The last words come out in a seething, vehement hiss. "I'll shove it down their throats if I have to. Nor will I let the lot of you bleed me dry for my art while keeping me penned up like livestock."

[horeformilfs]

Searching for Home

Dimitrescu Family x Gender Neutral Autistic Reader

TW: Bullying, Mention of Parental Death

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

As the sun dipped behind the towering peaks of the Carpathian Mountains, casting a golden glow over the quaint village below, Y/N trudged out of the orphanage gates, shoulders hunched against the biting chill of the evening air. For seven long years, they had called this place home, but it had never felt like home. The laughter of other children echoed in the distance, a cruel reminder of their own solitude.

Y/N's steps faltered as a sudden cacophony of noise erupted around them. Startled, they instinctively covered their ears, heart pounding erratically in their chest. The world seemed to spin, the sounds blending into a nightmarish symphony of chaos. The older kids, faces twisted with malice, stood nearby, wielding an array of makeshift instruments to amplify the din.

"Look at the freak! Can't even handle a little noise," one of them jeered, his voice laced with cruelty.

Y/N's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as panic seized them, every nerve on edge. Desperate, they stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear, seeking escape from the overwhelming onslaught of sensory input.

"Leave me alone!" they cried, voice raw with emotion, but their words were lost amidst the clamor.

With a strangled sob, Y/N turned and fled, feet pounding against the cobblestones, tears blurring their vision. 

The village blurred past in a blur of colors and shapes, each alleyway a potential dead end. But Y/N pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to flee, to outrun the demons nipping at their heels.

Finally, as their legs threatened to give out beneath them, they stumbled upon the village church, its weathered stones looming like a beacon of refuge amidst the chaos. With one last burst of energy, they pushed open the heavy wooden door and stumbled inside, heart pounding in their chest.

As Y/N cowered behind the heavy wooden door of the village church, their heart still racing from the chase, they felt a sense of fleeting safety wash over them. The sounds of their pursuers grew fainter as they rounded a corner, their frantic footsteps fading into the distance.

Breathing heavily, Y/N pressed their back against the door, eyes darting around the dimly lit interior of the church. Shadows danced across the walls, casting eerie shapes upon the worn stone floor. With trembling hands, they reached out to steady themselves, fingertips grazing the rough surface of the doorframe.

Frantically, they scanned the room for any sign of movement, any indication that they were not alone. But save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the soft rustle of fabric, the church remained eerily silent.

Their gaze came to rest upon a faded photograph hanging on the wall, illuminated by the dim glow of the candles. It depicted a stern-faced woman, her eyes fixed in an unwavering gaze, her presence looming over the room like a silent sentinel. Mother Miranda, the villagers whispered, a figure of reverence and fear in equal measure.

Though Y/N had never been one for religion, in this moment of desperation, they found themselves drawn to the image before them. With a shaky breath, they bowed their head and clasped their hands together, fingers intertwining in silent supplication.

"Mother Miranda," they whispered, the words feeling foreign upon their lips. "Please... please help me. I don't want to go back there. I just want to be safe."

Closing their eyes, Y/N rocked back and forth, a soothing rhythm born from years of seeking solace in moments of overwhelming sensory input. They pressed their palms against their ears, willing the world to fade away, to grant them respite from the tumultuous storm raging within.

Unbeknownst to them, in the shadowed recesses of the church, a figure stirred. Mother Miranda herself, her presence as silent as a whisper, watched from the darkness, her gaze softening as she beheld the child huddled before her.

As Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the sight of Mother Miranda approaching, a wave of fear and uncertainty washed over them. Their instincts screamed at them to flee, to put as much distance between themselves and this enigmatic figure as possible. But as they pressed back against the solid wooden door, they found themselves trapped, with nowhere to run.

Miranda, sensing their distress, moved forward with slow, deliberate steps, her expression gentle yet unreadable beneath the mask that obscured her features. But as she drew nearer, Y/N's panic only intensified, their heart pounding in their chest like a trapped bird.

"Please, stay back," they whispered, voice trembling with fear, as they instinctively tried to shrink away from her looming presence.

Miranda paused, her keen gaze softened with understanding. She could sense the fear radiating from the child before her, could see the tension in their trembling form. With a silent nod, she halted her approach, giving them the space they so desperately sought.

But Miranda knew that mere words would not be enough to quell their fear, not when faced with the unknown. And so, with deliberate care, she reached up and began to unfasten the mask that obscured her face, revealing the woman beneath.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise as the mask fell away, revealing features softened by compassion and empathy. It was unheard of for Mother Miranda to show such vulnerability, to strip away the veil of mystery that shrouded her every action. And yet, here she was, kneeling before them with a tenderness that took their breath away.

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as Miranda brushed a gentle hand against their cheek, her touch as light as a feather. But as they flinched away, overcome by a lifetime of mistrust and uncertainty, Miranda's heart ached for the pain that lay hidden within.

"It's alright, child," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against their frayed nerves. "You're safe now. Tell me, what has happened? How can I help you?"

Y/N hesitated, their gaze flickering away as they struggled to put their feelings into words. But Miranda was patient, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of their emotions. And as they finally found the courage to speak, halting and hesitant though it may be, she listened with an open heart, ready to offer whatever solace they sought.

As Y/N poured out their heart to Miranda, recounting the cruel prank and the years of loneliness and ridicule they had endured, Miranda listened with a compassion that spoke volumes. Her eyes softened with empathy, mirroring the pain reflected in Y/N's own gaze.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, my child," Miranda said softly, her voice carrying a weight of understanding. "No one should ever have to feel so alone."

When Y/N mentioned their parents, Miranda's expression shifted, a flicker of sorrow crossing her features. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss," she murmured, her voice laced with genuine sympathy. "Lycan attacks can be devastating. Your strength in facing such tragedy is admirable."

As Y/N hesitated at Miranda's offer of a hug, Miranda respected their boundaries with a gentle nod. "Only if you feel comfortable, my dear," she assured them, her tone warm and reassuring.

With cautious acceptance, Y/N leaned into Miranda's embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of her presence envelop them like a protective cloak. Miranda's touch was gentle, her movements slow and deliberate, as she wrapped her arms around them in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.

As Miranda stroked their hair with tender affection, Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over them, a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos of their world. And as they pulled away from the hug, a hesitant smile tugging at their lips, they found themselves trusting this woman in a way they never thought possible.

With a soft rustle of fabric, Miranda replaced her mask, the enigmatic facade once again in place. "Come, child," she said, her voice gentle yet commanding. "I have a place where you will be safe."

As they walked together in companionable silence towards Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N couldn't help but notice the grandeur of their surroundings, the imposing walls of the castle looming overhead like silent sentinels. But though questions tugged at their mind, they remained unspoken, for now content to follow Miranda's lead.

Entering the castle, they were met by a maid, whose eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Miranda. "Are you here to speak with Lady Dimitrescu, ma'am?" she asked, her voice deferential.

Miranda nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, please inform her of our arrival," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As the maid scurried off to relay the message, Y/N glanced up at Miranda, curiosity and uncertainty warring within them. "Where are we going?" they ventured to ask, their voice barely above a whisper.

Miranda's smile was gentle, her eyes filled with a promise of sanctuary. "You'll see, my dear," she replied cryptically, her hand resting reassuringly on Y/N's shoulder as they ventured deeper into the heart of the castle.

As Miranda led Y/N to the second floor of the castle, their heart hammered in their chest with each echoing step. The air felt charged with anticipation as Miranda knocked on a door, the sound reverberating through the quiet corridor. A muffled voice answered from within, and Miranda pushed the door open, ushering Y/N into the room.

Inside, a woman adorned in a cream-colored dress, a striking black hat perched upon her head, and leather gloves adorning her hands, turned to greet them. It was Lady Dimitrescu herself, her presence commanding attention as she rose from her seat, towering over them with an imposing stature that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N's eyes widened in awe and trepidation as they beheld the formidable figure before them. They instinctively took a step back, their breath catching in their throat, but Miranda's reassuring presence at their side anchored them in the moment.

"It's alright, my dear," Miranda murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of fear. "Lady Dimitrescu won't harm you. She just wants to talk."

Slowly, Lady Dimitrescu approached, her movements deliberate and measured as she knelt down before Y/N, her gaze gentle yet penetrating. "What is your name, child?" she asked, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her intimidating exterior.

Y/N's gaze dropped to the floor, their fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of their shirt. They mumbled a response, barely audible above the rush of their own heartbeat.

Miranda interjected, her voice calm yet firm. "Their name is Y/N," she said, her eyes meeting Lady Dimitrescu's with a silent understanding. "I would like to speak with you privately for a moment, if you don't mind."

Lady Dimitrescu nodded, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment longer before turning to Miranda. "Of course," she replied, her tone betraying none of the curiosity that flickered in her eyes. "We can speak in the study."

As Y/N waited alone in the room, a strange buzzing sound began to fill the air, growing louder with each passing moment. Their heart raced with apprehension as they turned towards the source of the noise, eyes widening in surprise as three figures materialized before them.

The first, with flowing blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes, stepped forward, her presence exuding an air of confidence and elegance. "Well, well, what do we have here?" she purred, her voice smooth as silk as she regarded Y/N with a curious gaze.

Y/N's breath caught in their throat as they tried to find their voice, the weight of the three women's scrutiny bearing down upon them. With a shaky breath, they managed to whisper their name, barely audible above the hum of uncertainty that filled the room.

The blonde woman smiled, a predatory gleam dancing in her eyes. "Ah, a visitor," she mused, her tone laced with amusement. "Well, little one, allow me to introduce myself. I am Bela."

As she spoke, Y/N took in her features, noting the drained mascara that framed her eyes, the bloodstains that adorned her lips like a twisted smile. Despite her ethereal beauty, there was something undeniably unsettling about her presence.

Beside her stood two other women, each bearing a striking resemblance to Bela in both appearance and demeanor. Daniela, with her fiery red hair and intense gaze, and Cassandra, with her dark locks and stoic expression, completed the trio, their presence looming over Y/N like silent guardians.

Together, they formed a formidable trio, their allegiance to House Dimitrescu evident in the flower tattoos that adorned their foreheads. And as they regarded Y/N with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, the air crackled with an unspoken tension, a silent invitation into the mysterious world of Castle Dimitrescu.

As the conversation flowed between them, Bela and Daniela peppered Y/N with questions, their curiosity piqued by the presence of this newcomer in their midst. Cassandra, however, remained aloof, her gaze flickering between her sisters and Y/N, uncertainty etched upon her features.

As the evening wore on, Y/N's exhaustion became palpable, their eyelids growing heavy with weariness. Sensing their fatigue, Bela gently inquired about Miranda and her mother's departure, her voice tinged with concern.

Y/N blinked owlishly, trying to recall the details of their departure. "I'm not sure," they admitted softly, their gaze wandering around the room until it landed on a clock hanging on the wall, its hands pointing to the late hour of 10 pm.

With a sigh, Bela guided Y/N to the couch, settling them between herself and Daniela. Daniela, ever the nurturing sister, retrieved a book and began to read aloud, the sound of her voice a soothing lullaby that washed over Y/N like a gentle breeze.

As the words of the story wove a tapestry of dreams, Y/N's eyelids drooped lower and lower, until at last, they succumbed to the embrace of sleep. Their head lolled to the side, coming to rest against Bela's shoulder, and she adjusted their position with a gentle touch, ensuring their comfort as she stroked their hair with tender affection.

Across the room, Cassandra watched silently, her expression unreadable as she observed the scene before her. But beneath her stoic facade, a flicker of something akin to warmth stirred within her, a newfound curiosity kindled by the presence of this enigmatic stranger in their home.

As Bela and Daniela exchanged whispers, their voices hushed with a mixture of curiosity and concern, Cassandra remained silent, her thoughts swirling like shadows in the depths of her mind.

"Did you notice anything strange about them?" Cassandra interjected suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room like a sharp blade.

Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their brows furrowing in contemplation. "Not particularly," Bela replied, her tone thoughtful. "Why, did you?"

Cassandra nodded, her expression grave. "There were a few things," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "They seemed... different somehow."

Bela's brow furrowed in concern. "Different how?" she pressed, her gaze searching Cassandra's face for answers.

Cassandra hesitated, her words carefully measured as she recounted her observations. "They had intense interests in specific topics, and their speech lacked inflection," she began, ticking off the points on her fingers. "They also displayed signs of anxiety, fidgeting, sensitivity to light and noise, and various tics and stimming behaviors."

Bela's eyes widened in realization, her thoughts racing as she considered Cassandra's words. "Do you think... they might be autistic?" she ventured, her voice soft with uncertainty.

Cassandra shrugged, her expression unreadable. "It's possible," she conceded, her tone cautious. "Perhaps we can ask them about it when they wake up."

Just then, the door opened, and Miranda and Alcina returned, their presence filling the room with a sense of calm authority. Miranda's gaze softened as she beheld Y/N asleep against Bela, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Bela turned to Alcina, her brow furrowed with concern. "What's going to happen now?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Alcina's expression softened as she regarded her daughters. "If Y/N decides to stay, they will be welcomed into our home," she explained gently. "But if not... well, we'll deal with that when the time comes."

Bela nodded in understanding, her thoughts racing with the weight of the decision that lay ahead. As she gently roused Y/N from their slumber, their eyes fluttered open, confusion etched upon their features as they took in the sight of Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu standing before them.

Miranda's voice was gentle as she explained the situation, giving Y/N time to process the offer that lay before them. And as they took a moment to consider their options, Alcina posed the question that hung heavy in the air.

"Would you like to stay with us, Y/N?" she asked, her tone soft with genuine concern.

After a moment of contemplation, Y/N met Alcina's gaze with a determined nod. "Yes," they replied, their voice steady with newfound resolve. "I would like that."

As Miranda reassured Y/N of their safety and well-being, a sense of relief washed over them, tempered by a lingering hint of hesitation. But as Miranda made to leave, Y/N's eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, a silent plea for reassurance.

"Remember, my dear, you are in good hands," Miranda said, her voice soft with genuine care. "I will return in a few days to check up on you, and I'll come by weekly to see how you're adjusting."

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of their lips. "Thank you, Miranda," they murmured, their gratitude evident in every word.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Miranda took her leave, her departure leaving an echo of quietude in her wake. Alcina stepped forward, her presence a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

"Come, Y/N," she said gently, her voice warm with reassurance. "Let me show you to your room."

But before they could move, Cassandra interjected, her voice filled with a quiet determination. "Mother, I have a question for Y/N," she said, her gaze fixed on her mother's face.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of yet another interrogation, their anxiety bubbling to the surface like a turbulent storm. But Daniela was quick to offer a reassuring smile, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of panic.

"Don't worry, little one," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "It's nothing bad, I promise."

With a hesitant nod, Y/N braced themselves for whatever question lay ahead, their mind a whirlwind of uncertainty and apprehension. 

As Cassandra posed her question, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the sound of Y/N's quickening breaths. Their muscles tensed, every nerve on edge as they grappled with the weight of their answer.

Cassandra's gaze was steady, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as she awaited Y/N's response. "Are you autistic?" she asked, her voice gentle yet direct.

"Yes," they whispered, their voice barely above a whisper, but it echoed loudly in the quiet of the room. "Yes, I am."

Instantly, a torrent of nervous energy flooded through them, their words tumbling out in a rush of panicked apology. "But if that's a problem, I can leave, I'll find somewhere else to stay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I-"

But before they could spiral further into self-doubt, Alcina moved with a grace born of years of experience, kneeling before them and gently lifting their chin with a touch as light as a feather. She smiled reassuringly, her eyes warm with understanding.

"Shh, child, it's alright," she murmured, her voice a soothing melody that calmed the storm raging within Y/N's mind. "Just breathe."

As Y/N's frantic apologies subsided, Alcina listened patiently, her daughters and Cassandra gathered around in a circle of support. And as Y/N poured out their fears and insecurities, recounting the hurtful reactions of others in the past, Alcina's heart ached with a newfound understanding.

"You are not most people," she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "You are here with us now, and we are here for you. Your identity is not a problem; it is a part of who you are, and we accept you for it."

Moved by her words, Bela and Daniela stepped forward, their arms open in a silent invitation. "Are you okay with a hug?" Bela asked softly, her eyes filled with empathy.

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at their lips as they leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth and acceptance of their newfound family enveloping them like a comforting embrace. And as they stood there, held in the embrace of those who now stood by their side, they knew, in that moment, that they were home.

With Y/N enveloped in the warmth of their embrace, Bela and Daniela exchanged glances, their expressions soft with empathy. Cassandra approached cautiously, her movements tentative as she joined the circle, her gaze meeting Y/N's with a newfound sense of understanding.

"Thank you," Y/N whispered, their voice tinged with gratitude as they leaned into the comforting embrace of their newfound family.

Bela's smile was gentle as she tightened her hold, a silent reassurance that they were welcome here, just as they were. "You're part of our family now," she murmured, her words echoing the sentiment shared by all.

As the embrace lingered, Alcina's gaze swept over her daughters and Y/N, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in years. "Let us show you to your room," she said, her voice warm with affection.

Together, they moved as one, a united front against the uncertainties of the world beyond. And as they ventured down the halls of Castle Dimitrescu, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over them, a quiet reassurance that they had found their place in this enigmatic world.

As they reached the threshold of Y/N's new room, Alcina turned to them with a smile, her eyes soft with motherly affection. "Welcome home," she said, her voice a gentle promise of the love and acceptance that awaited them within these walls.

As Y/N took in the sight of their new room, a sense of wonder filled their heart. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the walls, casting shadows that seemed to whisper tales of centuries past. It was a room filled with history and mystery, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world beyond.

As they turned to thank their newfound family, they found themselves alone in the quiet of the room with only Alcina present. The echoes of their footsteps mingled with the hushed whispers of the night, a symphony of solitude that enveloped them like a comforting embrace.

Just as they were about to settle into their new surroundings, Alcina's voice broke the silence, her presence a comforting presence in the dimly lit room. "My room is right down the hall, dear," she said softly, her words carrying a sense of warmth and reassurance. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

With a grateful nod, Y/N watched as Alcina approached, her movements graceful and deliberate. Cupping Y/N's cheek gently in her hand, Alcina leaned down to press a tender kiss to their forehead, a silent promise of protection and affection.

"Goodnight, my child," Alcina murmured, her voice a soothing melody that echoed in the stillness of the night. "Sleep well."

With a smile tugging at their lips, Y/N settled into their new bed, their heart filled with gratitude for the family that had welcomed them with open arms. And as they drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth and love of their new home, they knew, in that moment, that they were finally where they belonged. 

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

15 Beautiful Lover-to-Enemies Dialogue Prompts | Betrayal Prompts

"Do you remember the vows we made under the moon's gentle glow? How quickly they turned to ash, scattered by the winds of deceit."

"Your words were once my solace, but now they cut deeper than any blade forged in malice."

"In the labyrinth of our love, I found myself lost, only to realize you were the minotaur lurking in the shadows."

"Every kiss we shared was a dagger coated in honey, sweet yet deadly."

"The stars witnessed our passion, but they now mock our folly as we stand on opposite sides of a war we ourselves ignited."

"Our hearts beat as one, once upon a time. Now they drum the rhythm of discord and resentment."

"I thought I knew the depths of your soul, only to find abysses of betrayal waiting to devour me whole."

"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I emerge from the ruins of our love, reborn as your adversary."

"You were the melody to my symphony, but now your discordant notes shatter the harmony we once shared."

"We danced on the edge of oblivion, oblivious to the precipice that awaited our descent into enmity."

"The echoes of our laughter haunt me, mocking the innocence we thought would shield us from the venom of betrayal."

"Our love was a tapestry woven with threads of gold, now unraveling into a tangled web of lies and deception."

"I offered you my heart on a silver platter, only for you to feast upon it with the appetite of a ravenous beast."

"We were poets of passion, crafting verses of devotion with every whispered promise. Now our words are weapons, dripping with venomous intent."

"The sunrise that once painted our love with hues of warmth and hope now heralds the dawn of our animosity, casting long shadows of regret across the battlefield of our hearts."

Short Note From Me!

Many fans of Enemies to Lovers often overlook the possibility of exploring Lover to Enemies. This underrated trope is one of my favorites and I believe it has the potential to make a novel truly stand out. If you have space in your story for this unique twist, I assure you it will result in an amazing read.

I created these dialogue prompts to inspire writers to explore the theme of lovers turning into enemies, showcasing a different form of betrayal.

Happy writing - Rin T.

[savagewildnerness]

I was going to do a different one today, but that wasn’t the mood I was in.

“He was unconscious long before we reached the tower, and I carried him up the stairs to that high cell where Magnus had first kept me.

His throat was still swollen and bruised from their feasting on him. And though he slept deeply as I laid him on the straw bed, I could feel the thirst in him, the awful craving that I'd felt after Magnus had drunk from me.”

This one is for Lestat doing unto Nicolas exactly as Magnus did unto him.

“Memory of childhood fairy tale: the giant says he smells the blood of a human in his lair. Horror. I knew the giant was going to find the human. I could hear him coming after the human, step by step. I was the human.

Only no more.”

It’s for Lestat the monster in every terrifying fairytale. For Lestat who wanted to bring Nicki to him from the second this was done unto him himself. Lestat who simultaneously always wanted to spare Nicolas from it.

“But what was the crux? That he wanted it? That he had screamed over and over that I had denied him the power?

Or was it that I now had the excuses I needed to bring him to me as I had wanted to do from the first moment? My Nicolas, my love. Eternity awaits. All the great and splendid pleasures of being dead.

I went further up the stairs towards him and the thirst sang in me. To hell with his cries. The thirst sang and I was an instrument of its singing.

And his cries had become inarticulate -- the pure essence of his curses, a dull punctuating to the misery that I could hear without need of any sound. Something divinely carnal in the broken syllables coming from his lips, like the low gush of blood through his heart.”

For Nicolas’ ‘Symphony of Malice’ towards Lestat in knowing Lestat shut him out from his secrets, his discovery; as Nicki sees it (though not Lestat), the Ultimate Answer to their conversation.

But oh Lestat, this boy is not the strong wolfkiller you were when turned. He’s a broken thing. He was broken already, and you yourself broke him farther - in trying to spare him; in loving him. In endangering him with your love for him. And oh no Nicolas. Not for you.

A Tragedy.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Malice's Stain (Imprisoning War)

I set out to write one thing, stumbled onto something I had written weeks ago, and was inspired, so have some post-war PLOT for y'all! >:D I feel like this can be read even if you have no idea what's going on, but whatevs, read as you please. <3

X

The smell of autumn was in the air.

Crickets chirped, a symphony of oncoming coolness and stillness, a song of farewell to the warm, moist summer nights filled with twinkling fireflies that replaced the stars. The sky sparkled, gracing the land with a preview of the splendors a cold winter night sky could provide. Flames burned quietly from torches, casting shadows taller than the castle’s turrets.

Link stared blankly out at the courtyard from the balcony.

He knew this feeling. Or lack of it, really. It took every ounce of energy to just breathe. Here he stood, permanently planted in this spot, not tolerating moving but not wanting to stay still. His mind was filled with cotton, half-thoughts trying to formulate sentences and failing to even convey anything beyond a dull ache, a shadow of what should have been an emotion.

This was becoming a problem, but he was far beyond the point of caring at the moment.

There were a million stressors on his mind, yet none truly seemed to stress him out. It was just another thing to be done, another item to obtain, another person to look out for. Day in and out, watch the children, watch the military’s progress in training new recruits, watch the Sheikah scientists continue to come up with new creations and make new breakthroughs.

Smile, say a few words, rinse, repeat. Go to bed, never fall asleep, get up, do it again.

He gave up even trying to go to bed tonight. He’d tolerated his son’s presence today. Tolerated it. What sort of father tolerates his children?

Link felt a twinge of something pull at his chest. His lips trembled. He leaned heavily on the balcony railing, sagging as if the weight of all the stars in the sky were bearing down on him.

There was a low rumble, a voice that practically growled as it chuckled. “So this is the fate of the Hero of Hyrule, then. You’re just as pathetic as I figured you to be.”

Link stiffened a moment at the voice, at the way his body physically reacted and wanted to scream and claw at the man. But no. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be real. He’d sealed Ganondorf away years ago. Besides, last night Link had seen the Gerudo general he’d murdered when he was sixteen; he’d figured, after a week without sleep, he’d probably start seeing things. He’d gotten close to this level of exhaustion during the war, and he remembered he and Hemisi had nearly lost their minds.

It didn’t make it any more tolerable, though.

Link didn’t dignify the hallucination with a response.

“I’m grateful you didn’t marry my daughter,” Ganondorf continued, pacing the length of the balcony behind Link like a predator stalking its prey. “You would have ruined her.”

It stung, for a moment. Then Link almost laughed. “The only one who ruined her was you.”

“Imagine if I had won,” Ganondorf continued, either oblivious to his words or ignoring him. Could a hallucination ignore its creator? “Imagine the different state of things.”

“Hyrule would have burned,” Link snapped, glaring at him.

“Would it?” Ganondorf questioned. “Is it not burning slowly now, withering away as its nobles poison it from the inside out?”

“Zelda is working to fix that,” Link argued.

“Ah, yes. Zelda.” Ganondorf spat out the name like it was a curse. “How Nayru ever favored such a dim-witted child is beyond me.”

Link reached for a weapon before remembering he wasn’t armed. “You are the only fool I had the displeasure of knowing. Thinking you could control everything and in the end all you did was destroy it. Tell me, when you first came up with the plan to steal the Triforce, was murdering your entire family part of it or just a side quest for fun? You stood tall and proud like some king but you were nothing more than a clown, lapping at power like the pathetic boar that you were!”

“And yet here you stand,” Ganondorf hissed, motioning towards him. “The man with all the power in the world, and you are completely helpless.”

The fight drained out of Link, and he felt his face grow cold and pale. Rage filled him and exited just as quickly as he had no rebuttal.

Pathetic.

…He wasn’t wrong. Link was pathetic. He was weak and he knew it.

Years ago, he’d tried to end it in an act of desperation and fear, wanting to escape his imprisonment and avoid becoming a monster that he thought he was turning into.

Had he succeeded in avoiding such a fate? Was he not a monster?

He supposed he wasn’t. He was no Ganondorf. But… he was pathetic. Despite all his attempts to be otherwise, here he stood, arguing with thin air and unable to win.

“You were supposed to be the pride of the Sheikah,” he heard beside him, and he turned to see Lady Impa looking at him disappointedly. “Yet all you do is wallow in self-pity. Our duty is to the royal family, and you can’t even do that.”

“You’re no Hero,” Ganondorf sneered. “Heroes are powerful.”

“Heroes are selfless,” Impa added, walking up to stand beside the ghostly Gerudo man.

“How could anyone love such a wretch?” Ganondorf finally said.

“I don’t need your love or approval,” Link spat, though the fire had mostly drained out of him. It was less of a rebuke and more of a plea, a petition to himself to believe it.

He was over this conversation. He turned sharply, growing dizzy, staring down at the ground so, so far below.

Softer footsteps came next, lighter feet than the thundering steps of the monster he’d faced years ago but not as purposefully quiet as his chief. He caught sight of red hair in his periphery, and he saw Hemisi watching him, bubble ponytail over her shoulder, amber eyes reflecting the firelight.

Link bit back an exhausted sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. He should’ve known she’d inevitably appear in this insanity. He really should try to get some sleep. Would Zelda appear next? Or would his mind turn images of his own children against him?

Honestly, he probably deserved that more than anything.

“You look like shit,” Hemisi commented, an echo of her remark when they’d seen each other for the first time since Sonia’s baby shower. He recalled the incident fondly and forlornly, an event that probably should have never happened. But that had been years ago.

He wasn’t sure it was worth indulging this hallucination as well, and had very little energy to do so, but if he ignored it things would probably just get more out of control. “I haven’t slept in a week.”

“Why?”

Hell if he knew. He’d tried. He used to sleep too much. Now, suddenly, his body decided he just shouldn’t sleep at all. He’d had sleepless nights before, but never for such a long stretch. He felt like he was about to burst out of his own skin. He wasn’t entirely sure why any of this was happening.

“What’s wrong, Link?”

Her voice was so gentle. It made him want to scream.

But what was wrong? He had episodes where he felt down or unmotivated, but he hadn’t felt this insane since Sonia’s birth. His daughter was eight years old now!

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

Hemisi snorted. “I’d say so. You haven’t slept in a week.”

He supposed that was a silly remark to make, given the circumstances. But he really couldn’t fathom what was causing this.

Link smelled lavender all of a sudden, and he turned, noticing that Hemisi had vanished, and only saw a silhouette in the entrance to the balcony. The curls that haloed their head, as well as the mildly heavier build from childbearing gave away the person’s identity, her lavender soap carried in the chilly breeze.

“Zelda?” he asked hesitantly, wondering if this was somehow a more vivid hallucination or if the queen really was there.

The silhouette stepped out of the castle entirely and into the open air, and the torches cast their light on her. Zelda watched him, hands rising to hug her bare arms as she shivered a little.

She was responding to the environment. She had to be real.

“Link,” she said softly, green eyes roaming the area. “Who were you talking to?”

Great. The queen overhearing her husband steadily losing his sanity was the last thing he needed right now. He felt irritation sting, pulsing angrily behind his eyes with his ever-growing headache.

“Myself,” he answered truthfully. “Long night. Do you need something, Your Majesty?”

Zelda hesitated, noting, “Are you not cold? It’s getting chilly out here.”

Link glanced down at his attire. He was still wearing his summer clothes, the bright red tunic laced with golden embroidery overlayed by the dark forest green cloth that draped over his left shoulder and across his chest, cinched at the waist with a brown decorative belt made of leather and beads. There was no need to wear trousers in the summer for nobles in formalwear, something Link had never really enjoyed, but he’d adopted the dress as he was expected, wearing sandals with it. At least the tunic went to his knees. Nevertheless, Zelda was right – he was underdressed for the weather, but… he’d chosen to wear his summer attire as it had been warmer in the day and he’d wanted the nighttime cold to slap some semblance of clarity into his foggy mind.

The hallucinations did not seem to be indicating that it was working. The way he only just noticed he was shivering didn’t help, either.

Deflecting, he jutted his chin towards her briefly, his earrings jingling in the breeze with the movement. “And you?”

She was, after all, in her own warmer weather clothes, a sleeveless ocean blue knee-length simple dress overlapped with a milky white overdress that crossed over her chest, shoulder to opposite hip, before encircling her legs, more in the back than the front. She had a thicker belt with cloth bearing the symbol of the Triforce resting over the area the overdress left exposed. Her curly brown hair was pulled out of her face, though styled in its usual half-up/half-down manner, so at least her neck was likely somewhat warm. He could vaguely make out goosebumps over her light skin, despite her hands covering her upper arms and the bright blue skin paint that decorated her from upper arms to wrists.

“I’m freezing,” she admitted. “Come inside, Link.”

Did she actually need something? It was strange for her to seek him out this late. They certainly weren’t on as bad terms as they used to be at the start of their rocky marriage, but given her actions over Sonia’s training, Link had distanced himself and their son from her. He hadn’t wanted Orik dragged into her scheming like his sister had been. It had left their relationship… cool, to say the least.

Sighing, he complied. There was nothing left to do at this point, and he didn’t have the energy to argue further. His eye roamed the balcony, scanning for any more hallucinations, but his mind seemed to be having some mercy on him; the demon king, Link’s chief, and his former love were all gone.

His fingers stopped stinging from the cold as he followed the queen indoors, though the air was still fairly chilly. Zelda didn’t speak, instead wrapping an arm around him and guiding him along. He glanced at her, almost wanting to ask what this was about, but not caring enough to do so. With the minor alarm of haunting images of his past disappearing, he’d grown numb to the world once more.

Goddess, he just wanted to sleep.

The couple eventually wound up at the door leading to Zelda’s chambers. Link glanced at her again, wondering if she wanted what he thought she did. They hadn’t been physically intimate in years—early in their marriage it had been a push between the two, Zelda needing an heir and Link needing a release from everything, but as they had matured and had two children and steadily avoided each other, neither really wanted to instigate anything all that often.

So why did she want it now?

Zelda opened the door, guiding Link inside, and then sighed, releasing him and heading towards the roaring fire. Link looked around, feeling out of place, and honestly just wanted to leave. He watched the queen a moment longer, watched as she took off her belt and outer dress before grabbing a robe and bundling herself up.

“Come to bed,” she said. It wasn’t quite an order—he was very familiar with what those sounded like—but it still seemed firmer than a request.

Link sighed again. Debated the matter for a moment, growing annoyed at being stuck here, but quickly acquiesced, giving up on the matter. The bed was unbelievably soft and warm, yet simultaneously too hard and cold, his back hurting, hair on his body rising in anxiety, muscles aching, mind still unable to focus.

He… wasn’t sure he’d ever felt this awful. Had he felt this bad during the war, perhaps?

Maybe the night before Hemisi and I fought Ganondorf, he mused. But back then, he and Hemisi, despite how nervous they’d been, had also had each other. There had been a little comfort in that, in the promise of a future after everything, in the hope that the world wouldn’t end the next day as Ganondorf held Zelda and the capital hostage.

He was far over the bitterness of how everything had unraveled between him and the new chief of the Gerudo, but his heart still hurt thinking about the war, about a time when he knew what hope felt like. And he wanted to smack himself for it. His children brought him hope and joy.

Well. They had. Until whatever the hell this funk was had started poisoning him.

He had episodes like these, but they’d never been this awful. Nor this agonizing. He’d be exhausted, paralyzed, but it would last maybe a day or two, a brief spell before Lady Impa would track him down and help him, or his children would find a way to fetch him (he still was too scared to let them know where his room was, terrified of what he’d do if they startled him awake—his reactions weren’t as severe as they’d been, but he still worried).

Zelda slowly got in bed as well, watching him a moment. She no longer hid her expression, worry clear on her face, and it made Link feel like he was under scrutiny.

She was trying to be nice. That’s what this was. Perhaps she did need something, but not now. But he knew she could be kind as well, and that seemed to be her only motivation. He knew that. So why did he feel like a caged animal?

Link waited. Time passed. The fire died. Zelda fell asleep. He was still wide awake.

A whisper behind him made him turn sharply, though he tried to be quiet for his wife’s sake. He caught sight of a silhouette, and alarm made his eyes widen as he slinked out of bed, looking desperately for a weapon.

The person vanished.

Link wanted to scream. He couldn’t stay in here. If these hallucinations got worse, he could hurt Zelda. So he made his way back outside, hoping the cold would slap some sense into him.

He never made it to the balcony, though. Something else caught his eye. It sparkled in the night, like an ember from a torch, but it was darker.

The crispness of the early spring air froze over as if winter had come anew, and Link felt like the wind itself punched the air right out of his lungs. It was unnatural, like he was being squeezed, like something was crawling inside his skin and tearing him apart. His head pounded, and the world darkened, surrounded in purplish burgundy energy, like blood and poison mixing together in a sickening magic that could only be produced by someone who had let evil stain them to their very soul.

Ganondorf disappeared as he screamed, encased in the dark essence, and Link clutched Hemisi more firmly. She was still limp in his arms, having taken the brunt of the lightning attack he’d sent their way, able to redirect it before it could kill all three of them.

When the vicious tornado of malice dispersed from the center of the dark storm, a massive beast stood before them, and Link felt as if his heart stopped. It roared ferociously, and he rose to its threatening call, drawing his blade once more, surprised to see it glowing bright blue. Behind him, Zelda cast a spell of some sort, and Link could see the borders of the dark storm held in place by a golden light, the same barrier she’d used to protect herself in the castle.

The real fight had begun.

Link felt his blood freeze.

No. No.

It was a single spark, and he’d been hallucinating. Nothing was wrong. Ganondorf had been dead for years now, soul split viciously into four to prevent the demon he’d sold himself to, the demon he’d become, from ever returning. The cycle was broken. It was over.

Paranoia overrode reason in his mind. There was no way everything they’d done, everything he’d sacrificed, had been in vain.

Link moved quickly, foggy head gone, filled instead with frantic thoughts, one overlaying the other, choking him as he hyperventilated, barely able to make it to the stairs as his vision started to blur, as his fingers tingled and grew numb. He pulled a torch off the wall, nearly falling down the next flight, and tried to slow himself down, tried to tell himself this was just another hallucination.

“Is it, though, boy?”

Link whirled, seeing nothing, but that voice had been clear, as if he—

He shook his head. You just saw him on the balcony. It’s not real. You know that.

Yes, yes. Yes. It… it wasn’t real. None of this was real.

Yet there it was again. A dark spark, a piece of that awful, hellish storm that had eaten away at Ganondorf’s flesh, that had tried to consume all of them. The reveal of the true evil, the physical manifestation of how far the former Gerudo king had fallen, the…

The day Hemisi’s father had died. The day the man Link had viewed as a father had…

Link bit his tongue. Focus! You haven’t viewed him as a father since he captured you during the war!

It was beyond infuriating that such thoughts still lingered, but he blamed it on being sleep deprived. He had to think!

Link took a steadying breath, and he continued descending into the depths.

Hyrule Castle was a large and formidable fortress. It had been rebuilt and fortified after the damage from the war, after that final fight when Ganondorf had taken the capital. During the reconstruction, they’d created an inner sanctum in the lower levels, accessible only by the most trusted Sheikah and the royal family themselves.

Zelda had been trying for years to learn how to access the Sacred Realm so they could properly hide and protect the Triforce. Link knew little of her research, but he did know it existed. He was no sage, and his magic was practical, not fantastical. He had no way of knowing how to access such a world, and had left such sacred matters to her. In the meantime, though, it was heavily guarded in a vault near the Temple of Time, returned to its holy resting place from which it had been stolen years prior. But the inner sanctum…

Ganondorf’s soul had been split into four pieces. Three had disappeared into the sky, vanishing beyond anything they could find, no matter how many scouts they’d sent, no matter how the Sheikah had torn Hyrule apart to find it. Zelda had theorized they’d moved into a different realm entirely, as the Triforce could of course do such a thing. But one piece…

One piece had remained.

The Master Sword, a sacred blade constructed by the goddess, refined by her divine Hero, was specifically designed to seal away evil. And it held a piece of what Link had killed that day.

After what felt like an eternity, the king consort finally reached his destination. Two Sheikah flanked the entrance, noticing his approach, and knelt. He passed through the door without delay, walking through a room with false entrances to misguide anyone who might get this far.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

Link jumped, startled, turning to see Hemisi watching him.

Goddesses, not now, he grumbled, returning his attention to the doors.

“Link, you really do look awful,” Hemisi noted. “You need to sleep.”

“I know,” he snapped, still trying to focus on finding the right door. He knew which one it was, dammit, he just couldn’t think straight!

He heard a young man’s voice next, still somewhat tenor in youth, almost unfamiliar as it had been so long, but it made him freeze up.

“Stop trying to convince him, Hemisi, he’s too stubborn,” Merovar, Hemisi’s long dead brother, grumbled from Link’s other side. The hero turned, looking at the teenager, but despite how alive Merovar looked, all Link could see was the broken body on the battlefield, the bleeding stab wound, all he could hear was Hemisi screaming—

Link squeezed his eyes closed, putting his hands over his face, pushing on his temples, begging Hylia for help.

He heard a whisper, the same one from the queen’s bedroom, so, so distant but somehow so much more visceral than either hallucination. It was deep, rumbling, but too far away to be discernible. The Gerudo royal twins grew silent, disappearing from the room, and Link thanked the goddesses over and over as he finally found the door he needed, rushing to it and opening it.

The air froze, stealing Link’s breath away. His left arm lowered, torch nearly falling out of his numb grip.

The inner sanctum was a large, stone room, four corners posted with guardians affixed in place, large heads swiveling constantly to seek out threats. Their usually blue and amber lighting was flashing purplish red as they all focused on the center of the room, though there was no true target to fire at yet.

Yet.

Malice swam in the air, peeling off the Master Sword like smoke from a flame. The blade sat on an altar in the center, surrounded by a light blue barrier of Sheikah technology and magic, the eye of his people still glowing brightly to ensure the seal.

“Link.”

The torch dropped entirely, and Link scrambled back towards the door, terrified, breath coming out in rasps. No, no, NO!

The fear at hearing Ganondorf’s whisper faded though, morphing into rage. That monster would not return, would never return, and he would die before he let him hurt his children, his queen, or his kingdom!

The seal was still holding, but he wasn’t sure if it would continue to do so. He had to find a way to figure out why the sword wasn’t enough, why that piece of Ganondorf’s soul was seeping out like blood from a wound. Had the sword weakened?

He needed Ze—

“Link!”

Gasping, Link turned sharply, finally losing his balance entirely in his exhausted state. Zelda leapt forward to try and catch him, hands scrabbling for his tunic to help ease him to the ground. He reached for her desperately, gripping her shoulders, breathless, speechless—

He refused to be helpless. He refused.

“The seal,” he rasped. “We have to repair the seal!”

Zelda’s expression grew frantic as she looked up, examining every inch of the room. Link couldn’t fathom why she didn’t just look at the sword itself, but—

The world spun and then grew unnervingly, disturbingly still. Link held his breath until his vision grew hazy around the edges. The queen’s green eyes examined everything at least five times before she slowly looked back at her husband. When Link saw the concern, the anxiety, but a lack of overwhelming dread, he slowly glanced around the room as well.

The sword was dormant. The guardians were swiveling their heads as usual, a reassuring scrape of metal, blue eyes passive.

Had… had it all been…?

“I’d been having strange dreams,” Zelda said quietly, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. “A strange, impending dread. I thought… perhaps one of the nobles were going to try something. But… Link, I think my dreams are about you.”

Link swallowed, but he could only scrape the back of his throat, dry as it was. “M-me…? You… you think I’m the threat?”

The queen slowly moved her hands from his tunic to his face. “No, Link. No. I… I think you need to rest.”

You’re becoming a threat.

But he… he could’ve sworn—!

What if you’d broken the seal in your panic?

Oh, goddess. Oh, goddess.

He heard footsteps behind the queen, and Impa came into view. The look on her face mirrored the nervous energy she’d had as she’d taken care of him all those years ago, when he’d tried to take his life.

“I—I swear, I—” Link tried to argue, but found his voice failing him, and suddenly, just like that, he was helpless again.

Weak. Pathetic. The words spat in his mind through Ganondorf’s own voice, and he whirled to look at the sword once more.

Nothing.

“Link,” Impa called gently, hand warm on his tense, shivering back. “Come on. We’ll get you something to drink to help you sleep.”

Was he… really…?

Link shivered, curling in on himself, feeling more humiliated and useless than he had in a very long time. The two women flanked him, gently holding him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly.

“It’s okay,” Impa assured gently, oh so gently, that same soft tone she’d used so many years ago.

“We���re going to help you,” Zelda affirmed, her own tone softer than he was used to.

Slowly, Link let them help him stand. He took one last look at the room, at how peaceful it was, and felt like he was going to be sick.

Why did something still feel wrong? Was it just him?

The three made their way back up the countless stairs. The queen let out a small sigh – despite the worry she had for her husband, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat reassured that there wasn’t something else going on. She’d never had visions that pertained to Link, though, and it was frankly a little terrifying that he’d gotten this bad. The chief of the Sheikah watched her boy worriedly, wondering if he’d been on the brink of something far worse, remembering how bad he’d gotten when he was eighteen, terrified that he could’ve almost broken the seal himself without even realizing it. The king consort felt miserable and petrified in his own right, wondering if he should even be allowed anywhere, ignoring how his cheek stung over his old scar he’d gotten from Ganondorf.

But it didn’t matter what the three thought. Plans were in motion. A former ruler sat in the dungeons, awaiting his triumphant return. And farther in the depths than the former King of Hyrule, the inner sanctum remained spotless.

Except for one little spark.

[how-masterful]

Body and Blood

Dhawan!Master X Reader

Summary: The Master is desperate for you to sink your teeth into him. Literally.

Notes: Wow... does this feel weird! I can only apologise for my lack of fics, please chalk it up to creative frustration on my part! But if there's anything that can inspire me, it's the spooky season. Please enjoy this light bite of a fic, and I hope to drop a few more before the countdown begins on the 18th! It's good to be back! Also please be aware, as the title suggests, there will be blood!

This fic is inspired by something I wrote for the 31 fics of fright series- there's no need to read that one before this, but it's a good companion fic to this one if you like fangs! Find that fic HERE

Sharpened claws cradled the warm flesh of the Master's jaw. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, the accelerated beat of a double pulmonary system, a rhythmic thumping of four. The Master let out a quiet groan, his tongue swiping over parted lips as he exhaled.

Your other hand found purchase on his wrist, your thighs trapping his body against the rumpled covers of the bed, his half-hard cock still buried deep inside from your last round. He shifted beneath you, his hips lightly bucking to bring you closer, his free hand supporting your lower back.

The Master was working on instinct. His body was craving your own once more, despite being utterly spent.

“That's it...” You whispered against his throat, before placing a gentle peck to his skin. The Timelord grunted in reply, his lashes blinking against his cheeks as you lay a teasing trail of kisses down his neck. 

“Give yourself to me this time.”

His skin was fire, an inferno contained within a man, his fingers splaying across your hip as he settled further into your hold. You could feel the tension melt from his muscles with each kiss and peck, his resistance to submit unraveling like yarn in your palms. Adjusting your hold upon his throat, you allowed your teeth to rake against the pulsating vein, teasing the skin with your tongue. The Master shivered, head falling back against your grip as a meek moan escaped him. 

“Yes, love” He pleaded, making no attempt to hide his desperation.

It was wonderfully pathetic watching him fall apart beneath you- his mammoth, audacious bravado melting under the threat of your teeth in his skin. In the distant corner of the room the radio continued to crackle, REO Speedwagon crooning from the speakers. They were right, the Master was unable to fight the feeling anymore- allowing himself to give you everything without even lifting a finger was utterly irresistible. Now it was his turn to be touched, caressed, held like a precious jewel and broken like a treasured toy. 

“Do you want this?” You purred, sickly sweet.

The Master's eyes had fluttered shut long before, his head nodding as he gave a heavy exhale. You teased the vein on his neck once again with your teeth, giving a series of nips to the flesh and watching his panting falter. 

“Do you?”

He hastily nodded once more. You clenched your thighs around his middle, softly grinding against his growing erection, your thumb rising from his jaw to caress across his cheek. His eyes dared to open, pupils blown and hazy.

“Do you want me?”

You whispered, half in play, half in earnest.

The Master, a titan of malice, a renegade monster, the quintessence of evil, whimpered.

He whimpered like a mewling kitten, bucking his hips once again and pulling you back down against his body, encouraging you to push yourself further onto his cock.

“Always,” He promised, “Forever.”

The sound of your pleased hum was a symphony to his senses, the sudden rush of wonder drowning his self control as you sunk your teeth into his neck, your tongue lapping at the thin sheen of sweat as you sucked a deep red mark into his skin. You bit hard, enough to draw a single line of blood, the crimson leaking down the contours of his neck. The master growled, a deeply pleased rumble as your tongue licked it up, streaking the deep maroon across your teeth.

Your eyes met his and he took in the scene- Your lips red and swollen, gaze deadly and sublime. He suddenly pulled his hand from your iron grip, grasping tight at the back of your head, sinking his own claws into your hair. A hiss spat from your lips, eyes widening in anticipation as the Master yanked your head backwards, angling your neck towards himself and pulling your throat to his lips.

He made no effort to tease, to set the mood or build up speed, his tongue swirling over the skin the only warning as he sunk his teeth into the side of your neck. You let out a desperate yelp, feeling the warm trickle of blood begin to flow towards your shoulder- but the Masters tongue was there to clean up the mess long before it could reach.

Once more meeting your eyes, the Master bared his teeth, your own sanguine streaked upon his smile, the adoring grin of a victorious predator. You bared your own teeth, bloodied and vile, the Timelords hearts thundering in tandem with your own as he pulled your lips to meet his.

Rough and coordinated, skilled yet blinded by mad lust, the Master took you upon the bed once more, the pair of you clawing against each other's already marred skin as you satiated your insatiable appetites. 

It was vicious, and it was honest, snatching your breath and leaving you panting against his chest, his hearts beating beneath your temple in a rapturous applause. 

“We should probably get rid of it soon.” You whispered after a while, fingertips idly tracing the heart you'd drawn upon his chest.

The Master hummed in consideration, one arm curled around your middle, the other tenderly playing with your hair, his cock still inside you as you lay in his embrace.

“It’s looking at me funny. And it’s attracting flies.”

The Master's eyes finally pulled from your lips to glance at the body in the chair, the radio beside it still crackling aging ballads into the night. The body had stiffened long ago, its head lolling back on its shoulders as its mouth gaped open, a lonely fly buzzing around its face. It settled upon a glazed eyeball, rubbing its front legs together as it crawled across the bloodied, bulging pupil.

The Master nodded in agreement. He reached across towards the nightstand, taking purchase of the TCE. In an instant the body, once stiff and decaying, was nothing but a shrunken doll. The Master let the device slip from his hand, the golden box joining the shrunken body on the floor as it clattered to the ground, his own body falling back into place as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

[angelsanctuarys]

a playlist with some of my favourite tunes requested by @osheck

the sisters of mercy - red skies disappear tristania - my lost lenore strawberry switchblade - go away the vision bleak - carpathia malice mizer - mayonaka ni kawashita no yakusoku cocteau twins- sea, swallow me emilie autumn - unlaced versailles - the red carpet day nine inch nails - gave up kidneythieves - before i'm dead igorrr - tout petit moineau eve of destiny - logos theatre of tragedy - venus london after midnight - heaven now sólstafir - Þín Orð lycia - this moment oberschlesien - annaberg siouxsie and the banshees - cities in dust theatres des vampires - the bride of corinth dead can dance - the host of seraphim switchblade symphony - dissolve dir en grey - vinushka the damned - street of dreams corpus delicti - saraband red lorry yellow lorry - hand on heart

[kte-alxxndr]

Voiceless | The Accident

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Amidst the dazzling streets of post-war Birmingham, Y/N was not only a sought-after seamstress, her fingers weaving threads of elegance and sophistication into every garment. The city's elite sought her talents, and her atelier buzzed with the whispers of high society. The opulence of the roaring twenties found its expression in the extravagant events she attended, draped in the finest garments she designed for herself.

One fateful evening, Y/N graced a glamorous event as the host's wife, donned in a bespoke gown of her own creation. The air buzzed with jazz melodies as the glittering crowd admired not only the event's opulence but also the elegance exuded by Y/N. And among the guests was a seemingly friendly acquaintance harboring jealousy and resentment.

As the night unfolded, in the success of the event, Y/N was unaware of the envious eyes that watched her every move. The atmosphere was electric, a celebration of life after the shadows of war. Yet, unknown to the attendees a sinister plot brewed beneath the veneer of festivity.

In a moment that shattered the symphony of laughter and music, an unseen assailant, guided by jealousy and malice, sliced through the air, severing Y/N's throat. Time seemed to slow as pain and shock mingled, and the world around her blurred into a silent abyss. The vibrant colors of the party faded into a surreal dreamscape, leaving Y/N grappling with a profound sense of betrayal and a desperate desire to understand why the celebration had become a target for such brutality.

Collapsed on the ground, clutching her bleeding throat, Y/N felt the weight of a once-perfect world slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of a nightmarish betrayal.

Panic ensued as the revelers, now witnesses to a heinous act, recoiled in horror. The assailant, obscured by the darkness of the night, vanished into the shadows.

As Y/N lay wounded amidst the shattered shards of her life, the truth of the orchestrated attack remained hidden.

Masterlist | Next Chapter

[esimsterlookbook]

Alyssa Pop Star Sims 4 CC Look book with links!

Meet Alyssa Barlow, A pop star in 2024 whose always being dressed by stylists and training to preform hours long concerts in heels.

Side Note: I'm playing around with different forms of formatting look books so please let me know if anyone has a preference or ideas for me to improve it for easier user access!

Base Sim Genetic Info:

Twisted Cat Lashes N4 / Lamatisse Tapioca eyes / Ok ruee misc face details / Cakenoodles Rana Moles / Veve Bisou Highlighter / lamatisse mercuria skin overlay / LumiaLoverSims OohSmooth2Female Overlay / Praline Sims Clevage Pack 01 / Sammi_xox Nose, Eye, Lip Masks / GPME-GOLD F-Eyebrows G24

Everyday:

Wings Hair TO0509 / Rimings Vintage feminine set frill corset / Blue Rose Sims Wren Bell Pants / Shoetopia Obscurus ankle boots / Giulietta Sims Thick Link Chain Bracelet / FKA Sheen Nose Piercing / Simplaciaty Azure Rings / Christopher 067 Duet Necklace / S-Club LL ts4 watch 202007 /Pralinesims Eyeshadow N94 IceQueen / Northern Siberia Winds Eyeliner N5 / sims3melancholic lipstick 10 / Oydis Make or Break Nails

Formal:

Simpliciaty Karina Hair / MS Sims Nude 02 Gown / Senate Classic Pump / FKA Sheen Nose Piercing / Simpliciaty's Elia Rings / S-Club WM ts4 bracelet 202006 / GiuliettaSims Denise Watch / JoliebeanxAnotherPlumbob Joanna Necklace / Breezytrait Florence makeup / Pralinesims Eyeshadow N93 Butterflys Dance / Praline Sims Eyeliner 116 Cocoa / Pralinesims Lip N236 LucidDream / GiuliettaSims Long Stiletto French Tips Ombre Nails

Athletic:

Simplaciaty Mia Hair / MS Sims Linda Gown / Regina Raven Platforms N4 / GiuliettaSims Athena Bracelet Set / Simplaciaty Persephone Rings / Praline Sims Malice Nose Piercing / S-Club LL ts4 watch 202001 / Lady Simmer Kiss me Eyeshadow / Pralinesims Lip 230 Vivacity / Oydis Make or Break Nails / S-Club colored drawing 01 - silver on face.

Party:

Wings Hair TO0215 / Belaloallure Deep dive dress / Regina Raven Platforms N6 / Symphony Sims Olivia Bracelet / Giulietta Sims Mutliple Bangles / FKA Sheen Nose Piercing / Simpliciaty Dolly Rings / Lady Simmer Icy Babe Liner / Lady Simmer Kiss me Eyeshadow / Praline Sims Blush 81 Starshower

Swim:

S-Club Hair N71 Kayla / Aretha Bee Jayleen Sunglasses / Madlen Yelena Swimsuit / Bobur Bracelet 05 R / S-Club WM ts4 bracelet 202009 / Simpliciaty Rosetta Necklace / Sugar Owl Janice Rings / Rimings New Gift Box 4 Ring Earrings / Sims House leg chain / GoppolsMe Gold Liner cc23 / Lady Simmer princess beam eye shadow / Lady Simmer Soft Petals Lipstick / qLayla Blush N32

Hot Weather:

Anto Hair 407 Celina / Sunberry Ribbon Swimsuit Top + Bottom / SerenityxSenate Coco Shoes / Camuflaje Casual Friday Designer Headband / GiuliettaSims Camellia Stud Earrings / GiuliettaSims Camellia Portia Bracelet / Glitterberryfly Triple Dainty Ring Set / Sugar Owl Janice Rings / Sugar Owl Perla Rings / Rimings butterfly choker / Breezytrait Florence makeup / Lady Simmer Interstellar Eyeshadow / GiuliettaSims Long Stiletto French Tips Ombre Nails

Cold Weather:

Wings Hair TO0509 / Euno 1006 Buttons Two Piece / Rimings YSL Wool Beret / Regina Raven Platforms V4 / FKA Sheen Nose Piercing / Simpliciaty's Elia Rings / Glitterberrysims Tennis Necklace / Lady Simmer Interstellar Eyeshadow / Praline Sims Eyeliner 121 Maze / Northern Siberia Winds Blush N8