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safarigirlsp · 2 years ago

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The Beast

The Beast

Vampire Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: None! Shocking! Some light horror and sexy themes.

AO3 Link

For Halloween, please enjoy this wicked fairytale for Transfusion Tuesday and also writer wednesday based a request from this Edgar Allen Poe prompt list. Notes of Beauty and the Beast, Dracula, and The Raven in my best Poe-ish attempt 🍂🍁🍂

This also continues my Wicked Fairytale Series where I give my own twisted twist to the classics, like Cinderella , A Midsummer Night’s Dream and A Christmas Carol.

For as long as anyone could remember, the castle had loomed from its cliffside perch above the sleepy little town far below. Like a raven, always watching, always waiting, for its prey to wander close enough to be ensnared in its shadows that stretched forth like grasping talons when twilight grew dim. Every night, when the mists swirled like waltzing specters and the chill settled like death’s hand upon the stricken, mothers would tell their children the tale of the Beast that had always lived in the castle.

With windows like nefarious eyes, peaked rooftops like arched eyebrows, spires rising like devilish horns into the sky, and the spiked iron teeth of the courtyard gates, the castle was a being itself. A monstrosity more imposing than any gargoyle watching over a churchyard. If the Beast didn’t ravage any hapless passersby, the castle itself looked eager to devour them whole.

For as long as fairytales had roots, the quiet little village had by horror been haunted. The frigid darkness that swirled through the streets like a wayward horseman’s spirit, lost and forsaken, was as warm as the kiss of a summer breeze compared to the icy black terror the Beast wrought upon those foolish enough to venture forth in the witching hour.

Far wiser than their human masters, animals would never dare encroach upon the accursed castle. Venture too far into the castle woods and horses would buck and bolt and hounds would whine and turn tail. Deer and fox and cheerfully colored songbirds knew they were unwelcome inside the black woods, among the dead trees with branches like demons’ claws, twisting up from Hell. Only the other creatures of darkness and malice, wolves and ravens, kept company with the Beast in his woods and his lair of stone. Man alone, with his mind for reason and penchant for fumbling upon the worst conclusion, hazarded to trespass upon the castle and meet his death at the gruesome hands of the Beast within.

Or so it had always been said. For no man who had made the perilous journey into the darkness of the castle’s shadow had ever returned.

From the topmost window in the highest tower, the Beast watched the foolish mortals go about their trivial fleeting lives below him, nothing more than ants crawling before a god. The Beast watched with loathing untold and seething unmeasured at the trivial humans who lived their fleeting lives with a carefree happiness he would never know. A silent snarl curled his lips at the sight and his tongue would absently trace over the tips of his fangs, thinking, as he often did, of the sweet taste of blood when they tore through frail flesh.

The tower spire was a freedom for the Beast, a reminder of the benefit of the bargain he had made centuries before. A deal sealed in those ages deemed dark -- dark and befitting of the curse that had stricken the Beast. Down leagues of staircases that seemed to spiral down to the bowels of the underworld, past long hallways winding lonely through bleak walls and past portraits of the long-dead and forgotten, deep in the cold earthen sepulcher in the castle dungeons lay an ancient coffin, undisturbed but never at rest. Inscribed upon the coffin and tarnished by the passage of centuries was its intended occupant’s name and title. Sir Kylo Ren.

Far longer ago than anyone in the inconsequential little town remembered, a knight protected the land and the woods and the cliffs. The Black Knight built a castle on the highest mountain, a fortress of stone to keep the woman he loved safe within its walls. The Black Knight was as beloved by his vassals as he was feared by his enemies, for he protected his own with a fist gloved in steel armor as black as his rage. But memories are as short as the frivolous lives of the townspeople and now no one remembered the Black Knight and his valor. But all the townspeople remember the creature he became. The Beast.

Not even the mighty power of the Black Knight, his strength beyond all other men, could save his woman when the plague settled its pox over the land. She was swept away from him on a green tide of pestilence to a place he could never follow, for surely a man as fearsome as himself could never trail an angel’s wings through Heaven’s Gates. The winter that blew in after her death never again lifted from the knight’s castle grounds nor the gloom from his heart.

Offering solace to the distraught shell of a man the Black Knight had become, a witch emerged from the shadows. Never before nor since was the treacherous creature seen, save only that one harsh winter night when Sir Kylo Ren had naught for company but his thoughts that churned blacker than cauldron pitch and more poisonous than Cleopatra’s adder. Like a raft to a drowning man, the witch offered the Black Knight that which he wanted most in the Hell his world had become. To know happiness again. To feel warmth and pleasure. For his true love to be returned to him.

A deal was struck, unholy and perfidious, back in that forgotten age of knights and witchcraft. The bargain was not to be for the Black Knight, for bargains offer a benefit. It was a trick as vile and malicious as the fumes of the underworld. Wearing the tempting veil of a bargain, it was a curse wrought upon the Black Knight. And from the curse, from the coffin of the noble knight, a creature of the night emerged. More monstrous than a vampire, Sir Kylo Ren was transformed into an unholy beast.

A curse lifted by a lover’s kiss or a moment of understanding was too simple, for love can bloom in an instant in the darkest hours of the night and flutter away with the rising sun. Sir Kylo knew well how to elicit lust and desire, how to arouse the flames of passion and ecstasy that would quickly flare into a wildfire of love. The Beast’s curse could only be undone by the rarest of women; the woman who could look upon him, see the ferocious beast he was, and show no fear. It was one thing to love a monster, as some women did with their own vile husbands, but yet another to show no fear in the face of monstrosity. The boldest knights looked upon the Beast with fear hammering in their chest so fast that Sir Kylo could dance to the beat. What woman could show bravery and valor where even the finest knights could not? None who had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Beast in the long centuries since the curse was levied upon him.

A curse that only affected the accursed was too benevolent, for there must be consequences to those who would be so tenacious as to attempt to cure the Beast. The witch was cunning and her curse had teeth as sharp as the wolves of the forest. Sir Kylo would not have been known for centuries as the Beast without good cause, without earning that loathsome moniker. Fear was his most morbid aphrodisiac, the spiced scent of terror sent the Beast into a frothing bloodlust. And what remained of the man Kylo had been was lost in the turbulence of mayhem and drowned in the blood that flowed in torrents when the beast was summoned forth to bring the wrath of Hell down upon the fearful and unworthy.

Gentle and loving women, wanton and deceptive women, those pure of heart and those of unadulterated sinfulness alike, all met with equal savagery when their fear bloomed beneath their skin, coursed through their veins like the finest wine. At the faintest hint of fear, the Beast consumed what remained of the man and tore the women apart with razored fangs and supernatural strength. The body of a healthy young woman contains scantly little blood, barely enough for an aperitif, and would only whet the Beast’s appetite. Those were the nights, those nights the Beast hoped beyond hope that he had finally found a woman with the heart of a lion, when blood covered the streets of the town the next day and loved ones tried to piece missing relatives together from the limbs that had been torn off and scattered away from their bodies.

When the Beast tasted the blood of the fearful, he raged. Until the Eastern sky glowed as red as the blood on his lips, threatening him with the dreadful sunrise, he raged. And so, the Beast cloistered himself inside his castle, imprisoned himself in a fortress of his own doing. Venturing no longer from the walls of his castle and the prison of his curse, Sir Kylo waited for a death that would never come. Or so he tried. Some nights the hunger, the longing, to be free of his curse was stronger than his will.

On those nights, he would let others bleed for him. On those nights, he would watch the life drain away from a frightened woman as she found the sweet embrace of death for which he so longed. On those nights, he knew that his soul had deserted him some forgotten time centuries ago, and the terrible parts of him that remained would never again be lifted from darkness.

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For as long as you could remember, you had heard the legend of the Beast that lurked inside the castle on the cliffs. Fairytales for children, you reasoned every time you rode through the forest while the black bramble clawed at you as if to keep you trapped inside forever. Sometimes, it felt as though something more watched you than the vacant lonesome windows. But the windows were always black as arched abysses, no candle ever flickered inside the castle, no sound ever echoed through its cavernous halls. No living soul could endure in that perpetual darkness, as bleak as the harshest winter chill, devoid of light and cheer. No Beast lurked in the castle. Ghosts perhaps, lonely specters of those long-dead, but nothing with a heart that still beats.

For as long as you could remember, you had believed that.

The woods were gloaming, desolate, and dense, as you rode home from far away. Nevermore, your horse and most trusted friend, was as black as a raven in a midnight graveyard. Boldy, you rode him through the woods into which no man would venture during the hours no good woman should be awake. Howls from wolves and hoots from owls kept you company along with the nervous snorts of your horse, but there was no faster way home. There may have been tales of terror about the Beast, but even the most skittish person knew that wolves would never attack a mounted rider. Not even in the cursed depths of the black forest.

Spires, silhouetted against the stars and blacker than the midnight sky, captivated your attention when it should have been elsewhere. The frightened whiny and startled rearing of your horse altered you to the danger you had ridden into. A pack of yellow eyes and white teeth leered at you from the trees on all sides, and excited yips and growls greeted you as the wolves moved in for their kill. Nevermore bolted, you didn’t try to slow him. You could stay with your horse through rearing and bucking and running at breakneck speed through the roughest terrain. But even you were no match for the tree branch as thick as your waist that knocked you out of the saddle as your horse ran under it.

Breath refused to refill your lungs when you hit the cold hard ground. The world spun and bells tolled in your ears as you watched Nevermore gallop away, his black coat vanishing into the black woods like ink into oil. You felt the pack lunge for you even before you heard the rush of bodies running at you on padded feet, and you grabbed for the knife in your boot. Its blade would be little defense against an entire pack of wolves, but it was only your breath that had left you, not your fighting spirit.

Even as you drew your blade, a shadow blacker than the foulest witch descended upon you. Like a widow’s veil, the black cloak of your savior floated over you as the towering man who wore it charged between you and the ravening wolves. Growling more savagely than the animals, the man clad all in black hunched his broad shoulders as the wolves attacked. Faster than your eyes could follow, almost as though his enormous physique had blurred into smoke, the man tore the wolves apart like a lion tearing through lambs. When the ground was littered with grey furry carcasses, the man rolled his shoulders before turning to you.

A black scarf covered the lower half of the man’s face and a long veil of sable hair fell in chaos around his shoulders. His eyes were just as lupine as the wolves had been, gleaming gold in the pale moonlight and fixed upon you. Sweeping his cloak aside, he offered you his massive gloved hand and pulled you gently to your feet. He snugged the scarf more securely over his prominent nose before moving close enough to you to assure that you had no grievous injuries.

“Terrors fill these woods in the dead of night,” he told you in a voice that had the power to hypnotize you if you let him. “A beautiful woman should know better than to venture out alone.”

“I’m no longer alone.” You smiled and for reasons unknown to you, the man flinched at your smile as shocked as if you had struck him across the face.

“No, and your peril is now far greater for my company.” Smoothing his hand over his hair, the man looked up at the moon and shook his head almost morosely. “You cannot travel through this forest on foot and alone at night.” He again extended his hand to you. “Join me. Be my guest for the evening, but you must leave at daybreak.”

“Where will you host me?” You looked around the desolation of the forest to make your point. “There is nothing in these woods.”

“My home, naturally.” His eyes crinkled with a smirk that was concealed by his scarf as he gestured toward the dark towers in the distance.

“Ah, so you’re the infamous Beast who lives in the castle?” you teased pleasantly, but the man did not smile. Rather, his eyes grew serious at your words.

“I am Kylo Ren.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly. “I am the Beast.” His eyes burned into yours, the color of firelight. “And you must not fear me. Never fear me.”

“You’ll find I don’t frighten easily,” you assured him after you gave him your name, and then added playfully, “And you, Kylo Ren, are ill-suited to doing so.”

For the darkness and the scarf that veiled the lower half of his face, you couldn’t be sure, but you thought you saw him smile.

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Wrapped snuggly around his face, the scarf Kylo wore was the only preventive measure he could take to avoid the scent of delicious, maddening fear. Only that length of worn black wool stood between you and a death more vicious than that wolves would have given you, should he smell a hint of fear on your breath. Kylo’s senses were heightened. He saw in the darkness with mosaic vibrance, he heard the whispers of spiders spinning their webs high in his rafters, he could scent the sweet perfume of fresh blood on the breeze from the village miles below when an animal was butchered. The scarf did little to inhibit him but still, he smelled no fear. The scent of horse and of the ocean from which you had traveled lingered on your clothes and the clean floral scent of your hair delighted his senses while the honeyed scent of your skin filled his mind with possibility. He smelled enough to see the steps of your long journey into his forest, but he did not scent fear. And his heart jumped at that epiphany.

The darkened woods put fright into the bones of brave men, but you walked beside the Beast with confident ease. Even through the gates to his courtyard, gaping like the open mouth of leviathan with sharp iron spikes for teeth, and through his once beautiful garden that was now naught but dead bramble and roseless bushes of black thorns, you were not hampered by fear. As Kylo approached the arched double doors of his castle, they opened for their master and his guest, though no servants remained inside.

Torches in sconces and candles in gilded candelabras bloomed to life just ahead of you as you followed the towering man through his labyrinthian hallways. Your footsteps echoed off the stone floors while his remained deathly silent. Whether after centuries of living with the castle alone for company the stone had absorbed his own life force and knew his whims, or the ghosts who lingered and suffered within had deigned to do his bidding, Kylo never knew nor cared to question. The eyes of the dead watched from their portraits and tapestries. Perhaps it was not an illusion when those woven and painted eyes followed the movements of the living, curious to see the new guest their master had brought into the castle and fascinated to watch the horrific death that was surely soon to meet with the beautiful woman. Still, Kylo smelled no fear nor felt the prickle of trepidation on the air.

“You must be famished,” Kylo told you as he escorted you into a grand dining hall that erupted in golden light upon your entry. The sprawling table was long enough to host a battalion and slathered with enough food and wine to overfeed every vacant seat.

“Expecting guests?” You raised an eyebrow at the opulence before you.

“Only you,” he said as he pulled out a chair for you at one end of the table.

The aromas that filled the dining hall, scents of fresh meats and sauces, cheeses and sweets, and blood red wine, emboldened Kylo to remove his scarf as he took his seat at the opposite end of the long table. With the length of the table and the cornucopia of scents between you, he felt assured he could maintain his composure. Temporarily.

It was on instinct that he inhaled deeply, as he often did before meals. He smelled the full bouquet of you then, and it was not fear but excitement and arousal that perfumed you, so tempting as to threaten to send him into a frenzy. When you smiled beautifully at him as you sipped your wine, that boldness beguiled his grim scowl into smiling.

It was as if he had gifted you something precious with his smile, one that intuition told you had not been used in untold years. With his scarf removed, you could look upon the features of the Beast who struck fear into the hearts of men. He was dangerous, to be sure, but that quality added to his dark and devilish handsomeness. From his long glossy hair to his well-groomed Van Dyke, he was as sleek and dark as a panther. Even the harrowing scar that traced a painful pink welt down his right cheek added to his dashing. Only his smile revealed the outward indicia of his curse, the viciously pointed fangs of a vampire. One of those fangs drew over his plush lower lip as he admired your exquisite beauty and his eyes gleamed with golden light that danced with the flicker of candles.

“This is excessive.” You smiled as you speared a perfectly juicy filet with your fork and teased, “So much indulgence is practically sinful.”

“Vices are much more interesting than virtues, darling.” He inclined his head as he savored a piece of meat so rare as to be nearly bleeding raw. “Virtues bore me so.”

“Molière would agree with you,” you replied with a smirk, citing the source of his witticism.

“Smart woman.” He allowed admiration to wash over his features before quoting Moliere again, this time knowing you would catch the reference, “Beauty without intelligence is like a hook without bait.”

“So, you think you’ve caught me?” you retorted. “Lured me in with food and decadence?”

“No, lovely girl, it is you who has captured my attention and admiration.” He leaned toward you, resting his arms on the table. “I have taken your baited hook and swallowed it whole.”

“It does you a disservice that it is not part of the Beast’s legends what a seductive host he is,” you said coyly as you sipped your wine.

“Dinners and seductions often go well for myself and my guests.” Mirroring you, he took a drink of wine, leaving a berry stain on his lips. “It is what comes next that makes me a monster. It is after the seduction is over and minds are sobered when tragedy befalls my guests.”

“Do you think such a tragedy will befall me while in your care?” Your words were meant as an invitation, one he knew well.

“I will not allow it.” Kylo breathed deep, still scenting no fear in the air, only your uniquely erotic perfume. Nevertheless, he declined your offer for wont of trusting himself and a darkness passed behind his eyes. “But you must keep your distance from me. Do not let appearances deceive you or wine imbue you, I am every bit the monster of legend. I am the Beast.”

“You’ll find those bestial qualities of yours don’t frighten me.” You leaned forward, accepting his challenge. “They excite me.” You made a point of letting your eyes trail down his body, openly evaluating him. “You do not strike me as a monster, only a man who needs a woman’s touch.”

“You are tired and weary.” He pushed to his feet, dismissing you, forcing down the pained grimace that threatened to twist his lips. “I shall have a horse waiting for you in the morning. You will not see me again.”

“I cannot simply ride away on one of your horses and never see you again. That’s absurd,” you huffed, indignant from his rebuff. “I must at least return your horse and repay you.”

“Your pleasant company is compensation enough.” He raised his large hand in protest against further argument. “That a beautiful woman with wit and grace would stumble into the bleakness of my life for a night is more than I could have hoped for. You have brought an evening of sunlight to a man who has not seen such warmth in longer than I can recall.” He walked to you, tall and proud, and took your hand to lift you from your seat. “No, accept my kindness, for I am thankful for you to know only kindness from me. Remember me fondly. But never return.”

Inside his glimmering eyes, you saw restraint behind the passion, as if he were holding a part of himself prisoner. His hand was strong and warm, seeming to offer you all the safety in the world so long as you held it. Leading you from the dining room, he took you through his castle, up spirals of staircases, to show you to your room. Your bedchamber for the night was even more luxuriant than the bountiful dinner.

Longing demanded you pull him close, but you refrained. The turn to advance was now his. But he only lifted your hand and placed a kiss on it as searing as a flame and as soft as velvet. His lips were reluctant to leave your skin, so he growled against it, “It is the most valiant kindness I can give you to leave you now. Dream sweetly of me, darling. And when the sun rises, leave my castle and never return.”

Like a specter or a memory, he turned abruptly and his broad frame vanished into the shadows of his hallway. No candles or torches lit his way, the darkness his oldest companion.

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Icy spiderwebs of frost streaked across the glass of the arched windows gave the morning sunlight a crystalline brilliance when it streamed into your bedroom to wake you. The sun’s beautiful rudeness announced your stay at the Beast’s castle had ended. A fire that should have burned out during the night still roared in the fireplace and despite the cool stone walls, the room was filled with warmth. The castle and whatever spirits haunted its halls had welcomed you to stay forever, even if its Master would banish you for your own safety.

A note rested on the nightstand beside you, yellowed parchment folded and sealed with a blood red wax emblem depicting a mounted knight slaying a dragon. The letter came with the knowledge that Kylo had entered your room sometime during the night, had been close enough to touch your sleeping body when he left the letter. You wondered if he had. You hoped he had. A new breed of warmth flooded your body as you broke the letter’s seal. Penned in elegant calligraphy, Kylo spoke to you.

You have given me more than you shall ever know. The gift of your enchanting beauty, your brilliant smile, your sparkling eyes. You gave me the memory of the man I once was, a taste of a life long forgotten. To ask more of you would only serve to put you in the gravest possible danger. I shall not introduce you to the Beast of legend, but content myself in knowing you met only the man. Take my gifts and my thanks, and flee from this cursed place as fast as my horse can carry you.

Your servant, Kylo.

After the third read over his letter, you were resolved. You most certainly would not grant his entreat. You were not leaving his castle.

Despite your best efforts as a huntress, you could not find Kylo upon your morning search. Although, a concerted search of the fortress and grounds would take a fortnight. The castle was vacant, but it was not empty. Filled with memories, its walls held the faded echoes of laughing happiness and enraged screams, its floors stained with tears of joy and of hardship, with the blood and sweat of the generations who had lived and died inside throughout the centuries. Wonders lurked behind every door, dusty and forlorn, but wondrous beneath the neglect. Tarnished was the former majesty that had once graced the castle, but gone it was not. It would require no more than attention and a loving hand to restore its resplendence. You suspected the same of its master.

It was the cathedral-esque library that captured your interest and held it until the sun bid you farewell and twilight painted the sky crimson. Each of the thousands of leatherbound volumes was a gateway to a new world, another adventure, a life you’ve yet to live. Easily and happily lost inside an adventure captured by ink on paper, you did not notice the passage of hours until the words you read grew dim in the gloaming. Even as you thought it, the castle’s candles and torches sparked to dancing life.

With the setting of the sun the master of the castle awakened. And you felt it. The walls creaked and the tresses groaned, sharing the Beast’s pain. A growl filled with rage and despondence boomed through the long, lonely halls so that it was adopted by the walls in its reverberations. Next were crashes, the splintering of wood, the breaking of glass, the clang of metal, as furniture was destroyed by its wrathful master like a lamb at the slaughter. The sounds of frenzy and destruction led you easily to the Beast. To the dining hall that had been so grand the evening before but was now ravaged and torn through, as though a tornado had spun itself to death inside.

Silver strewn, furniture broken, table overturned, portraits slashed, and drapes hanging askew were all illuminated by dying candles that lay flickering and strewn across the floor like dying soldiers on a battlefield. In the twinkling golden light, you saw the Beast. And the Beast Kylo Ren had become was full of fury and sorrow and bloodlust, with no trace of the dashing man who had shown you a perfect evening. Shoulders hunched, long hair wild, muscles rippling beneath black fabric that was ill-suited to restrain them, Kylo snarled viciously as he grabbed another unfortunate chair and threw it against the wall with enough force to shatter it to splinters.

You could feel his rage and his pain as though they were your own. Rage at the monstrosity that lived inside him. Pain at sending away the woman who gave him a taste of salvation.

“You needn’t make such an ado over my departure,” you said calmly as you stepped fully into the broken dining hall. “You’ll find it has been delayed.”

Kylo whipped his head to look at you and you saw the face of the Beast. Razored fangs, two on each side of his upper teeth, were ready to tear you apart and his eyes were unnatural gleaming gold. A demon’s eyes met yours in place of a man’s. You saw in them shock that turned at once to shame and then bled into fear. Terror at the thought of harming you, because surely you would be overcome with fright, that deliciously irresistible fear, at the sight of him.

But the only fear was his, you had none. Stepping over rolling candles and broken glass, you walked to him with confidence until you stood close enough to feel the heat of his powerful body.

“You’re not the most dangerous thing in this castle tonight,” you told him in a sultry lift as you reached behind his neck. Without giving him the option to resist, you pulled him down to meet your lips and kissed him with a passion that set the soul within him burning as he crushed you to his body, wanting nevermore to release you from his embrace. There was no fear, only searing desire as you licked over the tips of his fangs and his tongue danced with yours. His golden eyes were molten when you finally drew apart and your lips were swollen with ripened pleasure when you said to him, “It took a witch to curse you. Only a witch can cure you.”

“A witch?” He cocked an eyebrow at you as a ferociously handsome smile curled his lips. “My darling, whether you offer a cure or another curse, I am yours for the taking.” He kissed you again, deep and lingering, then asked, “A lady as rare and radiant as you can only be a white witch?”

“Oh, I’m as wicked as they come.” You grinned wickedly indeed. “I came to the darkness long before you ever asked me to join you for an evening in your castle.” You stroked his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath your hands, his love and passion rekindled. “We shall share in this darkness, and within it, find more light and happiness than mere mortals have ever dared to dream.”

“Darkness or light, I will not let you walk in either alone.” He held you tighter, his strong arms wrapped around your body. “Until mountains crumble to dust at our feet, I will hold you and love you with all the might of my heart. It now beats for you alone. For as long as there are stars to shine and a moon to light our way, I will never leave your side.”

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Tagging some wicked witches!

#my stuff!#my writing #halloween #vampire #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #best #fic #kylo #writer wednesday #knight #Jacques

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cryptidcasanova · 2 years ago

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Here is a list of all the spooky stories posted for Hellfire Haunts! Happy Haunting!

Eddie Munson

Like a Secret in Your Throat Written by @imagine-you Vampire!Eddie. Prompt 2 “The freaks come out at night.” Where Eddie is tormenting you from beyond the grave.

Love Bites Written by: @portaltothevoid Vampire!Eddie x Reader. Prompt 1 “I’ve waited lifetimes for you.” A charming play on Kas. Let’s just say they took the Kas theory and turned it on its head!

A Ghostly DM Imagine Written by @residentdormouse Ghost!Eddie Munnson. Prompt 3 “Did you think they could protect you?” Even in Death, Hellfire still needs it’s DM.

Skull Rock Reckoning Requested by @ashdoctor Demon!Eddie x Reader. Prompt 1 “I’ve waited lifetimes for you.” A sacrifice at Skull Rock turns into the chance for a wayward soul to find his one.

Master of Mortals Vampire!Eddie x Reader. Prompt 2 “The freaks come out at night.” Eddie made sacrifices to save his friends from Vecna. Now he’s hungry for them to return the favor.

Haunted Hearts Ghost!Eddie x GN Reader. Prompt 1 “I’ve waited lifetimes for you.” A soft realization that even the dead can be rescued.

Steve Harrington

Unfinished Business Written by @asirensrage Ghost!Steve. Prompt 3 “Did you think they could protect you?” Steve has a bit of a revelation.

Love Bites Written by @ladyfallonavenger Vampire!Steve x reader. Prompt 3 “Did you think they could protect you?” Where Steve is trying to maneuver his way through vampirism.

Billy Hargrove

In The Midnight Hour Written by @imagine-you Demon!Billy. Prompt 3 “Did you think they could protect you?” Where the reader finds help in the most unlikely places.

Nancy Wheeler

Practical Magic Witch!Nancy x Reader. Prompt 6 “Magic comes at a price.”

Argyle

Wild Times Written by @asirensrage Vampire!Argyle. Prompt 8 “Death is only the beginning.” This is the most fun Argyle’s had in centuries.

Bogus Bites Vampire!Argyle. Prompt 8 “Death is only the beginning.” Where Argyle is struggling with the rules that come with vampirism.

Jim Hopper

Aftermath Written by @asirensrage Demon!Jim. Prompt 6 “Magic comes at a price.” There was one real truth to the world. You don’t threaten a demon.

Hound Dog Werewolf!Jim x reader. Prompt 4 “You’re the devil in disguise.” The full moon meant more trouble than you realized, but you couldn’t have known it until it was too late.

Back to Hellfire Haunts

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wokeastroke · 3 years ago

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The moonlit homestead was a perfect target, after things were set in order. He was flighty and reactive in everything but takes, and he knew it. Something remembered from a long gone mentor in a long gone place full of sharp ends. Too soon and too bloody. The good was tainted with the bad, drunken nights where he and the other rats felt the kings of their underground world seared red with choking noises as lungs filled with crimson.

He shut his eyes, as if it might blacken the memories out, but in truth it only made their details become sharper. How often had the blade in the side been held by his own hand? How often in retaliation and how much more often to head off potential betrayal? Lifeless green eyes above a gleaming smile, two of her front teeth missing from a wayward fist in a bar fight only a month ago. Forgiving, even as he knelt over her-

His eyes opened wide, pupils dilating to catch every sliver of light from the moon and stars as he made his way forward, a crouching run that kept him behind shrubs and dog houses. The hounds would be no trouble, if the roots he’d kneaded into their evening meal had anything to say about it. He’d already tallied the cost of these against the potential score, and a grimace rose to his lips. A small price to pay to keep from having to slaughter the lot of them, or for keeping teeth from his legs if he made a slip. He liked animals, and they him, but no hound would be silent if a man was caught skittering about on the front lawn.

The window he’d selected was on a second floor, an office. The best of places to start, and unlikely to be visited by servants so late. Masters and lords distrusted such, always sure the flinching fingers would come from within instead of without. Tonight he’d remind a certain Baron of Redridge why it paid to be wary of both. The wall would be difficult to scale, for most. But there was a reason he’d been called the Spider a lifetime ago. It had only been three years. He shut the memories away again as he began to climb. To many it would have seemed a sheer wall of stone and ivy, but to his fingertips and toes, it was a challenge. He rose like an arachnid, four limbs spiriting him up. It might’ve looked too quick, to reckless, but his system was fool proof. Settle a hand and a foot before reached for the next hold, always two points of contact. In case These elden Stones decided tonight was the night they would crumble.

The final leap to the window sill was a gamble. No matter how much the thief- and he was a thief tonight, had looked through his spyglass, none could ever know if termites infested the wood. Still, he threw himself, heaved into the air and swinging gently as his hands gripped the ornate carving. That would be the baron’s downfall. Polished wood held less appeal to termites, so Saphery had seen. Or maybe it was luck. He clung with a hand, his other reaching for a metal bar slid down his pant leg. A full crowbar would have been too much. The pointed edge was jammed between window and sill, and he levered with ever increasing strength. One wrong press, one extra half-pound of weight, and the window might shatter. An entire week of preparation out the window, literally, and an entire new target.

Finally, the metal hook gave, it’s foundations peeling from the wood and rising as the thief levered. He missed the old days, where another would hang beside him to take the bar. His wrist and arm ached from the combined weight of himself and his tools, without mentioning the tons of nerves that blossomed in his stomach as the wrenching of the window split the night. It had not been loud, but even a pin dropping would have sounded like cannon fire. He held his breath, counting to a hundred before pulling himself up.

The office was more a study, and the study was not the richest that Saphery had ever seen. Maps and globes told of travel, and the missives upon the desk from foreign dignitaries spoke of work as an emissary. At least from what he could scan. It was good. Emissaries were given gifts to take joke to their lords, and he did not know a noble who didn’t take cuts from their better’s coffers. The Duke of these mountains should be thanking him for this reminder. How could you report the loss of gold you yourself had stolen? The Spider would have laughed if he had any to share the joke with. Then he was off, sticky fingers snatching items from the desk.

An ornate pen, it’s metals of gold and it’s wood a rich mahogany. A few gold pieces, but nothing too great. A purse, a heft of it guessing at a filling of coins. Some gold, surely, but likely a majority of silver. This was placed into his chest pocket, tucked tight. There would be no jingling in his escape. The drawers came next, and there was little else in difference. A pair of rubies, square cut. These he stuffed into his mouth. A few stray coins of copper and silver, one of gold, all disappearing into his many pockets. All of these were a pittance, though. The real take, he knew, must be somewhere else.

His eyes scoured the study, looking through the glass cases that ringed the place. Skulls from many places, stones of various type but no quality to him. “Explorer’s.” He muttered through the gems in his mouth. They only ever took things of libraries and museums. A fence wouldn’t care for a dusty tome, and any who would might ask too many questions. His hands moved anyway, nabbing small coins with holes in them. Maybe pandaren or zandalari. He never cared to find out. Gold was gold.

On his eyes swept until he came upon a dresser. The final search, he surmised, as he heard the aggravated shouts of dog handlers, finding their pooches snoozing when they were most needed. The doors were opened swiftly, smoothly, offering only a single freak that was fit to wake the dead. At least, he thought so. Within was exactly what he’d been seeking.

On one side was a mannequin hand, each of its fingers sporting a more colorful and gem encrusted ring than the last never before had he seen such… fool work. Had he ever owned something so expensive, it would never leave his person. The thief worked quickly, snapping off all fingers except the middle, and only sliding the ring off that. A small gift for the owner. On the other side was a more worrisome find. A Sabre, long and curved. Clearly ornamental, it’s hilt layered with rubies and sapphires like pustules on the plagued. He could not steal an entire sword, nor could he fence it. These things were oft one of a kind.

But he could not leave it, either. So out it came, unsheathed loudly. Outside the curses had turned to shouts and warnings. Torches had been lit. He should have been gone by now, before the sentry’s body had gone cold. He’d left him slumped at his station, asleep to the untrained eye. Only when one shook him, cursed him for laziness, would they find his eyes open in a mask of horror, his neck cleanly cut, and his front covered in quickly drying red stains. The shouts had woken the house, servants rushing about to their places and guards flooding rooms, kicking doors down. They were a mere four from the study, and the Spider could not possible have worked his hands faster.

The pommel was unscrewing, slowly but steadily. After breaking the deal it loudly squealed against the handle before the stieg could pop it off and dig it into a pocket. Two doors away, he could hear their shouts better now and none of it sounded good for his health. It never did, now that he thought about it. He could not help the adrenaline induced giggles escaping him as his sweaty fingers tugged and tugged at the bejeweled handle. Almost… one door away… almost…

The handle popped free just as boots planted against the door, and disappeared just in time for the oak to be smashed open. Men in gambesons appeared, their blades and cudgels held out and ready. There was only the briefest pause before the first spoke, only getting the first breath of a word out.

“Sto-!”

His order finished as a cry as the blade of the Sabre buried itself in his wrist. Thrown from across the room with deadly accuracy. Saphery the Spider paused only speak, memories of scores from long past forcing the words from his dry throat.

“Thanks for having me.” It had been ‘us’ not three years back. What had happened?

The Spider threw himself from the window, falling the full story to roll to his feet. Small, thin blades appeared in in his hands as his dash began. Stupid, he’d been stupid. The sentry shouldn’t have been there, he should have taken an extra day to-

A guard appeared from a corner, brandishing his cudgel and swinging a vertical blow that would have assuredly put Saphery in a ward, dribbling spit down his chin. Instead, the thief twisted, taking the man’s wrist and arm. He got too close for swinging, the blades he held between each finger punching twice into his armpit, and a third time up under his chin. The guard slumped, the scents of beard oil and perfume upon his neck. Somewhere, a scullery maid had lost her partner for midnight cuddles and kisses.

-an extra day to map out the guard’s movements better. But he could not have taken an extra day. The hungering had began, and one dose would surely lead to another very soon. His ankle ached, surely a sign that he’d landed wrong. Everything about the job had been sloppy. Hindsight saw crystal clear, as the Viper had said.

The final vault over the stone wall was tricky, requiring almost three steps straight up before a handhold could be found. Surely a blade would be sunk into his back before he made the first two. So he turned, whipping his cloaks into a flurry about him. He spun and spun, choosing targets as they came to pause, wondering at this strange dance. The first stepped forward, a hand extended and curses on his lips, only to find one of those small blades lodged in his hand.

He reeled back as another started forward, this one’s short sword arcing to split Saphery in two. The dance of cloaks continued, and two more blades found their homes in his eyes.

It was then that they backed, none aware of where the next blade might sprout. Now was as good a time as Saphery would get. Abruptly, the dance stopped, and he took five long strides before leaping, scrabbling up the stone wall before thrusting upwards.

He caught the edge by two fingertips a hand, but it was enough. Enough to turn to a hand, enough to launch himself over and to the soft grass. He fled into the night, breathing heavily but oddly alive. Nothing made him feel this alive, made his blood rush and his heart pound. Maybe he’d visit a brothel? With his luck he could likely turn these coins into twice as much of he went diving before the blood ran cold. Then there was Sinthelyss, the dealer. A whole other pleasure, if he could pay for it. It was looking to be a good week for Saphery.

If only he knew.

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avernusfuries · 2 months ago

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It took everything in her power not to yell about how excited she was! From the camp fire, the ever-watchful hound trotted over, nose to the air and paused behind Sornin. He could smell the poor little cub, and Karlach quickly thought that their little camp would slowly but surely become a home to these wayward animals. One who had lost a master, and another who had lost its mother. Karlach could pretend that it was not them who dealt the killing blow, but from the looks of the owlbear matron, she wouldn't have lasted the day.

The tiefling shifted from one foot to the other, and Scratch watched the little cub cautiously. Another sniff, then another, and the dog sat down and panted his way through his next breaths. What a good boy.

It was then that Sornin hurried her into action and offered a small, playful salute. "On it, soldier." And off she trotted towards the pot. Though it had been hours since the stew had been removed from the heat, it was still slightly warm. She was quick to fish out the bigger, fattier chunks of meat, and one of them was offered to Scratch, who took it gratefully. Didn't seem like a lot. Karlach returned with the whole pot, and took the lid off of it.

"If anyone asks, say I got the munchies and took the rest. Those little eyes of his would've begged the lot anyways, wouldn't they, you adorable little fella!"

The tiefling quickly hunched down and offered the stew. "Go on, bon apple tea or whatever."

Sornin's eyes lowered to the paw that the owlbear wasn't leaning on. The poor little thing was hurt, and no wonder he was coming back to their camp. He couldn't hunt like that, but he also likely couldn't hunt at all with how young he was. Where exactly was its mother? They'd not killed the giant owlbear when they'd run into it, so why was she letting her cub roam around at night?

Alas, there was only one reason why a cub was battered and away from it's mother. She was likely dead, and that made Sornin press his lips together in a pout that he tried his hardest to keep at bay while Karlach was there.

"No, the less people, the less skittish this young one will be." He leant his hand out gently, and offered it to the cub. He could heal it with his own abilities, and then when it was feeling better, they could give him some food and get what they needed out of the cub with a potion of speaking with animals.

When the cub warily sniffed at his fingers before it leaned its injured paw up, Sornin used a simple healing spell he'd learned. "There, that should feel better for now. Karlach, I have some left over stew by the fire. We should feed him if we wish to make sure he will heal. Owlbears are hard to train, I hear, but he could prove a powerful ally when grown." And he was just adorable. How could anyone say no to those large, owlish eyes?

#lolthswcrn #fuck yes — now I just need something to sink my teeth into. — [ in character. ]#avernus was never my home. it was my prison. i'm free now & i'm never going back. — [ v: act i. ]

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project-xiii · 7 months ago

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So, I'm a little conflicted with The Master & His Wayward Hound.

I COULD write it out as a full story. Then, it would be delivered in a way that makes sense. However, I then run the risk of getting distracted, disinterested, or mentally exhausted, and dropping it.

Alternatively, I could write it out as a series of drabbles. They would be out of order, which could be confusing. However, questions can be answered via asks, and I may stay more motivated long enough to share the story in pieces.

Y'all online here are my intended audience other than myself. So what do y'all thinking I should do?

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #the master and his wayward hound

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mirai-eats · 4 years ago

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Two Dollar Coffee

12:: A Note

wangxian, 5.8k, ch 12/25(?), Incomplete modern, college au, sugar daddy lwj, youtuber wwx

Wei Ying is a poor college student and thinks Lan Zhan wants to provide for him.

—

Wei Ying is sure the article will blow over.

Lan Zhan had a nondescript driver take him to the family home. There was no way Wei Ying should be seen with him now, especially with the paparazzi reportedly hounding the gates to his family home.

Wen Qing came home to pick up A-Yuan with the news already on her tongue. “It’s really bad.”

There was a picture of them leaving the restaurant last night with Lan Zhan’s arm secured around his waist as he led him to the car. Inside the article were more pictures, of them stepping out of the restaurant with Lan Zhan’s hand on his back, another of Lan Zhan, his profile sharp in the nighttime light, opening the car door for Wei Ying, of himself turned, when he felt something at his nape , and the photographer got a perfect picture of his whole face so there was no mistake who it was. The article itself could have been ignored— slandering Wei Ying for his raunchier videos and calling him a joke of a Youtuber who “turned to the internet to validate his terrible ideas” yet failed to mention he has a bachelor’s degree, an internship, and a Gold Play Button.

The worst part was how it dragged down Lan Zhan’s name, declaring how such a reputable family could have gone so wayward as to allow one of their youngest to hire an escort. They had even gone a step further and reported that they attended the same university, had gone to the same schools previously, even named the Jiangs as Wei Ying’s benefactor, and went after them for “leading the young master astray”.

read the rest on AO3

#wangxian #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #lan wangji #wei wuxian #mxtx #fic #glucose guardian wangxian

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iwritesometimes · 4 years ago

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Medieval Fic

haha, so, you've delved far enough back that you've hit Jonas Brothers fic. i don't really remember the precipitating events that led to this one, though I think it was initially an idea I was batting around for a Big Bang: the JoBros in a medieval setting, where Kevin decided to go join the church (where he'd fall in love with one of his fellow monks, Mike Carden of The Academy Is..., who was for obscure reasons a popular ship partner for Kev at the time), and Joe and Nick were left to deal with Joe's sudden responsibility to inherit the baronetcy and their burgeoning ~feelings for each other. PRIMARILY an excuse to make Joe a lord and Nick his literal knight in shining armor. there was never much plot and I was trying to write it in a fancy voice, so this flamed out pretty quick, but here's a couple snips for the curious!

***

When, on the eve of his twenty-first birthday, Kevin declared his intention to join the clergy, the house flew into an uproar. His taking up vestments was not entirely an unwelcome development, but rather its suddenness took his family completely by surprise. Kevin had always been the most devout of Lord Helford's sons, with a heart for God's work in this far-flung heathen spit of land, but his grooming heretofore had been for rule, not priesthood. His father and mother were proud of his devotion, certainly, but at something of a loss as to what to do with him; without him to be his father's heir, they had to transfer his inheritance to their second son, who...was rather less than primed for the responsibility.

Joseph was a talented young man, that much could not be argued. But he was not driven like his brothers to use his talents for either King or Almighty God. He could outwit his father's best advisors at chess but showed no inclination for the strain and rigor of knighthood (much to his younger brother Nicholas' dismay). He was musically gifted but did not apply himself to mastering the art more than to sing sweet ballads to every lord's daughter and wayward milkmaid he encountered. His appearance was well attended and he could speak Latin as fluently as Norman and even enough English and Kernewek to converse with the serfs who lived in the villages that dotted the valley around Mawgan Castle; he could be a skilled diplomat and advisor, his father believed, if he could be pulled away from the feasting table and his horses for long enough to take up a cause. But he was, his father also believed, entirely shiftless, a hopeless layabout with rich tastes and no inclination for work.

In fact, were it not for Kevin's abrupt forfeiture of his birthright, Joseph would likely have found himself entirely disowned. His father had planned (not bothering to keep it a secret from much of anyone) to deliver an ultimatum to his second son shortly after the festivities for Kevin's coming-of-age. Now with his family's hopes transferred at least in name to him, Joseph found himself closer to the flame much sooner than he expected.

(snip)

It was odd for Nicholas to be back in his father's house so early in the season; normally he would still be inland at Exeter until after the first snow, only returning to Helford for Christmas. The house had now an unwelcome feel; it was not dressed in the Christmas greens he was used to seeing, and Nicholas felt uncomfortable under the mantle of his parents' expectations of him. Kevin's new pursuit of the church made Lord Helford's scrutiny of his other two adult sons even more severe than usual, but he had always seemed to place the most burden upon Nicholas to succeed. It was a cumbersome weight for the sixteen-year-old to bear under the best of circumstances; here under his father's watchful eye, the weight of responsibility seemed nearly unbearable, and Nicholas yearned to be back in the home of Lord Devon, where he was a well-respected knight-in-training, best of his peers and much the court favorite, and not merely Lord Helford's third and marginally least disappointing son.

Nicholas was restless even when not distracted by the turmoil of a family crisis, always needing to move, accomplish, press forward. At present he was nearly jumpy with it, escaping the confines of the house and his mother's solicitous questions to go groom his horse. It was cold for a ride but he thought he could use the exercise, hopefully release some of the pent-up frustration that always crowded in his chest whenever he was at home. The house stable was situated on the western side of the south-facing outer courtyard, not large but meticulously kept. Lord Helford was no great horseman, though of course his training as a knight made him competent, and Lady Denise had never learned to ride; of the house, only Joseph and Nicholas ever had much cause to give the horses exercise, and Joseph alone rode for the sheer pleasure of it. Their youngest brother, Frank, had so far shown himself the most diligent horseman of all of them, and could be found more reliably in the stables than in the house.

In fact, that is where Nicholas found him, hunkered in the corner of a stall which was the home of a gentle dapple grey mare, more interested in her feed trough than the small boy curled on the farrier's stool and carrying on a conversation with her. He did not hear Nicholas enter the stable.

"...cannot see why I may not have a hound also, if Joseph may have two," he was saying quietly, earnestly patting the mare's dark nose where it was half-buried in oats. "I would train one just as well, and care for it, and could go hunting when I am old enough, but father says I--oh!" Frank startled when Nicholas peered around the edge of the stall at him, blushing a little under his older brother's curious look. "Good day, brother," he said quietly. Nicholas smiled, a bit sadly. Frank was a sweet-tempered child and wildly imaginative, but, like Joseph, did not have the fortitude to withstand scrutiny or confrontation, especially from strangers. Nicholas having been only an occasional visitor in Lord Helford's home for nearly the entirety of Frank's life, the boy naturally saw his next oldest brother as more of a distant and infrequent relation. He was shy of Nicholas, deferential in the way he had been trained to be with visiting nobility. It pained Nicholas somewhat, sorry to be a stranger to his own brother, but it was a necessary evil, and one hopefully soon to be rectified: there was talk of Frank joining Lord Devon's house as another page, possibly to become Nicholas' squire.

***

come ask me about my horrifying slushpile of fic i'll never finish!!!

#jonas brothers #i write sometimes

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jpat82 · 5 years ago

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Nameless

Chapter 10

Wanda rebounded off of whoever she ran into, she held onto the boy tighter as she landed on her butt. She heard the other person crash onto the forest floor at the same time, heart in her throat she quickly pushed herself up to her feet. Wanda held her hand up, holding the child to her with her other arm, red wisps of smoke slowly began to drip from her palm as her eyes clouded over red.

The other person popped up to his feet, shaggy light brown hair a mess with leaves and twigs stuck in it. He turned around, his baby face full of shock and then confusion as he raised his hands up. Brown eyes looked from Wanda's face to the child in her arm and then to the hand that currently had crimson smoke falling to the ground.

"Are.. are you okay?" He asked, the nervousness broke through as he stuttered.

"Who are you?" Wanda commanded, every muscle in her body tense as she stood her ground.

"I'm.. what the hell is going on with your hands?" He asked, hands up, palms still facing her.

"Who are you?" She shouted, the kid's eyes snapped up from her hand. She could see the gash on his forehead, blood trickled down his brow, she could smell the copper scent in the air. There was something unusual about the smell, it wasn't vampiric, it didn't smell like the wolves, nor the beasts that over took her home, it was something entirely new and foreign to her.

"I'm Peter." He relied, looking over his shoulder as he bit his bottom lip. "Don't tell me you are one of those things."

"What?" Wanda asked, her brow knitting together. "I could ask you the same question, you have no business in this forest."

"No, I was headed this way to see Mr Barnes." Peter told her.

"Why?" She demanded.

"Cause I needed to talk to him." Peter told her lowering his hand down a fraction. "And then those things came out of nowhere."

"The daemons?" Wanda asked, as she slowly lowered her hand, the smoke still falling lightly from it.

�� "I guess, I ran into one on my way up here... I left him.. a little tied up but i don't think it will hold for very long." The kid told her looking back behind him, it was the direction of the main road, the one she had been headed to.

"Please tell you didn't come from the road." Wanda asked, closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip. Luca began to squirm in her arms, his piercing blue eyes focused on the new person standing before them.

"Yeah?" Peter responded, looking back at the bright eyed child.

"Shit." Wanda looked back toward the direction of the house. "You said there was only one?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll have to take my chances." She muttered to herself and walked around Peter.

"Hey, where are you going?" Peter asked as followed her.

"Bucky isn't home, none of them are. And the daemons have taken over the house." Wanda replied as she marched down the hill side. "I have to get Luca out of here, the road is the fastest and safest route so I'll have to go that way. Plus I can hope my family is on their way back."

"Then I'll join you, not saying you aren't capable of fighting those things with whatever that red stuff was but two is better then one." Peter stated, stepping in line with auburn hair woman.

"And please tell me, what can you do to help?" Wanda asked, looking over at him.

The sound of rustling came from their left, both of them looked over just as pure white face emerged from the brush. It's skin wrinkled and pulled back tight over the structure of its skull. Black eyes sunken in, lips an unnatural violet. It stepped out, lith limbs, it's clothes hung off of its body. Peter stepped forward, pushing Wanda and the child behind him.

He whipped up his arm, his hand pointed in the direction of the daemon was coming from and that when Wanda saw something she couldn't explain. Webs, or something that resembled webs shot from the young mans wrist, coating the beast in the thick white string. Peter only stopped once the daemon was subdued and trapped, he looked back at the wide eyed vampire.

"I'm not entirely human myself." Peter told her.

———-

“So these things are after my son, why? To turn him into a daemon?” You asked Pietro, walking next to the man who was staying next to you since the hounds had decided to run ahead and scout out the forest.

“My guess, to try and strengthen the ‘bloodline’.” He responded keeping his eyes focused ahead of him. “Vampires, Pures, are the closest to them. What makes them them is the most similar to a daemon. It’s more virus like then any other creatures. Everyone else it changed the genetic make up.”

“So he wants to infect my child.” You fumed, shaking your head. “I’m guessing to wipe out the planet.”

“Pretty much.” He stated.

“No wonder the Pures did what they did.” You sighed, you wrapped your arms around your chest. It was then you missed James more then ever. You wanted him by your side when you came face to face with Thanos, you’d be stronger. But you didn’t know where he was, if he had Luca. You hoped the rest of your family was okay, and that the daemons hadn’t gotten to them. They were strong but after seeing what they could do to Steve and the hounds you weren’t sure. “Is there a way to kill them?”

“Yes but we,” he said pointing to himself and then to you. “Won’t be able to do by ourselves. The last time it was the Pures and as you know they are way stronger then vampires made like Steve and the rest of us. Yes, you’re a pure but you won’t be able take them on alone.”

“So we’re screwed.” You stated. “Then why are we head back the house? Why are we following them?”

“Because Bucky would want to do fight him after we’ve regrouped and that’s what we’re doing. We are just going to meet him there.”

“We have a problem!” Thor shouted, as lumbering form emerging front he woods ahead, Loki only steps behind him.

—————

“Sir, it looks like they fled through a secret tunnel.” One of the daemons told Thanos as he stood before the big picture window staring out looking out into the dense forest beyond.

“Of course the witch would.” He replied, his deep voice echoing off the walls.

“She has the child with her, should we follow her?” The daemon ask him, watching his leader.

“No, the child can wait.” Thanos replied as he slowly turned. “Burn the forest.”

“What? I thought you needed him?”

“I do, but it can wait. First I want to pay the pure back for destroying my master piece.” Thanos told him as his heavy foot steps walk toward the lit fire place. “He brought down my army, he set me back on my destiny and now I shall repay him. Once I’ve destroyed his home, I’ll get the child and kill his family as he watches.”

“Yes sir.” The daemon nodded scurrying out of the room to relay the message.

Thanos opened the gate that covered the fireplace, he grabbed one of the pokers. Jamming it into one the logs, watching as the fire kicked off of it. He pulled it out carefully, the glow lighting up his lavender face. He flung it into the nearest of book shelves, a smile spread across his face as the fire exploded upon contact and began to consume the books. Thanos reached in with a golden gloved hand and grabbed another lit log before throwing it at the smooth panes of glass.

—————

Bucky smelled it as he exited the tunnel, smoke filtering in through the trees. It was faint but still there, his eyes scanned the woods before him but he couldn’t see where the cause was. He heart was in his throat as he looked around wildly, his eyes land on Vision and he didn’t have to state anything before he watched the man float above the canopy.

Steve looked back toward his friend, crimson eyes wide as he too could smell smoke upon the wind. A dread had settled on the family as they waited for Visions return.

“Sir, it seems the forest is on fire. From my calculations, it seems to stemming from the center.” Vision announced as he floated back down to the rest of the group.

“Luca.” Bucky breathed as stared in the direction that his home laid.

“Wanda’s with him.” Sam told the vampire. “She would of gotten him out to safety.”

“And Pietro is with Y/n, no doubt they will smell the smoke as well. And she has the wolves.” Steve stated quickly, grabbing Bucky by the shoulder. “We have to get to the town before the fire gets that far, we have to warn Fury and the others.”

“But.” Bucky stated, looking at Steve before looking at out into the forest.

“Steve’s right.” Sam stated firmly. “We have to warn them, remember, that’s what we all agreed upon when we moved here. We would keep them safe, we were what was going to change what people thought of us.”

“I hate to agree with the two stooges, you put plans in place in case of something just like this happened. First we save the town. The others will go to Brookvill, to the safe house. That’s the plan.” Tony stated as he looked at Clint and Vision. “Once the wolves find the house on fire they’ll turn y/n and Pietro back toward there. Wanda will head there because that’s always been the plan if the house was ever over run.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, eyes glowing bright blue. He knew they were right, he knew getting the humans to safety was his top priority. But there was a part of him that didn’t care. He wanted you and wanted Luca. He needed to know that they were safe, that Thanos and the rest hadn’t got to them.

“Buck, you ain’t got much time.” Clint spoke up from behind him. “What’s the next move, dawn will be fast approaching.”

“Stick to the plan.” Bucky finally relented. “Get the humans to safety.”

To be continued in the next book.....

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Choice ― II.iii. The Beginning of the End

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Trinity’s enemies grow in number.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Three nights before…

Old wood and old metal and bones older still take refuge from the bitter night rain.

In the shadows Cynbel waits, watches. The smith brings down his hammer against white-hot metal clang. clang. clang. Hunting like a different kind of predator and oh he has been so many that this… this he barely feels in the shift of his skin.

Steam erupts into the air, filled with the foul smell of a burning port where the worker submerges his latest creation beneath the water’s surface. Ignorant; blissfully ignorant.

“One would think after a long day’s toiling away, any opportunity for respite would be welcomed.”

Surprise catches in the mortal’s bones. Makes him release his work from the grasp of rusted tongs. He spins around, looks this way and that, but is no better than a blind man in his efforts.

“Who goes there?” Then, once the young man catches himself, “We are closed for the night. Please, return tomorrow at dawn.”

Does he think he plays at manhood? But this new age of innovation demands it of such boys, does it not. He might feel pity for them — if he could.

“Alas,” and when he replies his voice wraps around the small hovel; an embrace from Winter herself, “I cannot.”

Still the boy persists. “I insist, monsieur.”

“Who are you to insist of me?”

It’s advantageous; the hesitation that follows. Gives Cynbel a chance to emerge from his not-so-hidden refuge beside a basket of ores. He A shine catches his eye and he plucks it from the dark and misshapen pile, raises it against the light of the furnace to marvel at the gemstone’s glossy sheen.

He pockets it with little thought. A token of affection for his darling girl — so recently bored of diadems and jewelry and smitten with such… imperfections.

“Hey, that doesn’t bel—”

“Sssh…” The vampire presses a finger to his lips and the human goes quiet. Good, he likes them obedient.

This part of the workshop, back and away from the street where the front room displays the prides of masters and apprentices alike, requires a bit of meandering. But he’s an opportunistic man and takes what is offered for his own uses. Sways his hips with every movement slow, seductive.

Every good hunter knows his prey.

And indeed — when Cynbel comes to tower over the young man’s figure he can see each bead of sweat that rolls down his temples. Not just from the room’s stifling heat. Watches one bead along a shaven chin and glisten over the lump in his throat.

Here, and now in the light, things are different. Aren’t they?

Here every pump of the mortal’s racing heart threatens to deafen him in the best of ways. Here he is illuminated in fire’s heavenly glow; and recognized.

Cynbel lets his finger fall in unspoken permission. Watches as he’s taken in rapturously and in ways he has only seen between the pious and their places of worship… in ways he, too, has found rapture from his own religion.

When the human finally speaks it is rushed; exhaled, “I-worried-you-would-not-come…”

“For you,” and he weaves his fingers through locks of mousy hair, uses it as a master to his hound to pull him forward; breathes his honey-drenched words against peeling lips, “always.”

Their kiss is desperate, fervent with inevitability. Smoke-stained hands smeared over his jaw and Cynbel resists the urge to bite out his inexperienced tongue as a second gift for his beloved. Lets himself be defiled with the touches of a young man craven for affection and so so alone… unable to give it.

He would call this creature pitiful but even that would be too kind. That the mortal is too obsessed with his own gratification to realize every drop of passion is entirely from his own cup, that Cynbel’s cup could not be more barren in his presence, is nothing short of pathetic.

He pulls back as he always does. Stops those dirty wandering fingers as he always does. Kisses the day’s work from trembling knuckles as he always does.

“What kept you away?” The mortal whimpers.

And as he always does Cynbel lies through his teeth. “It matters not — that you stand before me now is more than enough.”

The mortal beams with pride. Though that is not the only vice Cynbel has been able to impart on him.

Everything in the smithy is exactly the same as he had left it a fortnight ago — well, almost.

He doesn’t have to pretend in this. The way he (none too) gently urges the wayward man aside to cross the room in several strides. Among the hammers and horseshoes the work done here is for the meager rank and file of Paris. Nothing as flashy as settings for gems or swords for battle. Cynbel knows this because his time has been well-spent these last months. Because the thing that separates the hunters who fail from the ones who survive is found in the little things.

Surveying the prey. Entering its nest. Staking its claim over the carcass before it has even been devoured.

Knowing all that he does — it begs the question of the mannequin—freshly carved—and the armor—freshly polished—settled snug upon it.

“Is this your work?”

He looks back and hears the skip in the mortal’s heart as he nods. “Indeed. Are you taken with it?”

“As taken as I am with you,” he croons in response; and knows the flush in living cheeks is not from the heat.

“That is why I am still here, actually,” he remembers his work then, and plucks the now solid metal from the bucket to wipe it dry with his sleeve. Small, in comparison to the rest of the pieces, but Cynbel takes it when it is offered; lets their touch linger in a promise he does not intend to keep.

The fastening is crude; its finer points interrupted by Cynbel’s arrival. But the sigil would be difficult not to recognize — especially for his kind. The halo around the center meant to be the sun. The fleur de lis enshrined within it in need of a little more dedication to be perfect.

More likely than not his little apprentice smith knows not what he is being asked to make. The holy war he is urging forward in his own way. A suspicion confirmed as Cynbel offers the work back and allows the mortal to continue to hold his hand.

“This is the only thing left. The master had just arranged contract with the Duke who ordered it when he fell ill,” —he explains this like Cynbel doesn’t know, like he didn’t ensure it— “and as his eldest apprentice the duty fell to me. I don’t know what overcame me, my love… it was as though the muses of old inspired my every movement.

“I missed you terribly, Claude, but I was fortunate there was this work to help me pass the time.”

Should he never hear the false name given for this ruse again it would be too soon.

Cynbel gestures to the armor, a “may I?” whispered reverent on his lips. With the human’s permission he steps closer, ghosts his touch over the refined metal. Imagines all the ways he will go about tearing it from whatever unfortunate soul it is given to limb from bloody, gory limb.

“You have outdone yourself.”

“Truly?”

Is the first of his praises not enough? Disgusting whelp. “Truly and more. I dare say whomever commissioned this will command any battlefield.”

Warm arms encircle his waist. The tack of the human’s sweating forehead presses against his doublet and already Cynbel begins practicing the apologies he will give to his beloveds upon his return. No doubt his Lord and Love will banish him from the apartment for the stench.

It is torture, pure and simple.

“May I confess something to you, Claude?”

Cynbel swallows back his bile. “Anything, always.” And he doesn’t need to see the human’s face to hear his pathetic ‘secret.’

“The Duke has sent word he will arrive in Paris tomorrow — and he hopes to see how the piece is coming along. I hope to convince him of my skill… perhaps even take some of the spoils for myself.”

Greed. One of the few things that make his presence bearable against all his shortcomings.

Cynbel turns in his arms; feigns as though he could never imagine such a scandal. “And what of your master? Will he not cast you out for the gall of it?”

“Perhaps he may not be around long enough to do such.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful.”

“Why not, when you inspire in me such a wonderful hope?”

Their second kiss is far more chaste, entirely so on part of the vampire. The disappointment on the other’s face is impossible to miss.

“Something the matter?”

“I would not have your well-earned pride ruined for it. Pay me no mind.”

“Claude,” Cynbel’s cheeks are taken in grimy mortal hands and he shivers, lets him take it as he wishes, “there is no joy I can bask in without you. Let me ease the weight on your chest. Please.”

Let it be known that he does not give in to the mortal’s whims. But with demons of the night leaping from shadow to shadow among the rafters, with every horrendous and degrading sentiment forced through his teeth; then and there Cynbel has had enough. Enough pretending, enough disgust.

Enough with feeling somehow unworthy of the love bestowed upon him when he returns to the arms of the ones with whom he truly belongs. Oh they placate him dutifully but he sees the twitch of a sensitive nose — a touch moved elsewhere at the last moment. These things are their prey; no better than chattel.

He was amusing at first. But…

“You have simply outlived your usefulness to me.” With no risk comes no reward they say but there is no risk here. He might be inclined to entertain it further if there was.

And like a child the human seems only to hear the kindly things. Continues to hold him, to adore him. To sicken him.

So he continues. “There is no risk, here. Only the continued debasement of the Golden Son, of the first of Valdemaras’ blood. If, when all the ages wither, I find in my soul no love of self then I must at least continue to love the part of me that is my God. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sure enough that rouses him. As if from a slumber. The masquerade finally coming to a close.

“I don’t understand.”

“Was I not speaking French?” Which could have been a possibility. As it is his muscles tense, predatory, in preparation of the first violent act that comes to mind.

“Yes, Claude, but — what you are saying makes little sense.”

So simpering, so pitiful that Cynbel actually stomachs the will to kiss him again. If only to whisper the insult to his lips; “I would expect nothing less of such a feeble mind.”

He’s seen heartbreak before. This is not it. This is a pantomime—what the inexperienced whelp believes heartbreak to be. Tries, so fleetingly, to wrench himself from Cynbel’s grasp but the charade is finally over. And with it the need to disguise his true strength.

“I had hoped you would have completed all of the armor in time, and maybe had I a stronger constitution one more night would have done the trick.” He looks back to the suit with true critique in his newfound eyes. Such a waste — talent like that in the hands of a worm. “But their sigil is clear enough that any member would recognize it as their own. I suppose there’s a poetic drama to the incomplete set.

“Isseya would know of such things better than I. She’s quite taken with the stage. She is the voice behind my tender affections towards you in fact.”

All the while the human tries to free himself to no avail. His workman’s hands are used to shaping manacles but have never been imprisoned by them after all.

Finally some sense comes about the man. All the telltale signs of a scream; flared nostrils, flushed pallor, the sour odor of fear near his knocking knees. Too late.

“HE—!”

Valdas would be proud how he silences any cry and practices for the upcoming ball in one swift movement. Pulling so hard he feels the joint come loose in a feeble shoulder and presses them close as lovers, back to front; molded against every vibrating measure of him and a hand tight over his lips.

“Ah ah ah…” He turns them both to face his work. Will give him that final gift of his life’s work burned behind his eyelids in the moments before death. “Don’t you want to know, my love? To understand?”

The fussy little fucker actually shakes his head. As though that will save him. As if he is held captive only until Cynbel has given him light where there was previously only darkness.

But that light is not for him. It belongs to them.

He belongs to them.

“If that is what you wish, fine. Throw away my gift, and your life with it.”

“Mmmph!”

“No no taking it back now. My mind is made up.”

“MMmnpm…” A needling heat pierces his skin. The sight of it makes the vampire laugh.

“A tear, really? And here I thought it was quite impossible for me to think less of you.”

He wrestles the human’s head to position; nearly breaks his neck several times in the process. Forces him to take in the splendor that will soon serve as a crafted casket for whatever heathen is suffered to wear it.

Unsympathetic, Cynbel places a final kiss to his temple. “Everything is in place now darling. I want you to know I could not have done it without you. Well—no—I just cannot help myself but lie to you it seems.” Another wave of muffled whimpers drowned in his laughter. “But you have made it easier on me. The Knights will collect your work and your corpse with it. One little life �� that’s all it will take to earn their ire. Clever little hellions that they are… they’ll follow every crumb I’ve left. All. the way. to me.

“If my beloved is correct—if the Godmaker graces the evening with his vile presence—then I may finally have the opportunity to rid the world of two evils. Can you imagine? No longer looking over our shoulders… no longer fearing unholy wrath…” The very thought has him in near ecstasy. Actually—quite close to the real thing.

But thoughts of a life free of the Knights draw him, as they inevitably do, to a darker place.

To the cursed memories of Isseya prone, neck bare… to the taste of steel on his tongue and the delicious smell of roasted game—but he was the meal of bubbling blistering flesh and every tear he shed—she shed a fresh wave of agon—

“The events that will unfold will ensure their safety. No one will dare to take them from me ever again…” Cynbel surprises them both in that his voice breaks with unbridled fury, with withheld anguish.

“Lest they remember what befell the last to even try.”

Countless hours spend seducing the young smith who surely had a name that he hadn’t bothered to remember go to waste, then. Such a fragile neck in his grasp — the way it sounds when it snaps is like the first notes of a sonnet.

But there’s still one crucial crumb that needs leaving. One that will ensure the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn know exactly who has courted them such.

One that will ensure they amass their armies beneath Paris in droves.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

He takes his leave of the workshop in much the same way as he entered; undetected by any soul living or dead. The mortal’s blood is tacky on his soaked hands the long walk back to their lodgings. He wants his lovers to taste of the wretched little cur so they know; so they understand.

Their sigil—the Brand of the Made-God Valdemaras—left to dry red on the breastplate. The unfinished clasp fastened neatly in the middle.

It was not unheard of for the vampires of Paris to think themselves important. Far more relevant than they actually are. Cynbel had gazed upon the half-masque of Serafine Dupont in the halls below and assumed her prestige nothing more than vanity; the hostess putting on airs for her guests.

But he’s a big enough man to admit when he’s wrong.

It takes a skill honed from centuries for the discipline she shows now. All of her remaining strength fixated on her injuries, on the effort to stand and set the bone to heal. A wound that would cripple a mortal—and even a younger vampire—rendered fruitless as muscle and flesh knit together in the tapestry of her dedication.

They watch the show of her impressed — but never intimidated. They will give credit where it is due.

With a vengeful cry she lunges forward and all credit is lost when her open palm meets his face.

Cynbel reaches up, feels the heat of the sting on his cheek with a shiver down his spine. Like all pain it fades too fast — but while there may be no more Knights in vain attempts to slay him Serafine still stands there and she looks positively craven for the excuse to strike again.

A look seen by more than just him. One that lands her pinned to a building exterior with splayed limbs and Valdas’ hand around her throat.

“Apologize.”

Yet even as his darling’s softer hands skirt feather-light touches over his healed skin Cynbel laughs. Laughs and laughs and adjusts his hair where the whore had sent it askew.

“No no, let her come for me. The Knights proved no real contest, maybe she’ll last a moment or two longer than they.”

“How dare you mock them,” seethes the woman with labored breaths; and because it isn’t the apology he asked for Valdas only tightens his grip, only strains her further in a wraithish rasp, “have you no grief for our brothers, our sisters who were slaughtered?!”

“They are no kin of ours.” Isseya answers for him. He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes.

“Forgive her, my God,” he croons, would rather keep his lovers close than risk their already fractured good luck, “the poor thing seems to be under the impression we are on some equal standing.”

And he does, eventually, let her go. But only when it takes longer than a passing moment for the carvings of his nails at her neck to heal.

“A mistake she would do well not to make again.”

Serafine’s eyes are wild; a frightened animal that takes them in all at once. The way they were meant to be understood — the way they had always been understood. Her voiceless words aren’t worth the effort it would take to even try to comprehend her.

“The same blood runs through your veins that does mine, le tueur.” She snarls.

Isseya’s eyes narrow. “Not for long. Not with that foul tongue.”

“Now now, Iss’, let the little thing mourn.” Cynbel attempts to placate her with long, slow pets to her hair.

“She dare call you the killer when those sycophants live?”

She turns her face away from their accuser, tucked into the ridge of his shoulder and Cynbel holds her tighter for it. Knows that she, too, is plagued with memory. That if he coaxed her face up he would see the shine of unshed tears in her beautiful eyes.

“Less of them now,” he whispers, “thanks to us.” For now it is all he can offer her. And for now it is enough. They only have this thorn to deal with before he can comfort Isseya—both of his lovers—properly and as they deserve.

“And while the Knights posed an entertaining foe, I’ll admit there were far more of our kind in attendance tonight than I thought there would be. The cost should have dwarfed the rewards.”

“What rewards? What reward could there possibly be for the senseless murder of our kind?!”

“Victory over the Knights of course.”

The noise she makes; strangled and not quite fully alive before it died in her throat, only amuses the woman on his arm. Has her reaching out for their God like she wants to mock Serafine. And that may very well be the case.

Here is my salvation. Where is yours?

“How was this to be a victory? You speak like —”

“Like he tipped the scales of this war with a battlefield of his own choosing?” offers Valdas -- now comfortable against his surviving lovers. “A soldier ‘til the end, my golden boy.”

Here he thought the deaths of the Knights would not be the only victory this night — the next to come much later and wrapped in sheets of the finest imported silk. But here stands another much to his surprise, crept up out of the gutters like vermin.

It is with utter delight that Cynbel watches Serafine come to understand the truth of the matter; watches the horror and disgust twist upon her beautiful features somehow made better by all-consuming sorrow.

Fills him with an arousal usually reserved for carnage and lovemaking; but this works too.

“You— You… brought the Knights of the Dawn to the crypts?”

“I didn’t hold their hands, no, though I almost needed to. Fucking simpletons.”

The woman’s voice catches. “How?”

“The righteous are terribly predictable. A few bodies here, a few whispers there. If they think their cause to be one of justice they’re akin to a persistent plague.”

Serafine is less an annoyance now; more a festering wound. Really, must she take the fun out of it? As it is he has to reconcile with the Godmaker surviving — no doubt leagues from Paris by now with his Bloodqueen in tow. Can he not just have this?

“You orchestrated this… this culling?”

“Those who died did so because of their own weakness.”

“You willingly led our enemies straight to us!”

“And now they are an army fewer in number.”

The look he gives her — disinterest, boredom. If you seek to make me remorseful you seek in vain.

“Monsters,” Serafine finally chokes out; said to them all but Cynbel takes it just a tad personally, “monsters… the three of you. Les Trois Amants no more than old, cruel, mindless creatures of bloodshed.”

“Not quite,” Cynbel’s hand stays his Maker from attacking her, allows him to meet her gaze level and calm with a lover on each arm. United; permanent.

“Where they seek justice I gave vengeance. That I was able to lead them to us at all says all the things you wish to ignore—to put as blame upon my shoulders. The Knights would have eventually discovered the catacombs our refuge. If not tonight then tomorrow, or a fortnight from now. Would you rather that, mademoiselle? Would you rather they have had the time to plan, to cut off completely all means of escape?

“You should be thanking me that the living outnumber the dead. And that you may count yourself among them.” And with his victory inevitably wilted Cynbel has had enough of her accusations. “But yes — I would watch every vampire alive burn at the hands of the Knights themselves so long as my beloveds are by my side.”

With the last of her strength the vampiress snarls with fangs bared. Such a pitiful portrait she paints of herself; he knows it, all three of them do. It doesn’t even warrant Valdas’ reaction and isn’t that saying something.

“You will see justice at the hands of your enemies.”

“Four centuries and the bastards have yet to do any lasting damage.” An amusing thought, too.

“The Holy Knights are not your only enemy today.”

He can see it, too. A hotter, blinding flame burning inside of her far stronger than the ones that ravage underneath their feet. Give it a century or two, he thinks, and it will be snuffed out with the rest.

Two sets of hands try to keep him close but he gently coaxes them aside. Approaches the tempest before him with her wild eyes and wild hair and finds satisfaction in the flinch of her when his fingertips graze her silken chin.

“My victory is—has always been—inevitable, ma chérie. And I look forward to the prestige it will bring.”

#bloodbound #choices fanfiction #serafine dupont #playchoices #bloodbound fanfiction #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oc: isseya #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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anathtsurugi · 6 years ago

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Day 4 - Rekindle

Heh, so this idea definitely ran away with me a little bit. This be my day 4 for @kalluzebweddingplan‘s 14 Days of Kalluzeb Valentines prompt challenge. I’m pretty much falling asleep at my keyboard as I post this, so...supremely apologize for any mistakes I didn’t catch. Enjoy!

Rekindle

Despite the fact that they were in the middle of a very hot firefight, Hera's strafing run over the beaches of Scarif was a breath of cool relief for Zeb. At the very end of one of the stretches, amidst the sprays of blood and sand, he could spot Kallus' distinct blond hair. Still moving...

Still alive.

He'd been terrified when they'd rescued the few remaining commandos from the infiltrator shuttle, as the defector pilot had told them that Kallus had been part of the ground forces and not part of the infiltration team. He would be where the fighting was hottest.

Don't you be dead. Don't you dare be dead, Kal! If you die on me, I'm gonna drag you back and kill you myself.

But he wasn't dead. When the Ghost made its pickup sweep, the human had suffered hardly more than a few blaster grazes. With two other soldiers in tow, he was helping the black-robed Guardian carry his husband from the battlefield.

Quickly passing the gunner's seat to Rex, Zeb hurried down to the hold, anxious to see for himself that Kallus was all right. When he arrived, his foolhardy lover only just managed to pull himself away from the two Guardians with a worried look. Zelina had already arrived and was working on stabilizing the injured commandos. Kallus' injuries, at least, wouldn't need to be looked over immediately.

"Cassian?" he pressed. "Have you found Cassian and the girl yet?"

"No. There's been no word. Kal-"

"We have to find them! Cassian's one of mine, Zeb. I can't just leave him here."

Zeb exhaled heavily before asking, "Where'd they go?"

"The comm tower. That's where they'll be."

"And there's nobody else?"

"Unless you've had word from any of Blue Squadron, no. We are- all that's left," Kallus said, the ghost of something painful flickering briefly in his amber eyes.

"You catch that, Hera?" Zeb asked over his comlink, which he'd kept open throughout.

"Got it," was her response.

Kallus did a double take at this. "Hera? Hera Syndulla's piloting this ship?"

"Yeah."

"But- she- she's still on medical leave!" he spluttered in shock. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since-"

"I'm where I need to be, Alexsandr Kallus," the Twi'lek's scolding tone came over the comlink. "Now you just sit tight and hold on."

"Ravenous kath hounds couldn't'a stopped her when she thought she might lose another member of her family," Zeb told him, offering him a very pointed side eye. "Couldn't'a stopped me, either."

A look of guilt moved across the ex-Imperial's face at this. Looking away from Zeb, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I had to, Zeb. I couldn't-"

"I get it," Zeb ground out, voice a strange mix of anger and relief. "I know why, but you can't expect me not to have a go at you. It could'a been you! It could'a been you down there right now," he snarled as he pulled his lover into his arms, holding him fiercely against his chest.

"Oh...Zeb..." the human whispered tremulously, fingers catching in the fabric of his battle suit as he clung to him. But the moment was interrupted all too soon by Hera's terse comm.

"I've got your wayward agent and his friend on my scope, Kal," she informed them. "I'm gonna do a sweep. You need to be at the ramp to make sure they're onboard. We're gonna need to get out of here yesterday once we have them."

They did as Hera asked, hurrying to the entry ramp. It was almost worth their present danger to see the look of shock on Andor's face when the Ghost swooped in to rescue him and the Erso girl.

"COME ON!" Kallus roared at the pair. Andor was dumbfounded, but some survival instinct clearly kicked in with the girl, because she was instantly helping the Fulcrum agent limp to the ship. The blistering heat and light of the Death Star's shot were already bearing down on the tiny freighter.

"Hera, we got 'em. Go!" Zeb snapped over his comlink.

"Gone," she snapped back, immediately sending her ship rocketing away from its present location.

The four of them were knocked nearly off their feet. Bracing himself against the bulkhead with one hand, Zeb kept the two younger rebels pinned against the wall while they held tightly to each other. Kallus he kept pinned against his own chest with his other arm, trusting him to hold on.

Kallus didn't disappoint. He held tightly to the Lasat, making himself as small as possible against him. For several tense moments, the two of them just breathed each other in – in case this was the last chance they would ever have to do so.

"Come on. Come on!" Andor whispered several times, his eyes wide with fear as he clung to Erso.

"Please. Not now. Not now," came the sound of Erso's voice, muffled against Andor's chest.

"Zeb..." Kallus started, looking up at him.

"I know," he returned, kissing the top of the ex-agent's head. "Me, too."

It was close. So close none of them really wanted to know just how close it had been. But they all felt it the moment the Ghost achieved escape velocity, bursting into the hollow whiteness of hyperspace. For a single, protracted moment, they all collapsed against the bulkhead, quite certain they would all be on the floor right now if not for its cool, solid reality.

"Who?" Erso...Jyn...asked suddenly, mastering her breathing as she looked over at Zeb and Kallus. "Who made it out? Bodhi? Chirrut and Baze-"

"Your friends are all right," Kallus reassured her. "Zelina is seeing to them now. Everyone is down in the hold if you want to see them."

Jyn immediately slipped out from under Zeb's arm, heading up the corridor. Cassian followed suit a moment later, taking the time to look back at them.

"I don't think- she knows the Ghost just yet. Better point her in the right direction."

"Of course," Kallus said with a nod.

"Kallus...Orrelios..." he started, reaching back to shake both their hands. "Thanks for the save?"

"Any time," Kallus said, and Zeb agreed with a nod of his own.

Then the two young rebels were gone and the two of them were alone in the ramp corridor.

"Zel," Zeb hailed the young medic over his comlink. "You got this handled or do you need help?"

"It's handled," she responded a moment later. "Rex is here now, and one of these guys has some basic field training. You do what you need to," she told him, and he couldn't quite stop himself from rolling his eyes. He could just about hear the little wink in the young woman's voice.

He didn't say anything in response, though. He just took an unquestioning Kallus by the hand and led him back to their bunk. It would be hours yet before they were able to limp back to Yavin IV and they both knew how they'd be spending the time.

Once their door slid closed behind Kallus, the human was leaning silently against it, arms held out to receive the Lasat into them. Zeb quickly covered the smaller male's body with his own, claiming his mouth in a desperate kiss. Kallus groaned softly as he was pressed against the door, both holding Zeb and clinging to him.

"Oh, Zeb...my Zeb," he breathed against the Lasat's fur.

"I really thought- I wasn't gonna see you again," Zeb whispered against his grimy skin, dropping his face down to the ex-Imperial's neck in order to work his scent into the skin – to banish the scent of battle and death.

"I'm sorry," Kallus returned, dropping little kisses on the top of the Lasat's head. "I never would've...but I couldn't..."

Zeb silenced him with another kiss to the lips. He didn't need to hear it. He didn't need to hear how little his Alex valued his own life – how little he cared for the treasure that Zeb prized above all others. He just needed the man to know how he loved him. So, divesting him of his jacket and shirt, he gently guided the two of them to their bunk, gazing tenderly down at him as he laid him down on the bed.

It didn't take them long to remove the last of their clothing, nor for Zeb to simply fall on the human, caressing and kissing every bit of his lover that he could. Alternating between Basic and Lasana with each whispered declaration, he pressed his love into Kallus' skin.

"L'ashkerrir an. I love you. L'ashkerrir an."

"Ungh...Zeb," his lover panted against him as they moved together on the bed, making love slowly.

The words were simple between them, their meaning made more explicit by each movement and each touch.

I love you. I need you. Please don't leave me.

This went on until they came undone in each other's arms, Zeb crouched protectively over Alex's body and Alex with his head thrown back against the bunk, his mouth contorting around a wordless, voiceless cry.

They didn't speak when it was done. There was little that could be said that hadn't already passed between them in their coupling. They simply lay together in the warm darkness, their promises to each other renewed.

#Kalluzeb Valentine #Star Wars Rebels #SWR #rogue one #Kalluzeb

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raphpanda21 · 6 years ago

Text

We can dance if you want to

Last time

Minthe: What are you doing here?

Cerberus growled softly seeing Minthe but at Persephone’s touch he quiets.

Persephone: I could ask that same to you. Is Hades in ?

Persephone attempted to peer around Minthe but she shifted her person blocking Persphone’s view inside.

Minthe: Hades being here or not is none of your business. Let’s stop beating around the bush since You seem like a smart one. Hades is my man and the sooner you realize that the better.

Persephone’s head tilted slightly as she listened to Minthe.

Persephone: I had already figured out you had some jealous tendencies after I saw the lovely face you made when I was carried by Hades out of Tartarus. Unlike you though I can do things without hidden motives. I just came here to bring Cerberus home.

Minthe glanced at the dog her lip curling in disgust.

Minthe: So you were the dognapper all along ? Why am I not surprised. Trying to work him by using his dog as an in? Hoping he will be grateful and become puddy in your hands. Ha! I know all the games you might try and play. A rookie like you can’t compete against me. Sure he might humor you once because the packaging is nice but girls like you are good for a romp and not much more.

Cerberus started growling again deeper and louder this time his hackles rolling forward forcing Persephone to grab at his collar with her free hand trying to hold him back. ‘Hold my collar else I am going to eat this bitch’

Persephone: You can think what you want Minthe. I am not playing games and especially not with you. I am going to return Cerberus whether you like it or not.

Cerberus growled and suddenly lunged towards Minthe making her stumble back in surprise and straight into the chest of the man they had been talking about .

Hades wrapped his hands around Minthe’s shoulder to steady her and brought her back to rights. Eyes moving to Cerberus he gave a quick command making Cerberus snap to attention and promptly sit down all aggression ceased.

Hades: The wayward hound has found his way home. I take it I have you to thank for his delivery Kore.”

Persephobe shook her head

Persephone : No thanks needed had I known you were worried I would have brought him back sooner.

Minthe saw an opportunity in the exchange between Hades and Persephone to redeem herself for her earlier callous attitude with the regards to flea bag.

Minthe: Of course you should have! You should be ashamed! Hades was worried sick! He lost nearly a whole day of work because you didn’t think! These dogs are our babies for Helios’s sake!

Persephone looked down ashamed her grip tightening on the dog bowl as Minthe laid into her. Minthe’s smirk grew as her lecture went on enjoying seeing Persephone curl in on herself like a flower at nightime. Her satisfaction was short lived though as the party behind her was not pleased at all.

Hades had heard some of the conversation between the two before he had made himself know and had tried to dismiss it from his thoughts. Seeing Minthe tear into Kore like a hungry lioness he could no longer stand by in silence.

Hades: ENOUGH!

Both women started in surprise at his outburst Minthe turning to him with a raised brow about to question his decision to cut her off until she saw the anger simmering in his eyes.

Minthe: But Hades I was just ..

Hades: I said enough and I meant it. You should know how much I despise a breach in hospitality. Kore is my guest and your attacks are an insult to me.

Minthe cursed a streak in her mind. She had screwed up hard this time and she wasn’t sure she could talk her way out of this one easily.

Minthe: I .. I was just upset and let my feelings get the better of me.

Hades: Well to avoid your feelings causing you to further insult my guest I think you should go home. You have helped me enough today.

Minthe blinked in shock. Was he dismissing her ?! In front of Persephone!? Not wanting to push her luck and anger him further she nodded her head in acquiescence to his request.

Minthe: I apologize for the insult I have brought to your home. I will go and see you tomorrow.

Stepping in she moved to give Hades a kiss goodbye wanting to drive home to Persephone that even if they fought they were still an item but Hades pulled back turning away from her the side glare he gave her sending a strong and clear message that her kisses were not wanted at that time.

Ears falling back in anger and disappointment she made her exit deciding to walk off the rage she felt building up as she waited on her charioteer to arrive. Persephone had won this round but over her dead body would she win the war!

For a few moments Persephone and Hades stand on the stoop awkwardly before Hades speaks up breaking the silence between them.

Hades: Sorry about Minthe. She pretty much has two speeds calm and intense. Can I invite you in for some coffee or something ? I feel like if I don’t the furries might be visiting me for the poor reception you received tonight . I really don’t need another citation.

Persephone was relieved that he had broken the awkward silence as she had been at a loss at what to say after witnessing their lovers spat.

Persephone: Ciitation for your hospitality? And you questioned why I called your a scoundrel. I guess I will save you, coffee would be nice.

Hades lead the way into his home leading Persephone to the back patio off from the kitchen . Going back into the the kitchen he made them both a cup of coffee . As he stepped out from the shadow of the house he was momentarily caught off guard at the vision of Persephibe bathed in moonlight with Cerberus’’ head nuzzled into her lap. It was breathtaking sight. She looked otherworldly in the soft glow but exuded a strange peaceful sadness at the same time.

Not wanting to get caught staring he continued walking to the small patio table setting the cups on the table before taking a seat for himself.

Hades: So how is school and the internship going for you?

Persephone shrugged scratching behind Cerberus’ ears. What did she say to these questions? That 90% of her classmates thought she was sleeping with him. That her scholarship might disappear like a lightening flash if Hestia discovered she was no longer a virgin.

Persephone : Fine. School is easy so far. With the regards to the internship it seems interesting but I am still trying to get my bearings.

Hades: It will get easier. You are a woman of many hidden talents after all.

Persephone smiled politely over the rim of her coffee cup at his compliment and their chatter continued on for awhile Hades asking about her living situation and roommate and Persephone responding with more vague comments too afraid to be honest as she didn’t wish to fall apart in front of him.

Hades could tell that she was hiding something. The aura of sadness that seemed brought on by the moonlight had not faded. He wanted to pry and get her to open up to him but he couldn’t. He had already made the decision that he would keep his distance and leave everything strictly professional between them. For a few minutes they just sat in silence the only sound heard being the normal symphony of night creatures.

As the minutes ticked by Persphone guilt grew. She came to the realization that Hades had been made to initiate all of the conversation they had that evening. Wishing to amend this she quickly tried to think of something to ask him.

Persephone: Are you doing well? You look really tired .

Hades was momentarily caught of guard by the rather direct question. He looked tired? How should he answer that? The truth was he was exhausted but he couldn’t say that. Saying that would only lead to more questions and those were questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. The charade that he called a relationship would hardly be a subject he should or could discuss with Kore. Besides he had resolved to work things out not matter how difficult it might be. Nothing worth anything was easy after all. Needing to lighten the mood he forced a laugh waving her concern off.

Hades: I think my runaway is completely to blame for these dark circles. I most assuredly got in all my steps today thanks to him.

Cerberus huffed at the accusation rolling his eyes at his Master’s pathetic cover up and the silence quickly returned between them .

Persephone seemed miles away her face upturned to the night sky seemingly entranced by the moonlight as Hades watched her. Suddenly a lone tear rolled down her check surprising Hades. He never thought crying could look beautiful but it seemed Kore had powers beyond compare.

Persephone was feeling a million things at once. Fear, lonilness, anger, regret, sadness and many other emptiness were waging war inside her. Strangely the emotions got even stronger when she thought of Hades. She didn’t even know what she wanted from him but she felt like whatever they might be or could have was falling down around her.

Hades: Kore what is wrong ?

The sound of Hades voice snapped her out of her daze and feeling the moisture on her cheek she quickly turned her face away.

Persephone: N-Nothing. I just remembered I have a lot of class work still to do tonight I should go. Thank your hospitality!

Not waiting to allow him time to stop her Persephone quickly stood from her chair taking off at a sprint , that Artemis herself would find impressive, out of the side yard before Cerberus and Hades could make a move to stop her.

Hades stood to follow her genuinely concerned by her sudden deperature but he stopped realizing that he had no business following her. She obviously wished to be alone. His instincts screamed at him to go after her but he fought them down. He had no claim on her.

Cerrbus looked up at Hades eyes narrowing in accusation with a silent question of what did you do?

Ruffling Cerberus’s ears Hades sighed as he moved to pick up the cups and head back inside.

Hades: Your guess is as good as mine boy with regards to what just happened . I just hope she is really going to be okay. I hate to see her so sad.

Cerberus whined in agreement following him inside. The last thought on Hades mind later the night as he started to nod off was the hope that Kore would be in better spirits and she would find peace with whatever was weighing so heavily on her mind .

#greekgods #inspired #loreolympus #persephone #drabble #minthe #hades #cerberus #lore olympus

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