#vile gash

[elegantlyeva]

Stupid Girl (fondly)

not really sure what this is, but the scott rot was real after watching twisters

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Scotts an asshole but he secretly cares (?)

Scott was irritated, although that wasn’t saying much, considering he usually was. The heat and lack of data they’d collected due to Javi following Kate around had him more on edge than usual. It didn’t help that you had been ignoring him.

There’s no way he would ever admit to the fact, but he missed you. He knew he’d messed up earlier, and you were usually more forgiving of his moods, but the heat seemed to have you on edge too.

Thinking about it now, you’re surprised the two of you hadn’t gotten into such a fight before this, considering the difference in your jobs. Scott profited off the tornado victims, and you offered your services for free.

During the calmer seasons, you worked as a nurse in a nearby clinic, and during tornado season, you normally frequented the towns with the most wreckage and helped the victims in any way you could.

Scott and you had met in a similar way, actually. He had been in one of the town’s aftermaths to help his uncle with marketing for Storm Par when he saw you. You were treating a small scrape on a kid no older than 10. Scott had rolled his eyes when he saw the kid’s tears. It was a scrape, and here you were doting on him like it was a gash. Once the kid had run off to find his mother, Scott approached you. Once he got closer, he noted you were… pretty. Not that he cared, obviously.

“He was fine,” Scott scoffed, almost annoyed.

You had been confused at first, mumbling, “Sorry?” as you stood to brush yourself off from where you had been crouching next to the boy.

“He’s gonna complain about a paper cut if he gets coddled like that,” he smacked his gum.

“He’s a kid. Plus, paper cuts hurt,” you countered, raising your head to look at him.

And not to be dramatic, but he was gorgeous. Maybe that’s why you ignored the obvious asshole demeanor he had.

Scott rolled his eyes. “He’s a wuss,” and he fought a smile at the offended look you had at his words.

You glared at him and almost argued, but decided he wasn’t worth your time. No matter how gorgeous.

Scott, unfortunately for him, could not say the same.  

“I’m Scott,” he said, even reaching out his hand. Not because he wanted to feel your hand or anything; he was doing it to be polite. At least, that’s what he told himself.

You rolled your eyes, but it was more lighthearted than anything, and told him your name, reaching out your own hand to shake his.

He was disturbed with himself for feeling so shocked at the contact. Your hand was so soft, and it made him want to pull you closer.

An intrusive thought. A vile intrusive thought that he blamed you for internally. You were trying to distract him with your pretty looks and soft hands. Well, Scott was stronger than that, so he vowed to himself he wouldn’t speak to you again.

That vow lasted about a week.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. You had been at almost every single one of the tornado aftermaths, and he had been dragged by Javi to two of them and by his uncle to one. And every single time, he found himself gravitating toward you to start a conversation.

You’d been less interested when he first approached you, wondering why you were in the town at all, especially since you weren’t getting paid.

He shut up soon after realizing how repulsed you seemed to be by the question.

By the second time, he knew to steer clear of certain topics and asked you more friendly questions, like where you grew up and why you were a nurse in the first place.

He figured out many things about you by the fourth time he’d seen you, and by the fifth, you had warmed up to him.

You learned he was smart. And not just in science and tornados. He was actually pretty well-rounded, just maybe not in social situations.

You learned he was cocky about almost everything: his education, wealth, success, and looks. Though, after having met his uncle, it made sense. The trait ran in the family, apparently.

You learned Scott was more fun than you originally thought. Maybe fun was an exaggeration, but he was certainly more.

Now, it’s been three weeks since you first met, and you’ve been ignoring him due to an impassive comment he made. How could you blame him? Nothing had been going according to plan, and Storm Par had hardly collected enough evidence since Kate and the YouTubers were in town.

So maybe telling you he found your job pointless wasn’t the smartest thing to do. What he had been trying to say was you should just stay at your clinic to help people from there. He thought it was pointless that you weren’t benefiting from helping them right at the scene.

You hadn’t liked that at all and called him an asshole right before retreating back to your medical tent that was set up.

Scott rolled his eyes, figuring you’d be over it in ten minutes, but then it became twenty, and thirty, and after an hour, Scott had to leave with Javi to follow up a storm. Hopefully getting there before Tyler and Kate.

It was all fine until Javi wanted to go follow Kate to the town the tornado was headed towards. Scott was upset. Of course, Javi wanted to go help them. It made his eye twitch; they needed the data.

He says the words of not caring about the victims before he can stop himself. He winces internally, and Javi looks at him horrified. However, Scott hadn’t planned on taking it back until,

“Your girlfriend is out there,” Javi pointed out, desperate to get through to him.

You were not his girlfriend. But Scott knew what he meant and fought the urge to hit the dashboard in frustration.

He cursed under his breath. “Well? Are you waiting for a green light? Fucking drive,” he grumbled, but the worry swelling in his chest was real.

The rest happened ten times as fast. The movie theater had been split in half, a couple dozen people taken by it, and Kate was somewhere in Tyler’s truck on a suicide mission, at least that’s what he heard later. He wasn’t there. No, after the tornado had stopped, even before it did, really, Scott was a frantic mess looking for you between the crowds.

You weren’t at the theater, nor at the gas station, and hadn’t been in any of the nearby stores. Scott’s heart sunk, and he was almost going to face the possibility that you might be dead. Almost.

As he was jogging up a block in search of you, he saw a small, crushed little shed. He was surprised the majority of it was still there, even though it had fully collapsed. That’s when he saw a hand. Not just any hand—your hand. He knew from staring at it long enough.

He rushed over in a panicky breath and called your name a few times before lifting some of the wood off you.

You groaned when you felt the weight being taken off you and felt dried blood near your temple.

“Scott?” you mumbled warily.

He let out a breath of relief. “Yeah. S’me.” Then, more firmly, “The fuck were you thinking, huh? You know better than to stay in a little shack. You’re damn lucky you didn’t get swept up.”

You smiled softly at his scolding. “I was helping a dog.” As if on cue, the puppy that was curled in your chest during the storm barked.

Scott glared, unamused. “You could’ve died,” he said bluntly, grabbing you by the arms softly, whispering apologies at your whimpers. He got you out of the destroyed shed (the dog too) and pulled you in for a hug. More for him than you. “I thought you died,” he stressed, quieter this time.

“You’d miss me,” you teased in a light voice, though the laughing made your ribs hurt.

He rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you closer. “Stupid girl,” but the fondness in his voice wasn’t something he could hide.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Pt 5)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Warning: Suggestive language

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong!Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You do not understand,” Y/N protests. “I need to see my brother, he must be tended first. If he dies, my mother will kill me.”

“If you die, the King shall kill us.” The grand maester taps her chin. “Let’s see the damage.”

Y/N moves her hand from her shoulder. “How bad is it?”

The maester begins cutting away surrounding fabric to reveal the extent of her wound. An open, oozing gash, torn clean from one side through the another.

Alicent rushes in, “what have you done?” She demands.

���Aemond is dead.” Y/N whispers, “I killed him.”

“I meant to yourself, what have you done to yourself?” Alicent demands.

“He stabbed me, and he fell.”

“What of the dragons?”

“Baela and Moondancer are searching for Jaecerys and Vermax. Vhagar is dead, as best I can tell.”

Alicent holds a hand to her head.

“Mayhaps you might look in on my husband?” Y/N says, “tell him I am well and that I love him.”

“You expect me to lie to my injured son?”

“Only the first part would be untrue.” Y/N arches a brow.

“Drink this, your grace. For the pain.” The maester presents her a black vile, milk of the poppy. “We’re going to pack the wound.”

Y/N’s eyes widen, “why?”

“I fear the blade must’ve twisted, your grace. The area has been gouged clean. There is not enough flesh for a stitch to hold.”

“Seven hells,” Y/N grimaces, chugging it down.

Even milk of the poppy does little to dull the pain as they begin pressing against the wound. Her screams can be heard echoing the Red Keep for less than a minute, before she faints.

————————————————————————-

“And now I need you to wake, sister.” A voice says, reaching Y/N in her dreamless sleep.

“Jace, she needs time.”

“There is no time.”

Y/N groans, willing her eyes to open.

Jacaerys pats the side of her face, “there you are.”

“You’re alive?” Y/N croaks out, blinking at him in the dim light.

“As are you.” Her brother says, simply, “at present Daemon’s army is marching on us from Harrenhal and mother is on her way for the throne.”

“That is no matter,” Y/N says, “we were only ever holding it for her.”

Baela looks to her betrothed.

“Sister,” he takes her hand, “what is expected of our mother now…to truly seize power, you understand what it would cost?”

“Aegon is in no state to bend the knee, I’m sure if I could speak with her-”

“I fear there may be no chance, if you, yourself, do not provide a show of strength.”

“Helaena has Dreamfyre and I have Stormborn, my children’s dragons are small. Sunfyre is gone.” Y/N reminds them.

“You’ve Vermax and Moondancer.”

Y/N looks to her brother.

“We will stand with you.” Baela assures her.

“Against our mother, you will stand with me?”

“Surely you have not done this for a crown, which would’ve been yours in time. You have done it for Aegon.” Jace sighs, “he is an idiot, but from what I understand, he loves and cares for you.”

“He does,” Y/N nods.

“He has been in talks with our mother for some time, attempting to make terms. That is why he lies injured.” Jace tells her, “his raven did not arrive in time and Rhaenys thought it an attack levied against her. Still I do not wish for his head.”

“Do you think she would do it?” Y/N wonders, “kill him in front of me?”

“You have not seen her these past weeks, since Luce’s death, I cannot say what she’ll do.” Jace loves his mother, fiercely, but he loves his sister too.

“We can anticipate even less of my father’s movements,” Baela admits. “He’s not returned to Dragonstone in nearly as long.”

“I hope to resolve this peacefully.”

“I do not believe our mother thirsts for Aegon’s blood, this is merely a precaution.” Jacaerys tells her. “You must dress, prepare the dragons and the King’s Guard, we do not have much time.”

“We will also raise the smallfolk, they will stand with us.” Y/N says, crying out as she sits upright. “And Aemond’s body, make sure it’s found. I plan to make a gift of it to our mother.”

Jacaerys nods, taking Baela’s hand and setting off to their tasks.

Chérie comes to dress her, pulling out the red dress Rhaenyra gifted her daughter as a symbol of solidarity on the day of Lucerys’ petition. A show of force against the Hightowers, even as she stood beside them.

Y/N shakes her head. “Bring me the green dress.”

Chérie swallows hard, “at once, your grace.”

The green dress is arguably the most beautiful gown she owns. A gold hand embroidered tapestry over emerald green satin. A wedding gift from Aegon. She’s never worn it, save for his rooms upon request, or to have it fitted after the births of their children. This day she stands for her husband and his house. This day she wears Hightower green.

She passes her husband’s apartments on her way to the throne room, turning the knob with familiarity. “Where are the children?”

Aegon looks to her, “in with the maids, shrouded by guards, my darling. I’ve just had the wounds dressed, I did not want them to see.”

Y/N nods, “of course.”

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Aegon smiles.

Y/N shifts between feet. “Thank you, my love. I am headed to the throne room to meet with my mother and discuss terms of the succession.”

Aegon holds a hand out to her, “come.”

Y/N closes the distance between them, lacing their fingers together as she stands at the side of his bed.

“If her only want is my head, let her have it.”

“What?” Y/N reels back, “no.”

“Hush now and listen,” he insists. “My body is broken, the maesters say I will never be whole. You will be free to remarry-”

“Stop it.”

“A fitting father for our children.” Aegon continues, “so long as I live, I will only stand in your way.”

“No,” Y/N tears her hand away from him, “you’re wrong.”

“I say this out of love,” he insists.

“No harm will come to you. Those are my terms, I present my mother with the throne, and the body of the man who killed her child. I offer her the peace I have made and all the good with it. It is nonnegotiable.”

“It needn’t be this way,” Aegon tells her.

“You’re mine, Aegon.” Y/N insists, “my husband, my confidant, my dearest friend. You are still all of those things to me, however many times I need say it, however many years it takes for you to believe me, I have time. We have time.”

Aegon sighs, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“A punishment for something, surely.” Y/N lets out a laugh.

Aegon shakes his head, “a gift from the gods.”

Y/N presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back.”

“I will be here.”

Y/N closes the doors to her husband’s chambers behind her. “Stay with my husband.” She orders Cole, waiting to collect her in the hallway.

“Your grace, I am needed at your side.” He says.

“No, you will stay here and defend my fucking husband as though your life depends on it, and best believe it does.”

————————————————————————

Rhaenyra meets Daemon along the gates of the Red Keep. The streets are lined with smallfolk and the occasional yellow cloak, clearing a path for them.

Aegon the fourth begins to fuss in his grandsire’s arms.

“I’ll take him,” Rhaenyra offers. The babe quiets almost instantly.

“He well and truly does not like me.”

Rhaenyra only laughs. “It happens that way sometimes, I’m afraid. Though it may help if you smile.”

Daemon scoffs.

The line of bystanders continues down to the throne room, where Jacaerys and Baela stand on either side of Y/N, at the iron throne.

“This is quite the battalion you’ve assembled, daughter.” Rhaenyra remarks, “do you plan to challenge my claim?”

“Not in the least,” Y/N assures her. “I should like nothing more than to see you sit this throne. But I do have terms of my own.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“First and foremost, the guaranteed safety of Aegon and our children.”

“And what of Aemond?” Rhaenyra wonders.

“Bring him,” Y/N says, to the guards.

Daemon watches as a large black sack is carted in and laid at Rhaenyra’s feet.

“I slain him myself, with the help of my brother and his betrothed.” Y/N tells them, “you may see for yourself. Though I must warn you, he fell from the sky. The sight is not a pretty one.”

Daemon is the one to tear back the fabric and confirm that it is, in fact Aemond. Nodding to his wife.

“What other terms do you have?” Rhaenyra asks.

“Alicent, Helaena and her children.” Y/N swallows, “I wish for their safety as well.”

Rhaenyra pauses, as if to consider.

“You should also know that these guards and the smallfolk which line our halls are here for me. In my name, for my claim, not Aegon’s. The White Hart appeared for me; they follow me.”

“And who do you serve?”

“You, mother. Same as I always have.”

“You will bend the knee?” Rhaenyra purses her lips.

“Now, if it pleases you.” Y/N assures her, “so long as my terms are met.”

Rhaenyra nods, “very well. I should like to be crowned in the dragon pit, where I will reaffirm your title as my heir.”

Y/N takes a deep breath as she rises, approaching her mother and taking Aegon IV in her arms. “Thank you, my Queen.”

“Mother.” Rhaenyra corrects her, gently.

————————————————————————

Over the next weeks, Aegon grows tired of lying about. His unlikely budding friendship with Lord Larys seems to be the culprit.

Y/N is halfway to Aegon’s bedchamber when she hears his pained cries. Rushing in to find him collapsed on the floor.

“I can’t, I can’t.” Aegon protests as the grand maester attempts to bring him upright.

“I am so sorry, your grace.” Orwyle apologizes.

“Leave him.” Y/N shoos him away, “leave him.”

“Your grace,” the maester sighs, allowing Aegon to rest against the floor, “I must get him back to bed.”

“I will do it.” Y/N shakes her head.

“My Princess, surely with your injuries you cannot.”

“If I should need your assistance I will call upon you, Grand Maester. At present, I require a quiet word with my husband.”

The maester nods, “yes, your grace.”

Y/N waits until the doors close behind him to address her husband. “Aegon, I know how dearly you desire to walk again. But it has been but a moon turn since you arrived here in such a state they could not say if you would live. You must remain abed.”

“You did not marry a crippled man.” Aegon bites out, bitterly. “I did not father children as a crippled man.”

“You did not marry me with one arm that may never rise above my head or a scar across my face.” Y/N reminds him.

“My cock is ruined, did I tell you that?” Aegon laments, “it is burnt and disgusting, they do not believe it will rise.”

Y/N sighs, lying down at his side, “allow me to worry about that.”

“It is not you.” Aegon explains, “my love, I cannot bear to look upon my own reflection. I do not know the man staring back at me.”

“I hear your words, husband. You are entitled to this grief. But you needn’t punish yourself for it, nor face it alone. We will fight this battle together, as man and wife.”

“It is difficult for me, allowing you to see me in this state of disrepair, I am…they tell me I will never be whole.”

“My heart aches for you,” Y/N tells him, “but I do not pity you. I believe in you.”

Aegon nods, “you’ve no idea how much it pleases me to hear you say this.”

“You are different, I will not deny this. But different needn’t always be a bad thing. However different our circumstances, I can appreciate the distaste for one’s own reflection. I have felt it most my life, I do not look the part of a Targaryen Princess.”

Aegon exhales, looking to his wife. “You are devastatingly beautiful, the fact that you cannot see it is a tragedy all its own.”

“I love this body because you are in it, not the other way round. When you are no longer in pain, we’re going to train your cock, like a dragon to heel.” Y/N points a finger toward it. “Dohaeris, Rȳbās,” serve, obey.

“Ow, fuck,” Aegon protests clutching his side as he laughs.

Y/N covers her mouth to stop her own outburst.

By the time the Grand Maester rushes in, they are curled up on the floor, cackling like animals and holding their wounds. “Your graces!”

Aegon mutters to his wife, some form of gibberish, only she seems to understand.

Nodding as she chokes out, “lykiri.” Be calm. Sending them into such a state the Grand Maester simply excuses himself, without another word.

“Is everything alright?” Alicent asks, standing with a hand to her heart just beyond the door.

He smiles, “the road ahead is long and painful, but his grace laughs. He has joy.”

“And Y/N?” Alicent wonders, “how is she?”

“The wound is clean but slow to heal.”

“Is the arm lost to her?” Will it move?

“There will be pain, but it moves even now.” He rests a hand on Alicent’s shoulder, “better days in due time, your grace.”

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @callsignwidow @hyde-jpg @novelswithariana @klutzylaena @ynbutbetter @ravenqueen27 @danart501 @woodlandwrites @saraiadg @tempo-rary-fix @lxdyred @supernaturalstilinski @httpvomitello @dd122004dd @shadowrose13-blog1 @dracaryxzs @magictrump @vee-mage @mrs-starkgaryen @labellapeaky @multifandom-loser @minttea07 @blackdiamond2317 @baybaybear1 @tea-effect @heavenly1927 @sabyreads @champomiel @8812-342

[novaursa]

https://youtu.be/qillYsPzEs0?si=zWRzrkWUSQ-jRaTA

Can you do this just with the Targaryens and Lannister? Sister!reader Targaryen vs Cersie Lannister 🫣🙏🏼

Fire and Gold

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: In this AU Robert's Rebellion never happened. Rhaegar marries the reader, Ceresi still marries Robert after Lyanna dies in childbirth along with their child.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind, dear anon. The story is fresh from the oven.

You and Rhaegar have always known how to draw a crowd. The smallfolk line the roads, banners flapping in the breeze as cheers follow your every step. Rhaegar’s hand rests at the small of your back, his touch familiar and comforting. The two of you move through the throng with practiced grace, your smiles reflecting the adoration in the eyes of those gathered. The royal tour has been a triumphant journey so far, a celebration of unity and strength. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmer, particularly when it comes to the Lannisters.

It’s no surprise that Cersei Lannister would try to disrupt your journey. Tywin’s golden daughter has never hidden her disdain for you. You, the sister who Rhaegar chose over her, who embodies all that she desired but could never possess. Her presence is almost expected as you approach the encampment set up for the royal party. When you step inside the tent, the air is thick with unspoken tension. Rhaegar’s jaw tightens beside you, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Inside, Robert Baratheon looms, his massive form imposing even in stillness. Cersei stands at his side, her face twisted in fury, her eyes burning with a hatred you’ve known since you were both young girls at court. The very air seems to crackle between you. But your attention is drawn to your children and theirs, lined up in a tense, volatile standoff. Your eldest son, Aelor, stands tall, his eyes a mirror of Rhaegar’s determination. Blood stains the edge of his blade, and a long, angry gash mars Joffrey’s cheek. The boy’s face is contorted with pain and rage, his hand pressed against the wound.

“What in the name of the gods happened here?” Rhaegar’s voice is a sharp, commanding presence in the room. The knights and guards around you tense, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Robert spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “Your damn spawn attacked my son. Maimed him, Targaryen. That’s what happened.”

Aelor’s voice rings out, clear and unwavering. “He insulted us first. He insulted me, my brothers and sisters. He insulted you, Father, and you, Mother. When he drew his blade, I defended us.”

Joffrey, clutching his wounded cheek, shrieks in a high, grating voice. “Lies! He called me a Lannister bastard, and then he—”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto Cersei. It is an open secret in the court that her children bear none of the Baratheon traits, their golden hair and green eyes a reflection of the Lannister line. You’ve never spoken of it openly, but now, the accusation lingers in the air, unspoken but heavy. Cersei’s lips press into a thin line, her fury palpable.

“How dare you,” she hisses, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Your vile little whelps—”

“Enough.” Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tumult like a blade. “They are children, Cersei. This matter is settled.”

“Settled?” Cersei’s face flushes crimson. She turns to Robert, desperation sharpening her tone. “You will let this stand, my lord? He has harmed our son!”

Robert’s eyes flicker between Rhaegar, your children, and his wife. His face is flushed, whether from drink or anger, you cannot tell. For a moment, the entire tent holds its breath, waiting for the King’s decree.

But Rhaegar steps forward, his presence filling the space. “This is over. Children quarrel. It will not be escalated further.”

Cersei’s expression is a mask of fury, her body taut with indignation. Her eyes meet yours across the tent, and for a heartbeat, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. There, in her gaze, you see the depth of her resentment, the wound to her pride that will never heal. You hold her stare, your silence as cutting as any word you could utter.

Cersei’s movements that soon follow are a blur, her hand snatching the dagger from Robert’s belt with a ferocity that sends a jolt of shock through the tent. She lunges at you, the blade aimed with a deadly precision that could only be born from hate. Instinct takes over, and you reach out, catching the weapon with your bare hand before it can pierce your heart.

The sharp steel bites deep into your palm, the pain immediate and excruciating. Blood wells up, spilling over your fingers and dripping onto the ground. Gasps echo through the tent, but no one dares to intervene. Robert’s roar reverberates around you, filled with anger and disbelief. “Cersei, what are you doing?!”

Your children’s cries pierce the air, frantic and terrified. Their small voices, shrill with fear, tear at your heart. The sight of their mother locked in a deadly struggle, blood pouring from your hand, is too much for them to bear. But you can’t look away from Cersei, can’t afford a single moment of distraction.

Her face is contorted with fury, a rage so intense it seems to consume her. “You ruined everything!” she screams, her voice raw. “You were supposed to be nothing more than a bargaining chip, another mad Targaryen girl! But instead, you took him—took the life that should have been mine! And now I’m shackled to this brute, trapped in a prison of my own making because of you!”

“You chose this,” you retort, your voice low, steady, despite the pain searing through your arm. “You and your father wanted too much. You thought you could seize the crown, twist the realm to your liking. But it was never yours to take.”

Her eyes flash, and with a snarl, she presses down, driving the blade further into your grip. The pain is blinding, but you refuse to let go, even as the dagger slices across your forearm in a brutal arc. You cry out, the sound sharp and involuntary, as the blade carves a deep, angry line from wrist to elbow. Warm blood streams down your arm, pooling at your feet.

The lords and ladies around you recoil, horrified, but none move to intervene. Fear holds them frozen in place, their eyes wide, their faces pale. The tent, filled with the sound of your children’s desperate sobs, seems to close in around you.

“Look at you,” Cersei hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “Bleeding for a throne you think you’re owed, just like your father. You’re no different from him. Mad, arrogant, and dangerous.”

“And you,” you bite back, your voice shaking with pain and fury, “are nothing but a bitter, power-hungry fool. You think you can cut me down? You think you can break me? I am not my father, and I will not be cowed by you.”

With a furious cry, she shoves the blade again, but you twist, forcing the weapon away. The dagger slips from her grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You stumble back, clutching your bleeding arm, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Pain throbs through every nerve, but you stand your ground, refusing to show weakness.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his face ashen with worry. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice tight with concern, his hands gentle as he examines your injured arm. “Gods, what has she done to you?”

Robert steps forward, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. “Have you lost your senses, woman?” he growls, rounding on Cersei. “You draw a blade on the Princess of the Realm, on your king’s daughter? Are you so eager to invite Aerys’ wrath upon us all?”

Cersei glares back at him, her chest heaving, her hands shaking. “I don’t care!” she cries, her voice breaking. “All my life, I’ve been promised things that were taken away. I was promised Rhaegar, promised a crown, and now I’m nothing! Stuck here, with you, and this—this farce of a marriage. I’m trapped, and it’s all her fault!”

“Enough.” Robert’s voice is like a hammer striking stone, his eyes blazing with anger. “You’ve gone too far. This is beyond foolish, beyond dangerous. You think Aerys will turn a blind eye when he hears of this? His daughter bleeding at your hands?”

The name of your father seems to cut through her fury, a flicker of fear passing over her face. The threat is real—everyone knows the Mad King’s unpredictable wrath, his unquenchable thirst for vengeance. And you, his beloved daughter, lying wounded at her feet? The consequences could be catastrophic.

Rhaegar’s arms wrap around you, his touch gentle as he guides you away from the scene. “We need to get you to the maester,” he says softly, his voice tight with worry.

You nod, the pain throbbing with each heartbeat, but you keep your gaze on Cersei, refusing to look away. “Remember this, Cersei,” you say, your voice steady despite the agony. “You brought this on yourself. You chose your path, just as I chose mine. And you’ll find that you’ve made an enemy you can’t afford to have.”

With that, Rhaegar leads you out of the tent, your children trailing behind, their faces pale and tear-streaked. The lords and ladies part before you, their whispers already spreading like wildfire through the camp.

This skirmish is over, but the repercussions are only beginning.

[artemisgrayy]

Had this rattling around in the old brain pan- fueled by your incredible writing even more

During the final battle, reader gets badly injured are isolated from the rest of the group. Adam finds her but instead of killing her he offers her a proposition- let him have his way with you (always wondered about demon-strange) and he’ll let you live, decline and he’ll kill you [and maybe still have his way with you]. Alastor overhears and is NOT having it.

Your Unlikely Hero

✨Masterlist✨

Tags: Minors DNI, Alastor x Reader, Adam threatens rape, non-con, gore, violence, fluff, swearing, traumatic events, Alastor is bad at feelings, Alastor to the rescue.

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Pain slashes through you like an angelic spear as the fatal wound on your leg gushes streams of crimson across your skin. The smell of iron and cinder invade your senses as you struggle to apply pressure to the seeping gash.

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice cuts through the distant screams and explosions that surround you. Your chest tightens when you lock eyes with Adam who approaches you through the debris, a shit eating grin splayed across his unmasked face. Your heart slams in your throat when you see the look of pure malice in his eyes.

You desperately attempt scramble to your feet, only to feel your leg give out, pain shooting through every nerve ending like dynamite. You're immobilized. You have no way out of this.

“Fuck,” you shriek, shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, fear ripping through you deeper than the wound. He glides towards you effortlessly with malevolent purpose.

“You know,” he laughs, grabbing a fistful of you hair to pull you to eye level, your scalp screaming as individual strands breaking free, “I've always been curious to know what you hell-bent degenerates feel like around my cock.”

You screech, the pain in your leg becoming far less urgent as you kick violently to escape his grasp. The warmth of your tears cut through your dirt-covered cheeks when he smashes his lips against yours. You swallow back the acid building in your throat, nauseous from the unwanted advance.

He rips you backwards, his gaze locking onto yours. You tremble when you observe vile smirk on his face, “How do you like the taste of humanity, bitch?”

“Please stop,” you beg, hopeful for a shred of compassion.

He throws you to the ground and you feel the back of your head connect against the cement with a sickening thud. Everything spins. The crimson sky above you full of screams as the exorcists launch a full scale attack on everyone you've ever loved. Everything closes in around you as Adam stands over you, ready to have his way.

“Adam!” Chimes a radio filtered voice from behind him, “I know you have a penchent for being a nuisance but unfortunately y̴͕̋o̸̫͛u̵̙̚'̷͈̇v̵̪̇ë̶̹́ ̷̻̊f̶͊ͅǘ̴͎c̷̻͆k̸͉̀ẹ̷͐ḑ̴̐ ̶̨̆w̵̠̒ỉ̴̺t̵̹͛h̴͐͜ ̷̜͗t̵͉̾h̴̛̖e̸͓̕ ̵̗̚w̴͚͒r̵̭̅õ̷̡ń̴̦g̵̭̾ ̵̘͂p̴̪͠e̷̲̊r̸͖͗s̵̤̎o̴͖͐n̷̦̿.̶̱̈”

You peak around the angel and see Alastor standing there, his blood red eyes glowing with a rage you had never seen before. Both of his hands are overlapped casually on his cane in front of him — though his stance and expression are anything but casual. His smile holds firm but fury bleeds from his gaze like the saliva dripping down his chin. The furious demon's squared shoulders raise with every irritate breath as he stares down the first man with murderous intent.

A wave of relief flushes through your chest at the sight of him, tears line your eyes but the state of shock you're in prevents them from going further.

“Not yet I haven't.” Adam cackles, standing his ground over his prey.

“Ha ha ha, cute” guffaws the Radio Demon, tilting his head. He slams the bottom of his cane against the cement. Swirls of shadowy demons and tendrils explode violently from the ground, spawning all around him. His eyes narrow, daring the angel to make a move.

Adam turns toward you and his hand shoots down towards your throat. You choke out a stutter as he drags you up in the air by your jugular. Wind whips the hair free from your tear soaked face as you hang 20 feet over the roof of the hotel.

“You want your bitch? Come and get her, you fucking pussy.” Adam beckons as you fight for breath, his nails digging into your skin when his hand tightens. You claw desperately at his grasp, fighting to stay conscious as a dark vignette clouds your vision.

“Gladly.” Alastor promises, “though that's an appalling way to talk about a lady.”

Sharp peaks of shadow laced with an electric storm of green fire from Alastor’s position, slamming into Adam, breaking you free from his grasp. You stutter and gasp, your lungs awarded with the sweet taste of oxygen as your airways shoot open — but the relief is short lived when your body begins free falling.

You close your eyes, ready to accept your fate as you plummet towards the scene below you.

To your surprise it wasn't the cement that broke your fall, but instead something much softer. When you open your eyes you find Alastor's face looking down at you, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. You're enveloped by the feeling of security as he holds you tight against his body.

“It appears as though I'm not the only falling, darling,” coos the demon, pressing his forehead against yours, “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner.”

You're taken back by the sincere show of emotions from him, “and here I thought you only tolerated me,” you jest, your voice raspy as you continue to fight to catch your breath.

“Heavens, no.” He pulls his head away, reflecting for a moment, “Though I’ll admit, the threat of losing made it clear how much I need you. Let's keep this between us, shall we?” he pauses, “at least for now.”

A smirk forms on your face and you nod in approval. He presses his head to yours once more before setting you down against the wall.

He turns his back to you, facing Adam, who has recovered from the attack, and is menacingly standing a top the broken sign of the hotel.

“Adam — first man, next to die!”

Part 2 now available!

--

I was HELLA excited to see this prompt in my asks so THANK YOU 👏👏

More like this plz.

--

✨Masterlist✨

[kiwanopie]

aki threatening to make us housewives………. the way i physically gasped 😭. he’s the worst—one year as your senpai and he’s already decided you’re his.

it’s so vile too bc you want it, want him more than anything. want aki to cream your cute pussy ‘til you’re bloated. wanna hold up chunky lil babies that giggle and pull at their daddy’s topknot :((

the way i immediately opened my docs this ask sent my brain into overdrive

Glutton.

cw: car sex. breeding. dumbification. overstimulation. choking (aki wraps his hand around your neck) creampie. 1.1k

You already know he’ll name it after his little brother.

Or his mom. Whatever her name was? You’ve been chalking up ideas since he put it in your head and now it feels like you can’t remember a thing. Just your hope that if it’s a boy it’ll look like him and if it’s a girl - for her sake - she won’t have her mother’s tendency to misbehave.

You’re nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

You know, you’ve always assumed that Aki was a smart guy. I mean he’s team leader for a reason? He’s level headed in most cases, stalwart when it counts, a little demented but conscious of the things he does, and stubborn. He’d walk on a plate of fire just to prove a point - but it’s not a bad thing to stay true to your own ideals. This is a guy who keeps his promises. Every single one of them.

He’s too ticked off to put two and two together. “It’s like you like pissing me off.”

Aki’s heated breaths burn sear marks into the crook of your throat, just over the open wing of your collar and love notes left by his lips from earlier. Your brain’s too mushy to do anything but pant into the air, blowing thicker tufts of condensation that have already turned his car windows misty.

He’s fucking you like he means to turn your guts around, pistoning into your poor overstimmed cunt like it’s all he’s meant to do. Not even faltering when the acrylics of your nails tear shallow gashes into his button up - If you had the half of mind, you could even say he enjoys it.

Feeling you cling to him so desperately as he grunts in the crook of your shoulder, tighten when he curses at you. Maybe he’s too blissed out. Maybe he’s not as smart as you took him for. But you seem to be taking the repercussions of your misbehavior in stride.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Aki hisses in your ear. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve going over my head after what I told you.”

You croon when he lifts one of your legs and fastens it over his arm to get you at a better angle - a deeper angle. God, his seats are probably ruined.

You already knew you were in trouble when he offered to drive you home. You knew the look in his eyes, and you knew Makima was obviously gonna tell the guy overseeing you that you requested clearance to be contracted with a new devil, especially one so substantial. You even pulled the extra stop of shoeing in a compelling argument. ‘The life of a hunter is short anyway. Why not make it mean something?’

Like getting knocked up by your boss in the back of his Lincoln. “P-…Please forgive me, senpai! I’m- fuck, m’so sorry-“

“You might as well get used to calling me by my first name.” He grunts. “It’d be pretty fucking confusing when we start sharing my last.”

Aki lets out a broken curse when you tighten up again. “God, I can’t believe you. Were you even gonna tell me? Was I just supposed to find out when you…”

He doesn’t even finish the thought. Instead he blows out a puff of air against your pulse that makes you shutter. Lifts his head to look at you more directly and stares at you for a moment. There’s a lot of emotions behind his eyes that you’re not exactly cognizant to decipher. A way the tendons in his jaw tense - that seems less angry and more ‘something else entirely.’ But before you can zero your misty eyes on what exactly that could be, he’s already pressing his lips against yours.

A slow kiss. Not messy and unrestrained like earlier but savory. Sensuous lip smacking all the more sultry when he tilts his head to follow the current of the kiss. His loose hair falls freely over your face, lax from all the tugging you’ve been doing since he started turning your insides to bisque. But a kiss like this is the kind you give when it means something. Goosebump and butterfly inducing - You moan in his mouth and he swallows it heartily.

And then he deepens it.

That earnest passionance becomes lustful and raunchy before you can even realize he’s sucking on your tongue. Deepening his thrusts until you’re feeling him in your stomach and groaning down your throat when your fingers start to dig into his scalp. If you didn’t know any better you’d say Aki was hoping for this kind of outcome just as much as you were. Especially when he starts to angle his thrusts for the spot that has you gushing around him like he likes.

The kiss leaves a gossamer trail of his spit when he pulls back for another look at you. Your pretty doe eyes have gone teary.

“Don’t even worry about your resignation, I fired you as soon as I found out.” Aki grunts. “We’ll figure out the living arrangements later.”

Your eyes roll back when he settles for a firm grip on your throat. “I’ll have to get a bigger car. Oh fuck - And a car seat.”

You babble something that sounds like a cross between “So good!” and “I’m cumming!” but it’s more a jumbled mess of moans and overstimulated whimpers. He’s stopped counting the amount of times your pretty pussy has gone into the process of milking him for all he’s got. But even as he follows you over the edge does he continue to fuck you brainless.

Aki peers down at the mess you’re making on his leather seats. “S-Shit. Quit wasting it. I’m not stopping till I know it’ll take.”

“S’good, senpai! A-Aki-senpai! So good! It’s s’good!”

He pulls your other leg up till you're folded in a mating press, groaning at the difference in angle. “You know - mhph - You’re even cuter when you’re all fucked out like this.”

His dick twitches at the way you start to drool. “Gonna be my pretty wife? Gimme some pretty babies?”

“Sso pretty…!” You slur. “G’nna make you a daddy!”

He gives you a blitzed smile that definitely says he’s as far gone as you are. “Yeah?”

Your mouth gapes as he bends over you, much too deep with your legs hooked over his shoulders and pressing his hips flat against your ass to grind in as thoroughly as possible.

“So stupid…” Aki skims his lips over yours. “You’re stupid if you think I’m done with you after that.”

He hums as he brings you into another kiss, briefly pulling away to murmur drunkenly. “Gimme a pretty family, baby.”

1 reblog = several Hayakawa babies

[suguru-getos]

//fractures// geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 2

🔗-> part one

warnings: hurt-comfort, mentions of wounds, mentions of stitches, guilt, complex emotions from suguru, panic attacks, reader is in a dark headspace, fluff too!! 🙂‍↔️💅🏻

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: suguru tends to you after the whole ordeal caused by him, still conflicted & somehow tortured with the way his heart pangs at your condition. 🩷

a/n: please comment down below if you want to be tagged in the taglist <3 thank you ‼️ it's so evident that i'm just writing this for my own silly liddul heart TT_TT

an hour, at maximum. an hour had passed from when geto left your bleeding, tattered body on the bed. the mark of 'MONKEY' with deep, gashing cuts and the way your blood oozed out of your injured, broken skin was haunting his very core. he did it majorly for himself, just to remind himself that you're one. you're nothing but a monkey and monkeys shouldn't have the freedom of life. monkeys are filthy- monkeys breed curses- monkeys are disgusting and vile- monkeys-

his own feet betrayed him quickly when he found himself running for your room. the cream colored satin bedsheet stained with blood. your foot prints stained with blood directing towards the bathroom. his can feel his heart sink at the sheer amount of blood loss. jaw clenching and a soft wave of anxiety which ripens with every passing moment hugging him. did you… die? no, no its just been an hour-

he rushes to the bathroom door, watching you lay limp, holding a piece of gauze in your bloodied hands. you must have passed out by trying to give yourself first aid. he falls to his knees, tears in his eyes seeping through at the sight of usual color in your lip faded to discoloration. you look so peaceful when you sleep. he finally notices the wound inflicted by him on you, it was looking lethal. a striking reminder that you were a monkey and he was, well, a monster.

he doesn't understand what's happening, he was pretty clear that he needs to irradicate the whole human race, he has to. only those with superior selves, who can withstand not creating a curse should be allowed to live. how will he achieve this milestone when his heart weeps at the sight of one pathetic little human half his size losing consciousness.

his bulky and sturdy arms wrap around your body, hugging you closer to him and taking you to his room. your room was a blood bath anyway, he needs to ask the servants to clean it up. gently placing your body atop the plush mattress of his room, he took out his first aid kit, good thing you had been passed out. your wounds are deep and require stitches. he can't bear any more of your screams now without breaking like glass. his mind has already decided to punish him with repeated rings and episodes of your cries and wails when suguru did this to you. he wishes they could stop - he wishes they never stop. he needs to be punished.

bringing your wrist close to him, he decides to stitch those gashes up, watching your face every few seconds. you were knocked out cold, not an expression on your pretty face. he feels like it’s a win, when you'll be awake, at least you wouldn't see the word 'MONKEY' engraved on you… then again, it will scar, and it will scar bad. "you're pathetic" he hums at your sleeping form. "fragile, useless, powerless, pathetic." he adds on, the sentence more a reminder to his own self rather than for you. you're not listening to this anyway. "I could snap your neck like a twig and you wouldn't be able to defend yourself. anyone I call my family could." he sighs, fuck - he's tearing up again. you almost look dead over just an anger tantrum of his. he really needs to be very careful. you're like a little bunny who could die at the slightest bit of carelessness.

a few hours pass with suguru holding your hand, observing the crests and troughs of your sleeping face, how your chest barely heaves but still reminds him that you're alive. he couldn't be more glad that you're alive. he hates that. he hates that it brings him joy that your heart is still beating. he hates that you are bringing him joy and copious amounts of guilt.

"geto sama!" nanako gleams from outside his bedroom door. he wipes his tears at the sound of his adopted daughter's voice. "yes? what is it?" he hums from inside. "the monkey isn't in her room!" she pouts from outside, and suguru gets up to open his door. the teenager watching you lie down on geto's bed with a face of confusion. why were you laying down on 'their' geto sama's room? you- a monkey- the look of disgust in her face is inevitable.

"relax, nanako." he hums, "we need to return her to her parents after 9 days." he responds with his usual close-eyed feline smile. "yeah, but why is she here?" she pouts, "she's too pretty for a monkey though-" a frown envelopes her face. "I agree." suguru looks at you momentarily, a moment of longing and guilt erupting from the depths of his heart before quickly snapping out of it. "I got angry at her, and punished her." he continues, while nanako could see with the way the gauze bandage on your forearm was inflicted with dark reds of blood, that you indeed, were punished. "what did she do?" she asks instinctively and suguru gnaws at his lower lip.

nothing. you did absolutely nothing.

"well, she is a monkey after all." nanako adds, shrugging. "her purpose is as our 'money collecting monkey', isn't it?" she asks him, and he faintly nods. "well, if she really made you angry, geto sama. I suggest you can kill her after getting the money!" she chirps as if it was the most normal thing to say. suguru, on the other hand, feel sickened to his stomach at the thought. "hmm. I need some time alone, nanako" he declares, watching the teen leave his room and locking his door.

he's quick to grace himself in the sanctuary of your presence though, hand back holding yours. "just nine more days of you here, monkey." he reminds both of you. "then your parents will come and get you and this wouldn't exist." he smiles, a sadness spreading across his face.

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

you don't wake up for one and a half days. the exhaustion on your body, the lack of nutrition and the loss of blood demands rest. AND, geto suguru is absolutely tweaking!

he sat next to you, watching you gently, leaning beside you against the headboard. you didn't wake up. he hasn't showered, hasn't gone out of his bed. his family thinks its weird, but they don't push him. suguru is a tantrum king after all, and a pissed off suguru chan is best avoided. the next morning, you're awake before noon. suguru hasn't budged, he has declined all his meetings, all his catch-ups, everything. why? he doesn't know that now, his mind doesn't give him the time to reason for any of it right now. the hollow pit of anxiety that was created was now a bottomless one. he wanted relief from it, he wanted to see you awake! shoko- maybe he needs to talk to shoko-

you shifted a little and his attention is immediately diverted to you, looking at you with the biggest sigh of relief possible. "ah-" a pained whimper escaped you, it hurts everywhere. your ribs hurt, you can barely breathe, tears sting your eyes as you groan, trying to get up. the lack of iron in your body making you dizzy. "good morning, it's afternoon now." suguru hums, just 7 days with you. why is he counting days like a mad man in prison?! before you could process anything, your eyes widened when you heard his voice, heart fluttering out of your very chest and breathless pants echoing in the room. you gripped your chest, it burns, your lungs burn from the lack of air your body can't get due to the whole panic of it all. what will he do? will he hurt you again? fuck- your head hurts, everything hurts- "plea- please" you gasp out, the veins in your forehead strained and popping as you began wailing again. shrieks and cries of pain and panic.

suguru doesn't know what to do about it, he needs to hug you close and tell you it's going to be okay. he wouldn't hurt you. he feels sorry- you don't have to break apart like this- does he even deserve to say that?

instinct… he is just acting on his instinct now.

"breathe with me, ssh~ listen, listen, little one. look at me, breathe with me. deep breath in- come on- follow me-" his voice is soft, but you're inconsolable. you have your very own instinct, the instinct to flee from him. the instinct to run away from him. you struggle against his hold and choke on sobs, leaning away. suguru is quick to pull you back to him, your head against his chest, soft head pats coming after. "ssh ssh ssh~ nothing's happening, no one's going to hurt you." he echoes it repeatedly. "that's it, that's it…" his own rapid heartbeats turning calmer and calmer as your shoulders slump back in exhaustion. you stop resisting after a few minutes, letting him hold you softly.

"just seven more days, and you'll be home." suguru hums to comfort you.

"I hope you die." you mumbled with equal hatred to his comfort. may as well be killed instead of spending seven whole days with him… "I hope everyone you ever knew dies, and they die in front of you." you spit out in your venom laced tone after calming down, trying to lean away from suguru's hug.

"and? who will kill them? you?" he is almost amused, but nothing you say with outweigh his guilt right now. "let’s get you cleaned up and get you to a doctor." he announces. he still has 7 ol' days with you after all.

[justtwomushrooms]

(It's finally time I start posting on this dreaded website.)

The Illustious Client story breaks my brain in many ways but something that faszinates me so much is the Picture of Dorian Gray references Doyle slaps in there at the end, after the evil guy got hit by the toxin.

Like: - The features which I had admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful painting over which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible. - I could have wept over the ruin had I not remembered very clearly the vile life which had led up to so hideous a change. - “The wages of sin, Watson—the wages of sin!” said [Holmes]. “Sooner or later it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough,”

The entire theme of sin and evil in the end turning someone ugly. The first quote literally comparing the scene to a painting. Also the guy previously being described as very handsome ("He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer’s mouth it was there—a cruel, hard gash in the face; compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it was Nature’s danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice was engaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him at little over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he was forty-two." - thanks Watson, very heterosexual of you). The parallels are so strong.

Like, I know for a fact that Doyle read The Picture of Dorian Gray, he mentions it in his autobiography.

I don't know what to do with that. Just find it curious.

[lavender-nerd]

Before Her

Summery: Azriel having a nightmare about life before meeting Rhysand, Cassian and Reader

Pairing: Azriel X Reader

Warnings: A bit agnsty and abuse

Word Count: 1.7K

(A/N: this is my very first post on Tumblr, so any feedback is appreciated!!)

(not 100% cannon)

Azriel age 11 pov:

Cold, so very cold.

Coldness, that was the only thing I felt, and darkness surrounded me like a blanket.

Drip, drip, drip.

The only sound besides my breathing could be heard in the stone-cold bricked room I'm in. At this point, I don't even remember where I am. The cracks in the wall let in the harsh wind from outside. I could hardly move my wings, or any of my limbs due to the cage I was stuffed in. They were the first to betray me, the ones I called family, my father, my brothers.

Hands and laughter woke me up as I was thrown from the cage onto the snow from outside. Snow, how cold and cruel it was. My two brothers came at me, one with a bottle in hand and the other with flint.

"Give me your hands" Radin commanded.

"What?" Fear slowly rised in me as Thoman held my shoulders to the ground. Snow and rocks pinched my stomach when I started to fight back.

"Give me your hands now!" Radin commanded once again, but with more anger.

"Hahaha come on you bastard, give him your hands" Thoman now sat on my back grabbing at my elbow, raising them up.

"Now be a good bastard boy and keep your hands still". Radin now popping the cork from the bottle and oil invading my nose.

"No stop, please stop no no no NO" Fear now taking full control as oil now coated my hands. Bottle dropping to the ground below.

"Give me the flint now" Thoman now handing the flint to Radin I start to wiggle and thrash around not wanting my horrors to become true.

Clink. clink, clink, WOOSH.

"AHHHHH" I scream in pain as fire now engulfs both of my hands, Thoman now off my back I hunch over trying to put the flames out with the snow, but nothing works. Laughter fills my ear as now the once beautifully white snow has been tainted with my bastard born red blood. My screams reach my father's warriors as they rushed over with a dripping wet rag. Skidding to a stop in front of me both warriors kneel down and roughly drapes the rag over my hands. Tears stream down my face as they desperately try to kill the flames.

"Hahaha, now look at yourself, you think your 'Illyrain healing gift' can help you now?" Radin and Thoman both laughed at me, looked at me as if I was a piece of gum on the bottom of their shoe. Once the flames were out, I laid on my back, tears still coating my face, looking up at the sky thinking how cruel the mother above could be. Picked up by the two warriors, I was hauled back into my cold metal cage.

Blood slowly dripped from the many gashes and burns on my hands. My brothers- no, they were no longer my brothers, not when they did this to me. Those vile creatures. I was left to rot in this cage for what I presume, for the rest of my life. Darkness took over me as I succumb to the pain.

After a long and cruel beating from those vile creatures, I laid quietly trying to regain a steady breathing pattern, relaxing my limbs and my wings. I roll to my side blinking slowly, trying to clear my blurry vision. I realised that they left the door open. I hastily got up and try to open the cage door by lifting, pushing and pulling, hoping it will open.

My freedom is right in front of me, if only I could get this stupid cage to open. I could see the blue sky, even taste it at this point. The snow from outside has never looked so white. I need to get out, I NEED TO GET OUT. I lift and push with all my might, sweat coats my brow. Please, mother above, hear me, please. I fall to my knees and give one last push of every strength left in me. The hinges fall off and the gate swings wide open as I fall onto the bricks below. I pull myself up and made a dash for the door, only to stop a foot away. What if my father and my brothers saw me or or if the warriors saw me? What would happen to me then? Should I just go back into the cag- NO NO I'm never going back into that cage again!!

I step into the doorway and look left then right, all clear. I made a mad dash into the woods in front, snow nipping at my bear feet.

"Stop right there". I hear behind me but I'm not stopping now, not when I'm finally out. The crunch of snow behinds me let me know that the warriors are behind me. I duck left and right, dodging the trees ahead. It's cold, so very cold. My breathing rough and ragged as large cloud of mist comes from my mouth, again and again. My feet snagging on rocks and roots, staggering I keep myself up. I look behind me and the estate has never looked so small, but I don't stop running. Looking forward, I keep running, even though my legs and feet feeling stone cold. The shouting behind me getting quieter and quieter, then nothing, but that didn't mean I would stop running.

I kept running till the sun went over the horizon and the moon rose. I slowed to a walk finding my breath and finally looked at my surroundings. Nothing but snow and trees for miles and miles. As my adrenaline faded, I finally realised just how cold and sore I am. I found a stump to sit on and have a look at my legs and feet. My feet and legs were blue and starting to turn a dark purple in some spots. I needed help and fast. I started to look for higher ground to see if I could see any fires or any signs of life. But there was nothing, nothing at all, no fires and no signs of life. Frustrated tears filled my eyes as I realised that death may just come for me.

I started aimlessly walking but the cold was harsher than I thought. There was no place in sight and had no destination in thought, all I knew is that there had to be someone out there. Sleep started to creep up on me as I fought my lids to stay up. Black dots evaded my vision, then everything went black as I collapse to the snowy ground.

I don't know how long I was out for, but I could hear voices ahead of me. I tried to get up but had no strength left in me. I tried and tried again, over and over again. There's voices and they're close!

"Please" my voice too soft. I was desperate at this point, nothing around me could aid me to get their attention. If I couldn't walk, I'll crawl, and that I did. I clawed at the snow beneath me, longing to see them. to see life. I crawled and crawled, their voices growing louder and louder. I came to an opening and finally see two other Illyirans flying without a care in the world and laughing, then I see the most beautiful being in the world. It was as if the mother above touched her at birth and gifted her the beauty of a thousand. It was as if I was lost in a trance as warmth filled me, but that warmth didn't exist. Then she looked at me.

"Hey are you alright?" She came rushing over to me amd knelt down.

"Oh my god, you're freezing! Cassian, Rhys, come down here!" She called. The two Illyrians dove down and rushed over once they were on land. The snow stirred for a moment before settling down.

"Hey are you okay?" The taller one asks, voice uncertain. I could hardly even answer him, voice trembling as I replied a quiet "help".

"We need to get him to my mother, Cass, give me a hand". And thus, I was lifted between the two and off we walked to who knows where. I could hardly keep my eyes open as winter fought tooth and nail to bring me down.

"It's okay, you can rest now, we're going to my mother. She can help you" and with that, I was out like a light.

I woke with a cold sweat, chest heaving, sweat coating my brow and chest.

"Azriel?"

A soft-spoken voice invaded my ears as I tried to come to sense.

"My love? Are you okay?"

I looked to my side and see the mother touched women sitting up in bed next to me. Her soft skin was kissed by the moonlight that swept through the curtains. I came to sense about where I am. I'm home in our cabin near Velaris, in bed with my amazing mate, y/n. She softly touched my shoulder as I collapsed in her embrace.

"Was it that nightmare again? About your past my love?"

I slightly nodded in her shoulder, and she kissed my head softly and said nothing but reassuring words into my ear and all felt better after those kind words.

"After 500 years you would think I would stop having these nightmares." I said with a breathy laugh.

"My love, there is no shame with having nightmares, it's a part of us, it makes us who we are today. I will always love you, nightmares and all".

"And this is how I know I have the perfect mate in all of the world". I raise my head and look deeply into her eyes before capturing her lips to mine.

"Come on my love, let's go back to sleep". She says through the soft kisses. I nod and I pull the covers over us and pull her onto my chest. She draws lazy lines over my chest that soon stops as she falls back to asleep.

"I will always love you too, to the moon and back I will always be here for you, thank you my love for showing me that kindness still exists to this day". I soft speak to her, kissing her temple before closing my eyes and letting sleep takeover.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

No Moon, No Stars

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, non-graphic descriptions of wounds and violence, heavy drinking, descriptions of making out, men being gross and controlling (nothing happens), slightly yandere!Frank if you squint, sunshine FINALLY standing up for herself

a/n: Hopefully this chapter is at least a little gratifying even though they haven't made up yet. You're halfway through the angst arc now, everyone. Resolution is coming! As always, please reply and reblog with your reactions/feedback!!

w/c: 4.5k

Jerking awake to the sounds of nonexistent screaming, Frank's eyes flew open, his limbs flailing to stabilize him as he nearly toppled out of bed. Gripping the headboard with one fist, he hauled himself upright, tugging at his sweaty hair with his other hand. His body was taught with stress and guilt, the images of your crumpling face and his wife's smile clashing in his brain relentlessly.

Something warm and slick trickled over his side. Absentmindedly swiping at what he thought was sweat, his thumb collided with a fresh set of stitches—sending a shock of pain through his skin.

Right. He'd been shot last night. Somewhere in a jumble of exhaustion and blind rage he'd neglected to protect his exposed waist while dismantling a trafficking operation.

After stumbling home with a palm pressed to the wound, he'd fished the bullet out and crudely stitched the gash before collapsing into bed for a mere 3 hours of unconsciousness. Apparently in the midst of a tumultuous sleep, he'd popped a few of the crappy sutures. Studying the blood that had coated his fingertips, he blew out a frustrated sigh, knowing this set of sheets and his shirt would need to be washed now.

Shoving that thought to the back of his mind, he slid off the bed, shuffling into the bathroom as every muscle in his body ached in protest. Despite his best intentions, his eyes landed on his reflection as the pallid bathroom light flickered on. His face was a mottled canvas of bruises—all in various stages of healing. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, accentuated by the parallel dark circles that had blossomed underneath them from his continuous loss of sleep.

He looked miserable. Pathetic. Broken. All of which were accurate descriptions and apt punishments for the hell he'd put his family through, put you through.

Gaze falling from the mirror, he scanned the various medical supplies still littering the bathroom counter, pulling out a fresh needle and thread from the mess. It took far too long to thread the damn thing, his hands trembling violently as he tried over and over to prep it. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to pull the filament through the eye.

Frank was no stranger to pain. In fact, he craved it. Pain was reliable, grounding. A focal point amidst life’s vile chaos. A reminder that he was alive, of what he had accomplished, what he'd been through. It was what he had left of his family, of Billy, of his past. Which is why he didn't regret it, or shy away from it. Not normally.

Until you'd come into his life, and everything had changed.

You were patient, sweet, and funny; You didn't judge him for his habits and quirks, you accepted him as he was. You treated him as if he was fragile, not out of pity, but out of kindness. You saw the pain he put himself through and made it your job to alleviate as much as you could. To help him bear the burden of everything he'd lost.

He had no idea what had compelled you to look twice at him, to treat him with respect and compassion so immediately. As far as he could tell, that's just who you were. The world continued to spew its current of cruelty and misfortune, and you'd smile through it–helping as many people remain afloat as you could.

It made no sense to him. You made no sense to him���which is why he found you fascinating. He was drawn to you in a way he hadn't expected to experience ever again. Every glance, every smile, every touch you'd given him...he had cherished them all. He still did.

Which is why each prick of the needle in and out of his skin was so agonizing. Every strike of the sliver of steel against his flesh was a reminder of what he'd given up when he broke off your friendship. The tenderness that he’d never feel again.

He regretted forcing you away, but it was necessary. If he didn't create distance...well, he had vague ideas of what would have happened given how far gone he already was for you. He couldn’t risk falling in love again. Not when Maria’s death still felt new to him or when he was still struggling to properly grieve. He couldn’t move one, didn’t want to move on–and it wouldn’t be fair to you or his family for him to try. So, he chose to distance himself.

The distance would help in time, but right now he was still weak.

It took every fiber of his resolve to keep from giving in to his deepest desires. To let Maria and Lisa and Frankie fade into oblivion for his own comfort. To crawl over to your place and beg for your forgiveness. To let you caress him and hold him and care for him in a way he didn't deserve.

But that wasn't an option for him anymore. He'd ruined that too.

Tearing his stained shirt over his head by the collar, he tossed it aside before tying off the new line of sutures. Breathing heavily, he held the needle in a white-knuckle grip before dropping it in the overflowing trash can. His vision blurred as he continued to stare wearily at the sink basin, tinged pink with remnants of his blood.

Cranking the sink on, he leaned forwards—resting his elbows on the grimy porcelain as he stuck his hands under the frigid stream. Bringing his face closer to the faucet, he threw a handful of water into his face, then another, using his fingers to rub it around and rid his skin of the leftover dirt and sweat he'd ignored last night.

Ripping the damp hand towel from its ring, he scrubbed at his face. With the evidence of his nightly activities washed off his hands and face, he stepped out the bathroom and returned to his mattress, tumbling onto the blood-streaked sheets with a shaky exhale.

Rocking your hips to the beat of the altered pop song, your lips parted with a grin as your hazy brain spun with the movement. You were pleasantly inebriated, limbs warmed from the inside by the few drinks you’d consumed moments ago. As you danced, the fabric of your short dress whisked over your thighs, letting the thick air of the club wrap around your exposed skin.

The atmosphere was stifling. Or, rather, should have been stifling. Given the alcohol in your system and your primal need to be held by someone, the closeness of the people around you was more comforting than bothersome. Linking your little finger with Stacy’s, your cheeks ached as your smile grew impossibly wider–the joy bubbling in your chest only encouraged by Stacy’s own enjoyment of the evening.

As the beat to a new song started playing, the small woman gasped, turning towards Leo who had been abandoned at the bar to fetch another round. “It’s our song, Leo!” She crowed, letting go of your pinky and shoving through the crowd towards your tall friend.

Swaying alone on the sticky floor, you wrinkled your nose as the bass blared wonkily for a moment. Once it had righted itself and the volume evened out, you hummed appreciatively, adjusting your movement to the tempo of the music.

The lack of a body leaning into yours allowed cooler air to surround you, making you shiver. Running a hand over your arms as they prickled, you exhaled in relief as you felt someone step in closer to you once again. “Thank god. I thought maybe you got lo–”

Turning to face them, the words retreated suddenly as you realized it was not Stacy returning with Leo in tow. Instead, an incredibly handsome, broad-shouldered man stood before you. His deep green eyes glinted in the flickering colored lights, as did his dangerously charming smile. Chuckling softly, he studied you with an expression all too similar to pity. “Expecting me, were you?”

Surprise wearing off, you found yourself unusually comfortable with the newcomer. Your biological desires were quickly taking a seat at the helm, overriding your critical thinking skills as you sidled towards the beautiful stranger.

“And what if I was?” You chirped seductively, hoping he could hear you over the music. His eyes widened and you tilted your head innocently.

“Then I���m sorry to have kept a beautiful thing like you waiting.” He apologized, holding out a hand to you. “I’m Blake, and you are?”

Shoving down the brief burst of displeasure at his comment, you introduced yourself. He chose to forego a handshake, instead bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing it delicately–making you giggle awkwardly.

A small voice in the back of your head pinged, trying to spark any persistent feelings of disgust over his demeanor, but your tequila-soaked brain wasn't listening. Curtsying clumsily in response, you beamed up at the man–the feeling of his five o’ clock shadow scratching against your clammy skin causing a shudder to roll down your spine. You couldn’t possibly be that touch starved, could you?

“So tell me,” Blake drawled, your name tumbling off his lips. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a shithole like this?”

Scoffing a laugh at his apt description of the run-down bar, you let him press in closer until he was practically on top of you. “Getting drunk, mostly. What brings you here?”

“Oh you know, mending a newly broken heart and all that.” He pouted, hanging his head dramatically as you brought your fingers up to run through his hair. Playing into what was likely a complete lie, your brow furrowed.

“Poor thing.” You cooed, tugging gently at his hair which was overly saturated with product. “Who would ever dare to break your heart?”

“Not you, would you sweetheart?” He asks raspily, scratching one finger on the underside of your jaw.

You shook your head, your dangling earrings chiming gently as they were swung back and forth. Cupping your chin, he pulled your face towards his. “Care to have some fun?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grinned at him, your flirtatious remark breaking off into a hitch of breath as he dove towards your neck. 

Tugging at the hem of his nondescript hoodie, Frank grit his teeth against the wave of annoyance that hit him. This bar was by no means his cup of tea. It was muggy and loud, packed to the brim with 30 year olds who were desperate to be 20 again. People trying too hard to be young, to be cool, to be liked. Assholes, the lot of them.

Taking a swig of his watered down beer, he clenched his hand around the glass as some preppy douchebag stumbled into him from behind.

“Woah, sorry man.” The kid chuckled, sending a sneer to his two friends as he held up a hand in faux apology.

Frank ignored him–turning back to his glass and the scantily clad employees behind the bar. The men laughed to themselves, wading into the crowd. As he felt himself bristle with annoyance, a familiar voice caught his attention.

“Another round of tequila shots, please!”

Sliding his gaze towards the speaker as innocuously as he could, he felt a wave of nausea when he spotted you. You were glistening from the heat of the bar, and probably the alcohol in your system, wearing a version of the beautiful smile that had haunted him all week.

His stomach twisted with a revolting combination of guilt and relief. After your awkward run-in when he took Max for a walk, he'd spiraled thinking about the sheer amount of alcohol you'd been carrying. Reason and conscience be damned, he wanted you to be safe. He needed you to be safe. So, when the hour of his evening had rolled around where his demons became unbearable without the help of liquor, he ventured down the street to this shithole rather than wasting away on his couch for the third night in a row.

He wasn't stupid. He knew why he ended up in the bar you'd repeatedly told him about–and it wasn't for a decently priced beer, of that much he was certain. He'd followed you here. Not literally–he'd just anticipated your plans accurately enough to be seated at the bar when you ordered your next drink.

And that was where the sparks of residual guilt over his blow-up had ignited a searing brand of shame deep in his gut. It was wrong to allow himself to close the distance between you after he’d demanded it so harshly. It was wrong to use his tactical knowledge to see your happiness again without your permission. More than anything it was still wrong to let himself crave your company even though he wasn’t over his wife–but he was helpless. Regardless of what he'd said and done, you were still firmly embedded under his skin.

Flagging down the bartender, Frank ordered a stiffer drink. Once the double pour of whiskey was in his grasp, he threw it back, stifling a grimace as it burned his tongue and throat. Nodding his thanks, he passed over a few bills to cover his tab, turning to stand from the stool and retreat to his apartment to atone for his decisions.

As he planted his feet on the wobbly floor boards, the aggressively fluorescent lights flashed over the crowd. His eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of yuppies on the dance floor whose mouths were interlocked. Another flare from the strobe illuminated the woman as she broke the kiss, and his heart sank.

Watching you bashfully blink your doe eyes at the asshole who'd nearly bowled him over 20 minutes ago was enough for him to spin back towards the bar. Yanking another handful of bills from his pocket, he ordered another double.

A pleased noise escaped you as lips touched your pulse point, locking onto the spot with fervor. Knees buckling, you let Blake tug you flush against his body as he drew back with a hefty exhale. “Liked that, huh? You’re a proper little slut. Out looking for a man in that skimpy dress.”

His chuckle turned almost sinister, your heart clenching as he insulted you. Smile weakening, you grit your teeth. He’s just trying to turn you on. You reminded yourself. You aren’t going home with him. It doesn’t matter if he’s nice.

Gripping your nape between his fingers, he yanked you upwards, locking his lips around yours when you parted them to allow his tongue entry. The kiss was sloppy. His nose mashed against yours with bruising force, his teeth clashing with yours as he asserted dominance. Your tongue slid against his, tasting the dry whiskey he’d apparently chugged before trying to devour you.

It wasn’t enjoyable, necessarily, but at least you knew what he was looking for. Sadly, it once again seemed that your interests didn't align. What was with you recently? A man was literally throwing himself at you and suddenly you weren't desperate for male attention? Mood souring, your heart sank into your stomach like a rock through water. The moment was over, and you needed to make your escape.

Unlatching his mouth from yours as you gave his chest a small shove, you laughed quietly. “Sorry handsome, need to catch my breath.”

Grinning deviously, he shrugged. “I don’t mind, sweetheart.” Diving back towards your neck, he licked a stripe under your jaw before beginning to drop nips and open-mouthed pecks in a line towards your clavicle.

Across the room, you caught a glimpse of your friends’ amused looks, a particularly bright beam from a nearby strobe light illuminating them in the distance. Sending an annoyed look back, their perception was the nail in the coffin. As Blake started to grind his pelvis towards your hips, you tried to untangle yourself from his hold.

“I’m so sorry, handsome. My friends are looking for me. Can we put a pin in this?” You asked, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes in an attempt to lessen his suspicions about your abrupt exit.

“Sure,” The guy was definitely miffed, the smile he flashed you nowhere close to reaching his eyes. “I'll just...grab another drink while I wait.“

Shoving down the guilt that blossomed in your chest as you lied to him, you waved goodbye and slid through the crowd towards your friends.

They were already on the edge of laughter when you reached them. You felt heat flood your cheeks as they gave you pitying looks.

”Time to eject?“ Leo asked, seemingly ok with the idea as they offered up your belongings that they'd been holding on to for safe keeping.

Nodding sheepishly, you took your purse from their outstretched hand. ”I thought it would help. It didn't. Can we go?“

”Ugh, already? We just got here!“ Stacy whined, her normal indifference relinquished about three shots ago.

”Stace–“ Leo patted her shoulder, sending a pointed nod towards you.

”It's ok, you two can stay, I'll just take a cab.” You assured, slinging your purse strap over your shoulder.

“Absolutely not, princess. You're stuck with us.” Stacy sighed, tossing the remainder of Leo's drink into her mouth before hopping down from her high-top seat.

“You owe me three dollars for that, missy.” Leo shook their head following the two of you as you maneuvered towards the door.

Given the size of the crowd, you weren't too worried about Blake spotting you. The lights were dim and strobing in random directions, your dress was cute but not particularly flashy. One variable you'd neglected to consider, however, was your ability to attract the worst case scenario at every opportunity.

As you and your friends wove through the crowd, your path was suddenly blocked by a sturdy man. The alcohol on his breath carried as he spoke. “Leaving so soon?”

Blake, backed by two men who could've been football players, frowned at you, eyes glowing with a barely concealed threat.

“Sorry, handsome!” You tried for a calm tone, but your voice and posture both wavered. Shrinking back ever so slightly, you turned your lips up in an attempt to explain. “Family emergency, I couldn't see you anywhere and thought–”

“Cut the crap.” Blake hissed, any charm he'd been using before was long forgotten.

“Ok fine. I recently got out of a...relationship of sorts and bit off more than I could chew. I'm sorry to have led you on, but I'm not ready to do anything tonight.” You reasoned, feeling Leo's hand rest on your shoulder in a display of support.

“And you think that's your decision to make?” The man to Blake's left snorted.

Disbelief and rage building in your chest, you crossed your arms. “Uh yah. I do, actually.”

The three men widened their stance, clearly trying to prevent you from leaving. Realization slowly dawned on you, your limbs going stiff as adrenaline flooded your body.

Leo wormed his way in between you and the aggressors, using their body as a barricade. ”Look, I get that this night isn't going how you imagined, but she doesn't owe you anything. Move aside and let us through.“

”Or what, pretty boy?“ The goon on the right side asked with a cocky smirk.

“They said get out of our fucking way, asshat.“ Stacy called, shoving her way between you and Leo and attempting to get past the human blockade.

You must've blinked at the exact moment the movement started, because you opened your eyes and everything had gone to shit. As Stacy pushed forward, she was thrown back into you. You both crashed to the ground, your head clanking against a chair leg in the process. Though the impact wasn't that hard, you were already slightly dizzy because of the alcohol you'd consumed, making the collision incredibly unpleasant.

Clambering back to your feet, you felt a pair of rough hands land on your shoulders. Your vision was swimming in all the commotion, the flashing lights behind you making the effect much worse, so the sensation of distinctly male hands against your bare skin made you screech.

Flailing away from him, you attempted to grapple your way to freedom. ”Let me go. Blake, I swear. Let me go or I'll scream.”

Whipping your head around to look for a way out, a familiar voice caught you off guard. “It's just me, sunshine. Just me.”

Your breath shook as your heart pounded in your throat. tilting your head to face forward, your clouded vision centered around a face you had been trying to forget.

Frank Castle was clad in his usual dark attire, surely dying of heat under his sweatshirt and beanie in the humidity of the bar. His face held a stony mix of fury and concern, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury.

For a moment, it seemed like time had stopped. You were frozen in place, staring incredulously at your rescuer. Apparently you'd been on the ground for longer than you thought, given that your friends were currently being escorted out by bouncers around the three vengeful men who were writhing in pain on the ground.

Mouth slightly ajar, you stared at Frank as your brain frantically tried to corral the myriad of emotions pinging around in your mind. Amazement and relief, then awe–quickly followed by hurt and pure anger.

Yanking yourself out of his grip, you shut your mouth forcefully as rage began to consume you. Before you could say anything, an irritated bouncer pointed a finger at you.

“You two, out. Now.”

Nodding in resignation, Frank reached for you again. “A'right, a'right. We're leavin'.”

“The fuck we are.” You bit out, glaring at him. “I'm not going anywhere with you, Frank.”

“Lady, don't make me haul your ass outta here.” Groaned the bouncer, not giving a single shit about your emotional distress.

“Give me a minute,” You grumbled, bending down to pick up your purse before you instigated anything else. As your gaze left Frank's face, you were left unguarded, his massive hands engulfing your waist and scooping you up to carry you out. “Christ! Frank, put me down!”

The large man ignored you, letting you meekly pummel him with your fists and hurl expletives at him as he carted you out of the bar. Eventually, crisp air wafted over your bare skin and Frank set you down on the concrete outside of the establishment.

The jarring shift from being draped over his shoulder to standing on your own two feet wasn't one your constitution could handle at the moment. Stumbling over the sidewalk, you splayed your hands out to regain your balance. Righting yourself, you saw Frank go to steady you and your bitter wrath boiled over.

“Absolutely not. Don't fucking touch me, Frank.” Arms crossing over your stomach, you curled in on yourself, backing away from him. His eyes widened, face stiffening into a grim expression.

“Ok, ok. I won't touch ya.” He withdrew his hands, intentionally exaggerating the movement to calm you down.

“Don’t touch me.” You murmured, huddling in your own embrace as your throat constricted. 

“Would ya rather I let you get thrown out yourself? Worse, you want me to let you get arrested?” Frank's scowl transitioned into a cocky smirk at the idea.

“Why?” You asked with a huff.

“Why..what?” He snorted, eyes sparkling with far too much pride for what he’d done. 

“Why do you care?” You threw your arms in the air. “I mean I’m sure you’re very busy taking care of people who actually matter to you.”

With a scoff, Frank's eyes flashed with displeasure–a reflection of the resentment in your tone. “Oh so that’s how it is?”

“Yeah that’s how it is, Frank. I didn’t need your help.” You pouted, arms wrapping back around yourself as your throat constricted.

“Sure. Next time I’ll let you stay on the floor like a piece of fuckin' furniture. Would that make ya happy?”

“I had it handled.” You groused, avoiding his eyes, though he saw right through your lie anyway.

Laughing sardonically at your childish argument, he nodded. “Sure you did, sunshine. Next time I’ll let you ‘handle it” ok?”

“Next time? What, like I’m some damsel in distress that needs a big man to come save her because she’s too helpless to take care of herself?” You were yelling now, attracting gazes from bystanders around the club.

“I wasn’t sayin’ that.” His jaw was set, an indication that he wasn't in the mood to listen to you. But you weren't about to let this slide after what he'd put you through.

“Then what were you saying, Frank? Because it sounds like you suddenly care if a man forces himself on me.” Tears were blurring your vision against your will. Hastily wiping them aside, you bit your tongue to avoid choking out a sob at the memory of leaving the construction site.

“Suddenly? What–” Anger momentarily vanishing, his face fell at the notion.

“Don’t play dumb, Frank, you’re  a man, you know how men think. How they act. How they... Don’t try to pretend that you give a shit now.” You glowered, keeping your eyes trained to the ground so he couldn't see them shining with your frustrated tears.

“I’m not–who forced themself on you?” Changing his focus mid-sentence, he stepped forward, as if to cradle you to his chest but you shuffled away stubbornly.

Despite your futile attempts to keep your face from betraying you, droplets of saline trailed down your cheeks as you laughed bitterly. “Who do you fucking think? You think those douchebags at your work only whale on you? No, a humiliated little girl is a lot less of a challenge.”

“Fuck, honey, I didn’t–” Tugging his hair, Frank growled

“I know you didn't. Because I'm not your wife, Frank.” Your voice broke as you voiced the words. “I’m not your ‘anything’ am I? Just another mistake to regret later, right?”

“Another mistake?” Frank called your name mournfully, his eyes locked on your crumpled face as you sobbed quietly just out of his reach.

 “Just… go home, Frank. I'll handle my own shit ‘next time’. Wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

Digging the heel of your hand into your glassy eyes, you saw Leo and Stacy jogging towards the pair of you, elbowing people out of the way. Striding past Frank, you didn't bother to look back before running to your friends.

”Are you ok?“ Leo, who was sporting a split lip, tilted your face up with two fingers, examining it while Stacy wrapped you in a one-armed hug.

”Yah.“ You exhaled shakily, your body tense from recent events and unused adrenaline. ”Can we get out of here?”

Pressing a kiss to your head, Leo nodded. “Of course. C'mon, you two are staying at mine tonight.”

As you were waiting for a taxi, you snuck a glance over your shoulder, but the man you'd chewed out was nowhere to be found.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

[kurosstuff]

So I was thinking lute x fem reader demon and angel BUT it's an actor au. So lute obviously hates demons but outside of shooting the show she's so in love with the reader, I only got that far but I thought it was a good idea and you're an amazing writer

Thank you dearie♡♡ IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME♡♡♡

Honestly- this? Is an amazing idea I love the whole Actor Aus

ALSO- when you said reader is demon and angel(unless I COMPLETELY read that wrong-??( I made them a fallen angel. Short I wrote this half asleep ima pass out now

Warning(s): fighting, au- so Lute acts not like her self? Idk SLIGHT sexual talk(leads to mire but it cuts off(

Lute x f!fallen angel! Reader: actor au

Lute snarled, glaring down at you. Her weapon drawn "a vile pathetic demon. On their knees begging me an angel for forgiveness? To surive an exectuoner?" Snarling, watching your gold blood pool around you. The gashes on your body-

"fuck you" you spat spitting your blood and spit at her making her sneer kicking you roughly ensuring you felt every hit fully- not holding anything back

"Some angel you turned out to be Y/N no wonder you fell. Can't even hold your tongue, can you?" snarling out, stepping closer, stabbing the spear in your food, smirking at the sick crunch it made. The scream you let out humming "Shall I stitch your mouth shut? Cut your tongue out?" her mask mimicking her mocking smirk at her prey- your sobbing self. "Let's see if you'll survive this time, no?" ripping the spear out about to strike before.

A whistle went off- making you sigh, "and scene! Take a break, everyone!" The director spoke out as the cameras shifted to a halt- stretching the pain in your side aching

"Oh god im- I'm so sorry" quickly realizing what was happening once you finally refocused, you smiled softly at your girlfriend- similar to her onscreen persona yet-

So different

"Lute~, my love~" you interrupted her with a soft hum standing up, holding her hands gently "its ok-! Look at me? I'm ok - yeah - sure you did actually hit me, but made the scene even more believable~" you hummed gently cupping her face kissing her snickering at the gag you heard beside you

"Their sucking faces again, boss!" Adam sneered teasingly, taking the plastic knife out of his back "Hey wha- NIFTY- you already stabbed me! Why keep putting it on!" He groaned, smirking chasing after the short woman who? Sped off laughing loudly about.. something you weren't to sure what she mumbled just like her show persona- only difference is she has two eyes.

As If she truly was made for the role.

"Dear but I hurt you!" Your attention grabbed from the woman in your arms you hummed letting her drag you to your shared dressing room as she rambled apologies upon apologies as she did everyrime your characters saw each other on stage

"Lute"

"God i- I'm a horrible girlfriend! Look! Your bruising!"

"Lute~?' You cut off her ramblings, pulling her onto your lap- such a surpise a cold woman in the show was just as cold bur a total softy with you- made you feel more special. "I'm ok. Remember~ baby~? It's acting. If I hit you would you be mad~?"

"No" she grumbled, flushed holding you close to her with a sigh "I'd forgive you. Time and time again no matter what.' She confessed with a deep sigh kissing you gently covering your face in kisses apologizing physically "Tell you what~? I'll give cuddles and kisses as an apology ~ for hurting you?"

And not even a second goes by before you gasp looking at her. "Oh! God, that hurts my leg! I need kisses, state doctor!" Making her laugh easily carying you to the bed for just that kissing you all over yet again smirking happily laying beside you

"Did you know were shipped- like uh- our characters in the show?" She hummed, wrapping an arm around your waist, nuzzling up to you happily "pretty interesting huh~ says theres.. so much sexual tension~"

"There is" you spoke bluntly smirking at her confused face "there was a scene. Of us arguing and you pinned me to the wall. You kept glancing at my lips a very heated look on your face, but the director kept it in~" snickering at hee flushed face humming "but same here~ god did I wanna kiss you so bad- that adorable scowl you do-"

Scoffing, she playfully glared up at you before she smirked straddling your waist "suppose you want more kisses then~? Tempted to kiss you here and now~ keep you in my arms in our dressing room bed~' cooing softly you held her waist

"Oh~? Then do something about it~"

-

"Lute. You just HAD to mark me up?" You whined following your lover close as she smirked smug proudly showing off her own markings you left "Lute! Nows not the time ti be showing off! You got us temporarily banned from being in our dressing rooms alone!"

Shrugging, she hummed, glancing over at you "Then I get you at home~ easy. It was more then worth it I dear~ now come on~ I wanna go home and..cuddle some more ~" snickering at the flustered look on your face.

You can only imagine the lecture you'll both get for leaving so soon. Bur you'll handle that later.

[prismaticpichu]

Tw for descriptions of Blood/Injury ❤️

Major angst- Nibelheim- what even is this?

~

The man's face contorted in what could only be described as unfathomable pain, mercifully sedated by the numbing haze of sleep yet still potent enough to cause the beaded visage of pale skin to shift and furrow against whatever it was that was plaguing him. Shallow and strained breaths scythed through his lips like invisible blades, each labored slice erratically laced with a faint but unmistakable groan or hiss that rode the tormented undercurrent of his respiration, mercury-pink bangs spilling like sweaty tendrils over the taut countenance and wetly brushing his cheeks as the man tossed and turned against the pillow. His hands clutched at the crinkled blankets, desperate yet feeble, as if a small child trapped in the throes of a nightmare—unable to awaken.

Zack had never felt so helpless in his life.

“Seph…” The First’s voice was failing him, his legs boneless and watery as he made his way across the bedroom, his breath slowly withering away to a rattled breath as he kneeled beside his friend. “Hey… can you hear me, pal? It’s me… it’s Zack. I’m right here now.”

Strained silence, filled only with the strained mumbles and groans

Zack swallowed thickly.

“What’s going on up there? What the heck happened…?” Blue eyes blinked back the encroaching mist, batting away the horrid memory. Batting away all of it—all of it was horrid, from the moment he and Seph stepped foot in that accursed Reactor to the grisly contours of the Makonoids to the vague migraine Seph suffered to the name arching above the chamber to the questions surfaced to the way his vague headache suddenly…

Zack’s eyes boiled with mist.

Raw, guttural—like a wounded animal letting out a blood-curdling shriek of pain. Never had Zack heard Seph scream like that before; never had he heard anyone scream like that before, so utterly agonized and vile, as if the man’s insides were being set ablaze from the inside, and spinning around in a tempest of terror to see Seph’s hands clawing into his skull. Crimson gushed and blossomed over the topmost silver strands, emerald eyes blazing and wide, his mouth pried agape as the agonized scream tore through his asunder and erupted like a shrill grenade around the Mako and machinery.

And he collapsed, crumpling.

“SEPH!”

He caught the man before he could make impact, a warm splash of blood spitting against his chest as the man crumbled into his lap—continuing to hiss and shriek, his eyes now clamped, convulsing and shaking, continuing to violently clasp his skull as if it were in danger of bursting.

“Oh my god… oh my god…” Zack’s body was torn between cradling his friend and pulling Seph’s bloodied nails away from his scalp, his heart palpitating at a painful frequency, his breath turning against him and constricting in his throat. “Seph… Seph! What’s wrong?! What the hell is going on?! Gen—GENESIS! Do SOMETHING.”

Desperate, his gaze shot up to the crimson SOLDIER, whose once vulpine eyes had now been completely eclipsed and subdued into an inexplicable terror of his own. Mouth ajar, he took several shaky steps back—wing quivering, color leeched from his face.

“I… I don’t… This wasn’t supposed to—“

“No… NO.” Seph hissed through his caged jaws, vaguely kicking against the metal, writhing and tensing in Zack’s trembling arms. “NO.”

“Hey, hey…!” Zack was trying his best to soothe his friend, holding him against his chest with fierce, unbridled intensity. “Hey, hey…—Oh my god… holy shit… Your scalp—CLOUD!”

Sephiroth kicked again, quaking and wriggling, his lungs never stopping to inflate again.

“CLOUDDDD!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs, shrieking to be heard over the man’s hellish screams. “I NEED HELP!”

He swept bloody ribbons away from his friend’s forehead, leaving damp streaks, revealing a ten-fingered gash raked beneath the mercury nest.

“Shit shit shit shit shit…! Genesis! Get the trooper outside! PLE—“

The words caught in his throat as Zack looked up and saw the winged man backing away with trembling, boneless legs, his expression bloodless and petrified, a faint ghost of tears casted on his sickly visage as he hobbled backwards and his breath hitched and he tried to mouth words too thick and too real to break through the clog of cotton.

“I’m… I’m sorry—“ was all he could manage, and that was the last Zack saw of him before Sephiroth’s agonizing cries broke Zack’s world into splinters.

“CLOOOUUDDDD!”

Kicking.

“Oh my god…. SIR!”

Trembling.

“What the heck is going on with him…?!”

“I… I don’t know…!”

Hissing.

“We gotta get him back…”

“Oh my god… SHIT. I don’t have any Cures on me.”

Screaming.

“Is it a seizure…?!”

“… I don’t… maybe?! Oh gods… his head—“

“Here! My scarf! Make a tourniquet!”

And screaming.

“You and Tifa know the way back…?”

“Yeah—though it’s gonna take longer without the bridge.”

“Shit… Alright, let’s go.”

And screaming.

“Hey… hey…! Ow—it’s ME, Seph. We got you. We’re getting you help.”

And screaming.

“Don’t worry… shhh… I’m not letting you go, bud. Just hang in there.”

And hissing.

“Just a little bit longer, pal… We’re almost there.”

And panting.

“Hey… hey! He needs help! Where’s the doctor…?!”

And mumbling.

“Alright, bud… alright. I’m handing you to the medics now.”

And breathing.

“I’ll be right there, Seph…”

And further away from the Name.

Jenova…

The catalyst that had been spoken.

Jenova.

Awakened.

Jenova.

Jenova.

Jenova.

~

To be continued? :3c

[multimilfs]

Queen Ravenna x Fem!Reader: Beyond Fury

Summary: escapetodreamworld sent... Queen Ravenna + 14 -- “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

AO3

Prompts found here!

A/N: This is the first fic I wrote for this challenge and I love it. Charlize is amazing and getting to write for Ravenna was a lot of fun, she's a bit difficult, which makes it a nice challenge. I hope you enjoy!

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix

Warning(s): Non-con elements, Blood

It’s after nightfall when the Queen summons you. Her brother arrives at the door to your rooms, a leering grin on his mouth. You almost trip over your own dress in your haste to put distance between the two of you. 

“Where is Sir Maynard?” You ask. 

His grin gets wider, “Indisposed, I’m afraid. My sister has sent me in his place.” 

The room is freezing despite the roaring fire and furs on the floor. It feels like a trap. Sir Maynard is always the one to escort you to your Queen, his hands startlingly gentle even in the beginning; A rapport and trust building between you as your affection for Queen Ravenna grew. Fear courses through you at the thought of something befalling him. 

But nothing inspires more fear than her brother. You don’t know his name, don’t care to, for there’d always been a curious distance between the two of you. Whispers of his… proclivities reached you, and you operated under the assumption they reached your Queen too; your heart had always been warmed by the idea of her keeping you safe, even from her own family. 

Now, you wonder how you’ve deluded yourself into believing you’d ever be away from him. 

“An escort is unnecessary, Sir,” You say, trying to infuse your voice with strength, “Queen Ravenna knows I’ll come to her willingly. Though I thank you for your willingness to assist.”

His advance on you is swift and sure. In a second, his face is inches from yours, eyes boring into you. You look anywhere else. The unpleasant warmth and stench of him make your stomach twist. 

“My sister, for some reason foreign to me, may let you get away with what you wish. Watch your tongue around me unless you want to put it to good use.” He punctuates the statement with a glance downward. Your face burns with shame and rage. 

“I’d sooner lose it.” You snarl. 

A hand clasps itself around your neck and the point of a dagger is aimed at your chest. Your skin bends to make space for it. One wrong move and it will slice through, spilling blood on the dress you adore. 

You want to believe you’re protected, but you can’t say for certain; you can never say anything with certainty about your Queen. Wisely, you stay silent as he increases the pressure of his weapon and his hand. 

“You’re a stupid, vile girl.” 

The hand around your throat tightens.

“And one day I’ll have the luxury of doing what I want with you.” 

He steps back, infinitesimally, and his hands fall away. One pulls at the sleeve of your dress and pulls it down your arm, the neckline moving with it. You shiver as more of your skin is exposed to him. He stops before any of your chest is bared. 

With a lazy spin, he slashes downward. The skin splits open. You let out a pained noise, clutching your hand over the now-bleeding gash. The Queen’s brother pulls a white handkerchief from his belt and presses it into the wound roughly. Wincing, you flinch away, but hold the cloth in place. 

“Fix your dress,” He snaps, “My sister is waiting.” 

You pull up the sleeve and neckline so it hides the reddening handkerchief. A threat lingers in his eyes as he watches, then shoves you ahead. Dark soldiers flank your sides. You shiver against the chill in the air and follow their lead; you know the way just like the route to your own rooms—down several twisting halls, a few sharp lefts, and you’re before her doors—but they’re taking you somewhere different. 

Instead of the final left, you take a right. You’re brought to two large, iron doors, etched with sigils and writing you can’t understand. One of the guards pounds his fist against the door three times before opening it. 

Across the expanse of dark stone and pillars she stands facing away. Fire rages in the center of the room, drawing her full attention. You can feel the warmth of it from here and wonder how she can stand to be near it. 

“I’ve brought the girl.” Her brother says. You jump, having forgotten he was there. 

She turns and her eyes find you in an instant. You can’t help the blush you’re sporting, bowing your head and offering a polite curtsey. A smirk pulls at her mouth. 

The smirk drops as she addresses the other occupants in the room, “Leave us.” 

The soldiers offer bows and turn in sync, stomping out of the room. Her brother hesitates. His eyes flicker to her and then to you, giving you a long, serious look. Then he follows the soldiers. Your blush has vanished by the time he’s gone. 

“You kept me waiting.” She says, low voice covering the expanse—both physical and mental—between you. You’re relieved to see her shoulders relaxed, “You never keep me waiting.” 

You can sense the question in her statement, can practically hear her shouting what was more important than your Queen? But instead of raising her voice, she tilts her head, and waits. 

Lying has never been a skill in your arsenal. And with your Queen looking at you like she’d unwrap your flesh from your skeleton should you cross her, you’ve never had the guts to try. 

Skating the truth might work, you decide, “I was speaking with your brother, My Queen. He offered me a lesson on courtesy.” 

She huffs out a laugh. 

“I’d say that’s one skill you don’t need a lesson on.” 

You blush. Now that the danger of tripping her wrath has truly passed, you take slow movements to her, coming to stop at the bottom step leading to the room of fire. Her eyes are intrigued when they look down at you. 

“And what skills do I need a lesson on, My Queen?” You ask. 

She lifts an eyebrow. 

You’re quick to correct, “Ravenna.” 

Ravenna’s eyes slip closed like her name from your lips gives her power. There’s a split second of bliss there, like when you’ve finished your usual duties with her, but it feels more intimate this time. You look away. 

A blush pulls at your cheeks and you can’t fathom why; you’ve seen her in various positions and states of undress, heard things drip from her tongue that’d make any reasonable woman melt with shame. You’ve never had an issue being a witness before. You blame it on the heat radiating from the room behind her. 

Fingers tilt your head back to look her in the eye. Ravenna’s closer now, armor clad body nearly pressing to your own. A finger, adorned with a black talon, scrapes along your bottom lip. 

Her kiss is demanding and brutal when you’re locked in it, claiming every inch of you she can reach. You let out a whimper against her. Teeth find and tug at your lip, insisting on torturing you just within the bounds of what you can handle. You’re running out of air but can’t make yourself pull back. 

Ravenna’s taloned hand ghosts down your neck and makes you shiver. You feel her grin against your lips when she starts to move to your chest and you moan pathetically, pushing yourself into her embrace. She freezes before fully touching where you desire. 

You laugh against her, used to her teasing, but you open your eyes to shards of ice staring you down. 

Her eyes have landed just about where her hand is and you gaze downward, freezing. There, next to her hand, blood has seeped through the exquisite fabric. Some of it stains her fingertips. You feel lightheaded. 

“Take off your dress.” She commands, no longer Ravenna, but your Queen. 

“My Queen, I…”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 

The control she had before is gone. When you step back to pull down the top of your dress, she stays rooted to the spot. Her eyes are sharp, deadly, and you know armies trembled beneath this gaze before but you’re not, whether it be stupidity or comfort. 

Pulling down your dress reveals the bloodstained handkerchief and you peel it off of your skin. The gash is angry, blood still seeping from it, though in smaller amounts this time. You don’t dare wipe it away. 

Ravenna steps to you and brings her own hand out to touch at the gash, hand shaking with barely contained rage. You try and fail to stop your wince. 

“They’ll pay in blood.” Ravenna forces through gritted teeth, “Tell me their name.” 

You go cold. Her brother has been her longest and fiercest companion, even uttering his name would assure her rage be directed at you. She’ll choose family everytime. You don’t want to die, not when there’s still so much time you haven’t shared with her. 

“I…” 

“A name!” Ravenna shouts. 

Shaking your head, you try to pull back, but her left hand clasps around your arm. You’re caught in an iron grip. 

“You’ll be furious with me.” You whisper, voice pleading. 

“We’re beyond fury,” Her voice trembles, “A name.” 

Wincing and looking at your feet, you accept your fate, “It was your brother.” 

Emotions from defeat to pure hatred flicker behind her eyes before she settles on one; betrayal. Her hold on you loosens and you step closer, reaffirming the contact. She doesn’t react to it. 

A vulnerability lingers in her muscles as she deflates, a lone tear tracking down her porcelain cheek. You ache to wipe it away. She’s staring past you, mind caught in something you can’t hope to understand. You remain an anchor to the physical world as you take her hand and bring the palm to your lips, your own tears falling onto the skin. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, not sure she can hear you, “I spoke out of turn and upset him. It was my fault.” 

Her hand tightens around your own. 

“He knows the limit.” 

Ravenna drags you to the door and your heart nearly beats out of your chest. She’s reached her limit with me, you think, as she throws open the doors with an ease that startles you. 

“Guards!” She shrieks and they come running.

You wait for the command that will sentence you; you wonder if she’ll do it herself or if she’ll just have you thrown onto the streets to rot with the people. Will she slit your throat or take your heart? 

Her hand ghosts over the gash and the lingering pain fades. Looking down curiously, you find the skin mended. 

“Take her to her rooms.” Ravenna commands the guards, “And bring me my brother.” 

Eyes widening, you examine her face, shock rendering you speechless. Her face remains the portrait of indifference as you’re led away. Disbelief floods you when you’re in your rooms, even as your ears hear the screams across the castle, and even as the whispers tell you he’s dead. 

You feel dread at being responsible, but can’t help the lingering affection. You were protected after all. 

[thicctails]

Replacement | I Grow Maddened (with grief) AU

Itssss Dipper's turn!!

____________________

The ground smelled like ash.

That was the only thing Dipper could think about as he lay on his stomach, face pressed into the cracked earth, still scorched from where Gideon's robot had slammed into it only a month prior. He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there for, his aching body crumpled on the ruined ground. The sky above was swirling and pulsing like an optical illusion, long gashes of flickering light tearing it open in multiple places.

Bill reigned supreme here, and Dipper was sure that it would only be a matter of time before either his Henchmaniacs or dapper demon himself found him. Logically, he knew that he should push himself up, that he needed to find his way back to the Shack, where it was safe, but...

...what was the point when he would be going back alone?

Mabel had chosen her fantasy over him. She'd replaced him with a "more supportive" version of himself in a heartbeat, uncaring about what had happened to her real brother. She didn't want the "lame" Dipper anymore.

She didn't want him anymore.

His next intake of breath was shaking and wobbly, and when he breathed out again, it manifested as a sound that someone only makes when they're about to start crying.

Sure enough, a ragged sob tore itself from Dipper's chest, and he turned his head to press his bruised, bleeding arm against his eyes. Tears flooded down his scratched cheeks, washing away some of the filth that coated his skin from days of surviving all alone.

And that's what he was now, wasn't it? Alone. Mabel had abandoned him, Wendy had run off with her "friends" the first chance she got, and even Soos, the man who had called them his real family, had left him to play a game of catch with the barebones idea of his father.

Great Uncle Ford was captured, and he didn't know where Grunkle Stan was, or if he was safe, or if he was even still-

Dipper's whole body shuddered as he began to sob harder, the ash-tainted soil coating his tongue and causing him to gag as his gasps stirred it up into the air. He could barely breathe as mucus and dirt pooled in his throat, his empty stomach heaving as he gagged. Bitter stomach acid scorched his already raw throat, and Dipper barely had time to shove himself up off the ground as he vomited, the liquid just barely missing his trembling form.

Spitting out what remained of the vile liquid, Dipper pulled his knees up to his chest and tucked his face into them, pulling his tattered hat down as far as he could. He continued to cry, unable to do anything else.

What could he do?

Where could he go?

He thought that he'd gotten braver this summer, had finally toughened up enough to be able to stand up for himself and fight back, but here he was, wailing and shaking like a leaf, wanting nothing more than to hold his sister's hand, to hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

"Dipper?"

Oh great, now he was having auditory hallucinations. Had his time in Mabeland done something to his head? Was this one of Bill's sick jokes?

"Dipper!"

The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching barely registered, but when he finally noticed them, he slowly started to raise his head. He only managed to catch a glimpse of something pink barreling towards him before he was tackled to the ground, arms flying around his neck.

Dipper screamed, kicking out wildly as he tried to shake of whatever it was that had him in its grasp. There was something soft brushing against the underside of his chin, and he could feel warm breath against his neck. He took in another breath, this time to scream for help, when the smell of bubblegum reached his nose. Dipper froze, the familiarity of it paralyzing him.

It couldn't be...

The thing holding him shifted, one arm reaching around to snatch the back of his ripped up vest, tugging him in closer, the other coming to rest on the back of his head. The touch was desperate but kind, and now that his own blood wasn't rushing in his ears, Dipper could hear that his attacker was sobbing, tears dripping onto his collarbone. He looked down, and saw brown hair that perfectly matched the colour of his own.

"Mabel?" he croaked, unable to believe what he was seeing. She... she'd come back for him?

The sobs got louder, and he could feel her nod against his neck. Dipper instinctively wrapped his own arms around her, hugging her back with as much strength as his broken body would allow. He began to shake again, and he gripped Mabel's sweater with all his might, trying to keep himself grounded.

"Mabel my dear, where did you- oh!"

Dipper's head whipped up at the new voice, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. His great uncle stepped out of the scorched woods, sporting a long black cloak overtop of the red turtleneck Dipper was used to seeing him in and with his glasses partially broken, but otherwise looking just fine. The elder man gave Dipper a warm smile and quickly made his way over to the twins, kneeling down next to them and opening up his arms.

Dipper's lip wobbled as he unlatched one of his fists from Mabel's sweater to grab onto Grunkle Ford's jacket, all but collapsing into him as fresh tears spilled down his face.

"H- h- how- I saw you get taken! How did you get away from- from Bill?!" Dipper hiccuped, sniffling as his Grunkle pulled both him and Mabel into a warm, secure hug.

"Umm, Dipper?" Mabel mumbled, still hiding in his neck, "He's, um..."

"What your sister is trying to say, my dear boy," Grunkle Ford said, "is that I'm not your Stanford Pines."

Dipper jerked back, still clinging to his sister. He looked up, and that was when he noticed it; the man before him had blue eyes, not brown, like his Grunkle had. One of them was also a milky white and covered in fresh scars, two jagged wounds that marred his face and stood out against his pale skin.

The small differences on an otherwise perfect copy of his Grunkle sent chills racing up Dipper’s spine, and he tensed up, hackles raising. He leaned back as far as he could, but this… False Ford was still holding him and Mabel, and his twin didn’t seem at all disturbed or surprised at this confession. Actually, now that he was looking for them, he could see differences in Mabel as well. She looked exhausted in a way he had never seen, not even when she’d stay up with Candy and Grenda all night, and her sweater was different to the one he’d seen her in earlier. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of light and optimism, had dulled slightly, holding the distant gaze of someone who’d seen something that would keep them up at night for years to come. 

Dipper recognized it because it was what he saw every time he looked in the mirror.

“Who… who are you?” Dipper asked quietly, not sure how to feel, but disliking the way his gut churned with nervousness.

“We're still your family, Dipper, but me and Mabel have come from other realities. I lost my niece and nephew, but I cannot live without you two, and neither can Stanley, so I decided to come searching for a version of you and your sister who needed a new family too.” The False Ford explained. The man's gaze softened into something sad as he gently brushed some of the dirt off Dipper's cheek with his thumb, “You've been through a lot, haven't you? If you come with us, I promise that I'll always keep you safe. You'll never have to worry about being alone ever again.”

Dipper unconsciously leaned into Ford's hand, starved for comfort and teetering on the edge of sleep. The feeling of being held and having his sister clinging onto him, grounding him, was enough to pull at his already heavy eyelids. What this other version of his Grunkle was offering sounded so nice, and it wasn't as if staying would do him any good.

However, the thought of leaving everything, everyone, behind didn't settle well with him. He wasn't sure what he could do for them, but it seemed so wrong to just abandon them to their fates. What about Grunkle Stan, and his Grunkle Ford? What about Soos, Wendy, and… and Mabel? What would happen to them?

“Please, Dipper,” the small, pleading voice of his sister made him turn his head, and he saw Mabel looking back at him, her eyes wet and shiny with tears, “please come with us. I can't lose you again.” 

Dipper sucked in a shaking breath and, after a moment, nodded. What choice did he have, when this version of his twin was begging him to stay with her? He'd never been able to say no to Mabel.

“Okay.” he whispered, guilt smoldering in the pit of his stomach like the embers of a dying fire, “I'll, I'll come with you. But what about everyone here? Bill has control over the town, and who knows how long we have before he decides to go after the whole world!”

“Oh, don't worry about that.” His new Grunkle said, pushing off the ground and bringing the twins in closer to his chest. Dipper lay his head on the man's jacket, breathing in the familiar scent of pine needles, coffee, and smoke. A six fingered hand began to gently rub his back, soothing his nerves and finally stopping his tears, “Bill won't ever be able to leave Gravity Falls. There's an ancient barrier that will keep him trapped. I'll return here and kill him myself, once you two are settled. For now, there's a handyman, a cashier, and a pig who would like to see you two very much.”

“Whuh ‘bout Grunkle Stan?” Dipper murmured, shifting himself so he was closer to Mabel, who quickly wrapped her arms around him.

“He's… very sick right now. He got injured during a monster attack, and got a nasty illness from it. I need to keep him under isolated quarantine, but I promise that, once he's better, you two will be the first to see him.” Ford promised.

“Okay… love you Grunkle Ford. Love you, Mabel.” the boy whispered, finally giving in to the exhaustion brought on by days of little to no food and even less sleep.

“I love you too, Dipping Sauce.” Mabel giggled softly, the sound coming out strangely from her raw throat. 

Ford hummed in agreement and kissed the top of both of their heads before starting back towards Soos and the open rift. The man had volunteered to stay behind and guard the tear in reality when they saw the state of the world, not wanting to risk any dangerous creatures crossing over into their reality. Just as they reached the treeline, however, there was a loud *POP* from behind them.

Ford turned, and his eyes widened when he saw that the large, pink prison bubble, which had previously floated ominously above them, was now disintegrating into nothing, flaking away like burnt paper. Four figures tumbled out and onto the ground a small ways away from where Dipper had been, each one familiar to both the man and the preteen.

“Is that…” Mabel started, eyes widening when she saw herself sit up and look around, face pinched with distress.

“Mnh, I suppose they finally came to their senses.” Ford grumbled, before looking down at Mabel, who was still staring at her doppelganger, “I think it would be best if we took our leave. I haven't stabilized you yet, so it's in our best interest to avoid confrontation.”

Mabel glanced up at her Grunkle, then back at the other Mabel, who had picked something up off the ground. It was Dipper's hat, and the other Mabel was clearly distressed to see her (their?) brother's most treasured accessory so carelessly discarded on the ground, if the look on her face was anything to go off of.

“Okay, Grunkle Ford.” she replied, snuggling in closer to her twin. 

If that other version of her really loved Dipper, then she wouldn't have found him having a panic attack in the dirt, half starved and looking as though a gentle breeze would knock him over.

It would be alright now, though. Mabel would make sure that Dipper was comfortable and fed when they got home, and then they would both get double Waddles’ cuddles and plenty of Mabel Juice. She would even knit him a new hat if they couldn't find a replacement in the gift shop.

It was all going to be okay.

[hauntingkiki]

this was requested on my wattpad, and i decided to put it over here to (hopefully) get some requests (desperate times call for desperate measures LMAO)

Your Voice

Venture x Cocky/Overconfident! Diva! Reader

Overwatch

2POV

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

the sound of bandages ripping snapped in your ears, the sound quickly dying out once you were done with the action. you draped the bandage on your thigh, your non injured arm shakily grasping a small vile of peroxide. popping the cap off with your teeth, you dumped the vile onto your wounded arm, the chemical and blood mixing together which made you hold back a scream, biting down on your jacket sleeve that held the bottle. you threw the bottle up, letting it vanish in a matter of seconds as it went into a cooldown. grasping the cotton that was on your thigh, you begun attending to the oozing gash on your bicep and forearm.

you froze, your body tensing up as you heard faint footsteps in the building you were camping in. carefully, you positioned your weapon in your hands, your non dominant arm shaking uncontrollably, which made your weapon softly clatter.

'y/n?! do you read me, h/n?' a voice echoed in through your ear piece, your teammates calling out for you, making your ears ring at the uncontrollable chatter.

you took a sharp deep breath in, slowly dropping your weapon before hastily wrapping the remaining bandages around your arm. once the cotton was wrapped, you grabbed your wrapping tape, ripping a good chuck of it off with your teeth before wrapping that around your arm as well.

'h/n?! talk to us!'

'we're down a healer! you're needed on the battlefield!'

you shook your head at the voice, tears starting to sting in your eyes as the footsteps slowly got louder. you pushed yourself up with the weapon, collecting your medic supplies and shoving them into your bag. sloppily throwing it over your shoulder, you inched your way out of the corner you were in, taking a few quick, shallow breaths before running over to a window and jumping out.

you shut your eyes, waiting to take at least some damage from the jump, but it never came. opening your eyes, your cheeks flushed bright pink when you made eye contact with the person who caught you.

"y/n!" they beamed, sighing in relief before turning to your team. "guys! i found y/n-or, well, she found me!"

your tank let out a hearty laugh, throwing their shield up as he glanced over to look at the two of you. "good job, venture!" he laughed, fire striking at the supports on the opposing team.

the other damage stopped in their tracks, getting healed by illari's pylon. "y/n?! where have you been, you've been needed this whole match!" they snapped, dodging some of the bullets that were zipping through the air.

you pushed yourself out of venture's grip, stumbling as you caught yourself from falling on your ass. you dusted yourself off with a glare at them before turning to the fight, your eyes shooting wide open as you grabbed their collar and pulled them to the ground with you, dodging a sniper bullet from the 'spider queen'.

venture let out a cry, covering their ears from a explosion. chuckling nervously, they took their hands off their ears, turning their head towards you. "thanks for saving me! your a lifesaver!" they beamed, their cheeks a faint pink.

you hummed, rolling your eyes before shooting at the enemy team from your laying down position.

"hey, cassidy!" venture called out to the cowboy that was taking shelter behind the pylon, which surprisingly worked. once the cowboy glanced over to the two of you, they pointed over to the enemy group then to their drill that laid beside them.

cassidy, huffed with a nod, appearing out from behind the pylon and throwing his grenade into the crowd.

the archeologist next to you took the initiative and grabbed their drill, disappearing underneath the concrete street. they quickly appeared in the middle of the enemy line, laughing with a grin.

you went to reload, pausing when a shadow loomed over you. slowly looking up, your eyes went wide when the tank of the enemy team stared you down. sucking in a breath, you grabbed your supplies and ran, the tank chasing after you.

"h/n?" illari called out, looking around for you. her shoulders dropped when she saw you getting chased away, without a warning. "guys! doomfist is after her!"

•••

"where the fuck is she?!" illari snapped, her hair glowing a faint yellow, illuminating the rest of her team who stood behind her.

cassidy held her back by the shoulder, whisper shouting at her about how she needs to chill out. even though he was scolding the girl, he was also unbelievably pissed at how you acted during the battle.

"y/n!" rein's loud voice called out, startling you as you tried to sneak back to your dorm.

you stopped in your tracks with wide eyes when rein called your name, rubbing your temples in annoyance while you turned to face them. you swallowed nervously when you felt the tension. it was so thick, you could cut it with a knife, or even use your tanks weapon to smash it into a million pieces.

"have you lost your god damn mind?!" illari snapped, her hair glowing brighter.

"illari!" cole groaned, dragged her off to talk some sense into her.

she shook her head as she was dragged off, pointing at you with tears stinging in her eyes. "what happened to you?!" she wept, swinging her arms ago.

"illari's right, y/n." reinhardt, finally spoke up, clearing his throat from the loud call he did to gain your attention not too long ago. "you've changed."

your eyes shot open at the statement, your blood boiling slightly. changed? maybe there was a reason behind your change, but no one cared enough to ask.

"you always used to talk to us during battles..." rein sighed, running his hand down his face. his hand covered his mouth for a moment, the two of you making eye contact while he let his arm drop back to his side. "what was so different about this one?"

with a faint eye roll and grunt, you tapped your ear piece a few times before your voice echoed through the empty, cold city. "i'm on vocal rest, you all know this!" the programmed voice snapped. you pointed over to the archeologist who stood a few steps behind rein. "venture knew about it! i told them to give you guys a heads up that i won't be in coms!"

venture blinked in surprise, eyebrows raised while they softly shook their head in disagreement. "no you didn't...?" they questioned, unsure with what they were even saying.

"yes i did! i told you two weeks ago that i was going to be on vocal rest!" the voice huffed, making you cross your arms.

venture shook their head while rein took charge of the speaking. "we were on vacation two weeks ago." rein reminded. "no one was here at overwatch."

your blood ran cold.

how could you forget?

you flailed your hands around, your mouth opening but you quickly shut it, starting the two in front of you. you groaned loudly, pulling at your hair before storming off to the dorms.

you had a concert you needed to get ready for. that was your top priority, not winning some lame 'battles' that were supposed to train everyone.

venture took a few steps forward, getting ready to follow after before rein placed his hand on their shoulder. sloan turned to the taller individual, his shoulders dropping when he shook his head no before walking off, cassidy and illari following after.

sighing venture took a few steps after his team before coming to a complete stop, turning around and running after you.

•••

you had about two hours until the concert, and you finally decided that you could talk and get some warmups/practice in before the big deal.

you ran a brush back and forth over your eyelid, the f/c eyeshadow appearing after a few swipes. pulling the brush away, you attended to the other eye, humming to yourself as you had the songs you were going to be preforming playing in the background.

dropping the brush back into your makeup bag and snapping the eyeshadow palette shut, you pulled it over to you and started to rummage through it, jolting when a knock rang through your room. "come in." you called out, a hand placed over your heart as the door opened. you glanced at the person who entered your room through the vanity mirror, your stomach lurching at the sight of venture.

the two of you stayed silent, both of you waiting for the other person to speak, the sound of your voice faintly singing in the background.

"what has gotten into you?" venture finally spoke up, taking a step forward with a vague head tilt. their voice was laced with worry and hurt, which made their voice crack slightly. "you've never been like this."

you continued to dig through your makeup bag, quickly grabbing your mascara and opening it, applying it to your upper lashes and your lower lashes. "what do you mean?" you asked, fanning your face with your hand while you dropped the product back into the bag before digging out your eye liner.

venture ran a hand through their hair, their fingers getting caught on some of the knots that they forgot to brush our earlier. huffing, they pulled their hand out of their muted, chocolate brown and brushed their fingers together, watching as the stray hairs that they pulled out slowly feather to the carpet. venture turned their attention back onto you, waiting for a moment until you pulled your eyeliner away from your face before speaking. "i mean- the attitude, the cockiness, the-the sudden hatred for this place!" they ranted on, their voice getting loud by accident. they paused for a moment, taking some deep breaths while walking to stand a few feet behind you, looking at you through the mirror as you did the other wing on your other eye. "why..? why after all these years, these past seven months that i've known you...why did you suddenly change?"

you held a breath, placing the cap back onto the eyeliner before you dropped it back into your bag. you locked eye contact with venture from the reflection, your eyes slightly widening when you immediately noticed their glassy eyes that watched you. releasing the breath you were holding, you grabbed your highlighter stick and tugged the cap off. "because i'm tired." you simply explained, highlighting your inner corners of your eyes, your nose and above your upper lip.

"of what?" venture chuckled in disbelief, throwing their hands around before jerking them in your direction. "you're famous! you're one of the best hero's in the world, what's there to be tired of?"

you closed your highlighter, waving your hands around in frustration. running your hands through you hair, you gently pulled at your scalp, groaning as you gripped at the edge of the desk. "i'm tired of doing the same thing over and over again! i'm in a constant loop, a never ending cycle." you spat, your chest shakily rising once you took a breath in. you turned your head over your shoulder, looking at venture before turning your chair to fully face them. "i wanted to leave months ago, but you always stopped me." you shyly admitted, your gaze falling on their chunky, metal boots.

venture's breath quickened at the statement, their face flushing red as they slowly brought an index finger up to their chest. "me?" they breathed, tapping their chest a few times with their finger.

you nodded, standing up as you cracked your knuckles nervously, turning back to your desk at spay your setting spray before turning back to them, fiddling with your shirt hem. "yes...you're the only reason why i'm here." you quietly admitted. "why i'm still holding onto being a hero." your eyes darted around their face before looking off to the left and landing on a framed picture of when you first joined overwatch, almost six years ago.

venture took a step forward, snapping your attention away from the frame and back over to them. "the only reason why im here is because of you." they jerked their hands in your direction, their face redder than ever. they chuckled, rubbing their hands through their hair, walking back and forth as they rambled. "i joined because i wanted to meet you, to befriend you! to-"

silence.

venture paused both their speaking and their walking, facing your door that went out into the hallway.

an escape for them if they wanted to leave without confessing anything.

you took a few steps forward, both  of you about two feet away from each other. you titled your head up and to the side, trying to look them in the eyes. "to what?" you whispered, reaching a hand out to their shoulder before pulling back when their body tensed up.

venture ran a hand down their face, sighing into their hand. they had to rip the bandage off if they wanted you to stay. they slowly inched their way so the two of you were face to face, their hand dropping back to their side as they tilted their head down, their eyes glued to their boots. "...to be with you. hopefully for the rest of my life." they titled their head up faintly, looking at you through their eyelashes before going back to their boots.

your face grew hot, a deep pink hue covering your face at confession. "sloan..." you gasped, inching your way closer to the person in front of you. you threw your arms around their shoulders, standing on your tippy toes in order to reach their shoulders.

sloan stumbled back in shock, their eyes wide as they blinked, looking at themself through your vanity mirror. their eyes became glassy once again, slowly wrapping their arms around your waist as the burrowed their face into your neck. their body shook, shaky breaths and choked sobs filled the room, drowning out the music that was still playing in the background. "i've missed you so much..." they sobbed, their voice vibrating your neck as they spoke. the squeezed your frame slightly, scared to let go of you.

you squeezed them back, gently massaging the nape of their neck and up into their messy hair. "i've missed you too, sloan." you whispered, twirling your fingering in their locks.

sloan pulled away from you, their arms still around your waist, your faces were inches apart.

you let your hands slip out from his hair, dragging them against their neck and up to their cheeks. you smiled softly, wiping away the tears that stained their face.

they leaned into your touch, giving you a closed eyed smile. their eyes fluttered opened, their eyes darting from your eyes and down to your lips before back up to your eyes, repeating the cycle. slowly, they leaned in, swallowing nervously when you also started to lean in too.

the whole world seemed to stop when your lips connected, your ears ringing loudly as your heart hammered against your ribcage. their lips had an earthy taste to them, as well as a faint orange flavor, which you guessed was from their chapstick.

you snaked your arms back around their neck, pulling them deeper into the kiss, which made their eyes flutter open before closing again.

when the two of you pulled away, a lovesick grin was plastered on their lips, their cheeks redder than they were before(if that was even possible).

you smiled at them warmly, biting at your lip as you playfully pinched their cheek with caused them to hiss in pain. "now get outta here." you playfully sneered, a smirk creeping on your lips as you leaned into sloan's ear. "i got a concert to get ready for."

[scuttlingcrab]

Late Night Intruders

This was inspired by @mslanna and all the amazing Raphael prompts they shared with me. I'm being cheeky and combining 2 of the prompts, as they were quite similar.

Summary: Tav thwarts an assassination attempt against Raphael during the wee hours of the morning. And from Raphael's perspective, everything is going according to plan.

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

Raphael smelled the intruder skulking behind him. Naturally he enjoyed the profuse aromas humans exuded when pushed to their breaking points but this one was vile; their fear was acrid and abhorrent, soiling the otherwise immaculate ambience of his private room in Sharess’ Caress. 

Despite the distraction, he continued labouring over his current contract, taking care to add the final words to a clause he was amending for yet another poverty-stricken beggar. So hasty to exchange their souls for gold. And no wonder, the tremors in Baldur’s Gate were getting worse, sometimes occurring by the hour, the more the Elder Brain gained power. Swim tadpoles, swim; for no matter how far you sprint, you will not escape the wrath of the Illithid when judgement day arrives. 

The smell grew stronger as the stranger crept closer but then another odour broke through: a mixture of sage and damp wood. Sparks lit up in Raphael’s mind with the sudden familiarity. 

“What a pity, you’ve given yourself away, Dain…” 

Without warning, the air around Raphael turned cold. Shards of ice shattered around him, ripping through his sleeves and leaving his desk riddled with frozen fragments. He paused his writing, tightly grasping the infernal quill between his fingers. The ice around Raphael melted rapidly, creating a pool of water by his feet that began to sizzle. 

“My dear, sweet Dain… did your mother never teach you any manners?” 

Raphael slowly rose from his chair, balls of hellfire growing in his clenched fists as he prepared to incinerate Dain where he stood. 

When Raphael turned around, he instead found Tav standing in between him and Dain. A broken ice knife stuck out of her left shoulder, the arm shredded to pieces and lying limp at her side. Gashes tore through her left cheek where the weapon had ruptured, leaving her delicate facial features nearly unrecognisable.

“You?” Raphael locked eyes with Tav, quieting the flames in his hands. 

Dain gasped, his beady eyes bulging. He nearly choked on his own spit before turning to flee. Raphael snapped his fingers and the halfling froze on the spot; his fat, greedy fingers inches away from the doorknob. The fool will never see another sunrise.

“Coming by to pay me a visit, and at such a sinful hour? Why, what will your companions think?” Raphael beamed.

“Listen here, you should be grateful, otherw–” Tav stumbled, falling to her knees in discomfort. “Otherwise, there’d be a big bloody piece of ice sticking out the back of your neck.” 

“You do know devils cannot die on this plane, yes? Or have you not been heedful of a single word I’ve articulated since we first met?”

Tav looked up at Raphael with wide eyes, her pointy ears turning bright red. She immediately raised her uninjured arm, tugging at an earlobe.

While traversing the mortal realm, Raphael had grown accustomed to the odd attempted murder or two. Righteous mortals seeking redemption or the amateur killers for hire accepting contracts without proper scrutiny. His least favourite, however, and the type of vermin he encountered more as of late, were the clients who tried to grovel out of their deals. 

He always had a keen eye for which types of slimy creatures would try to deceive him, always the ones so quick to make a deal, any deal. He could have denied them everything, but where was the fun in that? He quite enjoyed the hunt, being kept on his toes; the thrill of the chase, exhilarating, no matter how brief, and in spite of knowing he’d always end up the victor.

“Oh hells... Guess I forgot that specific detail." Tav responded through a sheepish smile.

“And yet, you risked your life? When you could have remained hidden… were you going to stay quiet all night? You know, my door is always open.”

“That, I, uh, I can explain…”

Tav diverted her eyes. She tried to hide her obvious embarrassment as she pretended to examine her wound, shifting on her knees. 

Muffled moans came from Dain’s clamped mouth at the other end of the room, but Raphael’s eyes remained drawn to Tav. A pang in his chest rose like bubbling magma, on the verge of rapture, as he observed her. 

“Patience Dain, I haven’t forgotten about you.” Raphael sneered as he took a step towards Tav. She winced, clutching her arm as the ice knife began to melt. 

“I suppose thanks are in order. Perhaps a reward? I will consider this an investment to our current agreement.” 

“No rewards. I just had to make sure I could trust you.” 

“What’s not to trust about a devil, hmm? And one as charitable as I?”

Raphael was standing over Tav now, so close he could get a whiff of her perfume over the scent of lingering blood; cloves and roses enveloped his senses, a harmonious aura. Tav cried out in pain as she fell to her side, rolling onto her back to avoid the damaged limb. 

“Your deal seemed too good to be true.”

“Mhmm, but the question of why you shielded the attack still stands, little mouse.”

“I–I was worried…”

Raphael edged a little closer, hanging on her every word, his hunger growing.

“You’re… we’re allies.” 

“Indeed.” Raphael whispered, leaning back. His eyes savoured Tav’s vulnerability, cataloguing every moment for a later use. 

Yes, the contracts were all signed and tucked away in his archive, but Raphael knew more had to be done to fulfil his prophecy. There would be no loopholes. No hidden surprises that would get in the way of his destined glory. He would not lose the Crown a second time. He needed devout supporters, creatures willing to do anything to help him conquer the Hells. And he had Tav exactly where he wanted her. 

Tav writhed in a growing blood stained puddle; the ice knife had fully dissolved, allowing the gaping wound to pour freely from her shoulder.

“As much as I enjoy watching mortals bleed to death, you are ruining the carpet.”

Raphael snapped his fingers, revealing a large health potion. It floated in the air, dangling above Tav. She struggled to rise, grabbing the bottle and flopping around the floor like a fish. He merely crossed his arms and watched, his eyebrow cocked. 

After a few failed attempts, Tav finally removed the cap. She drained the potion and gasped, as if taking her very first breath. Her wounds closed in an instant, restoring her face to a more pleasing sight. 

Raphael snapped his fingers again and the blood disappeared, the red velvet carpets of his suite restored. He extended a hand down to Tav and she accepted without hesitation. He let his hand linger only for a second when Tav was back on her feet, lightly caressing his thumb over the back of her palm before he released his grip.

He proceeded to turn his back to Tav, smiling to himself, as he focused his attention on Dain. He was supremely satisfied.  

“What will you do with him?” Tav asked curiously. 

“No concern of yours. Now, please leave us… unless you’d like to wait around, perhaps there will be another attempt at my life this evening.”  

Tav stiffened and nodded, rubbing her earlobe again. She swiftly made her exit, but not without looking back at Raphael, before shutting the door. See you soon, little mouse.

“I hope you can forgive me for keeping you waiting, Dain. As you saw, I had a far more important guest to entertain.” 

Raphael excitedly rubbed his hands together, circling Dain’s paralysed body like a ravenous shark. 

“Soon you will be asking yourself why? Why was I so feebleminded? Why was I so impatient? Why didn’t I just listen? You're only as good as your word, Dain, and mine is exquisite. Now... shall we perhaps review your contract before the fun begins?”

Raphael snapped his fingers, removing Dain from his hold. Dain fell on his backside, shrieking as Raphael shed his mortal skin in a fiery rage.

[laylanightingale]

Broken-Smitten Parallels

Ok, so we do see how my beloved fits Smitten in the Tower. Devoted, loving, nigh-impossible to talk out of that "delusion". Although the leader-follower position is painfully reversed.

We all know (or may have a hunch) that Fury for the Broken is like Burnt Grey for the Smitten. They're both going through a lot of grief due to having lost their beloved at our hand. The Broken, however, instead of redirecting his anger to just one Voice, calls out the entire gallery ("heathenS"), which could show him as being more emotional and less selective about it (Smitten calls out The Narrator, then the Cold and then the Hero). He also is less confident in this regard, needing a coping mechanism and sending out less than credible arguments ("It didn't even work, it doesn't count." regarding the stabbing attempt). They both hope for their beloveds to be alive to... "salvage things". Clearly not in the best of states, both of them.

Come Apotheosis and the Broken starts defending his Lady ever so vigorously, even disregarding his teammates. He also sounds a lot like Hamlet intonation-wise as he panics ("It's just a fluke, an accident, that's all!") Mate clearly stands with Her, but unlike Smitten, he can at least be convinced that it's his Lady who's bad, not the surroundings or partners. Smitten won't have this nonsense, it's the vile Narrator's fault.

My mind is getting hazy, since I'm about to write the part that I love. Fact is, Broken can't just be convinced that Apo's bad. He understands the fact himself. How do I know this? If we listen to the dialogue before that, my boy sounds like his normal self, squealing slightly higher as Apotheosis wrangles his hooves, but should we choose to [Fight back], after the Paranoid and the Hero have chimed in in their usual demeanors (for the route) the Broken sounds like:

A. He just got the coolest idea ever. In secret.

B. He's proven a hidden hunch to himself.

C. He's finally fed up with Apotheosis' shit.

The sudden change of intonation shows that something inevitable has clicked inside his brain. Like he has understood the gravity of the situation. And I mean gravity, because his voice from there on, countering the physical pain, gets extremely deep.

The Smitten's voice upon Damsel's death gets higher instead, showing that the poor guy has just witnessed a murder (to my beloved's credit, he barely had time to react to his). Hamlet's crying, partially rasping his lines out. In Burnt Grey he turns into a deep grumpy gus... unless he's thinking his beloved's alive. On a physical level.

With the Broken, the gash is much, much deeper. It's mental now, the realization that the one he's been protecting and adoring this whole time would do something worse than hurt them all. To escape alone. Leaving th-- him behind. That is much, much worse than Not Good with Rejection. And it's hella justified. So as Smitten fluctuates from deep hatred to excited chirping, Broken stays down, likely a true bass. Growling like a guard dog ready to pounce any second now.

One final detail I want to notice is that Broken also wants revenge and actually does it, but unlike Smitten, in Her direction. He keeps saying he wants to "show her how we've felt", trying his damndest to keep himself in check, his sanity slipping. The Smitten, on the other hoof, unleashes a barrage of insults, prompting the Hero to be the therapy dog - here though, no therapy is needed. The damage has already been done and the retribution awaits... her.

And as I listen... I notice something weird. Is it just me or Brook is gasping for air the entire time? What's wrong? Is he being super overwhelmed with emotion and holding back a ginormous scream? Or is he... crying? [Was that the breakdown I was looking for?] The Smitten definitely did cry as he mourned his Damsel on the spot and swore revenge to the gallery. Here tho, it sounds much more mise-- no. Forlorn. Betrayed. Abandoned. Bereft. Those are exactly the passions, echoing in the depths of his bereavement that we wanted to hear in the Smitten... we get to hear them here. Like it's the final call. Like it's the end of the line just for them both. She's dead to him. They're through. Forever.

The abused finally stood up to the abuser. No other party wants to see each other no more. Especially, the abused. Nothing even to tell her in return to her apology, because never will it ever be accepted. It's over.

I... can't but bring my condolences to my best Voice as a recent divorcee and... that's exactly where I see the deep, profundo beauty in him.

Discussion open. I apologize for the wall.