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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 9 months ago

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Devil's Snare Part. 9

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aemond arrives too late to the Red Keep to prevent the events of Blood and Cheese. His wife, who witnessed the brutal killing is left traumatised and Aemond must set aside his feelings of guilt to comfort her.

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Writer's note: I'm incapable of being concise so I've split this into 2 parts. This part picks up right after Blood and Cheese and the next part will follow the aftermath and how seeing such a traumatic event impacts on Aemond's wife. Thank you to everyone whose sent such lovely messages about the most recent part. Genuinely makes me so happy :)

Warnings: mentions of blood but nothing graphic. Depictions of PTSD. Pretty angsty but mostly hurt/comfort.

Aemond felt the blood pounding in his ears as he pushed himself to run faster to the upper levels of the keep, shoving past guards and servants alike and taking the steps three at a time. Each step he took filled him with increasing trepidation at what he would find once he reached his mother's quarters. Panicked shouts met his ears as he turned the next corridor, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he recognised the voice of Y/N, laced with hysteria among the din. He picked up his pace as he heard her shout his name, as if she already knew he was coming. He practically growled at the King's guard occupying the hall.

"Step aside." The guards immediately scattered, allowing Aemond to push past them into his mother's chambers. He had no doubt that his rage and desperation was plain to see on his face. All this seemed to fall away in the instant he saw his wife holding her knees to her chest on the floor as she frantically pushed two maesters and his mother away from her. Nothing mattered now except her, not vengeance, not the painful mixture of grief and guilt that wracked his own body.

He crossed the room in several large strides, angered by the way the maesters crowded around his wife when she was so clearly in a state of shock and pushing them forcibly away.

"What is the meaning of this? Get away from her. Can you not see she is distressed?" At his demanding tone the maesters dispersed, clearly unwilling to face the wrath of the Prince.

Alicent's looked up at the sound of his voice, a look of relief washing over her expression he couldn't understand as she rose from her crouched position by Y/N and hurried towards him.

"Thank the Seven Aemond. She'll allow no one near her and she needs the attentions of a healer." Aemond's eye never left Y/N as his mother spoke, she had not even seemed to notice him enter, her eyes seemingly glazed over as if staring at something he could not see. "Aemond she keeps asking for you."

Aemond did look at his mother then. He would have thought that he would be the last person Y/N would want near her right now....this was his fault. Nevertheless, he had heard Y/N call out for him, he was sure her desperate cry would haunt him forever. He passed by his mother, lowering himself into a crouch next to his wife before reaching out to brush her shoulder. Her glassy expression was immediately replaced by full blown terror as she flinched away from him and shrieked. Aemond quickly retracted his hand, but rushed to offer her assurances. "It me Y/N, it's Aemond. I'm here now. You're safe, I won't let anyone touch you." Y/N looked briefly confused. Though as he held his arms out towards her recognition dawned on her face. Only a moment later she had flung herself into his waiting arms, clutching at him as though for dear life as she sobbed into his shoulder. Aemond held her to him tightly, stroking her hair and whispering soothingly to her. "Sh, my love. No one will touch you again. I'm here now." Aemond felt his mother hovering next to him as Y/N seemed less likely to lash out in his arms.

She whispered into his ear, words that made his blood turn to ice. "She tried to fend off the attackers, grabbed the blade of a dagger with her bare hands to protect Helaena. Aemond, she needs to allow the maester to look at her."

Y/N had heard his mother despite her attempt at being discreet, immediately wriggling closer towards Aemond until she was half in his lap and digging her nails into his shoulders. "No" She gasped out. That decided it for Aemond.

"She said no mother. I won't have them touch her if it distresses her so. I will see to her care myself." With that he rose to stand, lifting his wife up with him as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso. "My sister?" Alicent closed her eyes, though tears still ran down his mother's cheek in rivulets. "Aegon is with her now. Physically she is unharmed." Aemond nodded and with one hand wrapped under Y/N's legs to support her, and the other cradling her head to his chest protectively, he strode from the room in the direction of his quarters. Y/N's sniffles, as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck to muffle her sobs, wrenched at his heart strings as they passed along the halls of the Red Keep.

He stroked her hair soothingly and tilted his head down to whisper softly.

"I know, little one. I'm taking you somewhere safe now."

All Y/N could see was red. Dark and sticky blood dripping from a dagger that glinted in the soft glow of candle light, inimical to the horrific sight before her. A gut wrenching scream pierced the quiet of the night, the rest of the inhabitants of the Red Keep still abed. She winced at the shrill sound, full of pain and anguish, before realising belatedly that it was her screaming.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur after the King's guard burst in, managing to capture one of the assailants whilst the other disappeared into the night. She was vaguely aware of someone gripping her by her arm, pulling her along hall after hall until they deposited her in another room entirely. She did not care to look around her to determine where she was or who had unceremoniously dragged her there. As soon as her arm was released her knees buckled and she fell in a heap on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking herself, her teeth chattering and limbs trembling in her state of shock.

She felt numb and it was difficult to understand what was being said to her as all the voices around her merged together as one. When she felt hands reaching for her, tugging at her own arm, it was the hands of the assailants she felt, looking down at her own hands she felt even more alarmed to see them covered in red splodges and she could not tell if it was her own blood that drenched her skin or that of the child she had come to love, brutally murdered before her. She screamed, forcefully pushing the hands from her though they kept grabbing for her. Almost without thinking Y/N found herself shouting for Aemond. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind she had a vague recollection that she shouldn't be calling for him, but she couldn't seem to remember why, so muddled and panicked was she.

"Get off me. I want Aemond. Where is he?"

She looked up briefly to see Queen Alicent's large doe eyes staring at her sadly, but the faces of several men had her heart picking up in fright as she thrashed against their hold. What did they want from her? Try as she might she couldn't make out their words through her fear.

The only thought she could hold onto for long was that if Aemond were here they wouldn't dare to touch her against her will. He would help her, protect her as he always had. And his name came from her lips unbidden again.

Only a few moments later a cacophony of sounds outside the room made her wince. First pounding footsteps followed by a voice that boomed and echoed across the hall outside, then the clanging of metal signalling the movement of the guards. Y/N was breathing heavily, exhausted from her efforts to prise the insistent hands from her person, and she felt herself becoming limp. The colours in the room, of the golden flames before her and the deep russet rug beneath her converging until once again all she saw was red. Red so dark it must be blood and she could not determine whether it was real or not. She remained frozen in her horror until she felt a light touch against her shoulder, gentler than the others had been but nonetheless terrifying. Jerking backwards with a shriek, she was relieved when the owner of the hand only retracted it, speaking softly to her in words she couldn't pick out at first.

"It's Aemond."

Y/N looked up quickly at the sound of his name, her senses coming back to her as she recognised both her husband's baritone and elegant features. He'd come for her just as she knew he would, as if she had summoned him with her appellation of his name.

As soon as Aemond opened his arms to her she was falling into them, clutching at him fiercely, somehow knowing through the fog still misted over her mind that he would keep her safe. That nothing would happen to her when she was in his arms.

Tears sprung from her eyes as Aemond began to stroke her hair, assuring her that no one would touch her if she didn't want them to, that he wouldn't let them. She'd started to relax the tension in her body only for it to spring up once again as in a startled animal as she heard Alicent whispering of maesters.

She dug her nails into Aemond's shoulders, clinging to him so they would have to claw her from him if they wanted her. She barely recognised her own panicked cry "No" and worried they simply couldn't understand her. That she had lost her mind and was simply speaking gibberish, and that was why they kept ignoring her pleas for them not to touch her. Perhaps Aemond wouldn't listen to her either.

She needn't have worried. Aemond's voice was a steady anchor as he resolutely ordered the maesters away from her again, suddenly rising to stand and lifting her up with him. She quickly wrapped her arms and legs around him, not caring who saw or if they judged her for her behaviour, only pressing her face into Aemond's perpetually warm shoulder and trying to stifle her cries. She felt sick from crying, her stomach aching and she just wished for the tears to stop flowing so she could make sense of what was happening.

"I know little one, I'm taking you somewhere safe now."

Hearing his pet name for her spoken so tenderly she only cried harder, warmth and a brief sensation of security washing over her despite how scared and confused she felt.

By the time Aemond reached their chambers, Y/N's sobs had dwindled and she'd fallen silent. If it were not for the tension he could feel in her frame and her tight grip on his shoulders he'd almost think she had fallen asleep. In some ways her silence was more disturbing to him, for he could not tell what horrors plagued her mind that left her unable to voice them.

Kicking open the door and closing it behind them, trying not to jostle Y/N too much, he crossed the room and tried to place Y/N down into his armchair so he might collect some supplies he would need to treat her hands. She only clung to him tighter and he had to gently but firmly tug her arms from around his neck. "Just for a moment, my love. I won't leave you."

She let him place her down at his assurance but he could feel the heat of her stare on his back as her eyes followed his every movement as he fumbled around various drawers for what he needed. Placing the bandages, a bowl of water, and ointment he used for any cuts and scrapes he gained from training on a table, he lifted Y/N back into his arms before settling her on his lap, wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"I am sorry to ask it of you. But will you allow me to treat your hand, my love? It may sting a little but it is necessary."

Y/N looked inquisitively down at her own hands as if surprised to see the gash that ran across her palm, turning her head away quickly with a sharp intake of breath.

"The blood, Aemond. I can't look at it. I don't know if it's mine or the child's."

Aemond felt his heart falter. He could only imagine what his sweet and gentle wife had borne witness too, pain tearing through him for her, for his sister and for his nephew who he'd loved. He tried to focus on the fact that Y/N needed him and that this was the most she had managed to speak to him, and the most she had sounded like herself.

"You do not need to look, love."

Nodding minutely with a grimace, Y/N pressed her face into his chest, going limp in his arms as she allowed him to take her smaller hands in his own so he could assess the damage. The gash was large and had bled a lot already, but he let out a sigh of relief to see that it was not deep and had already stopped bleeding, though it looked alarming. He took a cloth and wet it with water before starting to clean the blood from Y/N's hands, routinely pressing soft kisses to the top of her head and whispered apologies as she squirmed slightly under his ministrations. He tried to be as gentle as possible, wishing more than anything not to hurt her, but knowing he had to clean the wound before any infection could take hold.

Her voice sounded so soft and quiet and vacant to his ears, like that of a ghost.

"You'll get blood on your hands." Aemond already felt there was blood on his hands borne from his actions but did not voice that fear to Y/N. He only replied "It does not matter" before taking the ointment next and methodically rubbed it over the gash, finally wrapping it with the bandages. Once he was satisfied, he brought her hand to his lips to press a tender kiss upon it.

"You did so well, my love. There is no more blood, you can look know."

Y/N withdrew from his chest to look down upon her hands, and Aemond noted that where before her eyes had seemed misted over and unseeing, likely due to shock, they were now focused and he thought she had started to come back to herself.

"I'm sorry." Her soft whisper shook him from his observations. He couldn't understand what Y/N would have to be sorry for.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Y/N shook her head frantically.

"I couldn't stop it. I tried...but they killed the babe anyway."

"Y/N No..."

She interrupted him, her words spilling from her mouth fast and filled with despair.

"I grabbed the knife from the tall one, clawed at him, I'm sure I left scratches on his face, but he just threw me aside like it made no difference at all. And now the little boy is dead. A son for a son they said."

Aemond fought to keep his own breathing steady, to maintain a facade of composure he didn't feel but knew Y/N needed to believe to stay calm herself. He felt anger pulsing within him in the knowledge that someone had hurt his wife and he'd not been there to defend her. Her words resounded in his mind. 'A son for a son.' He knew then what he'd feared from the moment the guard had told him of the attack. This was his fault. Not just because he'd foolishly and selfishly left his wife unprotected. But because he'd let his temper rule him on the day he'd flown to Storm's End, the day he'd killed Lucerys Velaryon. This act of violence was sown by his hands, the vengeance of The Blacks. His eyes flitted to his own hands, half expecting them to be drenched in blood. Luke's blood. Jahaerys' blood.

"Y/N look at me."

Her beautiful eyes bore into his own at his firm command and he kissed her forehead, wrapping both his arms around her now they were no longer preoccupied with bandaging her wound.

"Ñuha nedenka rina. You acted admirably. I will not have you blame yourself. This is my fault. Mine and mine alone."

Y/N ignored his attempts to reclaim the blame, seeming unable to stay on one line of thought for very long. He thought this must be her mind's way of coping.

"What does that mean?"

He assumed she meant the Valyrian. She'd told him once that she found the sound of it soothing and had hoped it would do so now.

"It means 'my brave girl.'"

Y/N slowly lowered herself to rest her head against his chest again her delicate fingers tracing the intricate designs of his brocade.

"You came when I called." Aemond was once again surprised by he turn of their conversation, his eye widening as he gazed down at her.

"Of course, I always will."

"Even though I shouted at you, and told you I wanted separate chambers, and said horrible things to you."

Aemond was surprised by Y/N's directness as she seemed to have fully come back to the present, remembering their disagreement. He quickly interrupted her ramblings.

"Always. Besides, you had every right to be angry with me. This is all my fault" Aemond dropped his gaze, unable to look Y/N in the eyes through his guilt.

"I don't blame you."

He met her gaze oncemore. Unable to believe that he'd heard her correctly.

"What?"

"I said that I don't blame you."

"But I caused all of this with my actions, and then left you unprotected..."

Y/N interrupted him then, pressing her hands to his face.

"You would never have done this. Not if it had been the other way around. I am right about that, aren't I?"

Y/N's expression was full of desperation and silent pleading.

Aemond pressed his hands against hers, holding them in place.

"You are right. It is an act of depravity I had never thought Rhaenyra capable of. It is something I could never do."

Y/N sagged against him, dropping her hands from his face to rest them against his chest as she let her head fall onto his shoulder.

"I know it."

His heart clenched as he felt wet droplets against his neck, and Y/N's body shake with the renewal of her tears. His own voice cracked with emotion. He wished he could take all of the pain and misery she felt from her.

"What can I do?"

"Just hold me." And so he did. Wrapping his arms around her, Aemond held her until her breathing evened out and she fell into a restless sleep. She woke regularly throughout the night, always with him there to reassure her of where she was, that he was there, and that he would not allow anyone to harm her.

Something about being in Aemond's chambers again calmed the frantic beating of Y/N's heart as she focused on it's familiarity, along with the steady rhythm of Aemond's own heart as she laid against his chest. Realising that the red covering her hands was in fact real and not a figment of her imagination almost sent her over the edge again, and it was only Aemond's reassurance that she didn't need to look as he tenderly attended to her wound himself that she was able to get a grip on herself. As he cleaned and bandaged the gash on her hand, the fog that had befuddled her senses and left her feeling confused as to what was happening around her began to diminish. She remembered how she'd injured her hand in the first place, trying to forcibly wrench the assailant's knife away from Helaena, though it did no good at all and the memories that suddenly came flooding like a dam bursting in her mind had her burying herself further into Aemond's tunic in an attempt to smother them.

Aemond. Now she remembered why she had a strange sense that she shouldn't be calling for him to rescue her. She remembered how they'd fought over Luke, how she'd asked him to stay away from her, pushed him away time and time again, and just stopped short of calling him a monster.

And yet he'd still come running when she'd called. Y/N realised she couldn't feel angry with Aemond for Luke's death any longer. It had been an accident and in truth she knew she would have forgiven Aemond eventually for she loved him, more than she thought it possible to love someone. She also could not pretend she had not observed a certain lust for vengeance within him, one that she felt she could now at last understand. She had loved Jahaerys almost as if he were her own child, and for the first time in her life she wished to inflict pain, on whoever had ordered the atrocity. She wanted justice for Helaena, though she knew there was no vengeance that could erase the trauma they would both now share, of losing a beloved child. Y/N didn't know how to deal with the pressing grief she now felt since her mind had cleared enough for her to regain her grip on reality and she almost wished she had gone mad, just so she wouldn't have to feel as if her heart had been replaced by a gaping wound that continued to bleed out.

"What can I do?" Y/n hated to hear how pained Aemond's voice was, like that of a wounded animal.

"Just hold me"

Feeling Aemond's arms around her somehow made the pain lessen and Y/N had the sense that in a way he was holding her together.

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sirius-blacks-eyeliner · 5 months ago

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Hi! How about some George Weasley (post Wizard War) finally takes the courage to ask reader out (she would be some sort of assistant to one of the Professors from Hogwarts). Don't know if her house is relevant but she's a former Hufflepuff. Thanks!

My heart blooms

A/N: Hi love! I hope this is what you expected from me! As a fellow Hufflepuff I absolutely love this.

(Fred and George call you Petal to reference to you being a Hufflepuff and Sprouts assistant)

A little short, but I hope you still like it!

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Although windows were broken, tables splintered and rubble filled the entire place, the great hall was lighter than it had been a few hours ago, when The Chosen One fought against Lord Voldemort himself.

Friends were lost, families were torn apart, and hearts were shattered to pieces. Many were broken, but the world was now on a path to start healing itself.

The Weasleys all sat huddled together. They had come so close to losing their son and brother, Fred, but you and Professor Sprout had managed to pull him back with your magic potions just in time.

Ginny Weasley sat underneath her older brother's arm, with her back to you, holding him tight around his waist, as if he would fall through the pale vale of death if she let go. George Weasley, one of your best friends and Fred's twin, sat on his other side. They spoke in soft voices, occasionally having to stifle laughter, trying to prevent waking a dozing Ginny.

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter sat close by the Weasleys, chatting happily with their youngest son Ron. Harry seemed so much lighter, his face glowing with the weight that was now off his back. He could finally rest, not having to worry about the looming threat that hung over him and his loved ones. He often glanced lovingly towards Ginny, as if unable to believe she was sitting across from him, within arms reach.

Then, as you approached, muddy shoes thudding softly against the ground, the twins turned towards you, in sync as always.

"Hello, Petal." Fred grinned while trying to move the least he could because of Ginny, who was well asleep already.

"Hi, boys," You grinned while stepping closer, "How're you feeling, Fred?"

"Well, you saved me, so couldn't be better." Fred fondly smiled.

"Hey, Petal, could we maybe speak for a minute?" George suddenly asked. His freckled cheeks and ears flushed a soft shade of red as he fiddled with his hands.

"You're gonna...?" Fred mysteriously asked, wiggling his eyebrows not so mysteriously.

"Shut up, Fred." George rolled his eyes while rising from his seat.

"Can we-?" He gestured towards a quieter corner in the great hall.

"Of course, Georgie." You grinned and let him lead you by the hand towards the other side. Behind you you could hear Bill Weasley let out a suggestive whistle followed by a scolding by both Molly and Fleur Weasley.

"What did you want to ask, Georgie?" You curiously asked as he stood before you, his chest close to yours.

"Thank you, Petal. You saved my brother. If it hadn't been for you he would've been dead." said George, unexpectedly engulfing you in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers flexing there as yours wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close as possible to you.

"I love you, Flower Petal. I've loved you for years ever since I saw you on the train at the beginning of fourth year. I have always been too scared to say anything, I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I was afraid that when you rejected me that we would seize being friends, but seeing how close Fred was to dying and how you saved him so effortlessly. Petal, I don't think I could ever even think of attempting to love someone else. This is it. You are it for me. You make my heart bloom like those amazing plants you love and care for. I have realized it long ago, but today it dawned to me. I love you."

He stared deeply into your eyes, barely pulling away to do so, even if he towered over you. His arms were still holding you locked in, unable to move even though you never wanted to.

"Oh, George," you whispered softly, "you have no idea how long I have waited for you to tell me that. I love you, too, I-"

But before you could finish the sentence, George had already pressed his lips down on yours, slow, soft and tentative.

His hand slid up to your cheek, caressing his thumb on your collarbone. His lips were so soft, like no one you had ever kissed before. His other hands busied itself on your waist, squeezing softly when he noticed you reciprocating eagerly.

You pulled him closer towards you, now standing chest-to-chest with no air between you. You felt his tongue slide over your bottom lip carefully, silently asking permission to enter.

You pulled back slightly, lips still ghosting over each other. When you spoke you could feel his lips bump into yours.

"You not even gonna let me finish my sentence?"

"Kissing you seemed funner."

#george weasley #harry potter #wizarding world #golden era #george weasley x reader #fred weasley #fanfiction #x reader #george weasley x you

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cntloup · 1 year ago

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medieval au

you try to find out what your husband does!

"oh my god, simon! are you hurt?" you exclaim, rushing to him as he walks through the door at midnight, shirt littered with splashes of blood.

"it's not mine." he responds in his gruff voice, "wh-what? well, whose is it then? what happened?" you ask, eyes widened and eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"it's nothing. you don't need to worry about it." he says, hoping that you'd let it go, but underestimating your stubbornness.

"what do you mean? of course i worry!" you raise your voice in disbelief that he'd think you wouldn't care.

"there was... a disagreement. it's settled now." he says as he tries to walk past you and enter the room only for you to prevent him from passing.

"what do you mean?... what did you do?" you ask in shock as it dawns on you, "simon?"

you're met by his cold stare, "nothing i haven't done before." he utters in a monotone voice and finally walks past you, his shoulder slamming onto yours, making you take a step back.

you gasp and cover your mouth with your hands as it just now occurs to you that you barely know him. he's your husband, yet you know next to nothing about him.

his cold and dismissive demeanor has hurt you deeply. you truly care for him and wish he'd open up to you. although, you notice that you haven't been so open with him either.

you spend some time by yourself, trying to cool down and think while he cleans himself up in the bathroom.

and you decide to bring it up when he steps into the room to find you sitting on the bed with your back resting against the headboard.

"simon?" you call out, "yes?" he mutters, not even looking at you.

"what is it that you do exactly? i mean... i know that you're a blacksmith. but you..." you pause, wondering whether it's even your place to ask, considering it's only a marriage of convenience. but you decide to continue, "you return home late at times. and now with the... the blood!" you say, your voice laced with concern.

your feelings for him have grown over the past months, not only trusting that he wouldn't hurt you, but something more... 'is it love?' you wish to understand. and you hope that he cares for you as you do for him.

and he absolutely does, more than you'd think, certainly so much more than he lets on. he is lost, confused. he feels conflicted by all the emotions coursing through him, the emotions that you have ignited in his cold dead heart. and he tells himself that it's just a contract, nothing more as he buries his feelings deep.

yes, he shows you affection and calls you 'love' from time to time, and he finds himself having more and more of those sleepless nights if you're not beside him, in his arms while you snore softly which lulls him to sleep. but 'it's nothing' he tells himself.

"it's none of your concern. go to sleep. it's nearly dawn." he says in a cold manner again, making your face fall in disappointment and sorrow.

"simon please! we're married now. i deserve to know as your wife... i-i really... care about you!" you finally spill out the words, not believing yourself at first, but the look on his face says that you really did say it.

"what?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, "yes, simon. i care about you. please let me in." you plead as you crawl to his sitting form on the edge of the bed.

you wrap your arm around his bicep as you sit beside him, making him slightly shiver at your touch, especially after your confession.

"i know this nice home and all the things you get me are not from being a blacksmith." you murmur playfully in his ear and he shakes his head with a light chuckle.

how did he think he'd get away with this? of course you'd find out eventually. you're sharp. too sharp for your own good.

but he can't let you in that world. the life he leads is too dangerous. he would never introduce you to a world knowing fully well that it would put you in harm's way. there are too many enemies after his head. if they find out he has someone, they could use you as leverage. he can never let that happen.

yet, he knows you wouldn't let this go that easily. and of course you deserve to know. oh how he wishes he could spill it all out to you, who he is and what he's done, bare his soul to you.

"i'm in the king's army. and i'm a blacksmith while not on deployment." he says, but you can sense that there's more, "that's not all though, is it?" you ask. too sharp.

"that's it for now. go to sleep, woman!" he scolds as he grabs you and plops you down on the bed, making you squeal and giggle, your sweet voice making his heart melt.

"sleep." he whispers before kissing your lips with a smile on his face as he hovers above you, his bulky weight pressed against your body that does something to you as you feel the heat pooling up between your legs.

you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer as you moan his name while deepening the kiss, igniting the fiery passion between you.

"simon!" you breathe out, "yes, love?" he asks, "tell me what you want."

"make love to me..."

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starsreminisce · 1 year ago

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The bonus chapters do provide context and throwbacks to the main books, and it's frustrating to think they wouldn't impact the overall story. After all, the ACOMAF bonus chapter cemented Nessian's relationship and added depth to their story. SJM excels at weaving these elements seamlessly. Therefore, it feels like a step backward to argue that Elain will face a choice when the bonus chapter clearly shows Azriel's feelings for her and his developing friendship with Gwyn.

Elain demonstrably showed interest in Azriel, but he rejected her. Rhys reminded Azriel that Elain and Lucien still have a bond, and Lucien has the right to defend it. Elain returned his necklace, which Azriel then gave to Gwyn.

Both ACOSF bonus chapters establish context. Azriel's chapter clarifies his sullen behavior at the solstice, and Gwyn starts calling him "Shadowsinger" after he reveals the title. Feyre's chapter explains their choice of the name Nyx for their son.

Therefore, it's confusing why SJM would regress Elain and Azriel's interactions. The bonus chapter clearly showed Azriel hurting Elain to the point of returning his gift. Additionally, it focused on his growing investment in Gwyn. Elain's book likely won't start with a love triangle involving Lucien and Azriel. The bonus chapter suggests Elain has already made her choice.

Ideally, Elain's book will explore her reasons for accepting Azriel's rejection and delve into her feelings for her true mate. Most importantly, we should see Elain stand up for herself against Azriel. This is the third time he's acted without considering her, similar to how Tomas motivated Nesta to overcome her fear.

ACOMAF Bonus Chapter:

He didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit as she rose up on her toes, her mouth nearing his— Pain exploded between his legs, knocking the breath from his chest as that gods- damned knee of hers indeed found its mark. Cassian staggered back, swearing viciously. She snorted, looking down at him as he fell on his ass into an armchair, clutching his stomach, trying to reorder his brain— “You’re all the same,” she said, imperious as the night and cold as the dawn. “Perhaps being an immortal makes you predictable.”

In ACOMAF:

I’d had one break from Cassian’s brutal training—just one morning, when he’d flown to the human realm to see if my sisters had heard from the queens and deliver another letter from Rhys to be sent to them. I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

In ACOSAF:

He didn’t know why the hell he cared. Why he’d bothered. Even from the start. Even after she’d kneed him in the balls that one afternoon at her father’s house.

ACOMAF Bonus Chapter:

No, she had not been with any male, Fae or human. Tomas had wanted to, and she . . . some part of her had known no future lay with him. Knew about his hateful father, and that he did nothing to prevent the man from beating his mother. She had barely let Tomas kiss her, and that day when she had ended it, he’d . . . She swallowed, shutting out the memory of what he’d said and done. The sound of her tearing dress. No—it hadn’t gone that far, but . . . The blind terror in those moments he’d tried, before she’d screamed and clawed her way free. And never told anyone. Something must have shown on her face, in her scent. Because his annoyance vanished—no, it shifted. Into something else, something . . . Rage. That’s what stilled Cassian’s face. Pure, burning rage.

In ACOSF:

Three days afterward, Nesta broke it off with Tomas. Enraged, he’d launched himself at her, pinning her against the enormous woodpile stacked along the barn wall. Spiteful whore, he’d growled. You think you’re better than me? Acting like a queen when you haven’t got shit. She’d never forget the sound of her dress tearing, the greed in his eyes as his hands pawed at her skirts, trying to raise them as he fumbled with the buckle on his belt.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing 'til the break of dawn - Pt7

<Pt6

(TWST zombie apocalypse au for all your crack-fic needs)

Yuu winced internally as the radio tower came into view. And not for the same reason Ace and Deuce tensed, he barely even cast the zombies crowding at the window a second glance at first, too busy mulling over his options.

The zombies paused where they were scratching at the window (one day, Grim would figure out how locks work, but Yuu wasn’t about to teach him), before turning and looking at them. One waved and smiled at Yuu. Then, they all scattered.

“That’s creepy, man,” Ace said, looking down at Grim in disapproval for some reason.

Well, Yuu supposed, it was correct that Grim shared a consciousness with the other zombies, so whatever the other zombies did when they saw Yuu was an extension of Grim’s own feelings towards Yuu.

Awwww, his adorable little eldritch deity wanted to keep him safe.

“Stop smiling, you’re encouraging it,” Ace hissed.

“I’m encouraging him,” Yuu said flatly.

Ace pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not what you should have focused on there. And I was talking about encouraging his behavior, so ‘it’ is correct.”

Oh, that makes more sense. Ace was usually pretty good about pronouns, as weird as that might be. Yuu had argued that assuming the gender of the people he killed was a lesser evil than actually killing them, but Ace had sniffed and called it ‘needlessly disrespectful’.

Yuu did not understand his friend in the slightest.

Regardless, Yuu continued on to press a kiss onto Grim’s furry little head. “It benefits you, doesn’t it? Leave him alone, he’s done nothing wrong, ever.”

Ace looked like he strongly disagreed. For shame. You get threatened one time on seventeen different occasions and suddenly you start to be prejudiced against zombies. People are so fickle and quick to judge these days.

“You guys’ attachment is probably unhealthy…” Deuce piped up.

Grim narrowed his eyes at him, baring his teeth.

This, probably, didn’t disprove what Deuce had said, but it wasn’t necessary, because Deuce was quick to lift his hands in surrender. Everyone knows that if you give up an argument your point is automatically invalidated.

Grim settled in Yuu’s arms.

“Besides, those guys are pretty tame, you two haven’t even met my fan club yet,” Yuu added.

“Your fucking what?!” Ace yelled.

“My fan club,” he repeated, since his friend had suddenly gone deaf.

Ace spluttered. For a moment, he looked down at his hands helplessly. Then, slowly, he lowered his head into his hands, hissing curses under his breath as he attempted to pull out his hair from the roots. As if his poor hair hadn’t been through enough already.

Deuce, on the other hand, looked like he was feeling a little faint. He gripped Yuu’s sleeve as they walked, trying to steady himself. Or, maybe, to confirm to himself that Yuu was actually real. “The zombies… made a fan club for you?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Yuu hummed. “I mean, it was a little weird at first, not gonna lie, but they’re actually really good about my boundaries! I barely even see them anymore!”

There was a beat of hesitation.

“Yeah, but that’s worse,” said Deuce.

Yuu disagreed. He opened his mouth to explain that his fan club used to prevent him from leaving the house outside of evacuating him during emergencies – and, sometimes, even then, they would hesitate. He much preferred them stalking him from the shadows if the other option was a complete lack of autonomy, thanks.

But he never got to explain any of this, because there was a shrill scream, and a gunshot.

The next few minutes seemed to go in slow motion.

Yuu nearly fell over with the force of it, dropping Grim as his left arm went numb. He blinked, dumbly, at his shoulder. Blood began to paint the fabric of his shirt red. For a second, he almost didn’t think it was real. That was a lot of blood, after all, and he wasn’t feeling anything more than pins and needles. Surely, that was wrong. Maybe he had finally snapped under the stress. Or Grim had given in to his instincts and bitten him and this was the beginning of the end. His ears rang as he, slowly, lifted his right hand up to touch the wound. Sticky, red liquid coated his finger as he poked at torn flesh. He flinched back, narrowing his eyes at the offensive… stuff.

Gross.

A hand grabbed his, thankfully hiding the blood from view, if only for a moment. Sluggishly, his eyes trailed up to meet Deuce’s. They were wide with panic.

The world whirled back into motion. He stumbled again, almost bowled over by the sudden urge to empty everything in his stomach. He dragged his hand out of Deuce’s so he could press it to the wound again, this time making sure to apply pressure.

“Shit, Yuu, are you oka –?!” Deuce winced at his own stupidity. “I mean, obviously not, but are you…?”

Yuu swallowed down a wave of nausea. “I’m fine.”

Deuce looked doubtful. Which was rude. Yuu was perfectly okay right now. He wasn’t going to speak for when he eventually came out of shock, but at this exact moment? He hadn’t felt this fine in months!

Well, he might just get sick, because the anxiety was actually managing to puncture holes in the blanket the shock had provided him so far, which kinda sucked, but whatever. He had other things that he needed to deal with.

“Just… make sure that no one kills each other, please.”

Deuce’s eyes, somehow, widened even more. He spun around sharply.

Cater was standing in the window, opened just a crack to allow him to point his gun out into the street, attempting to shoot Grim. He probably would have been successful by now if Ace wasn’t trying his damndest to get his knife through the aforementioned crack. Which, usually, makes accuracy a little difficult.

“YOU’LL THANK ME LATER!”

“If I have any say, you won’t have a ‘later’,” Ace hissed.

Deuce’s eyes narrowed just slightly, thoughtfully, as if he was considering whether it was really worth it to help Cater. Worryingly, it seemed like the needle was pointing more heavily towards ‘no’, and there might not be much time before the ‘yes’ side was no longer an option.

Yuu decided to try and help it along: “Deuce, Deuce, Deuce, good people don’t let others die.”

Deuce’s lips pressed together thinly as he considered this.

“YOU IDIOT THAT THING IS A ZOMBIE! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO –!”

“WE KNOW,” the three humans yelled back.

Cater faltered in sheer shock and horror. “What do you mean you know –?!”

Ace finally succeeded in jabbing his knife into Cater’s wrist.

The gun clattered to the ground, and it was then that Deuce apparently decided that, yeah, he should probably intervene. Whether this was purely due to his morals winning over or because he felt better now that Cater was also bleeding out was unclear. Frankly, Yuu was just grateful Deuce had pulled Ace away at all.

Yuu blinked as hands that weren’t his own joined him in attempting to stem the blood spilling from his shoulder. He, slowly, turned his head to find a zombie. Trying to hold him together.

Vaguely, he realized that he recognized them.

His fan club had arrived.

Ugh.

Well, whatever, at least he could use this.

Careful to enunciate every syllable, he said, “Grim, don’t kill him.”

The zombie grimaced. Briefly, their eyes flicked to the side. Grim paused where he had been squaring up under the window, preparing to jump inside after Cater. Grim’s tail swished back and forth in annoyance – Yuu had seen this a lot more, recently, thanks to Ace and Deuce.

And then, reluctantly, Grim lowered his head.

He relaxed slightly. Crises averted…

As the adrenaline began to fade, pain started to trickle in in its place, and Yuu had to fight not to tense up again, because surely that wouldn’t help the newfound aching in his shoulder. His vision started to dim, his grip on his wound slipping.

Yuu’s last thought before passing out was that he totally should have just let himself fall off that building earlier.

Yuu woke to far more nausea than he would usually prefer to deal with. Again. Which was unfair. He does not deserve to suffer like this.

Ah, he hadn’t even explained what had woken him up. Right. You see, he wasn’t sure what that was –.

Oh.

He cringed as he was subjected to the feeling of nails on a chalkboard, but it was amplified by about a million because the sensation was inside his goddamn shoulder. He flinched, which only made the feeling worse as the metal rubbed against his shoulder blade more.

“Deuce,” Ace hissed.

The arms around Yuu’s waist tightened. “Sorry, didn’t know he’d wake up. He was fine with the antiseptic.”

Well, that didn’t sound like Yuu. Yuu hated antiseptic. He would rather get an infection than go through that specific kind of hell. Deuce was a bitchass liar.

The chalkboard feeling was back! Why?!

He realized that Ace was trying to drag his bone out and frowned. He needed those. Bones are, usually, pretty important.

And stealing his bones was even more offensive when Yuu remembered that Ace hates the taste of bone marrow. Either Ace had decided to steal his bones for the fun of it or he was making a mistake.

Which one of those sounded more likely?

Well, it was actually pretty close, but if Yuu had to guess…

“You fucked up – I mean. Um. Messed! Messed up,” Yuu informed him.

He wanted to turn and press his face into Deuce’s shoulder and hide from Ace’s evil fucking – tools, whatever they may be… Yuu was not intent on opening his eyes any time soon, even the light peeking through his eyelids was enough to give him a headache – but Deuce was actively restraining him, so fuck that. Mean people preventing Yuu from moving away from Ace don’t deserve anything resembling affection, ever.

“Yuu!”

Oh, right, he had been in the middle of a conversation.

“Mmm?” he said, which wasn’t much of a response, but it seemed to be enough.

“You said,” Ace began, sounding like he was trying very hard to keep his voice level. “That I fucked up.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Yuu frowned. “I don’t swear.”

Ace made a strangled sound. Or, rather, a ‘I want to strangle you’ sound. “How am I currently messing up?!”

“Oh…” Yuu thought about it. “You’re, like… holding my bone. Stop that.”

Ace did. Which redeemed him, if only slightly. He sighed, deeply. “I thought you said you knew first aid?”

Yuu absolutely did not know first aid, and had never claimed otherwise. Did Ace know him at all?

“Well,” someone else began to speak. Yuu remembered he was not the only person to exist. Which felt fake and wrong, but okay. He tried to narrow his eyes so he could discern who the mysterious other person was, but his eyes were closed, so this did very little to help him. He was forced to pay attention to their voice, instead. “It’s a little different when you have to guide someone else through it because you’ve been stabbed in the wrist.”

Ohhhh. Radio GuyTM (Yuu was blanking on his name and, frankly, didn’t care enough to try and remember it right now). He sounded more than a little bitter. Ugh. Radio GuyTM. Fuck him, he deserves to feel bitter right now. Yuu may not be sure why he hated this guy right now, but it was very important to him that he continued to do so.

Why does Radio GuyTM get to be here and Yuu’s baby is nowhere to be seen (or, heard, rather)?!

“Where’s Grim?” Yuu whined.

“Outside,” Radio GuyTM said shortly. “No zombies allowed in here.”

“Kill yourself,” said Yuu, just as short.

“Not feeling it today, maybe tomorrow,” said Radio GuyTM.

Yuu nodded his understanding slowly. That made sense. He will ask again tomorrow. Establishing boundaries with new people is important, after all!

Radio GuyTM (yes, he would keep doing the trademark, those are – probably – difficult to get!) gave a little huff of laughter, which petered out into a sigh. “Okay, if you were grabbing his bone, you’re probably too high, try a little lower.”

This time, Ace was successful in getting the bullet out of Yuu’s shoulder. Yuu kind of wanted it back. He felt lonely without it.

What did he just say?

Okay, Yuu officially had weirded out himself. Blood loss is a bitch.

“Stitching doesn’t have to be super complex, if things go well he’ll do all the healing himself, we just need to pull his skin back together so his body doesn’t have to do as much work. Also to – like – keep the blood in.”

Ew. There has to be a less gross-sounding way to describe that.

“We’ll cut the thread out once he’s healed enough.”

In hindsight, they probably should have picked up sewing instead of crocheting, because Ace struggled…

Wait.

Noooooo, Yuu wouldn’t be able to knit for ages! Grim’s booties! His poor little toe-pads!

He was so upset about not being able to provide for his little darling who deserved the world (but was settling for Japan, for now) that he almost didn’t notice how much it did not feel good to get stitched up. It was still a lingering thought in the back of his head, because ow and ew and ugh, but there were far more pressing matters. Like being depressed.

He was depressed right up until he realized that Ace was tying off the last bandage.

Oooooh, sweet, Yuu can finally sleep in peace now.

Deuce finally let go, but Yuu did not pay this any mind. Deuce made a relatively comfortable pillow, actually. And he had to get revenge on him for… something. Probably. Deuce was always doing shit.

Just as Ace was always saying shit:

“If you die in your sleep I’m going to let Grim bite you.”

In the name of scientific discovery, surely.

Except, no, Ace didn’t even try and play that angle for plausible deniability: “Death can’t have you yet. You’re mine, okay? I have dibs.”

Yuu squinted his eyes open. The world was painfully bright, but he forced himself to keep them open anyway, for he had something important he must impart upon it. He looked around, taking in nervous and weary faces, until his eyes found Ace’s.

“You’re so cringe,” he told him.

Ace didn’t even bother getting playfully offended. He gave a halfhearted laugh and almost fell forward, burying his face in Yuu’s neck.

“Never do that shit again,” Deuce mumbled.

Yuu huffed. “I didn’t ask to get shot.”

Ace started to sit up again.

Yuu was quick to grab him by the shirt with his good arm. His grip was definitely weak (he assumed it would be for a while?), but Ace didn’t break it. Haha. Local scrawny loser gets put in affection jail.

As if hearing his internal monologue, Ace sent him a glare.

“Nap time,” Yuu said. “You can always kill him later.”

Radio GuyTM – Cater, his name was Cater! – looked like he did not entirely appreciate Yuu’s priorities.

Yuu closed his eyes again. He hated dissenters, no need to pay attention to them.

Cater did not get the memo. “Uh, can we not kill me, ever?”

“Nap time,” Yuu said again.

“Can we at least move a little so I’m more comfortable?” Deuce complained.

Yuu did not bother repeating himself. The fact that he decidedly did not move was answer enough.

Deuce gave a long-suffering sigh and gave up.

Good.

Nap time.

~~~~~

Pt8>

#*squints suspiciously at the crackfic label*#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #twst yuu #twst grim #tw gun #tw gunshot #tw blood #????

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ostdreamseeker · 5 months ago

Text

•··································•··································•

The Queen of Hell is a merciful God

Poppy x Noah Sebastian

Explicit!! Minors DNI

Word Count: 1,622

Tags: Devil x Worshipper, Poppy is the Devil, Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Vaguely public, Worship, Handjobs, Not beta read, Minimal dialogue

Read here on Ao3

Other notes: Poppy's appearence is based on the end of her comic, Poppy's Inferno

Disclaimer: this is fiction and not intended to be an actual depiction of these people, their actions or their relationships in real life

•··································•··································•

Since he was a little boy, Noah found himself driven to the callings of the hells, despite his peers and such's opinions on the situation leaving a rather sour taste in his mouth, the stories he’d heard of genuine love and acceptance made themselves comfy in the back of his mind and in his teenage years he’d grown even more comfortable in their company, slowly building his own altar and worshipping in his spare time. He found himself quite attached to the devil herself, the Queen of Hell, Poppy.

The temple was cool and dark and the winter air had slipped itself through the decrepit brickwork, the barely there breeze nipping at Noah’s skin. It was an old temple left to disrepair, a place of worship for the devil herself where her followers were driven out of town by members of other religions that didn’t agree with their chosen path, despite how inclusive they all claimed to be and so very, very accepting. What a bunch of bullshit. Since he was a little boy, Noah found himself driven to the callings of the hells, despite his peers and such's opinions on the situation leaving a rather sour taste in his mouth, the stories he’d heard of genuine love and acceptance made themselves comfy in the back of his mind and in his teenage years he’d grown even more comfortable in their company, slowly building his own altar and worshipping in his spare time.

From what he’d read and seen, the devil was gorgeous, with long dark hair that faded to blonde tips at her waist and eyes that were like voids in themselves and the crystal crown that tied her all together, a woman that could kill Lucifer and take his throne from beneath him. Perhaps he was in love. With the devil? Ridiculous. He was but a teenage boy seeing a gorgeous woman, it was normal to feel this way. To wish to dedicate his whole life to her, to yearn for her acceptance and approval, to craft a shrine to her in his room and attend temples to worship her, even if he wasn’t quite accepted anywhere, even those churches that claimed to accept all faith’s and views on life. Loving the Devil was a bit too out of their usual range.

As time passed it dawned on him that perhaps he wasn’t just a horny teenage boy, still in his late 20’s he found himself putting aside part of his life for her, his heart aching for the deity. It’d gotten to a point where it ruined the concept of any romance for him, any dates felt futile, a waste of time, and no one ever came close to how the devil held up in his mind.

He’d found this temple from old news articles and blog posts, a temple designed specifically to worship the devil herself, a place of worship that used to be kept with regular services and such years and years ago before the community was driven out and the place found itself abandoned with everything that resided inside being left behind. Thankfully, no one had dared to demolish it, the building still falling under the historical building code that prevented its demolition or redesign for different purposes, although the significance surrounding it usually put people off the area anyway. The bricks were starting to crumble and it was lucky the roof was still standing with the way the grout between the bricks had almost entirely disintegrated with age and violent protests against the building, thankfully only a few vandals had also taken to the place so as much as it was naturally falling apart it still remained and incredibly elegant and alluring building. Until you saw the signs of devil worship that gave the vast majority of the population the heebie-jeebies.

Yet, Noah snuck his way in, the place giving him solace and respite as he came to stand in front of the altar that still miraculously stood standing at the head of the room. Hopefully, his bandmates believed his excuse to sneak off on rehearsal day, something was clawing away at his heart today and he just knew he had to be here. He needed to see her. He needed to see Poppy. He took place at the altar, clasping his hands together as he prayed for a moment, the silence around him filling with warmth as he did. She was a merciful good, showing her appreciation and respect easily, it was clear she was still tied to this building heaving, able to connect with her subjects from such a simple gesture. Noah sighed happily, relieving himself from his prayers the warmth continued to weave its way around him and eventually made itself comfortable in his chest, burying itself under his ribcage and dispelling throughout his body.

“Poppy.”

Her voice slipped from his tongue almost sensually, the warmth that spread through him got to him and he ended up on his knees. Ah. So it was one of those times. It’d be a lie if he said he’d ever stopped loving her, it was more beyond it than he thought he’d ever be, but here he was, finding himself growing aroused by his own worship and the acknowledgment of his god. She was pleased, he could feel it, the sensations on his skin feeling like warm breath against his flesh, he swore he could hear her giggle as he grew hard, a noticeable bulge in his pants becoming more defined by the second. Thankfully, he was alone.

“Poppy-”

The warmth just skittered across his skin, she was such a tease as the sensations pooled in his stomach even deeper and his blood rushed to his cock. Noah looked around the room, he knew they were alone, she knew they were alone, but he still needed to be sure, making sure no one had followed in behind him or his bandmates had been tagging along to see what he’d really been up to, this wasn't the first time he’d called out on them and surely they were growing suspicious by now. He gently rubbed his cock through his pants, head tilted to the ceiling and his eyes fixated on the magnificent light fixtures that were well beyond their glory days.

“Is this what you want, Poppy?”

Noah swore he could hear a happy hum through the air, he had her full attention and he was ready to serve, give her all that she desired even if it was purely for her own amusement and entertainment, even if it came at his own expense, thankfully he had no shame when it came to her needs.

He rocked back onto his heels, making himself comfortable as he undid his pants and slipped his cock out, the cool air pressing into it until his internal warmth rapidly took it over and brought it to full hardness. Noah was completely lost in the love for his god already, it was ridiculous what he was doing, sitting on the cold and dusty floor of a rundown temple, pleasuring himself to the thought of the devil while winning over her appreciation. It felt good- And he’d barely touched himself. Honestly, if he stayed for long enough and let his mind wander he could probably get away with releasing hands-free, but that wasn’t his intention right now, he was on a time limit, well, at least vaguely, lest he leaves his bandmates to come looking for him which would be far from idea right now. Those thoughts quickly slipped from his mind though, laying himself back further he pressed a hand against the concrete behind him to steady himself, laying his body back further for the god to take as she pleased, he was an offering in himself and so was his body as well as his pleasure.

The brunette gripped himself firmly now, jerking up and down his sensitive cock, running a thumb over the top as it began to leak precum in just a few strokes. Oh he wasn’t going to last long, especially not with this incessant giggle in his ear and the temperature of the air around him, it felt as if he was breathing in some sort of an aphrodisiac, his senses all heightened and his touch feeling almost foreign. Pleasure sparked under his grip, he didn’t dare to touch himself anywhere else or else risk overstimulation, this pleased her and he knew it, he could feel it in his soul and his bones as his pleasure heightened with each stroke. He moved faster, hips thrusting lightly with his motions as he stared at the roof, it was as if he was making eye contact with her, the way he bore his eyes open for her, if he tried hard enough maybe he could see her, hells, his mind was cloudy enough that he just might.

“Poppy, please...”

Noah was close already, the heat rapidly becoming too much to bear as he bore himself to his devil in their own little secluded part of the world, he was for her eyes only right now. His pace grew faster as he felt his balls tighten, too close now, far too close.

“Poppy, may I?”

With that the warmth around him felt sharp, prodding at him and wrapping around him, constricting like a snake. That was her approval. The heat went straight to his dick, coiling around the base as he reached the edge, pleasure spilling over as his hips bucked up into his fist hard enough that he was sure that he left bruises on his pelvis alongside the creamy streaks that now ruined his shirt. It was such an intense sensation, it was so good- Hells, he’d never came like that before, the coiling heat feeling as if she was there, helping him cross the line and his soul slipping to the other side momentarily, he collapsed back onto the ground, the cool concrete regulating the feelings in his body as the warmth that tickled his flesh began to dissipate.

Oh, he’d never get off so well again in his life.

Perhaps that was her intention, her way of keeping him coming back to her and her alone, the Queen of Hell was a merciful god.

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hearts444karma · 1 year ago

Note

helloooo! Saw your requests are open!

Would love to request a Zali x reader where he's frustrated with something that happened during his outings as a hero. Could be either SFW or NSFW! I just wanna destress the babygirl ^_^

「　𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 ！」　☆彡　vezalius bandage

💌 : YEAAAAAAAA COMFORTING THE BABYGIRLLLL!!! there’s a snippet of angst in the beginning (if you wanna call it that-) BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT <33

in a bustling city, where heroes soared through the skies and villains lurked in the shadows, there was one medic hero who stood out among the rest – vezalius, known for his unwavering dedication to saving lives.

yet, beneath his heroic facade, zali carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. every life he couldn't save haunted him, every failure etched deep within his soul.

one particularly grueling day, where despite his best efforts, he couldn't prevent a tragedy, zali returned to his humble apartment feeling defeated and frustrated.

as he slumped onto his couch, his mind replayed the events of the day, the faces of those he couldn't save haunting him relentlessly. just then, a gentle knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"you okay in there, zali?" your voice was soft, filled with concern.

zali managed a weak smile as you entered, your presence a welcome relief. "hey, thanks for coming," he said, gratitude evident in his tone.

"saw the news. rough day?" you asked, settling beside him on the couch.

he nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. instead, he leaned into your comforting presence, finding solace in your silent support.

sensing his distress, you knew he needed a way to release his pent-up frustration. with a mischievous glint in your eye, you suggested a distraction – a game of cards, a simple yet effective way to take his mind off the day's events.

"come on, let's play something," you urged, pulling out a deck of cards from your bag.

zali hesitated for a moment before nodding, grateful for the distraction. "alright, sounds good."

as the game progressed, laughter filled the room, easing the tension that had gripped zali’s heart. with each smile that graced his lips, you felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing you were able to provide him with a moment of respite from his duties as a hero.

"this is nice," zali admitted, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

you returned his smile, feeling a warmth blossom in your chest. "yeah, it is."

as the night wore on, the atmosphere between you shifted, the air thick with unspoken desire.

"hey, zali?" you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

"yeah?" he turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

without a word, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss. in that moment, all the frustration and pain melted away, replaced by a rush of desire and longing.

in each other's arms, zali found the solace he had been searching for, the weight of the world melting away as he lost himself in you.

and as the night faded into dawn, the two of you found comfort in each other's embrace, knowing that no matter what challenges the future held, you would face them together.

"i’m glad you're here," zali whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

"always," you replied, intertwining your fingers with his. "i’ll always be here for you."

#nijien #nijisanji en #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji #.karmadelulu #vezalius bandage x reader #nijisanji krisis #krisis x reader #vezalius bandage

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lesser-mook · 1 year ago

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Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes: Not a bad film, but it wasted a lot of time to get to the villain. Proximus; not the mc but the real star of the movie. *spoilers

The best trait about the film is how it honors Caesar and Proximus' argument against humans and how Mae proved his point multiple times- and yet despite him being right, he was not better for Apekind neither.

He wanted those weapons to prevent apes from being put back in cages (namely himself) but seeing how he treated his own before the weapons, he'd be no better after he got them.

Proximus is likely the reason why most people are going to see it, the guy calls himself "Proximus Caesar" with a crown on his head was definitely my reason to watch.

He's in maybe 30% of the film, PAST the halfway mark. I shit you not, he's barely in it.

That's good for Noa because it gives him time to flesh out & develop, but an otherwise total waste of a good actor and antagonist character with so much potential who literally CARRIED the marketing.

We don't even find out where he came from.

The clips in the trailer, screencaps, and clips are the majority of his content. VERY VERY bad decision.

The one thing they got right beside how he's portrayed, mannerisms and the fact that he's right "Humans can't be trusted", is the fact that they did NOT blatantly kill him, it was very vague, we didn't see him die. He fell in the ocean, he's not dead.

How he was taken out was a little corny (Very Disney) especially when NONE of his goons made it or followed the rest to the top. but ONLY the Eagle Clan & somehow the kids too (convenient)

If they wanted to impress? Proximus would've won as far as getting the weapons but Mae, Noa & the clan still get away. Mae can still do what she was appointed to do but Proximus is now a bigger threat.

Mae was the weakest part of the movie for me, she impressed me at times (that rear chokehold being one example) but she was meh. Should've gotten an older, experienced actress with some more career mileage, some more charisma. Something.

The ending is a bit confusing as well, that virus was clearly not as potent as originally thought if what happened was truly the case for some humans. AND on top of that the Sat-coms still work? Sheesh that is mad convenient for a timeskip of SEVERAL GENERATIONS later, lmfao.

Felt like a tame hybrid of "Dawn" & "War" in one movie.

Compared to Proximus, we got a lot more of The Colonel in "War" & way earlier, the earliest we got of him was hearing his voice over a radio-com. If Proximus got more screen-time than Colonel AND he won?? The movie would've been goat status Day 1. Guaranteed.

This was a missed opportunity to hit the ground running out the gate with something risky, especially for a 4th installment in this new run. This needed something different.

Well made movie, well acted but we did not get enough time with the King of the “Kingdom” of the Planet of the Apes.

#proximus caesar #kingdom of the planet of the apes #apes #wasted potential

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shinigamimailjeevas · 1 year ago

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So I have seen a lot of 5B/6A rewrites done, but I have had a few ideas sitting in a folder for almost two years now... should I even bother with them?

Fic (A): is (supposed) to be shorter, more comical. 5B accidental fake-dating.

"Jfc Liam! You are literally sleeping with the enemy and now you're trying to convince me he's Good?" Stiles voice reaches an impressive--if also painful-octave towards the end, and if Liam wasn't rubbing his ears whilst also scurrying to offer a retort that nets him a favorable response, he would laugh.

It dawns on him, much slower than it should, that Stiles has actually given him the answer. "Yes. I- we are sleeping together. That's how I know he's not lying when he says he wants to help us. You can't manage your heart rate during sex. He couldn't lie." Of course they have engaged in no such activities and Liam has no idea if what he spouts about is true, but he only needs Stiles to believe it. Scott probably can't confirm or deny it, and with Derek and Peter out of the picture currently there really is no one qualified enough to disprove him. Theo, the unhelpful bastard, snorts softly from behind him. Thankfully too low for Stiles to hear but it makes Liam want to mule kick him. He's debating on trying when Stiles stops his anxious, rightfully furious fidgeting to bore his crazy eyes into Liam's. He forces himself not to squirm.

"Say I believe this insanity," Liam nearly collapses with relief and it is only by Theo's hand carefully touching the small of his back that prevents it, surprises him so fully he goes rigid. "Say that I think for one second you haven't been corrupted right along with him, Why? Why would he suddenly decide to help."

Liam nearly snarly in frustration. "I told you-"

"Because no one else has ever given me a chance and meant it." Theo says quietly. For once, Liam actually believes he's telling the truth. "I can't let them hurt Liam. Or Scott. Or even you, Stiles."

Stiles groans, tipping forward to shove his head into awaiting hands. His next string of words are so muffled that Liam can barely make them out but for the ending "Okay. We are calling Scott."

Liam grins.

Theo pushes him against the closet wall the second Stiles is out of the room, phone pressed to his ear as he tries to cajole Scott and the others into a meeting without expressly telling them why. Arm braced across Liam's collarbone he bares his teeth and flashes golden eyes. "We are sleeping together. That's the best you could come up with?"

Liam shoves at the slightly older and taller teen, growling when he barely manages to budge him. "I didn't see you trying to dig yourself out of that hole. Do you even want to be saved? Because I'm not seeing it." The pressure at his chest goes slack and Liam uses the chance to flip them, slam the chimera into the wall. He has to look up to catch his gaze, which has hardened. "We are in this together now. I want my pack safe and you want out from under the Dread Doctors' boots. So put your damn manipulation skills to work and help me convince them you give a shit about something other than yourself."

"You're hot when you're angry."

Liam sighs. "That's a start I guess."

-------

Fic (B): is a bit more involved and a lot darker.

Blood drips from his extended claws back into the body beneath him. Chest still heaving with exertion, still stuffed full of too much Rage, he barely has any time for hysteria to creep in as his actions—and the consequences—make themselves known. Scott's eyes flutter one last time before stilling, frozen half open as alpha red flickers and fades from his eyes. Thump thu-

What had he done? Breaths coming quicker, he shoves himself up and away, stumbling backwards in horror. He feels it as he flares his eyes, that extra boost of power only alphas contain. He tips his head back and Roars—pain, grief, and disbelief warring for dominance in the cry. The sound cuts off with a choked gurgle and searing agony. Ten points of sharp, dagger like pain explode through his back. With a swift sideways motion his spine is severed and his legs give out, dropping him to the library floor in a heap, blood spilling rapidly outwards around him.

"Well, looks like the beta with anger issues pulled through. I wasn't sure if you could do it in all honesty. Bravo." Stood above him is Theo, grin wide and mocking as he slowly claps his hands. "Now, I think I will take what's mine." Confusion barely has time to settle before Theo strikes. A clawed hand pushes into Liam and the last thing he sees as his vision wavers, grays out around the edges and goes dark- is the sinister, if a bit apologetic, twist of Theo's lips...

Liam wakes to the smell of cooking meat. His brain feels scrambled. Left hand twitching and along with it, the realization comes that he can't currently move. Why? As more senses come online and more feeling returns to his limbs he is still confused. What happened? How is he alive?

"Don't... Just don't do this to the others. Please." Head hung low, and knelt before the new alpha, Liam begs quietly. The chuckle surprises him. "Oh, Liam. Liam. Liam." A hand drops to his head, scratches lightly at his scalp, enough that he feels like a damn dog. "The others were never on my radar. Just you." Liam snaps his gaze to the older teen, wide eyed and hunted. "I never imagined the bond with alphas and betas could be so strong. And your anger burns bright and hot at all times. I wonder," Theo grabs a fistful of his hair and sharply yanks Liam's head back. "If Scott ever felt this way. Ever wanted to pin you down, strip you naked and claim you..." Theo leans into his space, breathes warmly across his lips, and Liam swallows.

"Get undressed."

Liam hesitates.

“Do it, and maybe the others will get a nice hot meal today.” The smirk thrown his way makes Liam's stomach roll, nausea and anger and utter despair- he strips off his shirt first, under the alphas ever watchful gaze.

-----

Fic (C) The final one (if we are ignoring the Thiamott time-travel one I originally had and just... haven't gotten to) is where Theo comes out of the skinwalker prison a little different. Dirt fills his mouth with earthy clods that choke his lungs when he gasps, hands and claws gripping the edge of a hole he's had to dig out of. Wildly he looks around. Confused, anxious. Where was Tara? Blue eyes. That exact shade he will never not recognize, so he barrels into Liam Dunbar, Scott's angry little beta and pins him to the nearest wall with the intention of demanding to know where is his sister. All that comes out is a snarl through parted lips. Nausea crawls up his esophagus and settles heavy in his mouth. Trying to speak floods his mouth with saliva until he is pushing away from the confused beta, to hunch over and empty his stomach. Vaguely he hears a disgusted sound, a pair of voices and feels a hesitant hand at his back. The weight is enough to sweep what little control Theo had of his body away from him, sending the chimera to his knees. The pain of his shins hitting concrete is real, so very real. More real than whatever pain he felt with the endless sessions with his sister and her hand plunging into his chest. He came back wrong. Or maybe right. It hurts to even think of speaking. So Theo doesn't.

#Poll #my polls #teen wolf fanfiction #Thiam #5B #should I do any??

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shmowder · 11 months ago

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Damn, your last work on Mark was inspiring enough for me. I remember that four years ago, when I first found out about the game he was my favorite character. My taste is awful :D

Anyway, a scenario came to my mind. Mark could be something of an incubus for reader, harassing them either for fun or to achieve endless devotion to himself (perhaps both). He would do anything to make their lives a living hell, just because he finds their fear somehow beautiful in its roughness. No one else will know about his visits, which will give the person the impression that they are going crazy, and this is all an unknown symptom of the Sand Plague. But because of the fear of becoming a "laboratory rat", reader does not dare to inform doctors about their ethereal pursuer. And one day when Mark disappears for a few days, they will suddenly realizes that they misses his sardonic presence, and will dream of meeting him again. Then their bond will become the strongest. And most painful.

🧡 anon

This concept just bonked me on the head with a cartoonishly large hammer, I have been flattened into a two-dimensional circual disk on the floor as we speak. It hit all the right spots.

Incubus Mark Immortell, that's exactly what I have been missing from my life all along. Tormentor and annoyed person who secretly enjoys it are my bread and butter.

The Devil Works Hard

[Heavy Smut, Exhibition, Near mindbreak, slight sadism]

[Top Dom Incubus Mark Immortell, GN Reader]

The coughing fit caught you off-guard, your body exerting with each forced exhale, as if your own flesh was attempting to cast your lungs out, the contrasting muscle pushed to its limits with each breath.

It took you by surprise, the so-called angel aiming for you much like an arrow reaching for its mark. You barely had a moment to react, and by the time the realisation dawned on you, the plague particles had already seeped into your skin, weaved through your lungs and made itself at home inside your skull.

All the preventive methods you've diligently upkept, all the protective clothes you've adorned, all the effort you've put in.

Planning each route you'd take, carefully sidestepping the infected areas unless absolutely necessary, avoiding the mainstream streets and cautiously taking the back alleys and grassy routes where it's less crowded.

All gone to waste in a mere split second, a coin toss of fate, a blind swing that landed bullseye.

In the following days, the symptoms started making themselves known as the plague took a liking to you, sealing your fate.

Sweat droplets rolled down your forehead before you could wipe them away, a fever spreading fast throughout your whole body, setting your skin ablaze.

It felt like you were melting into the mattress below, becoming one with the cotton sheet.

Summoning all that remained of your strength to extend your arm, you attempted to reach the glass atop the nearby nightstand. Fingers trembling, your throat closing in on itself as your eyes pored at the water inside with.

Fingertips grazing the side of the glass, its cool surface a small relief in contrast to your boiling blood.

Just as you were about to wrap your greedy fingers around it, a flash of red slapped it out of your loose grip, sending the glass wobbling over the edge of the nightstand alongside your hopes and dreams before the sharp sound of shattering roared through the room like a flash of thunder.

"You poor thing."

A voice—not the plague's; higher in pitch, clear, mocking—came from the edge of your bed.

The first thing you noticed about this...creature wasn't its long thin tail, nor the wide horns sprouting from its forehead. It wasn't the devil-like wings spread proudly on display emitting from its back or the elongated nails resembling sheathed claws.

It was his smirk, thin lips forming a menacing smile, without any razor-sharp teeth in sight, straight instead, human-like, lively, mocking.

Oh, you think, have you gone crazy? You must have if your hallucinations were this vivid.

"You have not." The creature–"Director, you mean. Mr. Immortell would suffice as well." Said.

Oh, you think, it—

"He." Mark corrected.

—He was reading your thoughts.

Was he a symptom of the plague, too? Out of the three healers that visited you daily with antibiotics, not a single one mentioned this stage of the disease.

"Which makes you an anomaly case." His smile, which you thought was already stretched wide enough, somehow deepened even more. "If the Bachelor doesn't melt your brain with his experimental medicine and prodding, then the Haruspex might just drag you onto the nearest surgery table and dig through your guts, or would our beloved miracle maker see you as a befitting sacrifice, a lamb sent by the gods, a crucial part in achieving her grand design."

Your guest kindly explained your current predicament with self-assured confidence as if he knew those three personally.

"Because I do, I've tailored each part to befit this story. You, on the other hand...." In the blink of an eye, a literal blink, he was on top of you. "....were an accident, a pathetic one at that. You really didn't see that cloud coming? You could've just stood in place to make it disappear, but even that was too hard for your brain to follow; you just had to shake in fear and become another burden on our already exhausted heros."

Pale blue eyes stared into your own, an expecting look demanding you explain yourself. Immortell's gaze making you feel impossibly small underneath him, akin to a child in trouble called out by their teacher in front of the whole class.

Frozen in place, your attempt to evade his gaze was deemed rather unimpressive by him.

One of his claws trailed upwards your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Caressing your jaw, digging into your bottom lip before–"suck"—his thumb forced its way into your mouth, pressing down your tongue, claw almost touching the back of your throat, an inch away from triggering your gag reflex.

Your glare only furthered the look of satisfaction on his face as you obeyed his order, shame dusting your reddening cheeks as you sucked his thumb, feeling it rub against your tongue.

"I could've simply removed you from the stage, burned your script, and wrote your part out. You were never that significant. A nameless faceless background character meant to only fill in the void, to give the illusion of a lively town."

The director made space for himself between your legs, spreading your thighs open as he pressed flush against you. Only the thin layer of clothes remained, a final separation line between–"Those must go."–the room air felt refreshing against your bare skin, alas that feeling was short-lived as another body heat joined yours, skin against skin, you felt a hardness pressing between your spread thighs.

"But here I am, offering you a second chance. I don't believe there is such a thing as bad actors, only untrained ones. A punishment is in order to discipline you, it's the duty of a director to look after his cast. Diamonds can only be forged under extreme pressure."

You couldn't speak. You couldn't talk, not with his thumb plugging your mouth. Only whine and drool around it. Lay down and take all that which he gives you.

"You're here by choice; you signed that contract." He reminded you, "You wanted to become part of something greater than your skin, desperate for any role in this play, to finally amount to something."

The head of his cock pressed against your dry–"wet"— soaking wet hole, sliding inside with ease after the long hours of preparation it took to get it to this stage.

Your body welcomed the intrusion, clenching around his cock each time it'd slide out as if attempting to pull it back inside, begging to be completely filled.

The more Mr. Immortell's hips rocked against your own with slow rhythmic thrusts, the more your body became pliant, desperate to obey and cater to his every whim.

Your own hips moved with a mind of their own, meeting his thrusts halfway, taking his cock down to the hilt.

Having to look into his eyes each time you clench down on him, sadistic eyes filled with delight at witnessing you wallow in shame.

Much to your horror–and embarrassment mostly–an orgasm was fast approaching, your body sensitivity increased ten folds. Squirming underneath him, mindlessly sucking on his finger as your insides warmed his cock.

Pleasure invading all of your senses, clenching every muscle on your body as you lower half spasmed, thighs shaking with the mess you were making. Staining the sheets below, a white fog clouding your brain from the sheer euphoria, unbridled pleasure only made bittersweet by the fact it was received through the most slow and simple sex you've ever heard.

"You don't deserve effort, that's why. Look at how easily you crumbled. Even in bed, you can't hold your own."

He didn't finish, of course he didn't finish, hard cock pulling out with a pop. Your stomach churns at the realisation you will miss out on his cum—that thought is so abrupt and jarring. Is it even your own? You'd never-

"Yes, it is." The director confirms your fears, "I've done very little besides ease your body. Everything else, every single thing so far, has been purely you."

His thumb finally grants you mercy and retreats from your mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting it to your lips before it falls apart.

"I believe in allowing actors their creative liberties." he elaborated more.

With that as his signal to leave, dissipate into thin air like a mirage. Leaving you questioning the very fabric of reality, if this all was a fever dream.

Yet your skin feels as normal as ever, your forehead isn't burning and—oh, he took your fever with him, in a sick twist of fate.

You're not granted the mercy of plausible deniability.

In the following week, Mr. Immortell became a frequent visitor. A constant in your life that's inconsistent with his timing as he tends to materialise out of seemingly nothing whenever the whim strikes.

Others can't see him, you found out. It didn't help the feeling of embarrassment as you attempted to keep a straight face while he littered your neck with bites and kisses, sucking against the tender spots, shamelessly whispering filth into your ears.

You also found out that your role wasn't as insignificant as he made it seem. A lot of rather crucial scenes demanded your presence, infected or not.

Each one of them was an opportunity for this devil to test your limits. To have you endure your punishment, hands travelling under your clothes, groping your intimate areas as you attempted to keep a civil conversation with the other actors.

Dutifully delivering your rehearsed lines as his fingers were knuckles deep inside you, going in and out, setting a cruel pace. It took all of your willpower to not stutter through every word, to suppress your moans in-between sentences, to not cum in a room filled with people watching your every move.

Each test you passed was only setting new standards for the upcoming one, expectations rising as he pushed and pushed. Extending the line beyond the snapping point and wearing it thin.

You were bent over furniture, made to take him anywhere and anytime.

Cornered against walls in alleyways, ordered on your knees as he filled your mouth with his cock.

Despising the way it tasted better than any dessert you've ever had, how expertly he trained your throat to take all of him without a fuss.

The promise of his cum had you chasing after its taste, eagerly licking stripes along the underside, peppering the head with kisses. Stuffing your mouth full of his cock, looking up to meet his gaze through your clumped together eyelashes and wet eyes.

He got off to your suffering, there was no doubt in that. The way his tail would swish around, pushing his cock deeper each time, watching you continue to please him even as he cut off your air circulation.

By the time he was anywhere close to finishing, your knees were bruised from staying on the ground for so long. The heat between your legs aching and left neglected for what seemed like hours.

Your reward finally arrived in the form of hot cum pouring down your throat, not letting you waste a drop as you struggle to swallow it all.

Did it have magical properties? It must have from the way its mere taste was enough to ease all the discomfort away from your body. Sending an electric pleasure through your core, seeping like honey into your brain, rewiring it whole.

Forcing a climax out of you, cumming whilst fully clothed, untouched, and with a mouthful of cock, on your knees.

Not that this was out of the ordinary, ever since your punishment started you've lost count of the amount of times you were made to cum, the euphoric release growing more intense each time. Threatening to melt your brain, make you lose your mind for good this time around.

The addicting pleasure, tantalising you with its promises, leaving you with a most cruel withdrawal in its aftermath.

Acting has become a second nature, your role a second skin, your character persona intertwining within your own. The script is your bible. The stage is your home.

Was he proud? Was he satisfied? It was hard to tell.

It was impossible to surpass his expectations; his standards are as high as the hanged constellations above.

But you desperately seeked his approval, eagerly obeyed every word, poured your heart into ever scene, surrendered your body to him during the breaks.

A demon's appetite was bottomless, a neversated desire to milk every possible reaction out of you. Get on your nerves enough times to fry them, either he ends up with an obedient devoted doll that adheres to his every word, or you finally prove yourself to be the gem amidst the mud he's been searching for.

At least he kept your symptoms at bay, even as the daily delivery of antibiotics stopped as the healers' rations ran dry, nearing the end of the story.

Stalling the sickness, a constant game of tug as it would increase in severity only for the taste of his lips to put the monster back to sleep.

He could make it vanish with a snap of his finger; this whole world is a mere product of his creation, fluid reality he swirls around with the sharp tip of his claw.

It was maintained on purpose, a part of your punishment. Akin to a collar around your neck, tightening with each day, reminding you of your past misdeeds, never allowing you the luxury of forgetting.

On the thirteenth day, you wake up to the sound of cannons firing off. Far in the distance, humanity's greatest achievement comes crashing down, bested by gunpowder and one little spark.

The miracle tower is no more. The church's bells ringing echoes through the vacant town. Devoid of kids, one half of the population slept in their homes with the doors locked tight, the other half cradled in graves. A barren, rotten womb.

The stage lights are set, and everyone takes their place, ready for the finale.

It doesn't go smoothly, the director is nowhere to be found. Roles are mixed up, and scripts are lost. People forget their lines. One of the healers' actors got into a fist fight with their replacement.

Despite the chaos, the show must go on. Everyone powers through it, improvising on the spot, aiding each other, and sharing responsibilities. Lights operators come down to help set designers with touch-ups, wardrobe crew filling in for the stage crew.

You're given a lightly used bottle of ketchup—they ran out of fake blood, someone mistook it for bagged tomato soup and moved it to the freezer, it was a whole incident—and told to go help set the visuals on the third letter courier before the Haruspex reaches him.

By sheer will, determination, and sweeping any mistakes under the proverbial carpet—the canons which went off way too early before their due time, causing a great shortage in staff as half of them were forced to abandon their duties and go help put together the polyhedron prop piece by piece—The day is finally finished, the last line has been said, the fate of the town was decided.

And the director is still nowhere in sight.

...

It was eerily quiet without him, the unnerving lack of his now familiar presence. The plague has long left the town alongside your body, so why did the air feel so thick and slimy?

Did you pass the test?

Was he finally proud of you?

Were you going to see him again?

That obnoxious smirk haunted your mind, that irritating voice that easily found its way under your skin no matter the occasion.

Those horns you held onto each time he lifted you against the wall.

Your hips wrapped around him as his wings engulfed you in a bubble of safety, offering you the slimmest of privacy as they narrowed your view to him only, condensing your world down to just the two of you.

The epilogue starts. You're not part of it. None of the npcs are. You watch from behind the curtains.

Fear churns in your stomach as the scenes come and go and there is still not a single hint of the director in sight.

The theatre scene is nearing...

He couldn't have abandoned his cast–abandoned you...could he?

"Of course not."

A voice—not the Tragedians'; deeper in pitch, clear, mocking—came from next to you.

You anticipate a hand around your waist, a pat on your shoulder, a tap on your head, a grip on your throat, even a kiss, anything at all!

What you do not anticipate, however, was the tender hug you're pulled into.

He doesn't need to say it–you've done well–his smile is telling enough already. A very subtle change you've learned to pick up on.

You proved yourself.

“That you have. Now tell me, who are you?”

You're transferred back to the casting stage, the tryouts trial as he asked you the very same question.

You gave your name, he wasn't satisfied.

You claimed your character's, he reminded you the role is nameless.

“You must have figured out the answer by now.” his voice taunting, two fingers gripping your chin, directing your face towards him.

“Who are you?”

He repeats.

You'll be anything he wants you to, you realise, you're ready to take on any role no matter how difficult, to memorise a million scripts, to become as fluid as water adjusting to the shape of any container it's placed within.

“And what does that make you?”

His. It makes you his.

There is no collar around your neck, no contract holding you back. You're as free as a bird, so why do you still find yourself eager to eat from his hand?

But you don't get to entertain these thoughts much before his lips meet yours, melting your brain with each swirl of his tongue, reminding you of the pliant, obedient role you must play by his side.

#♧x reader #♧mark #Mark Immortell x reader #Pathologic x reader #♧smut #pathologic smut #x reader #♧🧡 anon

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bellsplit · 2 years ago

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` ❅ || fallesto. » ( FROM. )

a single eye cracks open to greet the dawn, even though he can't actually stand in the sun. a yawn to initiate the awakening of his mind is given, flashing the full length of wicked fangs that had been tucked away so neatly the night before, never once ghosting against his beloved's skin. the rough pads of inked fingers press against that scarred skin with a foreign sweetness, careful when they touch anything that feels swollen or warmer than usual to indicate the presence of a bruise. there's a slow tilt of his head so he can pillow his striped cheek against the crown of fiery hair that rests against his chest, which noticeably sinks as he exhales a long, bone—deep, weary sigh.

" ...mm ... you weren't supposed to hear that, kyojuro. "

he'd genuinely thought the slayer to still be deeply asleep when he'd idly said that — you're all that's left, we can't live this lie forever. it's an honest admission, painfully so, & the lie is not these feelings that are blossoming between them ... feelings that had driven him to prevent the execution of the closest thing that he'd ever felt that he could call friend. no, the lie is the farce that they'll be able to carry on like this, with their backs turned on either side of a war that's raged on in secrecy for centuries.

that man could kill him in an instant. akaza knows it, but he isn't so sure that kyojuro knows it too.

the oni shifts a little when his lover momentarily sits up to stretch, taking the opportunity to move just a bit closer to the center of their shared futon to soak up kyojuro's warmth as another yawn bares his fierce maw to the faint glow of his eyes. leave it to kyojuro to have remembered to block up each crack in the little house to prevent any shafts of light from getting in ... he's endlessly grateful for that amount of care. the idea of being touched by the sun again is not one that he relishes. that's why he gives a painfully fond smile when the pillar lays back down, easing an arm beneath him & resting his chin atop his head once more — for the first time in his long life, someone is doing something kind for him without expecting to get something in return.

kyojuro ... cares about him. it's something that the oni had never expected to come to terms with, nor is it something that he's certain that he deserves. but akaza doesn't dwell on that, choosing instead to angle his head & look down at the human couched so comfortably against his side. demons do not sleep, no, but after last night's ... events ... the crescent moon had been so comfortable beneath kyojuro's warm weight that he'd allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts.

he's never ... made love to anyone before.

sex is usually a boring affair for akaza. with lesser demons it's always the same attempts to curry favor, bodies offered for him to destroy in their master's name ; however, the brutalist treatment of his own body by the two kizuki above him to keep him in his place is so wretched that he refuses down to his last cell to remember it. but with kyojuro ... everything had felt different. electrified, his heart pounding in his chest, his nerves singing ... alive, just like when he uses his blood demon art, only ten times heightened.

" kyojuro. i'm the one who will do all the fighting, got it? you just focus on getting yourself right so we can keep going. "

he shifts when his lover rises to look at him, but the weight on his chest & behind kyojuro's singular gaze pins him firmly in place. cornered, like kyojuro had been that night in the courtyard beneath the pouring rain & vicious allegations levied against him. powerless against the forces working against him, unable to escape what the powers that be had deigned to be his fate.

& yet ... akaza had intervened. akaza had stepped in knowing that it wasn't his place, knowing that this would end in nothing but tragedy.

inked fingers brush against kyojuro's left cheek & up so he can cradle it in his cool palm, a gesture that he'd only ever seen in passing & never actually been able to do. hm. it feels ... nice, even if this is only a fleeting respite from the cursed path that they have to walk down. after all, that man can choose to destroy him at any time ... can't he? it's been far too quiet lately ... there's no way that his master doesn't know what he's done.

it hangs heavy over him, his personal sword of damocles.

" i just—— i can't risk losing you. "

#fallesto #` ❅ || ᴛ ʀ ᴜ s ᴛ ғ ᴀ ʟ ʟ . » ( V001.2. )#` ❅ || ғᴀʟʟ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴀʀ. » ( CONTENT WARNING. )#has to make this extra sappy.

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madcatdaderpydrawer-blog · 2 years ago

Note

Solstaire’s used to it, just like Clipsy. And Lunara fortunately did not see. Things would’ve gone much worse if he’d seen. I did, actually, mean physically poking him as well as verbally. Peanut’s getting his tummy poked while Lunara tries to dig into his trauma. The ray won’t be perfect, because it’s made of scraps, but it’s either that or Lunara trying to fix it. And Lunara fixing it is a bad idea.

Poor Piper, having to explain the actual serial killers in the sewer. And the fact that there’s a new Bloodmoon under construction in there. And then Pyroclas, scoops him with all four arms and nuzzles him mid-explanation, purring loudly. It looks up at them and announces “You weren’t Moon’s. Ours now. It’s free family!” While rubbing its cheek against Piper’s face like a cat.

The MR’s are just… horrified. Their first experience with other dimensions, and it’s learning about Clipsy’s dimensions. Moon, Eclipse, KC, and Solar Flare scramble to try and figure out how to blacklist dimensions. Earth and Lunar hug them and tell them they’re safe now. Bloodmoon want to fight the bad Moon. And Sun offers to take Clipsy to P&S to get that ray fixed.

Toddlunar will be calling Peanut “Bubba” by dawn. The other kids will follow suit by the end of the week. Congrats to Peanut for becoming a big brother.

Torp tells Clipsy that if he wants, he can do whatever to the security. It’s one of Moon’s old bunkers, so it should already have some nasty defenses. He just needs to patch him and Peanut into the system.

Antumbra pouts. He’ll still be a bitch to Clipsy, but he won’t go for the throat anymore. Peanut gets much more pleasant treatment, but Antumbra’s default is sarcastic bastard.

“Buddy, as someone who’s died before, been betrayed before, been tortured before, and been Moon before, and as someone who actually goes to *honk*ing therapy, I can tell you, with certainty, that you are very traumatized. Just take the *honk*ing bed.”

Clipsy is snickering in the background while Peanut struggles hard not to laugh from the repeated tummy pokes. XD trying to answer whatever questions he’s asking about his past while also barely preventing himself from bursting into giggles. It’s barely working too, because it’s clear he’s trying to stifle his giggles. He is not hiding his ticklish ness well.

Piper pats Pyroclasm on the head as best as he can, explaining that it likes to collect children from people who don’t seem to deserve/want them. And that it’s what happened to him as well.

Peanut gives him a “I told you so” look and tells Clipsy that he knew that would freak them out and he just grumbles that he didn’t mean to. He didn’t realize it sounded so bad when he thought it up in his head, he just wanted them to be informed!

Oh he’d absolutely love being called big brother!! He’s used to being the younger sibling so being the older one for once would be so exciting!

Clipsy will definitely take up his offer to check the security, if not just to ease his own paranoia. He knows if it’s one of moons bunkers it’s likely pretty secure but better safe than sorry.

Peanut finds the snarky bastard personality slightly amusing, Clipsy can tolerate it. His default is usually on passive aggressive dick with strangers so he gets it.

So much of that statement would leave them very confused as to what the fuck happened in this dimension. But they can unpack all that later, resting is definitely the priority

#sams au #trapped forever au #good tf eclipse #crossover stuff

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multipleoccupancy · 8 months ago

Text

Violet did indeed get to show him her souvenirs from the other timeline and she did eventually get to show off her flourish with a knife and at one point a gun. Theo had to hide how cool he thought it was behind a barely passible mask as he lectured her on gun safety after she had shown him at the range.

A week went by peacefully with some party planning for Violet's birthday and a few days out with the family at the weekends. But one night, while Theo was leaving the office he found he was assaulted, a bucket of blood was thrown over him on the street and in his terror and confusion he'd found himself beaten senseless with a blunt object as he tried desperately to get the blood off of him. He did not come to in time to prevent himself being thrown into the back of a small van and taken off the street.

Needless to say, Theo did not make it home that night and nor did Andrea have any warning text from him explaining where he was and not to worry. So naturally she was worried sick. She had called in that he had not come home and as a result over night Manhattan seemed to have descended into chaos when a vicious car chase took place through the streets leaving many roads blocked off. CCTV footage of a man carrying the bucket of blood moments before the attack was shown on the local news channel as the police tried to track Theo down. Though it was a poor and grainy image, the frame, build, slightly agape mouth and animated movements could leave little doubt that it was Sloane.

When dawn broke, Theo still had not been found.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet blushed a little bit more at the praise, happy that her story had impressed her dad. She could imagine it had worried him, too. But he seemed enthusiastic, which made her beam at him. "I'm thinkin' the knife I gave you has the same properties," she exclaimed, particularly excited to tell him that it seemed he would be safe from Hounds now, as long as he had the Hound shard with him.

"I'm so happy to be back," she replied, before chuckling at what her dad had been dreaming about while she was off in Cowboy Land. "You must be cravin' pizza then," she teased. And then realised she hadn't eaten pizza in six months! "I'm kinda cravin' it too, now. I taught Andrea how to make my favourite, sweet an' sour pork, and she loved it so much she cooked it a lot. But I haven't had pizza in six months."

She blushed a little bit more when she realised she had been talking to her dad for about an hour. "I've been ramblin'," she chuckled, "I'm just so excited to see you. I've missed you so much! Oh, and I've got some really cool tricks to show ya'!" She was of course impatient to show off her brand new shooting skills, not to mention all the fancy flourish Theo had taught her.

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au

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antics-pedantic · 1 year ago

Text

RALLY CO. #9: THE ASHES OF ALDRAGAR

Last time, on Rally Co….

The crime-lord sorcerer Othulok, nemesis of world-renowned occult detective Solomon Callahan, attacked the Rally Co. team directly at home with help from the assassins Giligan Diligent and Othulok’s own unwilling thrall, known only as ‘The Wrap.’ When Tycho and Esme struggled against the assassins, Solomon used deadly magic—not unlike those of Othulok’s to save them. In the process, revealing that he in fact was once a follower of Othulok himself!

With assistance from Blockhouse the construct and vigilante treasure-hunter The Junker, Rally Co. was able to repel the attack. Now, the group races to deprive Othulok from the secrets of the ancients, to prevent him from conquering the world.

Some years prior…

The antechamber was filled with an eerie glow, from bowl torches atop tall golden stands. There were people here, worshipping: Wearing ancient-styled garb over their modern finery. Just then, a wholly separate group would burst in: Two prominent figures taking the charge included a shorter man with messy reddish hair and a full beard, clad in a wrinkled suit with a bow tie and white labcoat, red in the face with consternation. And accompanying him was a Pakistani woman drawing a service revolver, fending off one of the cultist minions. In the process, an INTERPOL-sanctioned special task force badge she wore on her jacket’s front pocket was damaged, just barely deflecting a dagger.

“It’s over!” exclaimed the youthful Inspector Malika Basra. “We’ve finally tracked you down. A hundred of your followers couldn’t stop us now!”

A figure in a cloak, and a Roman-style helmet stood up from his throne overlooking the ceremony area in the center. The stone sarcophagus lay there, being adorned with offerings and marks of power in codes even the most seasoned linguist would be hard-pressed to find commonality with in all known languages.

“And what may I ask, do you think Rally Co. could possibly do now? You’ve only turned the tide so many times at the dawn of this hideous war that plagues the continents. If you should even stand a chance—”

“IF!” howled Malika’s companion, one Professor George Edward Gallagher. “That ‘if’ sir, is the highest degree offensive! For that, I’ll feed ye the plume off yer helmet!”

The leader of the secret society sneered, before rising to face them: He removed his helmet, revealing a dark brown mane with a grey streak through the middle, and eyes for whom the surrounding skin showed off coal-black veins, from improperly practiced necromancy. Spells stolen from various corners of the globe.

“You troglodytes. There is a new world on the way. One where the things that live in hallowed lore and darkness will no longer tolerate mankind’s arrogance!” thundered the mysterious leader, as he extended his free hand and used it to gather some mystical power. “I’ve simply leapt forward before I could be struck down as well.”

He fired lightning from his fingertips to stave off the adventurers and investigators that came to challenge him, before directing another arc at the sarcophagus.

“And I, Solomon Callahan, the Acolyte Absolute shall wield the very powers of the ancients to do so! I will succeed the dread shame, Othulok!”

The airplane reached Switzerland by dark. Felix Basra pinched her russet-brown nose ridge, wishing she could deal with the jet lag enough to properly call her aunt Malika.

“Should have taken some milk of magnesia like I suggested. I never board an aeroplane without one! Your friend was much wiser--” proclaimed Malika. Felix listened to her go on for a while, fretting over every little thing. “--And your girl Georgia keeps insisting on staying with me until you return, you know.”

“Yes, Malika auntie.” sighed Felix. “I’ll let her know in just a moment not to heckle you too badly: You know as well as I do she just wants to make a good impression. No problems with your health? I hope you’re still exercising.”

“Bah! For what? The most excitement I have anymore is telling old stories to dime novelists. I don’t think they really know I change up the details each time so they argue with one another afterwards.”

Felix burst out laughing. She was liable to hurt her sides.

“That is devious!”

“Nothing less!”

But then, there was silence. It had not been very long since the sorcerer crime lord known as the Golden Shadow had mounted an attack on Rally Co.’s base of operations—their home. And in the process, they also revealed a shocking secret of the man who owned the estate, and served as their mentor: Solomon Callahan.

“How are you all doing, my little snoop?”

“Don’t call me that.” said Felix. Normally she loved when Malika called her that, but this hardly felt like the time for jokes. “Solomon called you before we left, didn’t he?”

“… He told me everything. Hung up before I could tell him to wait up for me. And now here you are, off to the Alps.”

“How?”

“How what, child?”

“How did he… he followed the teachings of our greatest enemy. How the devil can you bring someone like that into the fold?”

There was silence again. Though this time it was diffused by a low hum.

“We deathly needed someone who knew magic, ESP, weird things no ordinary soul had mastered. But past that he was a terrible headache to work with, in those early days. The only thing that really kept us together was the fact that everyone was doomed unless we kept at it. Then he cleaned up, and then… well. We trusted him to be a teacher of all things.”

“Your own children, we became his students.”

“Yes. Oh—here’s Georgia.”

Before Felix could say anything else, her aunt passed the phone off to her sweetheart.

“Malika told me some of what’s going on. It seems a bit hasty, but… you’ll be alright? I haven’t even had the chance to meet your new friends yet, you’ve all just been so busy with your modern-day round table and your chivalrous ways.”

Felix chuckled.

“You make it sound so romantic.”

“That’s the job, isn’t it? Being in love and all.”

“Of course. I’ll phone again after we’re settled in, before we make the climb.”

Felix said her goodbyes. The first up was a short Irishman, currently weaponizing his grouchiness into resolve: His was a messy head of hair with full sideburns on his cheeks, that self-proclaimed ‘muscle’ of the group as well as its resident cryptozoologist, Tycho Gallagher.

“The others?”

Tycho nodded aside: A taller woman with umber-toned skin was fidgeting—usually cheery, bio-chemist Esmerelda Broughton was currently in desperate need of a good coffee blend. She was accompanied by a shorter figure whose sleepless eyes were a more common occurrence compared to Esme’s jet lag woes, the psychic Katrina Kafka.

“And I says ye should have gotten yer own milk of magnesia!” said Tycho, waving a blue bottle where he kept the relieving drug that helped settle his stomach during the flight.

“Woe!” scoffed Esme. “As I have to share a laboratory and travels with you—you miserable little combination of an orangutan and an emperor penguin!”

Usually, Felix and the others would eventually break up the rivalry’s bickering. But this time, Rally Co. was too overwhelmed with the goal ahead. Katrina gestured to Felix, who shared with her some of the local currency so that she might purchase more medicine, water bottles, whatever they needed to ease the difficulty of travel this time. With that done, the group’s serious-minded leader stepped aside to wait next to an old-fashioned telephone booth, one in a row. There were also a couple of teletype computer terminals for public use among the booths as well, uses ranging anywhere from a mere digital typewriter to transferring essential data over long range, once the terminal was rented out. Or simply for a brief amusement, if any pinball machines or vigor testers were not available.

“Updates.”

Solomon Callahan, esteemed occult detective these days—formerly a dread magician, pulled out a notepad with which he copied some details.

“The ruins of a castle in the mountain terrain. Snowcapped… drenched in rumors.”

“Ghost stories as well, no doubt.”

Solomon didn’t much enjoy this. Felix was usually more enthusiastic to discuss matters with him pertaining to their latest mystery or adventure as the Rally Co. group. But the circumstances of their last epic had created a considerable rift. The group had always known Solomon to be a practitioner of magic. But recently they had discovered that he commanded deadly powers similar to those of their collective nemesis, the immortal crime lord, Othulok.

“What significance is our destination, Callahan?” said Felix, tilting her head. “Or should I say Acolyte Absolute? Self-styled enemy of the modern world, and all.”

Solomon looked aside to see if anyone heard that, before sighing.

“Felix. The matter at hand: I have the utmost certainty from my colleagues in academia that the late Lord Aldragar Covington’s personal collection housed ancient relics, and rudimentary machinations salvaged from the darkest corners of the Earth.”

“What in particular do you suppose the Golden Shadow—Othulok, wishes to acquire from there?”

“A rare ore, Felix. My colleagues called it by a certain name: Orichalcum.”

He looked to Esme, beckoning her over. Not only did she have a background as a prodigious chemist, but it was under Solomon’s tutelage that they studied findings pertaining to the alchemists of old.

“That’s the stuff.” said Esme with a nod. “They say if there ever was an ancient locale like all that science fiction about Atlantis, they had a few tricks like that. Orichalcum is supposed to be a miracle metal. You could send heat or an electric current through it, and even a small amount could return the force multiplied. How they refined any of the ore is beyond me at the moment. But if anyone does have the stuff…”

“It would be dangerous. Message received.” said Felix with a nod. “Let’s get our things at the hotel and move as soon as possible. If such a thing exists, it cannot be allowed into the hands of that sorcerer, devil dog that he is.”

Felix waved to Tycho and Katrina, who were gathering up suitcases.

“Tycho, my friend?” said Katrina, holding a case close, and dragging a couple of others along with her telekinesis. “Might I ask you something troubling? Before we are to be in earshot of the others again.”

Tycho could see Esme and Solomon going to hail a taxi outside. The stalwart cryptozoologist nodded to the girl.

“When you saw Monsieur Callahan use his magicks… what was it like?”

Tycho scratched his head. Suddenly he regretted agreeing. But only halfway: He cared too much for his friends not to try.

“Thing of it is sister, that I’ve grown up treading the grasses of the wilderness in all sorts’er places with dear old ma and pa. In them wilds I got a pretty good sense for determining danger, as animals often give warning. And mortal-folk… well, folk react some kinda way to the defeatin’ of an enemy. That, and one other thing.”

Tycho performed a sort of dramatized hypnotic gesture, as a stage illusionist might gesture at a box where they pretended to saw their assistant in half.

“The magic Solomon used before that was always pretty tame-like. Our pal Ribeye Renzo and even that weirdo The Wrap didn’t have nothin’ that potent. The mystic arts just aren’t practiced like they used to… it’s only been against Othulok he’s really gone all out. Ye didn’t hear me complaining, fightin’ fire with fire an’ all. But when he damn near killed that assassin, Giligan Diligent, it was like he’d come back to his hometown to settle accounts with fellers what crossed him.”

Katrina looked forlorn. Tycho nudged her.

“Chin up, will ya?”

Katrina sniffled. “Does it not bother you?”

“Yeah, it bothers me plenty!” huffed Tycho. “But I’m gonna wait an’ see for a while. Just like I did when Felix ran off to try to get revenge on her own. Or when you went all out with your ESP. And of course, whenever yers truly has to rip some joker a new one for callin’ him funny names. Tumultuous is practically our middle name!”

She finally chuckled. Tycho offered a snicker of his own, as they made for the doors to the street outside.

The trek up the mountains was unpleasant for all. The whole of Rally Co. were bundled up in heavy winterwear, boots with ice cleats and thick parka jackets with face masks and goggles. Felix and Tycho had climbing axes and gear if they needed to traverse the troublesome terrain. The early morning sunlight shined on the white snow, making everything terribly bright. At least until they arrived at the castle, majority of the estate being in ruins.

Solomon went up to the entrance arch, where one of the doors had fallen and biting winds could enter at night. Entire sections of the walls had their bricks blasted apart. Felix and Esme took to points of impact for a forensic examination. Tycho was lighting a fire in a spot where they could set down some of their things. Katrina was feeling around with her sixth sense, telepathically probing for any presence living or dead. Some hidden trap that might prove fatal if they accidentally activated a pressure plate or other mechanism. And course most importantly, if there were any remaining samples of the orichalcum and the strange machinery that utilized it. She was so intent on her goal, Katrina wandered off into the darkness.

There, she found a small bead. She levitated it towards her hand with telekinesis, not touching it with her hand until she knew it was safe. Unfortunately, as the decaying hands reaching out from the shadows indicated, it was not safe whatsoever.

She did everything she could to keep the fright she felt inside. The cold didn’t help at all. And in a split-second she immediately launched the undead assailant into the wall with a sickening ‘SPLAT!’ that seemed to echo throughout the hall. She readied herself in the event of others, and she did see two more of these ghoulish servants sauntering around. Mindlessly, one more outwardly rotten than the other. It was as if whatever directed them was no longer all there.

Seeing that the threat was low, Katrina hurried back to look for the others. She’d startled Tycho just as he was putting on some coffee, the liquid nearly sloshing out of the aluminum pot as he slapped it aside.

“KATRINA!” howled Tycho, catching the rubber gripped handle with his opposite hand, then nursing the slapping palm that had briefly swatted at the heated metal portion. “What the devil are ye doing, sister?!”

“I would not be hurried if it wasn’t important, Tycho!”

The others hurried back over to listen as well. Katrina pointed back to the direction she went investigating, and the entire group went together. Tycho and Esme kept themselves trained on the two undead that remained, while Felix and Solomon examined the body of the one Katrina had squashed. Still, they found nothing there or around the castle to work with. Until Felix beckoned for Katrina to provide the small bead she had acquired. Stepping past Esme and Tycho, she held out her hand, and the ghoulish servants seemed to respond to the bead, as though it were of some importance.

“A miniscule little thing like this bead can’t be much on its own, can it?” said Felix to herself, while Tycho shoved off one of the roaming undead. It was at that point that the aspiring detective tossed the bead with some force. The ghoulish servants hurried to catch it, and when it landed, a small shockwave knocked them off their feet.

“The orichalcum!” said Solomon, preparing a small leather pouch from within his coat to contain the bead. “Yes, it makes sense: I recall a study suggesting that the ancients carried it in this smaller form.”

“As what, some kinda funny money?” said Tycho. Esme just sneered at him.

“Hardly! Think of it, my hirsute little colleague: The orichalcum is easier to carry this way. You could gather several beads, but their worth is too great to distribute like coins. I believe that they carried these around to activate their mechanisms.”

“Like what? Like our tellerphones and such?” mused Tycho, half-mockingly.

“Mm. Perhaps more in the realm of secure doors, like on a vault for example. They could use a heavier door because they could afford the energy to move such a thing around. In regards to other technologies, let’s keep it strictly to theory, shall we?”

“It ought t’make discovering they’ve got damnable death rays layin’ about all the more pleasant!”

Solomon took the bead at last, once Esme was finished looking it over. Of course, when they returned, they found their campfire had been put out: Behind the smoke was a robed figure. Collectively, everyone seemed to notice two boar-like tusks sticking out of his mouth, and it caused the whole Rally Co. group to prepare for battle. All save for Solomon Callahan.

“Lord Aldragar. I thought you had died.”

The boar-like tusks retracted, and the castle master lowered his hood. He was even paler than Katrina, his hair maintained save for a few stray strands that would not stay put. Like the very image of an old time English gentleman, if frayed at the edges.

“This… is no deception? Is that you, acolyte?”

Solomon frowned at the name, while the Rally Co. team all looked over to their mentor. Yet another secret of his that had come to light.

“Everyone. I would like to introduce to you Lord Aldragar Covington. Another mastermind of ill-intentions. A vampire.”

Tycho’s eyes widened.

“He gets near me with them tusks, I’ll do some amateur dentistry!”

But the vampire lord simply laughed.

“You have nothing to fear from me. I am quenched at this time. But I see you have found some of my orichalcum.”

He beckoned aside with one arm with the theatrical flair of a jester, before bringing his hand around to take back the bead. Felix looked at it one last time, and offered the orichalcum back, despite the others seeming apprehensive.

“Wotcha do that for?!” whispered Tycho.

“He knows Solomon. That gives us an ‘in’ to negotiate. Besides: you saw his undead. The pitiful shambling things. Even as a vampire, I’m confident we could all take him on.”

Then, she turned to look at Solomon.

“And I’ll do the talking.” said the older man, nodding and moving to catch up with Lord Aldragar. “Stick together, everyone.”

Now, Rally Co. was in a great dining hall not yet ruined like the rest of the castle. They were able to light a main fireplace. They hesitated to put on any sleeping bags, but Tycho was back to brewing coffee and using provisions. What little food could be offered by Lord Aldragar was under severe scrutiny by Esme, for willful poisons and forgetten mold.

But Aldragar himself was at the head of the table, and his laughing was hearty.

“Remarkable development!” he rasped, a cough taking him. For a moment, some of the youth he’d regained seemed to depart his body, but no thirst was apparent. His vampiric physiology was no longer functioning neatly, not after the strife he’d put himself through in pursuing victims. “You mean to tell me, acolyte, that you made a foe of the Golden Shadow? And you’ve gone on to join his enemies in Rally Co.?”

“What’s more, Lord Aldragar…” said Solomon, leaning in his seat, and pointing an enthusiastic finger. “I taught each of Rally Co.’s latest successors. Everyone here has been a student of mine in a different field.”

A sentiment not gladly echoed. There were quiet nods and shrugs that lacked commitment.

“In any case, Callahan: Revel! You have been accepted by these mortals, you’ve taken Othulok’s own magic to use against him. Glory finds its way to your house, and mankind will soon realize it does not stand atop the food chain.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” said Felix, interjecting.

“I mean no offense!” said Aldragar. “But your larger world is content to disregard the old myths. In some cases, they have been driven away crudely… such as your Blockhouse. He was not always treated with such welcoming.”

“Yeah? An’ why’s that?!” spat Tycho.

Solomon set a hand on Tycho’s shoulder and spoke:

“There is no good reason, my boy. There are those who favor their control too greatly to relinquish the reins willingly. As it is, the world can barely treat its own, more ordinary people with dignity. Even the most minute difference can be blown out of proportion into an aberration.”

And then Aldragar laughed hoarsely.

“I am content to try and make my own unspoken kingdom here in Europe, over all the secret things which live here… but your Solomon Callahan however, sought to usher an era of enlightenment. By any means necessary.”

Katrina could not help but feel something awful in herself. Solomon was teaching her to safely harness her abilities. She wondered if he might have demanded she wield them against humanity. She wondered if the others had similar concerns: Felix could have been a great hunter of dissidents, Esme could use her chemistry knowledge to form the alchemy of war, and Tycho’s zoology might have been put towards taming and commanding cryptid creatures, the way the Golden Shadow directed them towards malice, but without expending magic.

“Blazes to that!” howled Tycho, shaking a fist. “A thousand thundering typhoons! But he didn’t. He joined up with Rally Co. an’ changed directions fast-like!”

Esme stepped up beside the loyal cryptozoologist, and crossed her arms. Only adjusting to fix her hair, to look as refined as possible.

“What my colleague said. It would have been better received if we’d heard this sooner. But he’s sort of our expert on the magic… not many of those going around at the moment. We’ll take what we can get until Othulok is put to rest once and for all.”

Felix looked to Katrina. Katrina looked back. And while they couldn’t bring themselves to say much, they both nodded and stood by their friends. And perhaps, some small part of them would not abandon Solomon altogether, provided he made it up to his charges this way. Each and every one of them. Solomon himself continued to say little: he did not want to push his luck. But he felt something like a small hope just then.

Lord Aldragar watched the entire display for a moment, before taking up a goblet and gulping down half the contents all at once.

“A shame I never started a coven.” said Aldragar. “What prowess and loyalty I might have cultivated if you are any example… but no sense dwelling on what could have been. I trust after resting fully, you’ll wish to see my machinations? Destroy my hard work?”

“Would you stop us?” said Felix. Her Jutte was a blunt weapon, but if she had to run it forcibly through his heart like a stake, she was prepared to do so. But Aldragar shook his head.

“Before I might have. Now my dreams of overcoming the vampire’s weaknesses are doomed! However, if throwing it all aside might infuriate Othulok, I say bring ruination to all that I have left!”

And he cackled, before entering a violent coughing fit.

There were boots marching in the snow. To every uniformed man, a rifle or other armament. Armored cars on tank treads instead of tires, being navigated up, with troops on standby to assist the journey of their support vehicle. At the helm of the operation was a commanding officer in a cap with a silver piece pinned to the front, fashioned in the shape of an albatross. His uniform was newer than that of his troops, signifying his connection to a small, but rapidly expanding nation-state.

“The damnable bloodsucker is ours, Over-Commander Sallow.” laughed a subordinate officer, his shaky hands attempting to light a cigar. “He should have taken your offer… first the visit, then the letter. He is a fool twice over—he would have a death wish to refuse you now.”

Over-Commander Sallow just made a disgusted sound.

“I recall your file, Lars. You received commendations for quelling a would-be resistance cell with little in the way of casualties.”

The officer called Lars just grinned.

“But of course, sir.”

Sallow pulled off a glove from Lars’s hand, stealing away his cigar with similar dexterity, and bringing it down quickly, before halting just over the back of Lars’s hand where the mere drop of ashes was enough to strike fear into him.

“I know not your methodology for accomplishing that. But I challenge you to demonstrate superior bravery for your country! Where it may be *seen,* yes?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Over-Commander?! I am loyal! Always loyal.”

“Always?”

“Yes, always!”

Sallow just sneered, and offered a half-hearted salute. But when Lars attempted to provide the same, he was greeted with the gleam of a knife halfway out of its sheath. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight.

“Glory to Arkavalia.” said Sallow, as if providing instruction to a child, before shuffling off.

“*Ulp*… Glory. To Arkavalia.”

Katrina perked up. She nudged Solomon while he pored over the machinery Aldragar had introduced to them to offer notice as to her precognitive flash just now.

“Soldiers upfront.” said Katrina. “Heavily armed at that!”

Tycho scowled. Aldragar was not far off.

“What is the meaning of this?” said Solomon. “You haven’t sold us out, have you?!”

“Silence, Acolyte!” spat Aldragar “It is the Arkavalians. After my own downfall and their rise to power, they have heckled me for my secrets. I’ve few ghouls left to stave them off within the castle walls.”

Felix beckoned for the others to join her.

“If they do not know this yet, then these men might still be susceptible to doubt. Quickly!”

Everyone hurried upstairs and lined up to look at the troops from overhead. Felix had both her revolver and impellet gun out, trying to decide which one to expend first, and what tactics the group could take.

“Really makes a feller wish Blockhouse was here, huh?” said Tycho.

“Undoubtedly, my hirsute colleague.” said Esme.

Felix had a feeling if they lingered too long, the Arkavalian forces would call their bluff. Esme could probably rig up some explosives to lob from their vantage point. Tycho preferred close range, perhaps if they made it into the building, he could perform an ambush. Solomon and Aldragar had magic and vampiric powers, but they could still be cut down by weapons if they weren’t careful.

Over-Commander Sallow on the other hand, had time and resources with which to pour continuous pressure onto Aldragar’s estate. He would proceed to point forward, gesturing for Lars to communicate.

“By will of Arkavalia itself, our detachment demands your audience, Lord Aldragar Covington! You have the opportunity to utilize your unique gifts in service of a glorious new homeland!”

Aldragar spat at Lars’s feet. Felix would be the one to speak back.

“His response seems unanimous, no?”

Lars perked up.

“Who the devil are you?!”

“The woman telling you to turn around. Aldragar and his ghouls do not fight alone.”

Lars looked back at Sallow, who tilted his head to look down on Lars.

“I want an armored truck to ram into the front doors at once! All troops, ready your weapons for those rotting saps!” exclaimed the red-faced Lars, who turned around to address the Rally Co. group, and Lord Aldragar. “Your lacking welcome will be your undoing, leech! And those young degenerates!”

“You’ll dive deeper through hell than I, pig-dog!” exclaimed Aldragar. It was at that point one of the armored vehicles began advancing, while a hail of gunfire covered it. The Rally Co. team kept their heads down, Felix closing her hand into a fist and opening it again to gesture for explosives, for which Esme was all too eager to provide: In Arcadia, the city the group considered home, she was often cautious with the output of her test tube grenades. Still the case with this mountainous terrain, but considering the uneven odds on which they fought, she took on the task of cobbling together something potent enough to disable the armored trucks.

“HI-HO SILVER!!”

Esme tossed a test tube grenade down at the oncoming vehicle, halting it momentarily. Felix fired on some men trying to feed a belt of ammunition to a machine gun encampment. The second armored truck approaching moved as quickly as it could, this time a gunner emerged from a hatch on the roof, taking aim with a rifle. Esme’s next toss was thrown off from landing within the hatch, as the tube rolled along the roof near the hatch instead. The gunner had ample time to leap out as the vehicle collided with the front doors, the automobile motor whining with stress in its ongoing attempt to break inside. Felix directed Tycho to move ahead of the group.

“It won’t be long before they’re inside. Aldragar, you go with my man Tycho and try to thin the ranks. We’ll meet you at your laboratory.”

Aldragar did not enjoy taking orders, even reasonably measured ones such as this. His pride was wounded enough by mortals before. From the academics he invited into his home to feast upon before he used the secrets of the ancients to overcome the weaknesses of the vampire, to the Arkavalian fascists that harassed him endlessly. But with the provision that they would make Othulok suffer, he acquiesced to Felix’s word.

“So be it. At least I will go out with the glory of battle!” said Aldragar, taking on his tusk-like fangs. Tycho fished through his things for a large knife he sometimes wielded while on excursions through the wilderness.

“Save some for me, ya wiseguy!” bellowed Tycho, pointing at Aldragar with the tip of his blade. “I ain’t no kinda pushover in matters of stompin’ goose-stepping goons!”

Aldragar lead the way towards a hidden passage, Tycho scurrying after. The Arkavalians had breached the front door, and began sending squads to comb through the halls. Gunfire ripping through the frigid night as they fought against what few ghouls remained. The two fighters burst from the shade and into the attacking force, picking them off before hurrying to another area of the castle to continue their guerilla warfare. Tycho plunged his dagger with a handle-twisting depth, and Aldragar did likewise with his tusk-fangs to the nearest vein, before swiping his nails across the torso to split the body apart. Rinse, and repeat.

Solomon tackled into a trooper on his way past Tycho and Aldragar. Lars was about to face him, but Sallow put a vise-grip on his subordinate’s shoulder.

“The orichalcum and the machines, Lars. I will address the world-famous occult detective.”

“Yessir!”

There was some relief that Lars did not have to face the man himself. Sallow on the other hand seemed to savor the encounter. It was as though he had something: any seasoned adventurer knew an ordinary man would not have such confidence without the proverbial ‘ace-in-the-hole’ to guarantee their survival. But try as he might, Solomon’s ESP could not probe Sallow right away.

“You’re probably wondering why your powers of mind, or perhaps magic now fails you, is that right good sir Callahan?”

Solomon brandished the small sword blade hidden within his silver-headed cane, and swiped at Sallow. Every time he approached, he couldn’t glean anything from his thoughts, or precognitively. He even tried a spell to melt the rubber soles of Sallow’s boots onto the stone floor, and only received a brief puff of smoke.

“Yes! I have long desired to put you pitiful believers to death.” exclaimed Sallow. “I am without blessings or curses, Callahan! None of the gods will have me in their domain. Hell’s devils loathe my presence! A hundred rituals have freed me from the faiths interfering directly with my very being!”

Sallow produced a set of brass knuckles, as well as a fiber wire garrote. He began his retaliation by knocking the blade from Solomon’s hand with a great punch. While he could not induce anything within Sallow, Solomon tried projecting a mystic arc of lightning, and found it was not wholly resisted. And Sallow still had to physically fight back when Solomon ushered forth another spell, which turned dirt beneath the castle stone to muddy clay that hardened after wrapping around Sallow’s ankle.

“Give my regards to the fellows in Limbo, Over-commander!”

Solomon angled for a punch, only for Sallow to meet his bare fist with the brass knuckles. Solomon cried out in pain, followed immediately by a strike to the nose. Blood gushed down over his mouth, leaving his front teeth crimson-coated. It was in that moment that Sallow grabbed Solomon by the jacket, and got to wrapping the garrote around his throat. Along with the profuse bleeding, Solomon would be unable to breathe very much—and soon, almost not at all.

“Not yet, old man. I’ll not let you go under yet.”

Felix kicked over some tables. Esme was gathering up Aldragar’s alchemical equipment to try and create new explosive concoctions right away. Katrina was handling the orichalcum, packing each sample of the miracle metal in such a way that they would not be jostled or their amplifying effect activated by unexpected turbulence. Tycho and Aldragar raced through the open doors as a shower of gunfire trailed after them—Aldragar taking dozens at a time as he shambled forward to hang off of the makeshift barricade weakly. Tycho was jumping over a crate Felix had pushed into place when two shots fired by the pursuing Lars connected with him, sending his body crashing down unceremoniously. Esme was first to set aside the flasks to check his wounds.

“Hold still—I’ll get the bullets out. Try not to cry, as you do!”

“Would that I could focus on my revenge upon you!” howled Tycho, while Esme got to work, and bandaged him as quickly as she could. Felix was right beside them, laying down covering fire.

“Aldragar—get over here!”

The vampire lord attempted to rise again, but not before someone charged him with a battering ram, adorned with a golden cross at its striking face. The implement gleamed as it was repeatedly driven into Aldragar’s back, lined up with his spinal column until he began to die a slow and ignoble demise. It was at that time that Solomon was brought in. The entire group was mortified by his bloodied state. Aldragar felt the thirst of the vampire, but he was far too weak to do anything now.

“Rally Company. I believe you’ve forgotten something in your haste!”

“Don’t listen to him!—” sputtered Solomon. Katrina stopped what she was doing to try and force Sallow away. But her mistake was to try and grab him telekinetically instead of creating an external wave of force. Any unusual power centered upon his being was for naught. Magic most of all, but that extended to psychic powers to some degree.

“Drop your weapons, children. Or your teacher ends class early for the day, yes? Good, good. Now for the orichalcum, and surrender of Lord Aldragar’s machinery.”

The team followed along with Sallow’s first demand of putting their weapons down. Katrina could see that Lars was angling to shoot again, and instinctively she reached out and gripped Lars’s weapon telekinetically. Causing it to explode in his hand as he stumbled aside screaming. The startled Sallow let up as Solomon let off a crackle of mystic static from his hand—although he couldn’t induce any effects onto Sallow’s immediate being, he was still vulnerable to forces that began within the external world, his resistance only keeping him from dying immediately.

Agony flared throughout the Arkavalian Over-Commander’s body as he dropped his garrote, and attempted to strike Solomon again. This time his brass knuckles were superheated by the mystic static.

“I die in glorious service!” howled Sallow. “I will not be the last. ANOTHER, and yet more may participate in the same practices I have. And they too will be beyond your powers!”

“But not THIS!”

Katrina levitated a small marble of orchicalcum, before sending it forward. Not as a projectile, but guiding it right into Sallow’s mouth. At which point Solomon received a telepathic signal. With a snap of his fingers, he generated a small mystic spark next to the orb just as Sallow continued with his platitudes with an open mouth. A small explosion erupted from his cheek, and then elsewhere as the orichalcum marble was involuntarily gulped down, causing total combustion as Over-Commander Sallow was reduced to a skeleton coated in rags and ash.

Solomon had dived out of the way. Tycho had risen back onto his feet, only to fall down again in his attempt to avoid the explosion. A few troops had caught the gruesome display and retreated, screaming for the comforts of their childhood homes. Aldragar sputtered as everyone reclaimed their things:

“Callahan. Take whatever you require: But destroy what remains of the castle before you go. With my last breath, I laugh at Othulok! I cackle at the Arkavalian mortals! All that they seek will never be theirs.”

Solomon produced his handkerchief, and wiped some of the blood off of his own face, and from his glasses.

“You will have a place in history, Lord Aldragar. From a time when we were mankind’s greatest opponents. And the only goal, to take back the night and foggy days for all that lurked there.”

Aldragar let off a hoarse snicker.

“And where the corpses of lesser giants and rusted tanks now grow flowers. I know your idealistic rants well, former Acolyte…”

With those final words, Solomon drove his sword-cane blade into the heart of the vampire lord. Felix walked over to watch him turn to dust.

“Sir. I trust you’ll guide us in what equipment to take?”

Solomon surveyed the laboratory, and nodded.

“Yes, my dear: With haste. We must deprive Othulok of a source of refined orichalcum, such as Aldragar possessed. At least then he will be unable to amplify the energies of his magic as he casts it upon us in battle.”

“And we’re done, right?” said Tycho. “We get the miracle metal outta here and whammo—then we stick it to the dead tosser?”

Of course, Solomon simply adjusted his glasses. Esme had a feeling there was something else involved here.

“Mr. Callahan…” said Esme, with an uneasy start. Felix’s eyes widened as she and the other looked to Esme for answers. But Solomon gestured first: It was high time he exercised greater honesty himself.

“What Esme feels concern for, everyone, will indeed be the last of our great search... then, I promise you, we will strike back at Othulok once and for all.”

UNTIL NEXT TIME…

#web fiction #rally co.#rally co. 9

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