#Cause I felt like Scythe was lacking

[hyp-fixator]

Is this lore? Potentially. Did I have a prompt stuck in my head from a hyperlaser headcannon that I couldn't get out of my head and worked so well in the ANIMALS! au I had to draw it even though it was stupidly late?... yes.

Diologue under the cut if needed!

Page 1

"SKYDRONE! Come down to my office immediately. I have a job offer."

"YES- of course Subspace."

"Come in."

Page 2

"Business?"

"The job offer."

"Ah." "Eager to get back on the job. Even after your suspension." "I can respect an eager mindset."

"these are the job details." "I need you to secure data on a location." "It should be easy. Just a hotel in the Thieves Den."

"Why send me then?"

"Hmm?"

"If it's just a hotel, why send a spy?"

"I have some theories about the residents." "Particularly on the top floor."

Page 3

"Everything you'll need notes-wise will be in the box." "Now get out."

~~~~

"Where are you going."

"Oh- uh. The Thieves Den."

"Thank you."

"uh. Why ask?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Yes."

~~~~

"Hyper."

"Subspace."

"I have a job for you."

[brucewaynehater101]

Hello again I have an idea that might–i guess– interest you so here we go :))

I have this idea where Tim has a scythe in his Bō staff and everyone is just confused and concerned because he is starting to look like a grim reaper. Also the weapon + his fighting style is like a character named Arlecchino from genshin impact (if you play it), so he can do some cool poses and when he fights everyone sees that his fighting style look dangerous but elegant as he dances with his scythe while humming a tune which makes any rouges or enemies off guard by his calm demeanor (but they won't lie that Tim looks absolutely stunning with his staff/scythe that has some sort of black magic in it, idk).

Anyway— getting sidetracked, when Tim got asked by the Bats how he got it and he just said "I make this weapon all by myself without anyone helping me, so if you wanted this baby? Make it by yourself" he huffs while turning away with a proud look.

Also I think the JL will have these shocked faces as they look towards batman to gain some answers of how RR has a scythe and he just said "he was bored so he makes it by himself." And just like that every JL member started calling Tim "Reaper", which for Tim is weird and too dark.

But anywaysss, the YJ also have the same exact expression as the JL but they quickly brush it off and let Tim do his "Grim reaper" things. And they also would sometimes brag about their friend, Tim, that they have a cool leader who is graceful, amazing, sometimes annoying, smart— and yadda yadda, bcs who wouldn't want to brag that they have a fuckin Reaper as a Leader.

Idk if Tim actually has powers that actually take people's souls but the imagination is there :33

Ooh!!!! A retractable scythe in his Bō staff?

Okay! I treasure when the Bats have cryptic/eldritch rumors about them that they purposefully feed into.

Tim would make his humming into a warning when he's not actively fighting. For the situations that require it, he would throw his voice around the room as his hum rang out. Some goons, upon hearing the noise and knowing the rumors about the "reaper," would lay down their weapons, put their hands up, and slowly walk away. Whatever they are getting paid is not worth the chance of him taking their soul.

I'm not sure what ideas you had for the timeline of when he added the scythe. One route is that, after he trained with Shiva, Tim quickly stumbles upon this option (particularly if it's an added lesson from Shiva).

Here's what I'm thinking instead:

Red Robin was surrounded by assassins all alone until he befriended three of them. He already was breaking a ton of rules and crossing lines for his cause. Yet, he refrained from any that Bruce wouldn't forgive. There's always another option. Tim can figure out how to save the day without resorting to violence.

Under a blanket of stars as the sand shifted beneath his knees, Tim couldn't help but desire a blade. His staff, while it could be deadly, proved ineffective in his weakened state. There wasn't a way he could defeat his opponent. Tim was doomed to die and drag Pru down with him.

He was lucky to regain consciousness long enough to drag them to help, but Tim didn't like resorting to luck. He utilized plans and contingencies, not the whims of the universe. Life is unpredictable, but Tim could at least pretend he was prepared.

So, with LoA knowledge at his disposal, the teen learned how to sharpen his weapon. Tim crafted a tool that could easily kill. Upon its completion, he felt a small sense of that safety he had lacked since he was fourteen.

As fitting to a person so surrounded by death (his mom, dad, Darla, Bart, Kon, Z, Owens, Bruce), Tim fastened a scythe blade to his Bō staff.

When he returned, Gotham, the JL, and YJ learned of the "reaper." Tim is glad his friends accepted him readily.

Later, when Tim has settled into his new forms and fighting styles, he'll sneak on over to Drake Manor. In a basement filed with tomes, research papers, artifacts, and notes, the teen with etch symbols and words into the metal. It's another tool and hail mary he hopes to never use.

He's learned his lessons about instilling limits for the sake of others.

[reaper2187]

Nox x female sinner reader

In the gloomy corridors of DisCity, where darkness thrived and danger lurked at every corner, there existed an unlikely pair—a sinner and a knight. Nox, known for her cold and calculated demeanor, was a force to be reckoned with. Her prowess with her scythe was unparalleled, and her reputation as a merciless warrior was well-earned. But even amidst the chaos, there was one who brought light into her shadowed existence—Y/N, a fellow sinner whose gentleness contrasted starkly with Nox’s ferocity.

The rain pelted the windows of the abandoned building where the two had taken refuge. Nox sat by the window, her scythe resting against the wall, her eyes fixed on the storm outside. Her thoughts were a turbulent mess, much like the weather. She heard the soft footsteps behind her and turned to see Y/N approaching, a warm smile on her face despite the cold.

“Mind if I join you?” Y/N asked, her voice a soothing balm to Nox’s frayed nerves.

Nox merely nodded, her stoic expression giving away nothing of the turmoil inside. Y/N settled beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds being the rain and the distant thunder.

“Do you ever think about… what life could have been like if things were different?” Y/N’s question was tentative, almost hesitant, as if she feared shattering the fragile peace between them.

Nox sighed, her gaze never leaving the window. “I used to. But thoughts like that are dangerous here. They make you weak.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with a gentle defiance. “I don’t believe that. I think they make us stronger. They remind us of what we’re fighting for, of what we want to protect.”

Nox turned to face Y/N, her expression unreadable. “And what do you want to protect, Y/N?”

“You,” came the immediate response. Y/N’s eyes were unwavering, filled with a determination that took Nox by surprise. “I want to protect you, Nox. You’ve been through so much, and yet you keep going, fighting for a cause you believe in. I admire that. And I want to be there for you, to support you, just as you’ve supported me.”

Nox was silent for a long moment, processing Y/N’s words. No one had ever spoken to her like this, with such raw honesty and emotion. She had always been seen as a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded. But here was Y/N, looking at her as if she were something precious, something worth protecting.

“You’re a fool,” Nox finally said, her voice lacking its usual bite. “Caring for me… it will only bring you pain.”

“Maybe,” Y/N conceded, her smile never faltering. “But some things are worth the risk. And you, Nox, are worth it.”

Nox felt a strange warmth spread through her chest at Y/N’s words. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one she wasn’t sure how to handle. She had always kept people at arm’s length, believing that attachments were a weakness. But with Y/N, she found herself wanting to lower her guard, to let someone in for the first time in her life.

Before she could say anything, a loud crash echoed through the building, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Nox and Y/N sprang to their feet, their weapons ready. The door burst open, and a group of enemies flooded in, their eyes filled with malice.

Nox’s scythe moved in a blur, cutting through the attackers with ruthless efficiency. Beside her, Y/N fought with equal ferocity, her movements graceful and precise. They were a formidable pair, their synergy in battle a testament to their bond.

As the last enemy fell, Nox turned to Y/N, her breathing heavy but her eyes shining with an emotion she had long suppressed. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Y/N nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

Nox sheathed her scythe, stepping closer to Y/N. “You were incredible out there,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“So were you,” Y/N replied, her smile radiant despite the grim surroundings.

For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading into the background. Nox reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she cupped Y/N’s cheek. “You make me feel… things I thought I’d forgotten,” she confessed, her voice breaking.

Y/N leaned into the touch, her eyes soft and filled with affection. “That’s because you’re not as broken as you think, Nox. There’s still so much good in you, so much worth fighting for. And I’ll be here, by your side, every step of the way.”

Nox pulled Y/N into a fierce embrace, holding her as if she were a lifeline in the storm. For the first time in a long while, Nox allowed herself to believe in a future, one where she wasn’t just a weapon but a person, someone who could be loved and cherished.

As the rain continued to fall outside, Nox and Y/N found solace in each other’s arms, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume them. Together, they were stronger, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that as long as they had each other, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

[skybluearia]

One thing i've realised while reading the scythe is that it's not... character-oriented? (Lol sorry if it sounds unusual, non native english speaker here) like there are a ton of characters here, but the main focus of the books is on the course of events rather than the depth of characters. I feel like we only have a shell of who these characters really are; maybe it's just me but i feel like we don't have enough interactions? I love the political intrigue and the general idea of the series, but I feel like there are a lot of emotional aspects that were left unexplored (like many relationships between different characters and also i felt lack of... Characterization, maybe?) for example between marie and citra, cause we know that they were close and even became friends but we don't really get to see how they became close, we were just informed that through spending time as teacher and apprentice they somehow found a friend in each other, there were also really few conversations between them, I NEEDED FAR MORE. I know that the whole point of the book was to explore a world like that and the things that happen to scythedom but it would be nice if the feeling and characters were more in the spotlight.

[snoozingredpanda]

felt the urge to write something but idk

kinda yan goddess of death x gn reader (mentions of suicide, depression, just general sad stuff, but happy ending ig)

you met her on the darkest of days. floating in and out of consciousness, the walls of your bathroom turning black and grey as spots danced across your vision. the floor was wet — with what? you couldn’t tell. it was sticky and metallic and it made your head woozy.

slowly the black spots started to form a larger shape. with each slow blink it grew bigger and bigger, the gleam of something silver and the soft, cold breeze that you knew couldn’t come from the closed window.

“why?” a voice, muffled. you open your mouth but no words come out, no excuses fall from your pink lips. “you are… too young.”

a gurgle comes from your parted lips, and you hear a soft sigh, and suddenly you feel like a weight had been lifted. you felt like a cloud, floating up from your slumped position against the tub. opening your eyes, you could see clearly, see clearly the figure that had pulled you out of your body with a scythe.

she was hidden in a black cloak, her ruby red eyes piercing through the darkness of her hood. the hand that held her weapon was almost transparent, ivory-coloured bones faintly outlined. tilting her head, you see her face — stoic, yet confused.

looking down at your mess of a body, you swallow, before glancing back at her. she repeats, “why?”

knowing this was the fabled grim reaper, and that you were dead with nothing to loose, you instantly come clean about everything that had been hurting. how each tiny stress piled up until you couldn’t take it anymore. how life wasn’t worth living anymore. all the while she’s silent, staring.

finally, once you were done, she murmurs, “too many young people die. i have to rip their souls from their bodies, just like i had to for you…” her gaze travels down to your corpse. “but when it is someone’s time… there’s nothing i can do about it. even if it’s a child… i have to. i have to take them to the afterlife.” you cannot open your mouth. her crackly voice has you in a chokehold, a trance.

she sighs quietly. “you were not supposed to die today. it was written in the stars that today was not your day, but my brother has been lacking on his duties. as the god of luck, he should have given you something to live for. however it seems… you have nothing.”

her eyes glint, reflecting her sharp blade. “i would escort you to the afterlife, but i cannot watch someone so innocent die. you indeed have nothing to live for, but neither do i, except the title of goddess of death i inherited so long ago.” she slowly hooks your whispy soul with her scythe. “you must keep going. i shall give you something to live for… i promise you.” with that, she pushes you back into your body.

every night she visited you. at first she was silent, standing in the shadows. no matter how you tried to communicate, she wouldn’t talk or move. but when you came home from your stay at the hospital, she began to speak. only a few words, every now and then, but she never stayed long. too many souls to guide to the afterlife, you assumed.

months pass, and you start to look forwards to her visits. some nights she doesn’t come, but some nights she stays for hours. she explains that she had minions to carry out the soul collecting, and that her main job was to take the masses of souls to the afterlife, but that could wait.

luck came your way. she never said a thing about her brother but you were sure he was the cause of it. you’d caught a glimpse of a blonde, curly haired man with golden skin a few times, and within hours something brilliant had occurred: a promotion, the gas prices being lowered, or even that a pizza was delivered to your address by accident. grim pretended she didn’t notice, but you saw her soft smiles each time you told her about it.

you got close to her. she allowed you to see her cloakless, her semi-see-through skin so fascinating. her dark hair lifeless yet so, so soft. and of course her beautiful red eyes, which held so much emotion that her body never showed.

a few years passed and despite going through rough patches, you never returned to that state of mind you were in when you met grim. she made sure of this, arriving just on time when the world seemed to be crashing down. she always put you first, even if she knew her father, the god of the sun, would punish her for abandoning her duties. she didn’t care — you were her reason to live, and so she promised to be yours.

the closer you got over the years, the more you discovered about her, emotionally. she was a young goddess, only a few hundred years old. she was the black sheep of the family; the only deity that was seen as truly evil. yet her brother and father never disowned her like the rest of the gods urged, even her own mother, the goddess of health.

grim explained that she had to do what she did, or the balance of the universe would come crashing down. she didn’t decide who died — the universe did, and yet she was blamed for following instructions.

she tells you the times that were hardest, having to walk the silent streets where something horrible took place, having to carry a tiny baby to the afterlife, waking up one morning to find thousands of people dead due to something horrendous. there are times she does not speak about, times that she cannot speak about. wars, genocides, heartless murders. they make her sick to the stomach, yet at least she could promise these people a better time in the afterlife. she just wishes she had someone to hold after seeing such horrid things.

that person became you. every time something bad happens, she came to you, holding you close as she silently weeps for the lost ones. it does take long for her to become attached, too attached to let you go.

and so, the moment she hoped would never come, she tugs your soul from your body once more, before ascending to the place she calls home, forever. to be always known as the goddess of death and her promise.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

 Kirby becomes a Star Warrior / Sir Uther (OC)

Now I’ve seen Uther used from the Arthurian mythos in other Kirby AU merely defining him as Sir Arthur’s father who he inherited the GSA from. Not many are written as straight up bad guys, that is until today Sir Uther is a villain in the KBASW universe and he’s not Arthur’s dad in this one just mentor in the story (but frankly he shouldn’t be anyone’s dad.) 

I just had to post this before publishing the story cause everyone’s gonna wonder “who’s he when reading?” So yeah this is the face of Uther, when he’s mentioned in the story.

I definitely wrote him as the guy everyone hates and though he maybe gone, his selfishness and pride were what ultimately what brought down the GSA. After his death Arthur vowed to reverse and rewrite the mistakes of Uther’s cruelty; becoming the new leader of the GSA. Arthur was and still afraid of his old mentor, his influenced is what made Arthur hide MK’s wings all the time. Meta thought Arthur was afraid of his demon side when in reality he was afraid of Uther. Uther does and kicks off many of the downfalls and tragedies of the GSA & MK’s crew. Due to his own prejudices towards Meta which come back to haunt him.

This Uther is highly inspired by Merlin (2008) Uther the show’s but if your want to hear more explanation on the character but basically yeah the Uther in that show hates magic and kills many innocent people because of that so just switch that around with Nightmare and his demons and yeah same principals.

Also his character color scheme is actually based off the Queen of Hearts from Alice & Wonderland. A bit of foreshadowing of his temperament as well as his madness. 

And his relationship with Galacta Knight; well let’s just say his ego was knocked down a peg once Galacta was recognized as the strongest warrior in the galaxy by the Ancients. Before Galacta it was Uther and he was the leader of the GSA because of that... with Galacta there he felt his authority was challenged..

He guys I’ve been actually working on this OC for months since I named dropped him in Dec. it’s also my first OC and let me tell you creating an OC is tough, I hope my efforts were worth it and you guys like it.

keep reading the content character explanation below...

Now I’ve seen a lot of people characterize Sir Arthur as a well-meaning person who’s just stuck in their old ways. Sometimes straight-up “good guy” or “leader” who live long enough to see themselves become the villain; similar to the many interpretations depending on which version you see/

Now I don’t mind Uther being interpreted as a good guy or someone in the grey area but I’m just surprised with the lack of villainous Uthers. A constant in Arthurian legend is that Uther has always been a rotten human being. In the original story of Arthur’s conception, Uther wanted to get with the Duke of Cornwall's wife and started a war because of it. (I'm not going to explain any more of the story but yeah you should read the original for the rest of it.) But yeah he straight-kicks up war cause he gets what he wants which ends up being betrayed by his own people.

I wanted to take that type of self-destructive villainy from the original Uther making him as despicable as the original from the story. With a little mix of my own spin on the character with some modern-day villains too. 

When designing his character I knew I wanted to have some foreshadowing and symbolism in his design. I really wanted to make him very intimidating along with the level of regality. I ended up thinking about old-school villains from Disney and I came up with Queen of Hearts which fit his character perfectly. And after I just knew I had to give him a scythe as his weapon no questions asked! He’d definitely say “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD”, before slicing up one of his victims. 

And I got a bit of inspiration from Avatar’s Ozai too similar temperament as well. that’s how I got the idea to have Uther control fire as well as light. Which emerged the idea for his wings. Couldn’t decide whether I wanted to give him dragon wings or bird wings... But when the concept of Phoenix wings came up I knew I could work more story into them than just the dragon wings. 

I also wanted to show the importance of status to him with his armor and cape & mantle; being adored with gold.  His mask has two colors red & black very reminiscent of a checkerboard; conveying his two-facedness. Seeing his soldiers as pawns wanting to be in control of everything. I hope I was able to convey that in his design... He cares so much about his position and hates when his authority is questioned in any way; he makes sure everyone knows who’s in charge. 

When I call Uther an elitist, I mean that he would give very little care to the soldiers who were not as puffballs and would immediately categorize them as lesser beings. During the war when the GSA & the ancients were defining other galaxies' worth: they would prioritize the more advanced civilization and the lesser solar system was the last to be protected. This eventually formed the Star Systems Alliance (or the S.S.A.) which was controlled by the Ancients, the GSA elites, and the upper crusts of the galaxy so yeah corrupt government everybody.

I got this idea in the Wolfwrath episode with Sword & Blade explaining their backstories as he described that the war had turned the galaxy into a wasteland and that they had to become bandits & thieves to survive.

So yeah that’s basically what Uther’s doing... he would use lesser planets as battlegrounds, and make many of the inhabitants helpless. This is how the volunteer army gets started.  The GSA would offer benefits and supplies to those who volunteer to join. However they’d have to live long enough to actually receive these benefits. So yeah he took advantage of lesser planets to get new soldiers and made sure they’d be his battle plan guinea pigs. 

This brings Jecra and Garlude into that mix as well... Jerca who had just lost his partner did not have the means to provide for his baby son (Knuckle Joe). He had his parents but they were too old to work. Heard about the GSA’s offer and signed up; his parents weren’t sure and knew their son would be on the front line. But Jecra brought up the point that it’s either that or they all die by starvation. Sadly they agreed and promised to take care of Joe.

As for Garlude she was noble and had people under her care, the war had been pulling resources away from her people. Her husband (a man she married out of obligation but was friends with) went himself to negotiate for resources with the Ancients & from the S.S Alliance but mysteriously disappeared afterward. So to find out the truth of her husband’s disappearance and to provide for her people (as well as her daughter) joins the volunteer army. 

Eventually, there were so many who volunteered that they needed someone to supervise and train them. Uther didn’t want to waste training these volunteers and use one of his elite soldiers (they were gonna die quickly anyway). Then there was the Meta newly knighted Star Warrior, who he rejected into joining the Holy Knights. The other higher-up knights and ancients didn’t know what to do with him because they didn’t want MK to represent them and they were all looking to Uther for an answer. It was more of a way to stall until he could think of what to properly what to do with him properly. Which was probably the best thing he could have done for MK.

After 4 months of training, Meta Knight wants to join their ranks and become the sole person in charge of the Volunteer Army. Which lowers his status never being able to join the higher-ups. Uther thinks this is a great way to save face and get rid of MK. To him, Meta was finally accepting his fate of dying on the battlefield, but to Meta Knight, he was freeing himself from all of them. 

And with that MK renamed the group Team Halberd... and became the most beloved group of Knights of the GSA. And Uther became pissed he’d give MK and his group the most difficult missions but that made them more famous. Things only started going south for the team after the fall of the Ancients & Yami’s betrayal. Also, Yamikage was not part of Team Halberd he was part of the ninja section of the army which Dragato was in charge of.  (And yes I made the MK ship into angst fuel Halberd the ship being named in honor of his original unit). And Uther starts to go mad and plays a big role in Kirby’s birth... hope you guys stay to find out.

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 4

Enver Gortash/ Trans male Tiefling Durge Content Warning: Trauma, deadnaming

The lack of inspiration had cleared like the sky after a hurricane. The Suffering of Ilmater hung proudly from a place of honor in Sentry's chambers and now the tiefling sat hunched over a drawing table sketching furiously on scraps of paper. Deep, eloquent dark eyes gazed up from page after page of face drawings, each one handsome, none of them correct. Something was always missing from the images and he knew he wouldn't guess it until he could gaze upon that face in person. Crumpling his latest sketch and tossing it to the floor, he sighed in frustration and clutched his head. “Come on, Sentry...Go to his place, sneak in, he practically gave you permission. You've killed guards before, you know you can do this...” He gritted his teeth. Footfalls echoed behind him and a hand slid down his chest. Sentry froze and turned to find himself looking at the same face that lay before him a hundred times in charcoal. He scrambled to his feet and staggered back, the man before him meeting him against the table and pressing him back against it, taking his throat in that clawed gauntlet and leaning in, lips brushing against his. Sentry's face flushed brightly and his eyes widened, his knee connecting with the man's soft stomach, causing him to stagger back. The same face sketched in charcoal. The face that wasn't quite right. It smirked and cracked its neck audibly, blood red motes of magic dispersing as Orin stood before him, a manic grin on her face, which soon took on a look of mocking pity. “Oh, Vereena, silly little breed-spawn.... it thought that some flesh prince had come to sweep it off its feet?” She laughed mockingly. “Call me that again and you'll end up in my sculpture garden...sister.” Sentry spat, eyes narrowing coldly as he bristled at the name. “To you I am Bhaal's Chosen. Lord Sentry. The Dread Executioner. If that name escapes your lips again, I'll rip your mocking tongue out of your mouth and eat it. My innards will boil away the stain of that name and I'll savor that as I watch you drown in your own blood.” He growled, standing to his full, imposing height. Sentry's muscles were lean and wirey, but he stood nearly six feet tall, giving him the presence of an ambush predator, a creature meant to pounce, subdue, and devour.

The porcelain pale changeling showed no fear, merely sneering and shaking her head. “Oh of course...Executioner. You hold father's favor after all...for now...” She gave a mocking bow as she backed towards the door. With another crack of her bones, Gortash smirked tauntingly at Sentry once again and she turned and walked out the door. “Fuck...” Sentry shuddered, slumping to the ground in front of his drawing desk, sighing and hugging his knees to his chest. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He seethed, teeth digging into his lip until he tasted blood. He could feel hot tears pricking the corner of his eyes, the things that name still did to him, the memories it held. He cried silently for what felt like far too long, but finally, he let his head roll back and rest against the polished mahogany of the desk and inhaled deeply. “I need to see him. If his face is perfect, I'll feel better. When the drawings are right, I will feel better.” He pushed to his feet and grabbed a large leather rucksack, tossing in one of his personal canvases, some vials and brushes, his sketchbook, and his charcoals. He grabbed his long black coat from the back of a chair on his way out the door and threw it on, passing through the temple common area without a word. The tall female tiefling got up as if to follow him, reaching for her scythe. Sceleritas hurried towards Sentry as well. The chosen held up his hand, however, silently informing his bodyguard and his butler that their presence was unnecessary tonight. “Our little lord is up to diplomatic work tonight, it seems.” The pretty elf mused as she ran a finger along the cold lips of a male head wearing a final horrified scream on his face. “Hmm...should I enchant this one to keep screaming? It sounded so nice.” “Diplomacy...is that what you call this?” Jackal snorted, not looking up from sharpening his knives.

“The young master, off without his faithful butler...He's grown up so fast.” Sceleritas doffed his hat. “I do hope he'll make good decisions, he can be so temperamental about chosing the right tools after all.” Sentry skulked through the darkened streets of Baldur's Gate, looking for the location Jackal had mentioned. It wasn't upper city as he expected, but one of the nicer homes in the lower city. Seeing the size of the house, he was glad he'd left his armor behind tonight, the less encumbered he was for this, the better. There was rough, weathered stone with thick vines snaking over it on the side of the house where he could see a lit window. The was a likely place to start looking. With a grunt, he lifted himself up, calloused fingers easily finding purchase. He whispered a silent thanks to his father for the simple fact that being trained as a paladin meant he was quite strong. He lifted himself up and swung his feet to the wall, toes of his leather boots pressing into the worn areas of stone as he began to climb.

As he finally pulled himself up onto the ledge, he peeked in and saw a nearly empty room with a single torch flickering on the wall. He frowned as he glanced from side to side. It had to be a trap, there was something wrong here. Still, the more he thought, the more his need to perfect the drawing overrode his sense of caution and he climbed through the window. Gingerly, he tested the floor in front of him, moving slowly across the room. Another scan of the walls and floor, looking for anything out of the ordinary, a pressure plate, a tripwire. And that's when he realized it. There was no door. The room had only the window and no door. Perfect. Mentally chastising himself for this impulsive decision, he turned to leave, only to find the window he'd climbed through was now barred. With a groan of annoyance, Sentry began to pace, considering his options. But through it all, his eyes kept going to the torch. Finally, he reached for it and as he pulled it from the sconce, a low rumble echoed through the room as the wall slid aside, presenting him with a dark, winding staircase. “Typical Banite nonsense...” He rolled his eyes. But what choice did he have but to play along? The face had to be perfect. He would not know rest until it was correct, until the face Orin had used didn't stare back at him with that name on its tongue.

[bridgyrose]

Neon curls her hair and Ruby mistakes her for Penny from behind

Ruby slammed the blade of her scythe into the grimm over and over again as the sabyrs kept swarming the streets.She looked to each of her teammates as they tried to hold back the grimm, her arms shaking as she tried to steady her weapon to take a shot. “How many more?” 

“Not sure!” Weiss called out as she put up a glyph wall to catch her breath. “I’m almost out of dust, there’s still only a few robotic soldiers trying to take out the grimm, and the Atlas military still doesnt seem to be moving to help. I hate to say it, but…. I think Qrow’s right that we cant trust them.” 

“Then we hold the grimm off for as long as we can and regroup at Pietro’s to see if he can tell us more about what’s been going on in Atlas.” 

“You really think he’ll help?” 

“I’m not sure, but its not like we have much of a choice.” 

Ruby sighed and took a few shots at the sabyrs that made their way through the streets to the rest of her friends. Everything about this felt wrong. The way the military sat around, waiting. The lack of protection for the city. Everything she looked at made her feel like she was missing a piece of the puzzle as to why Ironwood wasnt helping Mantle. 

“Grimm incoming!” Yang yelled out. 

Ruby nodded and took aim at the grimm rushing down the streets. Her breathing stopped as she watched a green light rush through the streets and slam through the grimm like they were nothing. Her eyes caught the look of short and curled red hair. She slowly lowered her sniper scythe as she watched the figure rush around. 

Without anything more, the figure disappeared into the dark streets as the grimm lights started to turn off. Weiss lowered her glyphs while Jaune, Yang, and Blake started to check on the nearby citizens. 

Ruby sighed and folded up her scythe as she watched the trailing green light fade, her heart breaking as she kept the image of Penny in her mind. “Penny was here…” 

Weiss looked at her curiously. “Penny? But… she died, didnt she?” 

“She did, but… I thought I saw her.” Ruby looked around at her team and shook her head. “We should get to Pietro’s again and see if we can find out more about what’s going on.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neon slid to a stop after the last of the grimm had been taken care of and tapped on the audio device in her ear. “Streets are all clear, Flynt.” 

“Great,” Flynt replied. “Any sign of the airship?” 

“No, but I saw team RWBY and Jaune, Nora, and Ren a bit ago.” Neon paused for a moment. “You dont think General Ironwood is going to arrest them for trying to help Mantle, do you?” 

“As long as they dont have licenses, it wouldnt surprise me if he does. You know how he’s gotten since the riots started. Cant be too careful about who’s out there to cause trouble.” 

“Right. I should go back to them and check on them. Maybe I can keep them out of trouble before they get on Ironwood’s radar.”

“And if they already are?” 

Neon paused for a moment. That wasnt a thought that had crossed her mind and all she knew is that she’d try to help out as best she could. “Then I’ll find a way to help them out.” 

Flynt let out a sigh, his voice showing how much he hated the idea. “Be careful, okay Neon? The last thing I need is for you to get your license revoked.” 

“Dont worry, you know I dont get into trouble often. Besides, I’m sure Ironwood will understand once he sees its them.” 

“Then keep everything off just in case. Dont need any of the techs to go back through your scroll and find out what you’ve been up to.” 

“Turning everything off now.” Neon smiled and shut down her scroll and communicator as she raced through the streets again, her curled hair rushing through the wind. Ever since Penny was damaged in a riot, she had taken it upon herself to help out Mantle the best she could. She curled her hair to Penny’s short style and wore combat gear similar to hers so no one would be any the wiser to their guardian missing. Even her roller skates had their lights changed to green instead of the rainbow she preferred. All in the name of helping Penny. 

She quickly came to a stop as she neared team RWBY, pausing as she watched the Ace-ops gather them up. Her heart sank when she realized she was a bit late and couldnt give them the warning they needed and she slowly turned her scroll back on. “Flynt? How much trouble does someone have to be to get picked up by the Ace-ops?” 

Silence came through the earpiece for a minute before Flynt finally spoke. “Head back to Atlas. We can clear things up with Ironwood from there.” 

“Right… I’ll be there.” Neon sighed and shut her scroll off once more, pausing as her ears picked up Ruby’s voice. 

“Penny was just here!” Ruby yelled out. “If we can find her, she can clear things up-” 

“Quiet down!” Harriet yelled back, followed by the sound of her weapon hitting Ruby’s back. “You’re going to Ironwood, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

Neon slowly backed up and started to race back to Atlas without getting seen by the Ace-ops, needing to get to Penny first. She had to clear things up quickly before team RWBY ended up in more trouble. The grimm sirens pulled her out of her thoughts as the streets lit up red and more grimm started to pour through the streets. With a groan, she put her scroll away and grabbed her nunchucks as she cursed under her breath and rushed after the grimm. One more wave of grimm, and then back to Atlas. Hopefully before anything else happened.

[luckyshotwrites]

14 (Soul Vore) for the ask meme?

@dionysusdoctrine (You both requested this and it was funny to me because out of everything on that list, this is something I knew nothing about).

Warning: This contains abuse, some strong language, and soul vore.

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

"Smile, clown." The small crowd begged. 

His brittle arms threw themselves up and their force crinkled his smile. It whimpered its own tears along with his scarce pants. His eyes refused to cry as most of his water washed down as sweat.

“Don't stop or you won't get that new hollow body.” The crowd held him with their warning.

Becker danced. Red streaks left on the stone from his ruptured blisters. His soles constant sting screamed out and made sure he didn't rest.

The crowd cheered at his wobbles, clapped along with the pops of his overworked bones, and laughed once they saw the limpness in his bends.

His breath heaved with heat and desperately scratched at his throat, it wanted a break. 

His body started to stumble and his eyes blended the colors of the streets, houses, flowers, and the crowd. His spin caused him to slip over his dignity. 

When he collided with the stones, his mind yelled in agony.

“We aren't going to pay you to lay there! Get up! You must not care for a new body!” The crowd shouted. 

Becker pressed his shaky palms down on the ground. The lack of muscles could no longer sustain his weight along with the thin, ripped fabric. They crowded around him, spitting and insulting his weakness.

“You're gross. How could you not get up? I thought a sack of shit from the lower would have more fight than this. You deserve to die painfully!”

His palms slipped on the smooth stones and he dropped back down. His lip quivered as the crowd started to disperse. But, not before one member gave a strong KICK and made his ribs CRACK. Becker’s mouth jittered open and his eyes bulged after.

He coughed and crumbled. His body curled into a ball with indescribable sharpness. His left lung squeezed at his breath, it felt like he couldn't expel the air in it.

"You're useless, I promised them a show." The last said and walked off. 

Becker's voice trembled with a croak, "th-the holl-hollow."

His mouth quivered at the taste of metal and his teeth chattered, chewing on regret.

His sister's smile entered his mind, it hurt him knowing he'd never see her again. He was too ill to protect her and he wanted to find who took her. 

But, Becker was destined to die. The faint warmth of her hold, her cheerfulness, the sweet light she gave to life, gone. He didn’t want to let her down, nor to let her die like him. Damn it.

The soft dark of the streets cradled him, as if the shop lights were nonexistent. Yet, even though the dark beckoned him, he refused to close his eyes, no matter how much his body wanted. 

The shadow in front of him got larger as someone dropped from above. The soft umbered person landed in front of them.

Becker recognized the male as an ever elusive, and terrifying, reaper. Their black cloaks, curved scythes at their backs, and the black darkness under their eyes, told him.

The reaper pulled the scythe out, a slight pity in his eyes, "you should have used the last of your life to do something more beneficial."

"I-not-die." He gasped, feeling the heavy strain in his jaw and throb at his head.

The cloaked lifted up his scythe, "sorry, but at least it'll be painless."

Becker couldn't shake his head, and what he wanted to say only came out as a gust of air. He pushed his near broken arm out, and grabbed the reaper's foot. He stared up. He begged desperately with his eyes.

The reaper stopped, "your will..." a soft sigh left their lips. They crouched down and his gray lifeless eyes bore into him. "You're dying. There's nothing I can do."

Becker's grip didn’t stop.

He bared his teeth with a smile, “fine, do you really want me to finish that mission of yours? If you say yes, you’ll be here forever, unable to move on.” He tapped the end of his weapon on the ground, “do you understand that? You can never pass.”

Becker's grasp got tighter, not a moment's hesitation.

The reaper swung their scythe into the ground, it slide through the cracks of the stone. Clearly, his scare tactic didn’t work. “You're foolish."

He grabbed Becker's shoulders. The pain made his vocals whine. 

The reaper brought him close and pressed his soft lips to Becker's, chapped and broken ones. 

He couldn't fight it as the reaper pushed passionately.

Becker started to feel a warmness work run through his body. As it went up, the rest of him fell cold and slowly the pain faded. The warmness moved up his own throat and into Becker's own mouth before breaking through his lips.

The reaper pulled back, allowing the corpse to drop to the ground. His mouth shut as he held Becker's soul in it. The soul weighed a few ounces and felt so soft.

As his tongue caressed it, the pain Becker felt soon pierced the reaper, along with the anguish, embarrassment, and at the same time, his determination, bravery, and joy. Every memory, every feeling, had a unique taste and made the reaper shiver. He then swallowed, letting the soul fill his empty core.

The reaper took a moment to take it all in before he looked ahead. The once weightless soul, now felt heavy with Becker's will. He secured the scythe on his back again.

He licked over his lips and patted over his abdomen. The soul squirmed with restlessness. "Get comfortable, Becker, this is going to be a long ride."

...

My thoughts regarding soul vore: It's very unusual as I generally write soft vore. The thought of digestion and a soul stuck in the persons body is not a concept I like. But, something like this, where they're working together is something I find nice. ANYWAY, have a wonderful day and I hope I answered the question well enough! Thanks for the inspiration for the idea!

[aucoba]

I finished Soul Taken and I think I liked it.

I might be a bit tired and I know I did enjoy previous books more after reading them multiple times. Altho ig I felt it took a bit too much time to get to the point, and the realisation that bonarata is the antagonist felt a bit... Not rushed, but I might have needed a bit more time to process the logic 😅

Now that's been said, I reaaaly liked the evil scythe (is that the right word? I'm French and to lazy to check) : this abyss, begging for mercy to let it have her soul to bring back some deity... Hmm, tasty!

Knowing more about the vampires is also a big great point! Why wouldn't Wolfe kill Bonarata... 'cause they are family and he loves him. They are fucked up and still the bound exists. I'm a fan.

And bonarata? Altho I felt the thinking process of the characters being... Lacking of something, I like the road he is taking : someone as proud and powerful would never accept our little coyote escape. Of 'course he is gonna stalk her and try to impact her daily life and, why not, strip her and her people off of their power. There' s nothing more terrifying than a powerful prick.

I don't know where we are going from here but I'm happy to see what else there is to discover.

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 29 - Contravention

Today was a real struggle to get this done, but it's done. If I find time in the future I may rewrite this because I'm really not happy with it.

Major spoilers for early Endwalker, since I have a few friends who sitll haven't got to this point.

Thancred sighed with relief as he saw a certain Au ra off in the distance. The last few hours had been frantic, all of the Scions scattering to try and find their wayward warrior. As the hours ticked by and with little to show for their search, it had become harder not to begin to consider the worst-case scenario. He held himself back from charging off to meet her; G'raha Tia and Alisaie could have that honour. He would like to say it was because he wanted to protect the outward look of stoicism and professionalism, but in truth, the feeling of relief had lurched violently towards foreboding.

It all felt wrong. For her to disappear in the blink of an eye, dragged away to Gods knows where by their enemies and then walk back into camp no more than a few hours later with no injuries or looking any worse for wear? All of his training and experience said this was too easy, too convenient; this had to be some enemy ploy and not fate looking kindly on them for once. Every instinct he had was screaming at him. He could not place what caused it exactly, but something about her visage in the distance filled him with dread. And he was not alone in that feeling. With the exception of G'raha tia and Alisaie, the rest of the Scions had not moved an ilm.

"And so our wayward hero returns, and without injury." While Alphinaud sounded relieved, the way he spoke did little to hide his suspicion.

"So that is indeed our friend?" Y'shtola muttered, a hand reaching out towards Urianger to steady herself. For once, she was genuinely blind, her aether sight availing her little in this frigid hellscape.

"Is her visage not reflected in thine eyes?"

"Their aether is…different. Clouded and murky. I can scarce tell the difference between their aether and the surrounding environs."

Thancred and Estinien shared a look before glancing back towards Samara. The two people who knew her best placed her under scrutiny. The feeling of dread settled in Thancred's stomach the more he noticed what was wrong. The way she walked, her mannerisms, the lack of expression on her face as she saw two of her friends approaching and the lack of a visible weapon. None of it added up.

"It's not her." Estinien growled, taking up his spear and setting off towards 'Samara' at full sprint, not waiting to see if anyone else followed or answering any questions.

"G'raha! Alisaie! Get away from them!" Thancred roared as he charged off after Estinien. As he got closer, he saw the twisted grin on the imposter's face, warping the features of the woman he loved. His stomach dropped as he saw a flash of red, a large scythe materialising in the imposter's grasp, the first swing of the wicked sharp blade coming perilously close to catching Alisaie across her chest. They would not be fast enough to stop the second swing. Fate, however, had a different agenda as a sword soared through the air, the point aimed at the imposter's head, forcing them back a few steps away from Alisaie, the edge of the blade catching on skin and scale. It gave them enough time to regroup, each of the Scions readying themselves for a fight, except the imposter's attention was more on the Garlean soldier half crawling towards them.

The bloodied and broken Garlean soldier crawled forward, little more than a walking corpse. It was a miracle he was even standing, much less attempting to fight. Blood seeped from gaps in his armour, open wounds on full display, splintered bones breaking through skin and cloth with limbs twisting in abnormal directions. Nothing but sheer willpower, hate and stubbornness were fueling him now. Laboured breaths broke up their words; every word said clearly a struggle.

"Ze…nos…get…away…"

"Impressive. I did not expect you to arrive so soon."

Thancred's skin crawled as he heard the imposter speak. It was Samara's voice, but the pitch and tone were all wrong.

"You have discarded your weapon. What exactly do you intend to do? Your friends will not strike you down; how do you intend to stop me?"

The soldier reached for something on their belt, a standard issue pistol given to every Garlean soldier. The sickening crunch of bone filled the air as the soldier pointed it to their head.

"I die…you never…get your…battle…your…choice…"

"You expect me to believe you would end it here and now? To leave this world in a flash of gunpowder rather than steel? To leave your mission unfinished just to save them?"

Her answer was to squeeze the trigger. The soldier finally fell to the ground, dead once and for all. The Scions all stood there in stunned silence. They barely noticed the flash of red coming from Samara's body, but none missed the taunting voice of Fandaniel.

"Not to worry, your hero is alive. Returned safe and sound to her body. Thank her for me, will you? Her antics have been most entertaining." said the Ascian as he floated in the air next to Zenos's nightmarish form.

"Monster! How can you not baulk at this contravention of nature?!" Alisaie screamed, already mid cast as aetheric blades formed around her.

"Oh my dear, if only you knew…this entire world is a contravention of nature." muttered Fandaniel as he and Zenos disappeared through a portal before the blades could connect.

[yanderecandystore]

Could you please do a fanfic for a male version of Yandere! Lady Dimitrescu (from Resident Evil Village game) with the reader.

I really like the Resident Evil franchise but I'm too lazy to know what the hell is happening in the older games XD I'm so sorry about that-

I loved watching playthroughs of Resident Evil Village (can't buy the game ;-;), but I felt like it was a bit empty, idk- I felt like the lords weren't really explored enough.

Also the Duke is the best husbando in the whole game- Fight me! >:3

TW/Tags: GN = Gender Neutral, I normally forget to properly name it when it's gender neutral, most of the time I just say "reader" // maybe ooc // lazy genderbent, I'm terrible with names // size difference // servant reader // mentions of gore/cuts/bruises/blood and deaths (and torture- I'm so sorry-) // reader gets hurt // mentions of vomiting

It's Dinner Already [Yandere!M!Dimitrescu x GN!Reader - Short Fanfiction]

It's dinner time already, unfortunately for you, of course.

It feels almost like a routine at this point- Which in a way, it is! You always take care of your tasks during the day, while dreading the inevitable time for dinner to arrive again.

Everyday, at this exact same hour, you and the other servants would prepare a meal for Lord Dimitrescu and his lovely… Sons…

As someone who has started "working" for their family only a month ago, you can positively say: Starving in the cold woods next to your village would have probably been a more merciful death than the ones you have witnessed at this place. You weren't as accustomed to such brutal executions at your village, actually you hardly even witnessed so much death, at least not so up close.

When you came here, you didn't expect to be instantly comforted and treated with respect- You were a commoner looking for an possibility to thrive in a noble's house, you were basically an easy target for any entitled selfish lord to easily belittle you and make you work for them until your hands would turn to dust. Yet nothing could have prepared you for such an odd situation.

Vampires. Monsters. Fiends if you were bold enough to insult them. You weren't exactly welcomed as much as you were snatched in and now forever trapped inside this castle. You can still hear their laughter… Their insane expressions of pure glee, the way they have bursted into maliciously laughing at your pain as you screamed for help trying to open up their door again and be free from that nightmare.

The chase didn't last even a second, they stabbed your legs with their scythes and brought you deeper inside this hellhole, as you cried your eyeballs out. The sons had brought you back inside so their father could take a look at the "intruder".

An absolute titan amongst the mortals. His height was only a sick reminder of how much power he had over the castle, over his sons, and now- Over you.

He may not have been as massive as he was threatening as you remind him to be, but at the time you were just in awe of his height considering you have never seen someone as tall and as mighty.

Then again- You have never seen vampires as well. Were they the same vampires as the books you've read as a kid? You weren't so sure of it…

You were hoping that if you begged for life and for forgiveness for having disturbed their peace, that they could spare you and let you go back to your village. Sadly enough, you commented on how you were only trying to look for a job as a servant.

You probably shouldn't have given them ideas, but it's too late to think about your mistakes now, however.

The sons begged to see your blood spilled, yet Lord Dimitrescu was merciful enough to grant you your "wish", as he said.

It has been a month ever since you were trapped inside and forced to work as a miserable little servant, and even if you didn't suffer the worst forms of punishments that they had in-store for you, you couldn't help but fantasize about just running away and never turning back.

You're so tired of this castle, of the smell of carnage, of the undeserved and over the top punishments, and especially of the people who would subjugate you to such things.

But at last, it's dinner time already, and you can't keep them waiting.

You feel your hands shaking as you walk out of the kitchen and into the dining room where the masters of the castle were so graciously waiting for you. You know what they're waiting for- But you can't let them distract you, for those that commit accidents are faced with fates worse than death.

Although you would rather do this process quickly, you can't afford mistakes to happen, so you take your time to set not only their meal in front of each one but to also pour "wine" into their glasses. You do all of this without looking directly into their eyes, only bowing down to each one and saying "excuse me"s in what they would call a "decent tone", as the smell of their disgusting beverage starts to irritate your nostrils. If you didn't know the main ingredient to Sanguis Virgins is, you probably wouldn't have this immense disgust over it, but right now just the thought of it makes you want to gag.

Only villains could so easily drink blood, and still make a living out of it.

Your internal thoughts of pure hatred against this whole situation almost completely blinded you to the fact that they were eerily, very quiet.

….

On most nights they would be talking with each other while occasionally making comments about you or your presence. Obviously they were all pretty nasty comments that they somehow expected you to back it up in some way or another, it's when they try to insert you into their conversation that makes you hate this occasion so badly, but it normally ends as quickly as it begins.

But as you are pouring wine to Lord's Dimitrescu, you notice that they haven't said a single thing while you were there. You stop what you're doing as you realize that they were silently observing you this whole time, and as you look into their expressions you come to think that maybe you have messed up-

Somehow, in some way or form, you may have messed up- And the fact this mistake could cost your head only agitates your already very worried mind.

….

A small moment of silence continues before the middle son, Cassandro, starts to chuckle in an almost innocent way- As if he was a kid who just said a bad word for the first time- And as he bursts into sudden laughter, Daniel leans towards Bello and loudly whispers:

"- I told you, they do this every time." To which Bello only replied with:

"- It's almost like hypnosis in a way."

The three sons were mesmerized by your ability to trap yourself in your own mind. They're probably aware that you do this as a defensive mechanism but they still find it comical in a weird way. You feel yourself get more tense as you look up at Lord Dimitrescu and see him staring back at you, with an unreadable expression across his face.

Before you could come up with an excuse to whatever you may have caused to disturb their dinner, the Lord himself spoke.

"- How inappropriate. As my sons, you three should know better than to laugh at our servant's airheaded mind-"

And as he said that, their smiles begin to disappear and be replaced with frowns and a bit of shame as they become stiff at their father's words.

"- And how inappropriate of you, too. To be so distracted in the presence of your masters, that's quite rude don't you think?"

But as he continued their bodies begin to relax once again as they realize he wasn't focusing on them- He was focusing on you.

Words have completely disappeared from your vocabulary as you start to think that maybe you won't be able to see another day after their meal is over. You try to mumble some possible responses before getting interrupted by him once again.

"- It's very rude, so very rude in fact that I think we deserve some answers. What were you so distracted about? What were you thinking that could have possibly taken over your small little head?"

Right now, he was sounding a bit condescending, thankfully not as angry as he would have been with the other servants right about now. Every little mistake was used as excuses for punishments- And if you were walking on thin ice before, right now you are one-step closer to breaking this entire lake and getting yourself killed by the freezing temperatures of the water below you.

Thanks to your luck (or maybe lack thereof, depending on how you see this) Daniel came to "your rescue" by coming up with an excuse for you.

"- Maybe they were hungry." He said without any indications of it being a joke or a lie- As the youngest yet craziest of the bunch, he always had that weird "naive yet dangerous" energy coming from him. He was naive enough to make that statement when it's very clear that you actually despise being near them, but he still was a son of Dimitrescu.

You know better than to underestimate any of these people.

The Lord didn't seem completely convinced as he side eyed Daniel who was blissfully eating his meal without acknowledging his dad's glance or his brother's looks of disapproval.

Without a warning you were pulled closer by your wrist and forced into sitting next to the Lord, who made a sign for another servant to bring you your food. This… Doesn't feel right at all, you're waiting for the worst to come yet you don't feel like you can ever prepare yourself enough for what they have in store.

"- M-My Lord- This isn't needed, I'm fine. I'll just continue my duties, if you can excuse me-" You plead, while trying to get up from your chair.

"- Oh but what host would I be if I didn't take better care of my guests? Poor thing, you must be starving if you can barely serve us wine-" And as his tone gets progressively more sarcastic and a bit louder, you can hear his sons snickering from the other side of the table, but you can't see them since you can't take your eyes away from him.

You're worried that if you look away for just one second, that you may not be able to see ever again.

"- It's so sad when one of our guests feels hungry- What's worse is when we are also very, very hungry."

"- Thirsty, even!"

"- Oh, I can feel my throat drying just at the thought of such misery!- Our dinner seems to be ruined."

You hear their whispers, you hear how they are clearly joking about this- How overly dramatic they're being over something so miniscule as you just- Ignoring them.

Let me remind you this is all because you refuse to look them in the eyes, that you refuse to give them any satisfaction for the heinous things they have done! You've seen so many people get hurt inside this castle only for their sick and twisted thirst and entertainment.

"- Indeed, my boys. My appetite is ruined, though dinner is not over yet-" Lord Dimitrescu spoke as he looked at his sons clearly enjoying your inevitable pain, but before he could continue he turns himself to you again, putting a hand on your arm and saying:

"- Wouldn't you agree?" Loud enough so that his sons could hear it, but soft enough to send the tiniest shivers down your spine.

"- …!"

"- No, no- Please, not again!-" He wouldn't dare do this, would he??

But before you could react he had already done it, you barely noticed how fast he had grabbed that knife to slice your wrist- His hand firmly gripping your arm as he made a deep enough cut so that your blood could be easier to access.

It somehow hurts just as badly as the first time his sons have stabbed your ankles and dragged you across the floor- At least you're not bumping into things like before, and even if it's a deep cut it's not as big as it could be if he used his claws to actually do this.

Oh, oh those claws- You almost thought he would use them on you… Those were something else. You can't remember exactly what happened, and why it happened, but you remember seeing him use those on another servant who may have crossed the line at some point.

Well "crossed the line"- More like "casually inconvenienced him". Lord Alcino may act like an incredibly high noble but he acts so childishly and in such an egotistical manner that you are surprised he can even have a castle like this in the first place! You don't remember what the servant has done to be so cruelly dismantled, but you don't doubt that it was for a stupid reason!

You miss that servant actually- Probably the only person who you actually talked with, and the first one to actually taught you how to do your job… You two could have been friends if he didn't intervene.

You briefly remember those moments before getting to experience the most weird sensation of all- Having your bloody cut be licked and sucked on. It hurts and it stings in a way that not only makes you want to cry but to also gag at the thought of you feeding this monster.

You refuse to look at him even in this scenario, you refuse to see him feeding off your blood… Sometimes you wish you were just as poisonous as some species of frogs, poisonous enough to make his mouth burn so he can experience a fraction of the pain he causes to others.

You tried fleeting away, you tried getting up and moving away but his grip on your arm only helped you in getting closer to him- You have your eyes closed as your only option is to cry and muffle your agony.

But as always, he is not satisfied with you just ignoring him. This was supposed to be a lesson, yet you're clearly avoiding your teacher as best as you can- But not today, little flower, you're not getting out of this so easily.

This is the first time he ever got to really taste your blood, as normally you would be behind the other servants while trying to learn how to please him, the only moments where he gets to see you is when it's dinner time, but oh- You're just so cruel!

Escaping inside your own little head while he has to content himself with just your image. Your presence is very much appreciated around this hour, little one-

He has noticed this before, of course, but it was only when he noticed his son's curiosity over the way you behave around them that made him organize this little trap. He didn't have everything planned actually, his plan only involved getting to this moment no matter what- And oh boy, has luck been on his side!

Your blood tastes better than expected of a commoner, your delicate and fearful whines of pain are just as delightful but what really gets him is this tough persona you try to convince everyone you have- You despise him, and it's clear to see why- But he knows his charms will probably work on you one way or the other.

He gripped your face trying to make sure you'll get to him in the eyes as he has a taste of you. Absolutely delicious, especially after you so gracefully "ruined" their dinner.

His sons were just watching as they continued to drink from their crimson glasses. They were just enjoying the show, as everything seems to easily amuse them- Their father was just showcasing how they were so much better than the common folk, and they have no other option but to take notes and to remember what they have to do if they ever feel ignored by the servants in the castle: Show who are the true masters of this place.

None of them were really interested in drinking from you, considering how all three seemed to recognize how their father has taken a liking towards you. No one would dare mess with their father's prey.

If you had enough strength in you, you would start vomiting as soon as this has started, but the more he takes from you the more you feel like you can barely stay conscious.

He wasn't supposed to take so much, at least not so soon- He wanted to just take a sip but he can't deny the fact he would rather drown himself in your blood than to let go.

He sighs, as he notices that you're slowly getting less and less aggressive, getting more and more tired as he drains you from this cut.

You're not unconscious yet, just barely stable enough to understand what's going on.

"- Sigh… Now that was a decent enough meal." He can't praise you for being tasty, can't have you being cocky around him.

"- Here, since I'm done here I'll take you to the servant's living quarters- And because I'm so kind I'll make sure that wound is safely secured and cleaned, so here- Come along now."

And as he stood up he offered you his hand so you could get up yourself, but you don't have enough energy to walk yourself to your room, thankfully you're already ready to go to bed and wish to never wake up again.

And as the nightmare never ends, he decides that if you are going to be difficult then you leave him no choice but to carry you there. How much has he taken from you?? Jesus, he should learn some self-control before doing this again- The absolute brute that he is.

Your vision may be a little screwed over because of the lack of red cells running through your body at the moment- But you have a weird feeling that you two aren't heading towards the servant's living quarters, as you feel like you two are quite literally going in the opposite direction.

Oh but it's fine- Right?

It'll be fine. Surely. After all, he already took what he wanted from you, and he doesn't seem to need more so- You probably won't have to worry about anything right now, dinner time is already over, you can finally relax now….

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

So I'm sick again- Sorry y'all, I just have a horrible immune system and I really don't understand what is wrong with me-

I'm sorry if you didn't like this boo :(

[maskthedwarf]

These are my personal opinions on the different weapons of Boyfriend Dungeon! (Note; these will not include Jonah the Axe, Leah the Hammer or Dr Jones as they have not been released yet. Also, these opinions are based on how they perform as weapons in my game experience. This does not account for my opinion on them as characters, I will make that as a separate post). These are all based on my experiences, but note that I've used each weapon in varying degrees and have not maxed them all out as of me writing this. I've only gotten Valeria maxed out, because she was my main as a weapon and lover.

Isaac the Estoc: 7.5/10.

Overall, he's a fun weapon. Allows for fast strikes, and his fencing style is rather unique. Not the most fun, but he's certainly reliable. He's the first weapon you use, and he's quite easy to get the hang of, but his single target design makes it a bit hard to handle large crowds.

Sunder the Talwar: 6.5-7/10

I've seen people say Sunder is the strongest weapon stats wise due to his unique bleed ability. However I didn't notice any significant ease compared to the others, he felt quite sluggish, and his damage felt mostly the same as everyone else, his ability to clear enemies didn't come across as easier for me like I've seen mentioned a lot. That could just be due to an error with me being stupid and not using his abilities properly though.

Valeria the Dagger: 9/10

By far my favourite weapon in the game! Her unique ability that confuses enemies when you roll out of their line of sight, makes it super easy to avoid damage, and give you openings to use her Backstab ability which makes all attacks on confused enemies Critical Attacks. The simple strategy of 'roll, confuse, attack flurry, roll, repeat' makes a great method of avoiding damage regardless of large damage pools. Her lack of range is her primary drawback, and her combos aren't necessarily stylish or unique in any way. But her fun and tricky playstyle makes her a treat to use.

Seven the Lasersaber: 8/10

Quite a fun and unique weapon, he has an ability that causes bolts of electricity to chain off enemies when you complete a combo. This makes Seven a great choice for crowd control, as his chain can neutralise multiple nearby targets while only needing to focus on one. Pretty average damage, his heavy combo finisher ends in an AOE attack that damages enemies in a circular radius around you.

Sawyer the Glaive: 6/10

While I love glaives as weapons, both visually and in practical use, Sawyer is quite lackluster when it comes to their in-game usage. They're quite slow in attacking, but have decent amounts of damage. They say it themselves, they're quite unwieldy to use sometimes. However if you prefer slower, wide attacks then Sawyer might be the weapon for you. They have a heavy attack where you throw them in a straight line, much like a spear, and they return to you immediately. This attack leaves you vulnerable until they come back to you, but this is accounted for when you get their unique skill that damages enemies near you when Sawyer returns to your hand. Sadly my limited use of them kinda drags their rating down a bit.

Rowan the Scythe: 7.5/10

Rowan by far is the most unique weapon out of the bunch. They have a mix of basic physical close range attacks, along with long ranged magic attacks. Their heavy combos end with launching a Black Hole towards enemies, which pulls them in and (if I remember) can do small amounts of damage. This is a great option for CC much like Seven, because the black hole allows you to use their wide arcing attacks to take care of the bunched up enemies with ease. Their main drawback is their slowness however, and like Sawyer, my limited use of them lowers their rating as of right now.

Pocket the Brass Knuckles: 8/10

Pocket's attacks cleverly resembles cat claws, which makes sense given their weapon shape. He has quick Slashing attacks that target a small area in front of you, and his heavy combo finisher is especially unique as it sends flurries of slashes in the direction you're facing, allowing you to attack with range that has a wide arc. They have a singular heavy attack that pounces in your facing direction while attacking, allowing you to close the distance on pesky ranged enemies before they can attack first. His main drawback is his mediocre damage, but like Isaac and Valeria he more than makes up for it with his speed.

[talonwings]

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

[undertaker1827]

Could you do 15 20 and 23 for Undertaker and their s/o finding out he is a grim reaper not being afraid of him bec she knew from the very moment they met, he was different and accepted that from the very start. [sorry for my english]

Of course! And your English is great! Also I kinda got carried away (there’s around 2k words) I just loved the prompt. Enjoy! 

Prompts in bold

❗️Warnings; Canon-typical violence, reader gets attacked/minorly injured (UT saves the day, tis all good), said attacker gets knocked unconscious and doubting & hurt/comfort-ing ensues, but there’s a fluffy end I promise

Masterlist

-

Your steps echoed through the dark, empty city streets, not a soul about apart from you. It was to be expected, you supposed; after all, it was midnight. You had been out with a few friends and the time had just slipped away from you all until you remembered that you had work in the morning and you needed to get home quickly. Having not intended to be so long, the only mode of transport was either walking or getting a taxi, and the latter seemed a little ridiculous to you given that your apartment was only just around the corner. That led to where you were now, taking a shortcut through a less than advisable area of town so you would get home quickly.

There was a sudden scuffle behind you and your whole body tensed, heart jumping and mind racing with possibilities. You risked taking a glance behind you, doing your best to slow your breathing when you realised nothing was there. Unnerved but determined, you carried on at a slightly faster pace and focused on getting to the door of your building, which was now only a few minutes away, less if you were to walk any more quickly. The second noise you heard behind you was closer than the first and enough to set your every nerve on edge.

Nausea crawled up the back of your throat when you distinctly sensed someone following you, heard their footfalls as they broke into a run and felt each limb start to tremble with the ensuing rush o adrenalin. You broke into a full sprint hardly daring to turn for long enough to make out any more than a figure dressed in black, face covered by fabric and holding something that glinted in the halo of light coming from the back window of someone’s workshop - - was that a knife? The thought spurred you on even more heart pounding and preparing to scream for help, but you just weren’t fast enough.

You let out a muffled yell as you were tripped up and landed unceremoniously on the concrete pavement, chin scraped and lip split as your face collided with it. You couldn’t care less about that now though, immediately twisting over and trying to haul yourself to your feet, ignoring the pain blossoming from the ankle you landed on. Again though, you were too slow; a hand pressed to your mouth and a steel blade to your throat prevented any escape attempts you were going to make. Your eyes widened in fear and you desperately tried to press yourself further back into the concrete, but it was no good.

“Stay still,” your attacker hissed out at you, digging the knife a little further into your neck, “and be quiet.”

You hands gripped his wrist automatically, fingers trembling, but both your attentions were drawn by the arrival of a second person. You looked over your shoulder to find a man silhouetted at the near end of the backstreet you were in, a large, familiar coat flaring out around him and one arm out to the side, holding a… stick? Whatever your attacker was going to say, be it a warning to leave or a lie that this wasn’t what it looked like, the other spoke before he had the chance.

“I will say this once, and once only,” he said in a cold, hard voice, so different from his normal joking tone and one you hadn’t ever heard him use before. “Let them go.” Each word was pronounced individually, as if being made clear to a child who was likely to misunderstand. He took a step forward to punctuate each one, now close enough that you could see the grey hair that draped over his shoulders and hung down his back. The stick was a sotoba, you realised, you had seen a few of them scattered around his parlour. You always thought they were there for the aesthetic.

Fear still coursed through you, but now it was for your long term partner as well as yourself. What did he hope to accomplish against a man who held a knife to your throat?

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you go before you cause anymore bloodshed.” This was accompanied by a poignant press of the knife to your neck, a single, hot drop of blood trailing don your skin. And there was something else you never expected to see displayed by your beloved Undertaker. Pure, barely restrained rage.

You hardly managed to keep track of the events that unfolded, but one minute he was standing there a few paces away and the next he was right next to you. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter and your attacker let out a cry of pain. If the angle of it was anything to go by, his wrist was both dislocated and broken. You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened as the mortician grabbed the man by his collar and held him as high into the air as possible, then threw him back against the brick wall of the building he had been holding you against just moments earlier. You floundered for a second or two before realising there was a massive blade held to the man’s throat, a polished silver that curved gracefully into a human skull and ribcage, the spine of which had been whittled down to a handle that was easily as long as you were tall. The sotoba was gone.

As your gaze trailed back up Undertaker’s form, you came to a second realisation. His bangs were shoved back away from his face and you could see his eyes. And they were glowing. He seemed utterly detached from the man’s frightened whimpering, as if his begging made no sound at all.

“You thought it would be fun, I believe,” he stated in confident mockery, “to pick on someone weaker than yourself. How does it feel now, hm?” The mortician let him drop down a few inches as his hand found purchase on his throat, grip tightening until you could see it was a physical struggle to breath. “How dare you.” The last had fallen to a threatening whisper, Undertaker’s face far too close to the other’s. You could see the man’s struggle was weakening, the lack of air starting to have its effect. “I won’t kill you,” Undertaker muttered at length, “you aren’t worth my time.”

With that, he let go entirely, disinterested gaze watching as the man crumpled to the floor. His eyes then flicked over to you, taking in the hand you were holding to your throat and the fear practically radiating off of you in waves. He fancied he could hear your heartbeat even as you stood several steps away. The mortician languidly held out a hand as he said your name, waiting until you moved towards him to pull you into his chest.

You thought you had only blinked once, but in that fraction of a second, all of your surroundings had changed. It was Undertaker’s parlour that you were standing in now, not some dingy side street with a man who had tried to kill you now laying unconscious against a wall. The mortician stepped away from you quickly, a little too quickly really, and moved to lay the scythe against a coffin. You stood still, unsure what to do after everything that had just taken place and unprepared with the intensity that would come from your partner’s gaze when he turned back around on his heel to face you.

“Are you alright?” It was still the same, serious voice from before, though now instead of being laced with anger, all you could hear was concern. Your fingertips drifted back to your throat as you contemplated whether you actually were alright or not, though you frowned when Undertaker went to reach towards you then stopped, almost as if catching himself from doing something he knew he shouldn’t. Your frown only deepened when he stayed an arm’s length away. Physical contact was always something he had loved, craved even, so why he was acting so strangely now when you could really do with the contact you didn’t know. You made the executive decision then that his bizarre reasoning didn’t matter, opting to close the distance between you and wrap your arms securely around his body, head tucked into his shoulder and eyes closed. You were still shaking and Undertaker ached with a deep, broken sadness so strong that he didn’t realise he was once again raising his arms to hold you. He dropped them immediately, but you were still just standing there and now it seemed like you were holding back tears as well and everything he did was just making things worse -

“Fox?” You whimpered out the name you had adopted for him past the obvious lump in your throat and he could have sworn that he had never felt so guilty for anything before.

“Yes?” His voice was hoarse too.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but please just hold me.” Your words were so small and frightened, something in the reaper just snapped. A hand on your side brought you impossibly closer to his and he hauled you up into his arms, one hand supporting your back and the other carding back through your hair as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He pressed his nose against your neck, avoiding the injured part, and left a series of gentle kisses there as sobs started to wrack your frame. You had no idea how long you stayed like that but over time, you became aware of the reaper murmuring the same set of words against your skin, over and over again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

He was holding you so tightly that something in him was afraid he might hurt you, but you were holding him in return and he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Your tears having finally subsided, you tilted your head to leave a kiss on his jaw, halting his flow of words.

“Stop apologising, you have nothing to be sorry for.” The chartreuse eyes that met yours were full of so many different emotions that it was almost overwhelming. He moved a hand to cup your face, thumb carefully brushing over your lower lip.

“You’re not afraid of me?” Your stomach dropped at the fact that he thought you would be.

“You’ve given me no reason to be.” He looked for a moment like he didn’t want to believe you, so you took his face in your hands and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, relief flooding you when he kissed you back. “I knew you were different,” you continued, not breaking eye contact, “I’ve always known. I just didn’t know how.” The mortician gave a small nod.

“I’m a reaper,” he told you, “retired. It was my job among many others to collect the souls of the dead.” You just nodded, smiling a little. He let out a sigh as his eyes caught the crimson staining on your neck. “Let me do something with that.” Another smile.

“Thank you.”

-

Undertaker cleaned and covered your wound efficiently but with gentle hands, making sure he didn’t hurt you. From the angle your head was at to give him best access to your injury, you could just see the top of his grey hair, feel its weight over your legs as he leaned close to you. You started running your hands through it and playing with the ends almost subconsciously, missing the small glance he gave you out of the corner of his eye.

The mortician only moved back a fraction when he finished seeing to your neck, close enough that you could still play with his hair. Close enough that he could see you rather than sense you and do so without the need for corrective lenses. You looked straight back at him though, and stole the words he was going to speak before he had the chance.

“You’re so beautiful.” He tilted his head affectionately, a few strands of hair crossing his eyes and leading you to push them out of the way. The reaper leaned into your touch immediately and you buried your hand in his hair, fingertips trailing over the roots. His eyes were soft when he opened them again.

“You’re the beautiful one, love.”

[celticcrossanon]

Question/thought: your reading indicates that Harry was a reluctant groom. I think that aligns with what we saw on their wedding day. Your other reading indicated there’s a very good probability that Charles and MM had some kind of physical relationship.

We also have gleaned from main stream media, MM and Harry’s repetitive interactions with the media, and interpretations of Royal watchers that there is an underlying sense that MM and Harry have something on the BRF that would be crushing if revealed.

Is it possible that Charles fathered the first pregnancy? Perhaps MM got pregnant pre-wedding- which caused the rushed wedding. Harry felt a sense of duty to marry her, but once the baby was “lost” and she got what she wanted, she completed turning Harry against his family and had this giant piece of blackmail (with some kind of evidence) to hang over Charles’ head.

I know this sound far fetched, but I’ve always thought she pushed a quick wedding by pregnancy…and I’ve always thought she had some kind of “unthinkable “ level of blackmail on Charles. This would certainly do it.

It would also explain time and time again why the BRF sits on their hands while she slices through them like a scythe. Thoughts?

I - had not even thought of that, Nonny. I would have to ask the cards and see what they say. Consider it added to my 'to do' list.

I agree that Meghan used pregnancy to get married, whether real or imaginary.

I think the BRF's lack of reaction to Meghan and Harry is more due to how they handle things in general (subtly and behind the scenes) than to anything Meghan had on them. I can certainly ask about that.

I do have a reading about whether Meghan planned to get pregnant by Charles that I will put up today or tomorrow.