#King Maggot (oc)

[lexezombie]

NOOOO NILE U CANT JUST FLIRT WITH THE LARGE WOLF MAN NOOOOO!! NILE!!

ALSO! I finally decided on genre titles specifically - Instead of cramming Death + Black metal together: Nile is Black Metal, while Maggot (the big guy) is Death Metal

---

to explain the size thing uhhh I like to think not all trolls can do the growl/scream thing often found in various types of metal (and some types of rock) - so what if uhhh it's like a werewolf type thing? they can get bigger? idk mostly just an excuse to have beefy trolls

but it also adds the idea that ANY troll can have the possibility of being a 'weretroll' (scream troll? no idea what to call it)

was toying with the idea Judas can also do this lol since the band I based his design on use to do screamo stuff

[theia-diki]

Making it so it has to be unfolded to be seen since it's not pg-friendly

The character belongs to @thejessofmess

[tryan-a-bex]

100 fics

Today I posted my 100th fic on Ao3!

My first was Pottery; or Function, Purpose and Heart on Mar 11, 2023. It was a retired Dreamling fic with Destruction (who I call Joe) as the main character.

I moved fairly quickly into my Spy x Family crossover series. Anya is so cute, and throwing her in with Dreamling and the Endless family led to a lot of fun shenanigans! (Generally you don't need to know Spy x Family canon to follow these.)

Next I started on my Sandman x Scooby Doo shenanigans! I really like the Scooby Gang, and there are definitely some mysteries to solve surrounding the Endless! (With awesome art by @sab-draws!)

Gaulcienne caught my eye next. Lucienne, my beloved librarian, and the shape-changing dream-fairy? Oh yes! A Quiet Love with Wings has most of my commissioned art, with pieces by @athymelyreply for Sometimes when You Fall, You Fly, @ibrithir-was-here for Fireflies and a Missing Person, and @designtheendless for The Dragon Rider!

King of Night and Prince of Day, for @nathanwonderwolf's wonderful art, has the second highest kudos of all my fics.

Then I invented an OC who is the preteen personification of the consciousness of humanity, aka Social Media. I thought this was pure crack but people liked it and now it's a series! Dinner and Play was created with @carnelianmeluha's food ideas in mind!

My Dreamling works tend to be short and sweet, often prompted by something on tumblr or discord, and are collected as Dreamling vignettes.

I have recently written (but not yet posted) my first honest to god smut, but early dabbles in the craft were mostly crack, like my Helm Fucking Crack series. I'm unreasonably proud of how cracked it is, and thank everyone who enabled me (notably @sleepsonfutons, @windsweptinred, @tickldpnk8, @zzoomacroom, read their fics!).

My obsession with Fuckboi Dream (mind the tags) is ongoing, and included creating a chapter index with notes so I can find things, a series about Murphy's childhood (somebody please read these, they are so cute), and others, fanart as well!

In The Dragon's Tongue, Lucienne takes on Titania! I commissioned @lostelfwriting to write the bdsm continuation of the scene, and she did a fantastic job!

A Reunion in the Dreaming (picnic recreated here) was the first fic in Walking with the Walkers, my series about Rose, Jed and Unity. It features Rose and Ara (Barbie transformed in Life is but a Dream), Rose and Jed meeting their Endless family members, Jed and Gault having adventures, and Unity throwing family parties in the Dreaming (with art by @ilya-halfelven).

Trials of a Shapeshifter in Love (in which Gault tries to surprise Lucienne with a romantic dinner) was my favourite fic from October 2023 -- Femslash weekend (by @sandmanfemslashfans ) and Monsterfucktober (by @seiya-starsniper and friends) made it a really fun month! I also wrote Chantal and Zelda, Johanna and Death, and zombie Lyta (my most angsty fic, I believe).

Just Get Me Off the Damn Mountain was written for designtheendless' contest and omg, I won! It is my most popular fic, at 185 kudos!

I also wrote an OG story for NaNoWriMo! At 23k, Wander Witch is by far my longest story (the next longest is under 9k).

After a bit of being stuck, I got started again by writing continuations of @gabessquishytum's asks! Thank you to Gabe and to all the anons and contributors who allowed me to post their parts of the story!

Asmi, @weirdly-specific-but-ok, argued that he does not have a fandom, so (with permission) I proved him wrong by writing fanfic where he meets Crowley and the Maggot Fam. I love you, Asmi and the maggots!

Heading on an Adventure, the story of Rose and Orpheus' road trip, led to a series of library adventures for Lucienne (often featuring Meowpheus), starting with The Library Cat and continuing in the Lucienne my Beloved series.

I wanted more Lucienne and Walkers content, so I started a side blog, @lucienne-my-beloved, and am open to prompts there! On ao3, the series is called ficlets for lucienne.

Hob Meets the Doctor June 7, 2389 and The line I will not cross and the line I will (Gaulcienne) are my space fics, and I am unreasonably happy about them!

I'm now writing for @augustwritingchallenge! (They got me over 100 in my wips a week or two ago!) I combined prompts so you'll see a fic every 2-5 days in various series and fandoms, including Good Omens (Aug 30) and Dead Boy Detectives (soon).

And my 100th fic! Why are you whispering? a Jed and Rose fic for the late night call prompts. Woohoo!

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported my fandom journey! I'm the least depressed one in my long covid cohort, due to your support and friendship! I cherish every kudo and comment and bookmark and reblog, and the art and fics you all create as well!

[artibirdi]

Oc dump (Conext for these fools below)

They're all dead. Only two of these are actual souls. All are in the same organization

1st image-Has a name, but I am refusing to share it. He got decapitated while he was dead. He has permanently stopped time around his neck to prevent fading from existence. (Object is just there to not scare the crap out of other souls. Object can be swapped)

His creature is based on a maggot. -Courtesy of my sister

2nd image-No name - is just being referred to as the King of Spades. The entire design was based on the concept of his gills and crown.

3rd image-Rush Wasp (moreso based on an Asian Hornet but shhhh) Kinda angry, shoulders have weird trees on them with gas like leaves. The most difficult to design out of any character for my little tale.

4th image-Originated from a pause oc challenge I did with a friend. Love her to pieces, but she doesn't have a name or personality yet. (Kinda hard to design a creature for her when she came first and is just a design.)

[respheal]

WIP Wednesday

I was working on this Legend of Zelda post-TotK fanfic to get myself back into writing. It was workin for a bit, and I need to find the time spoons to finish it. I might just start posting it on Ao3 to see if engagement can maybe goad me into finishing it. It's post-totk and an excuse to dump some of my lore headcanons in a not-totally-expository way.

Elements include time travel, Majora's Mask and Hyrule Warriors shenaniganery, and Link being a traumatized little king. Also an OC of a sort.

Mid-story snippet after the cut (Progress: 6/10 chapters drafted):

The once-green fields and marshes of Blatchery Plain were covered in viscous red-black puddles. Like maggots on a corpse, Gloom-laden blin of all varieties crawled over the plain, more than Link had seen in years—in a century. Smoke, fire, and dust obscured their forms.

Captain Hoz and his squad had rushed to the plains as well, and they were already at the bridge, rushing towards the monsters with their weapons bared.

Darker shapes stirred in the heart of the plains, reflecting the evening light strangely—emitting their own light. Glowing purple lines traced their forms. One turned, revealing a bright blue eye.

Guardians.

Link choked. He fell off his horse and backed up against the mountain. He was certain the Guardian’s laser sight was already on him, despite the distance. Not again. Not again.

“Link!” Zelda yelled, snapping him out of it. “Please, we need your strength. Look at the Sword.”

Forcing himself to breathe, Link drew the Sword from her sheath. She was glowing, a cool white-blue light wisping around the blade.

The Sword only glowed in the presence of her enemy.

Link could taste Malice in the air, like copper and sulfur. But something else caught his attention, a dry feeling like the finest sand, a smell like frost.

“Do you feel that?” Zelda asked. “That’s time magic.”

Link’s jaw clenched. He was certain whatever was causing that would make itself known at an inconvenient time. He took the slate back, pulled out his paraglider, and wrenched it open with his hand and teeth. “I’m going down. Get to the big rock near the bridge and keep the river to your back. Stay near the roads no matter what.”

“We will. Be safe.”

“You too.”

Link launched himself off the cliff, holding the paraglider above his head. It yanked at his arm hard as it caught the wind, its shoulder brace—for his lost arm—dangling free in the wind. He couldn’t steer more than to adjust the angle downward with one arm, but it would have to do. The battle was ahead of him in all directions, after all.

[r1ng-w0rm]

MAIN INFO(UPDATED -AGAIN)

(7/4/24 UPDATE)

//THIS IS MY OC/PERSONAL BLOG. I POST GORE, OCS, ME, AND VERY RARELY GUINEA PIGS. NO GUINEA POSTS RN THO.

PLEASE READ MY DNIS BEFORE FOLLOWING!!!

//WARNINGS + DNIS!!//

⚠️Biggest Warning is Bugs, Gore/Meat, scars(like healed sh scars from OCS), drugs(OC stuff), dead people (jamey/OC), and weapons?? Also flash/eyestrain warnings. I'll always tag them though, so don't worry <3

⚠️I also talk about how crappy my ocs are, like moral wise- so there's that.

🚩DNI- Zoos, Basic DNI criteria, terfs, anyone who ships illegal stuff, uhhhhhhh.... Walton goggin haters, I'm being serious.

🚩DNI- Murdsim fandom and 18+ accounts (unless we were mooties before or if we're moots on other apps/websites). This dni will be removed on October 6th.

🪱DNI- Bug haters(jk)

🚩DNI- Also people who hate xeno/neopronouns.

ABOUT ME

🩻My name is Evan! I usually go by Maggot on here though. I'm okay with you guys using Evan though!

🩻I'm Mexican, Irish, and Sicilian.

☠️Though I just usually say Mexican because I am unfortunately a bit too lazy to explain all of it.

🩻My pronouns are He/They/It/Bug/Worm and most of the time I refer to myself as a zombie/walking corpse.

☠️Like, "I was dead earlier" means "I was asleep, " or sometimes how I mention that I'm rotting/dieing usually refers to me being extremely cold and clammy.

☠️Also I say a multitude of things are gender; like aliens, certain songs, and certain fictional characters/movies etc.

🩻Also yes, I am trans. I've been out (on here + to some of my family) for quite some time. I usually just say trans as a quick umbrella term tho.

☠️Fully describing myself: I am trans masc bug-gendered alien who also sometimes uses corpse/zombie pronouns and alien pronouns.

🩻Some medical issues that I feel that I should share with you(because I get antsy at times) are: I have a brain cyst/a weird amount of brain damage, I'm schizophrenic, I have depression/anxiety, and I have a wacky testosterone imbalance.

☠️All doctor diagnosed too. I take 💅meds💅

🩻I love most of the metal music genre(top faves being nu, goth, and death)! I also really like horror/horror-comedy movies. I like watching little silly shows too like pui pui molcar and pop team epic!

☠️+as you already know, I love bugs, art, and plants!!!

☠️Also my favorite colors are Salmon, Coral, and Orange. :D

🩻@magg0t-king is my fandom blurb account.

🩻I have a neato amount of ocs that I have yet to post ref sheets for.

EXTRA--

[skitkonst]

🎃Goretober day 25: mirror🧡

[6-maggot6king-6]

The 4th Greater Demon general of the Demonic pact and service of the Maggot King. Herald of Chaos, Unholy unrest and the lord of douchebaggery. NameLess.

[big-fang-andrei]

May i be so bold as to ask your opinions on the other clans, my lord? Also, your opinions on diablerie

My, that is quite the bold question indeed. But I have an even bolder answer. I’ll tell you what I think of the other clans but also of the other denizens of the night. So pull up your chair and open a new tab to drivethrurpg(I WISH THIS WAS A PAID PROMOTION), as uncle Andrei tells you of the World of Stank-Piss!

Assamites/Banu Haqim: they claim to be our judges yet they lack any form of self control when a drop of vitae hits the floor. It’s true, I’ve blood bonded several with this method.

Brujah: I’ve seen maggots in cum socks lead better revolutions than them. If I wanted to see a bunch idiots yell about their ideas on how to fix the government I’d go to twitter, thank you very much.

Followers of Set/The Ministry: Claim to be masters of darkness yet a night light scares the shit out of them.

Gangrel: Nomadic cowards that spend more time making stories for their OC’s than anything. I find it humorous when one tries to make peace with a lupine only to get torn into thirds.

Giovanni/Hecata: They fuck their sisters, dude.

Lasombra: Ah yes, our brothers in the Sword of Caine. While I do appreciate they’re bravery in the Anarch revolt I do not enjoy their constant reading of the scripture. And dear Caine, they’re so annoying with their dreadful sea shanties.

Malkavian: I once had to share an apartment with one during the 70’s. Malkavians by themselves are a constant overflowing dam with small cracks gushing forth the most insane and obtuse thoughts one shouldn’t be able to imagine. Couple that with his herd of never sober hippies and a philosophy class and that my childe is a recipe for becoming a quiet pair of pants.

Nosferatu: Many assume I despise the Sewer rats for aiding the camarilla, but if anything I pity them. They think they’re so clever hiding behind the skirt of the Ivory Tower when they know we’re the only ones that can help. Run little sewer rats, run all you want from the scary Nictuku, but the ivory tower will crumble long after the last of Absmilliard’s childer wipes the blood from her lips. What? Jealous? Why would I be jealous of their looks… WE work hard to look like this, those bastards get embraced and stay like that cursing over their beauty as if it were a curse. Ungrateful fucks...

Ravnos: I haven’t seen one since my trip to Vegas. Tricksters, liars but I gotta admit good dancers. In fact I haven’t seen much of any in a while. All of ours ended up diablerizing and slaughtering each other a while ago but that’s just another Tuesday around here.

Toreador: Silly, silly children the whole clan. They bore me with their constant slobbering of human art and sobbing of their humanity! It drives a motherfucker INSANE!

Tremere: If I could still shit I’d turn them into toilet paper. ‘Nuff said.

Ventrue: you spend your formative years sucking the dick of a king hard enough until he gives you some armor and a dull blade now you think living in massive sky scrapper with solid gold socks can make up for being a spineless tryhard.

Kuei-Jin: I’d tell you but I don’t want to get cancelled again.

Werewolves: If the Gangrels are the furrys that post their art and ask you to leave positive comments only, than lupines are the maniacs that eat roadkill off the street butt naked at night.

Mages: pah, charlatans with parlor tricks that tell you the secret of magic is to “believe in yourself”. What hog wash, real magic comes from that old gnarled up bastard Koldun.

Ghosts: I rarely have failed experiments but in some even rarer occasions, they result in a phantom. Sure it’s startling at first waking up and seeing something had broken all your windows, flooding your room with sunlight and the occasional threatening words drawing in blood on your living room, clashing with your own blood art. But all you have to do is call in a Nagaraja and those bastards eat ghosts like Papa Andrei eats blood ice cream.

Faeries: I tried to turn a kid into a bike chain once, until he pointed at me with the stick he held, declared it a hammer and smashed my watermelon sized testicles with the force of one. Not one of my finer moments.

Hunters: The Society of Leopold or the Second Inquisition are just as reckless, poorly organized and limp dicked as the Camarilla… but a month or so ago as I was buying some batteries for my custom all flesh furby, when a person behind me claimed to see past my disguise and tried to beat me to death with a flaming fortnite action figure before I twisted him like sausages. Funny thing was I wasn’t wearing a disguise. Hell that was a nude Tuesday for me, but whatever that “thing” was that it certainly piqued my interest.

Mummies: I had a mummy friend during the French Revolution, made me play salty cracker all the time. Not all dusty, covered in bandages or Tom cruise looking like in the movies but they seem ok, naive even. Still trying to save humanity by helping some crummy god.

Demons: In my short time in Mexico I’ve witnessed more things one could experience in two weeks than one could in a life time. A vampire lupine, a toreador glutton fat from vitae, vampires not of Caine or Kuei-Jin origin and a bootleg vhs of regreso al futuro. But in the Tremere Antitribu chantry, Universidad del Tercer Circulo de la Serpiente Dorada, I saw Goratrix preform an unholy ritual with the blood of a virgin and said bootleg vhs, unleashing a fallen Angel chained to the deepest bowels of hell that the Lasombra claim to be their domain. The devil looked upon us and cursed we childer of caine before Goratrix in his pansy Tremere nature banished the fiend back to the abyss. I fear no demon, but the Tremere are superstitious suckers. I left the country the next few days to return back to LA thinking nothing of my encounter until a week later I had heard something happened to the Tremere of the Sabbat. All members simply bursted into ash one night. If that isn’t a sign of Gehenna, then I don’t know what is. Orpheus: Who?

[cinemacrypt]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊the ask game said if theres no one specified then YOU have to pick a funny little guy thats on YOU now its YOUR responsibility. WHO do you want 2 talk abt

MY BAD KING

AND UHHHHH how abt Every one's favorite ghost(?) with the least, Cass!

•Cass is my oldest??? OC, creating them back when I was 11, under the name Maggot, which I then changed to Casseopeia after my friends wouldn't stop giving me shit for it

•bc I made them when I was an 11 yr. Old, they're a next-gen oc, being Beetlejuice's accursed spawn (mother unknown)

•a Nineteen yr. Old caseworker at the beaurocracy for the deceased, working off their father's debt since they were 14. Juno took them in as an assistant bc she felt bad for them

•uses they/he/she/it pronouns. You cannot misgender this fucked up creature and they dare you to try.

• bestie is Jack Skellington's nerdass son Ichabod who they met bc he got lost in the beaurocracy, ran into Cass, got coffee all over their papers, and felt so bad abt he started crying. Cass dreams of kissing him under the moonlight

•knows/grew up with Lock, Shock, and Barrel (they razz this mf for wanting to get with ichabod so bad :/)

•tries to act mean but is incapable of it. Gruff as fuck but a big softie who's especially nice to the child ghosts that end up there, knows what it's like to be a scared kid :/

•chainsmokes like a motherfucker, picked it up from both Juno and their dad. Don't really make an effort to quit bc "I was never alive anyway so it's not like it can kill me"

•doesn't really label what they are bc they're too busy to worry about that, but if they were to, they'd probably use agender or genderfluid as a label

•they don't have a car or any fancy teleportation powers so they have to walk to work/take they fucked up ghost bus :/

•free to move between the world of the living and dead though so that's cool

•flesh starts to rot if they stay topside too long though

•looks a lot like their dad, not thrilled abt it

(This is all movie version ofc)

[colourful-void]

my meta psychological horror game concept because my father was not impressed by it.

meta games like undertale that mess with ur playthroughs r great, and ddlc does that And has cool stuff in the files and OneShot is the king of messing with playthroughs and files and meta on your computer! its really amazing how meta these video games can get.

but here are some things i wanna see in a point and click style viddy game like that that aims to be as under your skin disturbingly real as possible. this is my euthanasia coaster, my theoretical psychological horror game.

again this is a theoretical game, this does not exist in any capacity, and i currently have no plans to bring it into reality.

- OC it's gonna detect ur playthroughs via hidden files, and detect if a file was there and then deleted - its gonna detect what version of the game ur playing on (if there's like,, windows ver vs mac ver etc) and then make fun of you for it. if you get one ver of the game and then use another the game knows and it taunts you - self crashes for days ur gonna get so tired of rebooting this thing itll be like malware fake crashes too!! - one time you'll be forced to make a choice and all the options will seem bad and then like,, a little bit after but not immediately, just enough for you to get a taste of the concequences, at a seemingly random time (maybe there's a window in there oo that'd be fun), it'll close itself under the guise of a crash, and then you'll have to make the awful and hard choice again. and if you choose something different ur characters are like 'haven't you made me suffer enough? are you hell bent on seeing me in pain?" - i wanna make the window! look! like! it's! dripping! a character exists the window later because they're so angry with you they can't contain it. - pop ups on the actual computer screen - you get a neat little cursor in game and then at some points it starts moving on its own - the in game close button will move itself if you try and click it. - the game has second person narriation for flavour text and things and sometimes it'll go first place with smething jarringly different than what you expect the player cjharatcer to say and then when you click it again its "normal" (like, say its been established over and over that the player character loves oranges and then u click on something orange related and the narrations like 'disgusting things id love to seen smashed to pieces and consumed by maggots' and then u click it again and then its like 'you appreciate the painting of an orange fruit =D" - you can't play the game again once its finished because theres a little file hidden on your computer so when u open it its a dark screen or something and if you delete it ***there's another secret back up file*** and it punishes youb for deleting it or mocks you or something - graphics are all pixels and such until it decides to switch to photo realistic for sake of freakyness, i know its classic but its banger - yes we r detecting ur name and calling you by it but i will also allow u to change ur name with no concequence because Trans Rights - you WILL play the game in windowed mode and if you move the window outside the boundries of the moniter the chaaracters will cry and scream about the darkness and the horrors beyond the walls. - can we change the background to ur favourite character and then glitch em out? why yes we can you clicked the disclaimer u knew this was coming. - it's gonna ask u a whole bunch of innocuous questions about ur preferences and some of them will come back and some wont but some of em will be like "favourite colour" and some will be like "choose one body part to save legs or arms" and when the favourite colour question comes back its gonna send so much distress to the player but the other questions not coming back lmao its just there to scare you - there are voices in the audio tracks and they get added in and taken away. they are saying things for real but they're heavily distorted - there r no jumpscares btw its all atmosphere, jumpscares r cheap im more epic than that.

theoretically if i had the coding skills i would make a video game i woulsn't be able to stand playing myself

[silverstar56]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Hollow Knight (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Hollow Knight OC, Snail Tribe, Snail Tribe OCs, Overgrown Grove Snail Shaman, Self Insert OC, Vessels (Hollow Knight), Children of Wyrm and Root | Radiant Children, The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Herrah the Beast (Hollow Knight) Additional Tags: Hollow Knight General Warnings, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no infection au, Nobility, Bigotry & Prejudice, So I am doing this huh, Gijinka Elements, Fae Rules and Dynamics, No Beta I die like a maggot, do not copy to another site, Deepnest, For reasons not yet stated they will be called Blessed Children here instead of Radiant, Nosk Warning Summary:

-are lost.

A young snail's journey in his new life, seeking to enjoy it in a world both known and unknown, while in the dark secrets start to slowly unfold.

"Well, isn't that ominously cryptic." "I'm a snail; it's pretty much business as usual."

I’ve been in the Hollow Knight Ao3 fics and I found this gem of a fic. Honestly not enough people know about it and I think more people should read it because the world-building and the characters that make this fic is AMAZING.

Especially since it has a focus of the Shaman Snail Tribe. They are exploring one of the most mysterious tribes in the Hollow Knight world and they are doing it so wonderfully that I can’t help but GUSH.

So please check it out and leave a review for the author! They definitely deserve it!

[goldleafacrossyourlips]

Uneasy Lies the Head - CAOS - Dark Lord/OC - Chapter 13[Finale]

Chapters - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

A/N - Thank you for reading! This chapter is clocking in at almost 10000 words alone. So enjoy! If you have any suggestions for another fic or shorts PM me!

Chapter 13 - Finale - Amaryllis and Heliotrope

Warning of Smut and Graphic Violence

Had it really only been less than 24 hours that Lucifer had been able to walk the Earth in his angelic form? That Samara had slaughtered her Mandrake? Samara’s mind whirled at all the sudden changes that had happened in the past few hours. How could a day feel like a lifetime had passed?

She hadn’t been able to continue to admire the throne room as one of Lucifer’s servants swept her away. She was led to a door where she was told to freshen up. Apparently the coronation would need to take place again. 

Lucifer had explained quickly that since the aristocracy of his world were not present, the crowning was not valid. He’d gently removed the towering crown from her head, smirking at the pout she’d worn. 

Samara cast a longing look at the luxurious bed she saw as soon as she entered the room. The enormous thing was taking up a large portion of the room, covered in smooth looking silks and plush pillows. All she wanted to do was curl up in those sheets and sleep. If the strong, secure arms of her King happened to join her, then all the better. 

Heaving a deep sigh, Samara continued through the room to the opened bathroom. Taking a look in the mirror she suppressed a grimace. Her makeup looked great. Her hair on the other hand was a wreck. Her lips pursed as she ran her hands through her hair, smoothing down the flyaways. Her dress wasn’t wrinkled or crimped; she was pleased to note. 

She was slow to walk back to the main room, her feet carrying her to the bed. She gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, her hands splaying across the fabric on her thighs. Her eyes took in the room around her. She could tell that this was Lucifer’s room. If not by the sheer presence of his energy that filled the room, then the lingering of his intoxicating scent was what clued her off. Even just this little bit of him that she could sense helped ease her mind. Yet still her thoughts continued to spiral.

Perhaps she should have expected this outcome. She’d heard her family’s reactions to her newfound powers as well as the prophecy. She should’ve taken the clues. But it was her family; she never thought they could betray her as they did. 

Samara felt a shiver of fear race down her spine. They had planned on binding her magick, erasing her memory! Who in their right mind would do something like that?! She was familiar with the rituals for binding someone’s magick. There was no guarantee that only certain parts of the witch’s magick would be blocked; more often than not that witch lost their powers completely. On top of all that, Samara could guess the potion that Hilda had planned on using. There were only a small handful of potions that tampered with memory loss. All held the same cautions as the power binding rituals; there was no guarantee what memories were being erased. She could have lost everything. Her family was willing to risk that.

A Shadow wrapping around her ankle caused Samara to surface. Taking stock of the room she realized that everything was now cloaked in darkness. A small smile curled the corner of her lip. She wasn’t surprised to see all of her Shadows darting around the room; with them riled up from not only recent events but also the fear she’d felt from her current thoughts. She reclined back onto the bed, her legs still dangling from the edge. Her eyes slid closed as she sent out a pulse of reassurance to her Shadows. Almost instantly she was consumed.

Her Shadows flew around her, their physical presence like a whisper dancing over skin. They smothered her with their assurance. She felt the ball that had been settled in her chest unravel and fade away. 

Perhaps a more typical person would have been appalled at the messages her Shadows sent her. And maybe Samara had thought herself typical, but stepping back and checking herself now, she realized that she was wrong. What typical person would feel relief at the images her Shadows were showing her? Of Hilda and Zelda rushing at her menacingly, one holding a vial, the other holding a book of runes. Before they could touch her, her Shadows swirled up their feet, legs, torsos until they were engulfed in darkness. The Shadows made quick work of them but allowed her to hear their horrified screams and to smell the penny-copper of their blood. What typical person would find comfort in the vision of Sabrina, eyes glowing white and hovering in the air, ready to use her ramped up powers against her; only for the girl to find herself quickly pinned to the floor, Samara’s shadows swarming her like maggots in a festering wound? Like Hilda and Zelda before, Samara could hear her screams and pleas and scent rust and metal. 

What typical person would be pleased by any of that? Not a normal person. And Samara knew she wasn’t typical. The thought cementing in her head as she felt herself melt into the bed at the comfort her Shadows were bringing her.

Lucifer might have gifted her with the Shadows when she was still a fetus, but over time they had become hers. Nothing short of losing her powers could separate them from one another. Even then, Samara thinks her Shadows would still be with her, she just wouldn’t be able to sense them as easily.

“Well, this looks cozy.” Lucifer’s tone was teasing. Samara peeked one eye open at him. Through the darkness surrounding her she could see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. 

“They were worried.” 

“I figured the sudden brightening of every room had something to do with you as most Shadows fled.” He walked towards the bed, her Shadows parting around him like hydrophobic sand in water. As he sat next to her, her Shadows dissipated, returning to the edges of the room. They trusted Lucifer to watch over her. Samara sent a pulse of gratitude their way, content filling her as she felt Lucifer do the same. 

“The past few weeks have been filled with change and unease. They’re tense, upset.” Samara remained laying back as she spoke, her eyes flitting around the room as she watched her Shadows dance. Her gaze snapped up to Lucifer as he brushed a strand of hair back, his hand cradling the side of her head. 

“I dare say that they are not the only ones upset. Much has happened to you so recently. A time I planned to have filled with joy and admiration has since been muddled with betrayal and sorrow. I hope you can one day forgive me, my flower.” His voice was soft, his eyes even softer. Samara would bet that few had ever witnessed the Dark Lord be so gentle; even fewer hear him ask for forgiveness. She reached a hand up, her thumb stroking his defined cheekbone, her finger trailing to trace his ear.

“There’s nothing to forgive. The only ones in charge of their actions are the people in question themselves. My hurt will pass in time. That still doesn’t negate from the content and happiness I feel that I’m here. With you.” Samara smiled as his eyes slipped closed as she continued to trace delicate patterns onto his skin. 

“We must work on your overwhelming mercifulness, My Queen. But not towards me. Never towards me. I intend to take every bit of your mercy for myself. Let the rest fend for themselves.” He hummed, slowly leaning down towards her. His hand slipped down and below, cupping her neck. He gently raised her by his hold, bringing her up towards him. Just as she felt his breath tickle her lips, a knock rattled the door. Fire licked inside her at the displeased growl that rumbled his chest.

“Your Majesty? They’re ready for you.” A timid voice spoke from outside. 

Samara grinned at the heavy sigh that escaped the man holding her. Darting up she pressed a quick peck to his lips, dancing up and away before he could catch her. His narrowed eyes caused a giggle to escape her. She took in his form as he stood, her eyes roving up and down. A snap from his fingers and she felt her hair and dress smooth out. 

She was running a hand down the front of her dress, her eyes following it’s path, double checking that there were no wrinkles when she felt his hand grasp the back of her neck. He pulled her forward by his hold, forcing her head to tilt up. Her core clenched at the fire flickering in his gaze. Once again he leaned down, but this time it was to speak nearly against her lips.

“Soon, My Samara; you will not be able to escape my grasp so easily, nor will you want to.” Despite the heat flaring in his words, the kiss he pressed to her lips was soft and gentle. She began to press back, her body stepping towards him but his fingers tightened the grip he had, forcing her to stay still. Disappointment flooded through her as he pulled back.

“Come. We have a crown to place on your head.” He released her neck and extended his hand towards her. She released a soft huff before setting her hand in his.

Unlike before, the guests of this coronation were unmasqued. Samara took in every demon she could see, their odd features all prominent. Also unlike before, there were many many more people.

Samara stayed at Lucifer’s side as he led them through the throne room. The demons and other beings parted a path for them, bowing and curtsying as they passed. She could feel the thrum of anticipation and unholy glee in the air. Samara could only guess why the crowd was so pleased. Perhaps they had never expected their King to take a Queen. She wondered how they would take to her Ruling.

He was quick to lead them up the stairs to where the thrones sat. Their thrones. Near identical to the ones that had been at the Academy. The only difference being these two seemed larger, more menacing. Power seemed to radiate from them like a heady cloud. Maybe the thrones themselves weren’t radiating the power though. Perhaps it was just the lingering of Lucifer’s own powers saturating a place he spent much time in.

Samara hardly noticed as the crowd’s quiet murmurings silenced. She did, however, feel their eyes devour her as Lucifer helped seat her in the more curved throne. As he did earlier that night, his thumb swept across her knuckles as she sat down. She made sure to send a grateful smile his way before he parted from her. This time her crown was held by a mouthless demon. Curiosity quirked inside her. Why did this demon have no mouth? She’d noticed that most of the demons in positions of servitude were much like that one; mouths, eyes, noses, ears were all missing in different variations. She’d make sure someone explained it to her.

Her thoughts were paused as Lucifer stood before her again, the golden glinting crown secure in his hands. Her eyes slipped closed as the warm metal was placed on her head once again. Just like earlier that night, the feeling of right, mine, power echoed through her.

Unhesitantly Samara slid her hand into the one Lucifer had extended towards her, helping her rise once again. Still, the congregation beneath them remained silent. There was a heaviness to the air this time that wasn’t there before. At the front of the crowd below, stood three demons more lavishly dressed than the rest. She could only assume they were the Kings of Hell. Their presence was a necessity to her coronation Lucifer had explained. They would make sure her status was upheld and spread in Hell.

“My loathsome subjects, I gather you here today to celebrate the crowning of a new Ruler. I present to thee, Samara Spellman. Proud lady of Pandemonium, Maiden of Shadows, and Queen of Hell! Hail Samara!” Lucifer’s voice echoed through the silent hall. She could feel his power pulsing from him, a cloak-like feeling settling around her. 

“Hail Samara! Hail Satan!” The congregation below crowed. While the glamoured crowd earlier in the night had chanted the same words, the group chanting now held jubilation and anticipation in their words. Samara felt any unease that had been settled on her shoulders evaporate. No doubt she’d still have a few hiccups from some demons and others testing her boundaries but it was nice to know that there were no immediate protests.

“And now, we shall dance to the Mephisto Waltz, as Queen and King.” The music that started up was similar to what had played during their dance earlier. It was heavier this time, darker, more resolute. Samara’s hand was held tightly in Lucifer’s as they quickly descended the stairs. The crowd parted for them once again, this time leaving the center of the room clear. 

It was as easy as breathing, assuming the positions they’d held before. Her waist cradled in his grasp, her hand resting on his chest, his hand leading them through the steps. The air between them crackled, not just from the want that seemed to flare any time they were together, but from an intimacy. Samara could tell from Lucifer’s gaze that their dance was different this time. The steps and tune might all be the same but the magick and power surrounding them now was different. It continued to build with each step they took, blaze increasing with every spin she made.

“You can feel it too.” His voice was a whisper, nearly as soft as his gaze. Samara’s eyes couldn’t break away, nor did she want to. The fingers on his chest drummed gently as she hummed in assent. “This is how it should have gone. Our subjects in awe as our powers grow and meld. All watching as their Queen came to be.”

Now that he’d said it she could pinpoint what was going on. Before, she had been able to feel the difference but not exactly what it was. Now, she could tell. Lucifer’s power was vast, unending, all consuming. It was a seductive darkness that crooned and devoured. She’d been able to feel that from the moment she’d met him. But now, she could feel it swirling around her, not just in protection as it had done earlier. Now she could feel her own power surge up to meet him. Swirling and dipping and twisting and turning. Where one went the other followed. To take and taste and touch and have. It continued as their dance did. Until she could no longer tell where her power began and his ended. Until it all felt like one. Changed, the same, different and similar.

She felt drunk off the power that swirled around them. Her eyes raised from the delicate patch of skin exposed at the base of his throat that she hadn’t realized she’d been eyeing. Lucifer’s eyes were glazed over, no doubt from the same heady surge that was rushing through her. 

No longer were either one of them consciously in charge of the steps they were taking. The dance was controlled by instinct and intuition. 

They twirled faster and more grandiose as the music reached a crescendo. Her body pressed closed to his, swirling out under his arm to be quickly tucked back in. Only to come to an abrupt halt as the last, echoing note reverberated through the room. 

Samara came back to herself. Her body dipped low to the floor, the ends of her curls brushing the marble. Her crown steady on her head. Her hand splayed on Lucifer’s neck, her other grasped tightly in his own. The small of her back held securely in his arm. His eyes sparkled in triumph and smug pleasure as he looked down at her. A smile broke through her lips. She was quick to crane her head up, his arm tightening and bringing her body the rest of the way to be flush against him, still dipped down.

Their lips clashed together, adrenaline coursing through her; their shared power smothering them. She bit his lips open, working her way inside. The taste of him, electricity and promise would haunt her to the end of her days. She’d never get enough. His hummed moan something she wanted to listen to for days on end.

It was easy to forget that they were surrounded by a crowd. It was too easy to just get lost in him. But Lucifer was a skilled man. And cruel she thought briefly as he pulled away from her. 

His eyes were near black with desire; not only from the power exchange but their heated kiss as well. He was a stronger person than she as he stepped away, releasing her from his hold. He bowed, to which she curtsied. As soon as their social decorum was finished, her hand was once again ensnared by his.

Immediately as soon as her hand met his once again, the crowd around them roared in cheer. Samara shared a grin with her King. He began helping her back up towards their thrones as the music started back up. Now was the time for their guests to enjoy themselves. After all Hell was a place for indulgence.

A servant was quick to offer her a glass of red wine as she was seated in her throne. She accepted it as she tilted her head, watching Lucifer sit regally upon his own throne. Still their hands remained intertwined on the arm rests.

“Now My Queen, all is as it should be. You upon your throne. Our subjects celebrating down below. Us side by side together.” Lucifer’s silky words met her ears. She hummed softly as she sipped her wine. 

“Perfect.” Even as she answered, her thoughts flashed images of her family and their betrayal. Her mood threatened to sour but was diverted as Lucifer squeezed the hand he held.

“Do not let thoughts of earlier spoil Our night, my flower.” While his words held some demand in them, she could tell he only meant for the best. She shot a small smile at him, squeezing his hand back.

“Like I said earlier, it will take some time but it will fade. Besides, I plan on sitting here with you and enjoying our evening.” Her words rung with promise. A promise to herself to try to not let what happened earlier rain down on her mood. 

Feeling mounting anticipation and dark glee swirling within Lucifer, she shot him a questioning look. A grin was directed her way before he answered.

“Perhaps I have something that would lighten your thoughts once again.” His tone was suggestive. Samara chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Besides, what kind of King doesn’t gift His newly crowned Queen something the night of Her coronation?” He gestured one of the servants forward, whispering into his ear. The demon scurried off down the stairs. 

“Lucifer, I don’t have any gift for you though.” Samara worried her lip between her teeth, her brow creasing. The Dark Lord released her hand, reaching up to release her lip from its prison. He ran a soothing thumb along the abused flesh.

“Trust me when I say my gift from you will be watching what’s to come.” He whispered, a smirk pulling at his lips. Samara’s eyes narrowed at him in question.

Her attention was pulled towards the crowd below them once again as they became hushed. She saw as they watched two figures at the doors. The servant Lucifer had sent away was now back, tugging along another beside him. The second person was cloaked in ragged, ripped, sweaty attire with a black sack covering their head.

The servant guided his guest to the center of the room, kicking their legs and forcing them to kneel. Samara turned to look at Lucifer, who was leaning forward in his seat. With a kiss to her knuckles he stood, a tug from his hand having her join his side. He guided them to stand at the railing, resting their still entwined hands on the warm marble. Their guests silenced at the new position their King and Queen held. Which made it all the easier for Lucifer’s words to echo in the room.

“Now for tonight’s entertainment! I present unto My Queen, a gift, for her coronation. May it help make this night even more memorable.” His voice boomed around them. With a nod of his head, the servant ripped the black sack off the unknown person’s head. Samara felt herself freeze.

“Did I not promise you, My Queen? Did I not say that he’d be dealt with? I can think of no sweeter revenge than for you to take him in hand now. To do with him as you please. And when his physical body tires, his soul can go wherever you direct. To keep him as a plaything for your frustrations forever more.” 

Now she understood why he’d been feeling so giddy. She squeezed his hand gently before letting go. She trailed her finger along his back and she walked behind him, to descend the stairs. Her steps were slow and echoed with each click. She could feel the eyes of not only her King but their subjects as well as they tracked her every move. All too soon her journey was done, her feet carrying her to the trembling man knelt before her.

Faustus Blackwood stared up at her, terror and rage intermingling on his face. She could only imagine how he felt. Forced to kneel before a girl he’d once tried to molest. Kneeling before someone from a family he loathed. The knowledge alone, that she was now his Queen, must’ve been eating him up inside. 

Her memories began overtaking her again. Not so much the images of what once happened, but rather the emotions. The all consuming fear and sorrow she’d felt when he’d tried to take her in his office. The rage and loss she’d experienced when she’d learned Zelda was to marry him. How he’d taken so much from her. Her sense of security, her community, her family, her home! But Samara was many things, and thoughtlessly cruel was not one of them. She’d extended mercy to almost everything she’d known at least once. Perhaps that’d be how she’d Rule. Merciful to an extent, then she could let the cruelty that’d been buried down deep out to play.

With those thoughts in her head, Samara stared Blackwood in the eyes as she slightly bent at the waist to bring her face level with him. Still she could see the fear and anger swirling within him.

“I hold no fond feelings for you. In fact, I couldn’t care less if Witch-hunters came along and burnt your body to a crisp. However, I’ve been told I’m a merciful Queen so far. So. I’ll give you an ultimatum. Bow down, kiss my feet, beg for your life like the pathetic useless worm that you are, recognize me as your Queen and you’ll walk out of this room alive and well. I’ll assure it. Or do nothing, and I can’t promise for your well-being.” Her words were firm. She could feel the surprise that rang through her King. No doubt he’d expected her to fly into a rage as soon as she’d seen Blackwood. But she’d never been like that. No, Zelda had taught her to be rational. So here she was, being rational. An ultimatum. Ultimately, Blackwood’s fate was in his own hands. Which he chose swiftly.

She heard him before she felt it. Hot saliva trailed down her cheek, her eyes closed from the startling action. She heard the crowd around them gasp and curse, getting worked up. White hot rage pulsed behind her from Lucifer. She sent a soothing pulse back, not wanting him to interfere.

“I’ll die before I bow before any Spellman; much less the mutt they took in.” Blackwood bit out. Samara hummed as she delicately wiped the spit off her face with her hand. Using the soiled hand, she ran it over his face, wiping off the wetness before grasping his chin. Her sharp nails dug into the hollows of his cheeks.

“A mutt I may be. But you will die with the knowledge that I, Samara Spellman, am your Queen. In a position of power you could only dream to be in. And now, for eternity, you will suffer under my direction, my instruction and my will. So mote it be.” She snarled out, her nails causing drops of blood to appear on the skin they pierced before releasing him and stepping back.

Pleasure curled within her at the startled gasps and shouts she heard. Her Shadows had been creeping in closer and closer as she’d stood before Blackwood. Now, they gathered at the bottom of her dress, blurring it with darkness. Some climbed up her back, flaring out behind her in a mockery of wings. 

She took satisfaction as all colour drained from Blackwood’s face, his trembling increasing. 

She could feel the eagerness that swelled and swirled within her Shadows. It’d been so long since they’d been able to cause any real violence. And to have a subject that’d caused her fear and pain, they were all the more ready to pounce. They twisted and writhed around her, climbing up and leaping off her body, hurtling to the floor but not touching the man knelt before her. Not yet.

Tilting her head back, her eyes slipped closed. Samara could feel them pleading with her. Their thirst for blood and violence nearly overwhelming. Their whispers of safety and promise caressed her ears. A smile played on her lips. Inhaling deeply, she slowly breathed out as she once again looked at Blackwood. His utter terror caused a malicious grin to grow. 

All at once she grabbed the walls she’d held in her mind. The ones she built to help control her Shadows. To stop them from mindlessly causing violence. She gripped those walls, and proceeded to rip them to shreds. Directing all her ire towards the man before her, she made sure the only thing her Shadows would maim was the worm. And maim they did.

At feeling the gates she’d used to contain them vanish, there was a moment of utter stillness. All Shadows in the room stood still for a beat. This type of freedom was unusual to them. It caused an unnatural lull in its movement. Any warmth in the room was instantly sucked out, breath able to be seen in condensation clouds.

Then, they descended. To the guests it was impossible to see what was happening. But they could hear the agonized wails of a man in pain; a man in fear for his own life. Shortly after the screams started, the overwhelming scent of penny-copper emanated from the darkness at the center of the room. Hot crimson blood began splattering from the darkness, striking guests and marble alike. They might not have been able to see what was happening, but they could make a well-educated guess.

Samara, on the other hand, had no trouble seeing through her Shadows. She watched, as they dove from every corner and crevice of the room around her towards the kneeling worm. He wasn’t kneeling for very long. They lifted his body up, tossing him around like a tissue in the wind. Up was down, left was right, she could only imagine how disorienting it’d be. They’d lift him high then let him hurtle back towards the marble, smacking his flesh off the now cold floor. 

When they’d had their fun tossing him around, they began a new game. While her Shadows were often able to be walked through, untouchable; they could become physical if they wanted, as solid as a hand. Now, she watched as they morphed themselves into infinitesimally miniscule spikes. Then they began racing along the cloth and skin of Blackwood. Almost instantly blood welled up in their wake. Blackwood screeched and swung his arms. Attempting to fight off an attacker he’d never be able to touch. Millions upon millions of little spikes wrecked havoc upon his flesh causing an unidentifiable amount of lacerations. None of the wounds were especially deep though. Each cut placed to cause as much pain as possible. 

Samara felt irritation grow as his screams turned to curses and eventually begging. Sending a brief thought to her Shadows, she felt a smirk curl her lip as they were quick to comply. 

They pried his mouth open, his words slurring. They worked in tandem. Some to keep him still. Some to keep him facing her. Some to hold out his tongue. And finally, some to rip out the squirming appendage. His screams turned to shrieks. But no words left his lips, she noted, pleased.

Finally, her Shadows moved on to their last act. With blood covering the outside of the man, they wanted to see the rest inside. Quickly her Shadows entered whatever orifice they could find. They smothered themselves inside the body that’d caused her so much trouble. They kept going and going and going and going. All too soon or maybe not soon enough, they began razing. No part inside the man was left uscathed. They rampaged around inside his body, slicing, burning, ripping and tearing anything they could. Samara watched as they ripped around inside and then tore themselves out. Only to enter from the new hole to do it all over again.

His screams finally stopped but not before she could meet his eyes. She connected with his tear and terror filled eyes. She could tell he was begging her to get them to stop. Her only response was a quirked brow. She’d given him a choice and he’d made one.

Eventually her Shadows retreated, going to the corners they came from. Some nudged her back, stopping the puddle of ever-growing blood from reaching and staining her feet. She looked down at the still husk before her, apathy overtaking her features. Silence reigned around her. Shock present in all of their auras. She could even feel the shock Lucifer held. He didn’t expect her Shadows to cause damage like that. A chuckle threatened to escape her. However it was halted as she caught movement below her.

Blackwood’s soul crawled from his mangled corpse. With a snap of her fingers a collector was at her side. 

“Take him away for now. I’ll let you know what I want done with him at a later date.” Her tone was short as she gestured below. The collector was quick to drag the soul out by his hair. Blackwood was still reeling from the remnants of what had happened, and therefore didn’t feel the further abuse.

Samara hummed before turning around and facing her King. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye as he stared down at her from the railing. She sent a pulse of satisfaction, gratefulness and finality towards him. Sure, it was a lot to send at once but her King was smart, he’d figure it out. She was finished for the night. She was ready to return to their chambers.

She watched as he quickly descended the stairs, joining her at her side. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on her skin. His eyes belied the raging want swirling within him. 

“Let this be an acknowledgment from you all. Your new Queen may seem merciful. But rest assured Her cruelty can know no bounds.” He bellowed, not that their guests had even whispered anything, silence still reigning around them. “We thank you for joining us for tonight’s events. Please, enjoy the festivities but your Queen and I will be retiring for the night.” 

With her hand held in his, he escorted the both of them out of the room, passed the bowing and kneeling guests. Neither spoke a word to the other as he led her towards their room. But the air between sparked with words unsaid and lingering intimacy. 

Perhaps in another world Lucifer would’ve ushered her into their room and crowded her up against the door. Ravishing her there. And perhaps in another world she would’ve greatly welcomed it. But that didn’t happen in this one. Instead, he guided her into their room. She could feel that he wanted her. He wanted to do what she’d imagined, but he didn’t. While he might’ve been aroused and heady with desire, she wasn’t. She’d just watched a man she’d loathed be tortured to death. There was no way in Heaven she’d be able to feel desire tonight.

Instead, he gathered her into the lavish bathroom from earlier. With a snap of his fingers the oversized tub was filled with steaming water and amaryllis petals. He’d also divested the both of them of their clothes, she noted.

He entered the tub first, leaning back against the side with his long legs stretched out. He held a hand out to her. She could see the desire in his eyes as he visually devoured her bare body, but she could see his restraint too. For that she was glad. 

She was quickly settled resting back against him. He stroked a wet hand through her hair, a soothing hum building in his chest. She ran gentle fingers down his thighs that were bracketing her body. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, not wanting to break the intimate atmosphere around them. 

“I did make a promise to you. It was magnificent, by the way. Your wrath.” He rumbled, his chest vibrating along her back. She hummed and leaned her head back against his chest.

“Mmm. Hopefully you’ll never be on the receiving end of it. You don’t think it was too much?” She tilted her head to the side to peer up and back at him. He fixed his eyes onto hers.

“It was a sight they needed to see. No doubt they’d have thought you weak. A meer witch. Had they not seen your display. Now, they’ll be much more inclined to listen to you.” He explained, reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. She hummed once again, settling back against her King. If this was her first day as Queen, she was interested to see what the rest held for her.

Waking in the arms of her King was a new experience. One that she was looking forward to repeating for all of eternity. What was strange was not seeing the sun rise. She knew that there was sun in areas of Hell. But here in Pandemonium there was no sunlight. A part of her was eager to explore Hell and see what this realm had to offer.

The arms that encased her waist briefly tightened, pulling her forward and flush against the bare chest she rested on. A low hum met her ears as she tilted her head up.

“My Queen.” His words were laced with content and possessiveness. She ran a hand up his bare flank to rest on his pectoral beside her face, fingers stroking the skin there.

“My King.” She whispered the words. Hearing him inhale deeply, an overwhelming sense of fondness squeezed inside her chest. Lucifer, while not a good man, was good to her. She looked forward to what forever held for them. She turned her head to press soft kisses to the bare skin before her. 

Feeling his hand trail up along her bare back, she shivered as she realized they were both still unclothed. She’d fallen asleep during their soak and Lucifer had deemed it unnecessary to clothe either one of them as he put them to bed apparently. 

His hand was quick to clasp the back of her neck and drag her up his body. His free hand continued to stroke meaningless patterns along the expanse of her back, minute trembles of her skin followed his fingers. 

Now that she was closer, she could see the blatant hunger that shone in his eyes. With a small grin, she craned herself the rest of the way forward. Their lips met in a series of searing, wanting caresses. She trailed her hands up his body until they rested on his shoulders. Their kiss quickly careened into more heated territory. Teeth catching flesh, battling to see who would yield first. 

Samara hummed before she began moving. Never parting her lips from her King’s, she braced her hands against his shoulders and quickly straddled her legs along his torso. His hand that had been running along her back ran down to grip the outside of her thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh. A soft sound escaped her, her lips finally parting from him for a moment. Their harsh breathing filling the room. 

Before Lucifer could do anything, Samara’s head ducked down. Now trailing soft, heated kisses starting from the corner of his lips across his jaw to down along his neck. She felt as both his hands now gripped her thighs, moans rumbling in his chest. Absently she recognized as his hands began crawling up towards her waist. She was still too busy pressing her lips to his exposed skin. Now at the hollow of his throat, a wicked thought crossed her mind. Quick as a flash her sharp teeth snagged the delicate skin and bit down. She heard his tortured groan before the world flipped.

Feeling the bedsheets and pillows at her back now, she blinked up at Lucifer. He now hovered over her, her legs now wrapped around his torso, his one hand gripping her waist, the other hand pinning her shoulder down. She grinned up at him, licking away the taste of blood on her lips. She watched in delight as crimson trickled down from his throat.

“Naughty little Queen. Perhaps a vampire has come and replaced my darling witch.” He rumbled, leaning down and silencing the giggles that were escaping her. She raised her arms and twined them around the back of his neck. 

In the blink of an eye her arms were wrenched away, his hands pinning her wrists above her head. She narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back once again.

“Ah ah, naughty Queens don’t get to touch. Keep your hands there for me, will you my flower.” He demanded, a smirk curling his lips as she pouted. She huffed but nodded her head.

He went to work quickly. His hands trailed down her arms as he began moving back. His head leaning down to lavish her throat with scorching presses of his lips. His hands continued down, stopping as he gripped her waist. He raised his hands a bit, able to slowly swipe his thumbs along the delicate skin under her breasts. 

Her panting breath filled the room with sound as she clenched her hands into fists. He’d told her to keep her hands there, and dammit she was going to try.

Her back arched slightly as his mouth trailed lower, going along the flesh of her sternum down to the valley between her breasts. He pressed a final kiss there before as quick as a snake ensnared her one nipple in his unforgiving mouth. His hand palmed her free breast, stroking the skin and pinching the little bud. 

A sharp moan escaped her lips as he deliciously tortured her sensitive flesh. His sharp teeth lightly worried the hardened bud he had captured. Pulling back he admired the now darkly flushed skin, running a finger along it, flicking it as he went. Another moan left her as he ducked down again, this time to leave quick little nips at the sensitive underside of her breast. Her legs tightened around him, her hands twining in the pillows they rested on. She felt him chuckle along her skin.

“You are being a very good girl, my sweet. And good girls get rewarded. Now, let me get my answer to a question I’ve had since we’ve met. Do you taste as good as you look?”

 He abandoned his ministrations he’d held on her breasts. His hands lingering as he began kissing lower. Down the middle of her stomach before stopping just above her soaking core. He gripped her thighs once again in a bruising grip, his nose tucked along her neatly trimmed curls. 

Her eyes squeezed shut as she heard him inhale deeply, a flush racing down her body. Only to snap open at the guttural growl he released before he dove in. And really there was no other way to describe it as diving in. She’d barely had time to twitch before his arms were pinning down her hips and his mouth sealed on her core. His tongue traced a torturous pattern on her heated flesh, dipping in and tasting her arousal. Her hands flew to tangle in his hair, her back arching off the bed as his lips and tongue found her little button. She felt herself leak more arousal, her hips unconsciously trying to twist away from the onslaught he brought against her sensitive litte core. He was unrelenting, his arms tensing and pinning her, unallowing her a chance to escape. Her moans filled the room as she tugged at his hair, her thigh trembling. He pinned her down just as easily with one arm as he’d done both. He brought his free hand down to join him by his mouth. His fingers trailed along the slickened flesh, before finding where he wanted them to be and began slowly pushing in. She felt herself flutter along his thick finger, not feeling any discomfort until he began pressing in more fingers. She hummed and tugged at his hair, his tongue beginning another attack on her little button. With three of his fingers caressing hidden places inside of her, she felt as electricity began racing down her spine. Her moans grew in pitch and her back arched off the bed as he increased the intensity of his onslaught. White-hot pleasure erupted inside her, her core clenching around his fingers, more arousal leaking from her, her thighs squeezing around him. 

She collapsed back against the bed, gasping breath. She felt him pepper kisses along her thighs and lower belly. She ran an apologetic hand through his hair, no doubt her grip had gotten unreasonably tight.

“If feasting upon you was to be my only purpose for the rest of my days, I’d spend that time in ultimate bliss.” His words made her chuckle softly, stroking a hand down his chest. He looked beyond appetizing; skin flushed, his lips still wet from her arousal, hair a riot. 

“Who am I to stop you?” She teased, her feet resting against the bed but her legs still parted around his body. He shot her a wicked grin before climbing his knees closer. Their lower bodies nearer now. Anticipation shot through her as he palmed her hip, stroking the skin there. 

“Now, my little witch, let me have what I’ve dreamed of since I’ve seen you blossom into the young beauty you are. Let me have you.” He murmured, staring into her eyes. Samara felt her cheeks heat once again but nodded her assent. His pleased hum caused her to flush even further.

His free hand reached down to help guide his member to her core. He kept their eyes locked together as he began pressing in. Samara’s lip was captured between her teeth as he continued slowly. The feeling was unusual, of being filled and stretched. Some pain threatened to drain her arousal but a twitch of his hand and it was gone. She panted as he continued to press in. It felt neverending. Until finally he stopped. His hips flushed with hers. She felt stuffed to the seams. It was wonderful. 

Her head collapsed back onto the pillow, her eyes rolling up into her head as her lips parted to release another moan. Taking this as encouragement, Lucifer began pulling back, only to quickly glide forward once again. A punched-out moan ran from her lungs. She’d never felt like this before. Full and whole and pleasure coursing through her veins. 

She could feel as their power grew around them again, much like during their Waltz the night before. Sex magick was a powerful thing. But it was different than that. More than that. This was more than just their power mingling together and complementing one another. Now, it was merging to become one.

Her hand fluttered down, trembling, looking for his. Delighted she felt as he quickly grabbed hers, sensing how overwhelmed she felt. Both his hands clasped hers, his body rising and arching over hers, surrounding her. His lips pressed against hers, his hips starting up a punishing rhythm. He pressed her hands into the pillow on either side of her head, pulling his head back slightly. She took in gasping breaths as he continued on his quest of pounding her into the mattress. Her legs snaked up to wrap around his hips, craving the closeness of his body. She heard him huff before he released one of her hands to reach down and cradle her lower body, suspending that part in the air. Her now freed hand raked claws down his back. She heard him growl in satisfaction, his pace somehow increasing. 

“Please please please please.” Her whispered mantra began chanting. She heard him chuckle against her throat that he’d been laving his tongue along. 

His hand that had still been pinning hers to the pillows let go, running down until he managed to snake it under her back. Using his new hold he pulled her up as he sat back on his heels. Now seated in his lap, he used his hold on her to start a filthy grind of his hips. Her lips parted in pleasure, her eyes rolling up as this new position caused sparks to zip through her body. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his throat, panting in his intoxicating scent. 

She felt as his movements grew more frantic, faster. His breath now panting as he seeked his release. She shivered as he snuck a hand down, feeling where they were joined, until he found her little button. He set a merciless pace both with his hips and with his fingers. She felt as her spine began to tighten, the ball of pleasure in her belly growing and growing and growing. When she felt she couldn’t take anymore, she felt the same white-hot pleasure of before erupt inside of her. Her back arched and she strained into Lucifer, her cry of pleasure echoing in the room. She could hear him murmuring under his breath, it took effort to focus on his words. When she realized what he was saying her core clenched even tighter around him. Mine, mine, mine they were whispers along her skin. He continued his onslaught, her body jerking from the overstimulation that wreaked havoc on her body. Finally she felt his movements stutter before a groan escaped his lungs, pinning her body still to his. 

Pulling her head back, she looked up into his eyes. An exhausted smile played along her lips before she ducked in and pressed a sweet thankful kiss against his lips. His hand reached up and brushed her hair back, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She giggled as he tipped them over onto their sides. He held her close, her head once again resting on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart. Her fingers stroked lightly at the skin of his chest. He played with her hair, starting at the roots to stroke through the tousled strands, down her back only to start again. 

“My first official decree as Queen is that you are required to do that to me everyday for the rest of eternity.” Her words caused a guffaw of laughter to shake his chest, her head bouncing with the movement. She grinned at his laughter. She looked up at his mirthful face, his eyes sparkling.

“Well, My Queen, while I may be a cruel King, I would never be so cruel as to deny you anything. Consider it written in brimstone.” He murmured as he stroked a finger along her cheekbone before tapping her nose. Her scrunching nose earned her another chuckle. 

“Is it always like that?” 

“For us, yes. Now, it’s time for naughty Queens to rise and ready. It’s your first day of Court. We have business to attend.” His words were punctuated with a sharp slap to her bottom. Her sharp yelp was more from surprise than actual pain. Still it spurred her up and out of the bed, but not before pressing another kiss to his lips. 

Her legs wobbled for a moment before blood rushed down to settle them. As she took slow steps towards the bathroom, she could feel an achiness from the activities they’d just partaken in. She could hear him chuckle behind her, causing her to throw him a sharp look which only increased his amusement. 

As she was in the bathroom, she cleaned herself up. A quick look in the mirror showed her the disarray her hair was in, as well as the darkening bruises that trailed down her throat. With a dismayed sigh, she waved her hand and a glamour covered them. Sure she could’ve healed them and made them disappear but what was the fun in that. Plus, it was a naughty little secret she could have, knowing that her King had claimed her and she had physical evidence.

Entering the bedroom once more, she noticed the golden dress laying across the bed. This one more sleek than the ballgown she’d worn last night. Turning to look at Lucifer, who was now dressed in another elegant grandiose golden jacket and pants combo, she gestured towards the dress. He approached her, his eyes slowly trailing along her body.

“As much as I hate to have your delectable body covered, it is nice to see you clothed in such appropriate attire.” With his words he grabbed her hand and spun her quickly towards the mirror, releasing her as she went.

Coming to a dizzying halt at the mirror she went to cast a dark look at Lucifer but was stopped as she realized he’d had the dress appear on her as she spun. Sniffing she turned to inspect herself and the dress. This dress, while more sleek, showed far more skin than the one the night before. The floor-length skirt was half sheer lace; and the sleeves fell from her shoulders, showing off much of her chest. It was more elegant than she’d originally thought. Especially paired with her hair now raising in some elaborate style with her crown resting regally around her head. 

“There, fit for a Queen I would say. I fear My Court will be more enamoured with your attention than they could ever cast towards me.” Lucifer’s hands settled on her hips behind, peering into her eyes in the mirror. She leaned back into his embrace, sighing.

“Then I shall endeavor to remain on my best behavior.” While her tone was joking, she still felt nerves race through her. Lucifer’s hands squeezed briefly.

“I can feel your uneasiness, My flower. Trust that I will not lead you astray. Learning all the ins and outs of Court will be easy for you. You’re a natural. Besides, with your little display last night, I won’t be surprised to see a few of mine own lay fealty at your feet.” He assured, turning her in his arms. She ran a hand up his chest, trailing a finger along the exposed skin of his lower throat. 

“I trust you.” Her words rang clear throughout the room. She could feel as his triumph and pride swirled around them. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before stepping back and extending his arm.

“Then to Court we go.” At his urging she laid her hand within the crook of his elbow. He made quick work of the twisting hallways. Her head spun at all the turns they made as they went to the throne room.

Finally, they reached the open doors of the throne room. While the room itself looked similar to as it did the night before; now there were rows of seats lining the perimeter of the room, creating an aisle down the center. Each seat was filled with a person of some kind. Closer to the stairs sat the three demon Kings of Hell.

As Lucifer led them down the aisle and towards the stairs, all persons stood and bowed deeply, silence reigning over them. An occasional ‘Your Majestys’ would reach their ears, but was ultimately ignored. As she was led past the three demon Kings, they all three greeted her with a ‘Your Majesty’ and a bow. She inclined her head in acknowledgment before being led up the stairs. Lucifer stopped at the railing in front of their thrones. 

She looked out over the sea of neatly lined people as they stared up at her and Lucifer. There was a crowd beginning to form outside the door. No doubt demons and such coming to Court to have their problems fixed. 

Not even a month ago, she’d thought herself nothing but an orphan. With a family who loved her and a successful business she’d built from the ground. She had been content with it all. Now, she stood before a people, their Queen. With a handsome and menacing King at her side that cherished her. She’d experienced loss and betrayal at his side sure, but she’d never felt happier. Finally, she felt complete and that she’d found somewhere she belonged. She was exactly where she was meant to be. That she was sure of.

With those thoughts, she slid her hand down from the crook of his arm to settle it on his hand that was resting on the marble railing. She could see the corners of his lips start to curl from her periphery. 

“As this is your Queen’s first day of Court, we will be keeping it short. Court is now in session!” Lucifer’s words overtook the silence of the room. Their subjects still stood from their seats. As soon as Lucifer was done speaking, the people down below began chanting.

“Hail Samara! Hail Satan!” The words of the people rang around the room. Samara shot a quick pleased smile up at Lucifer as he turned them towards their thrones. Much like the night before, he helped her to her throne before sitting in his. He kept their hands interlaced over the arms of their thrones. 

She watched as someone from the doorway stumbled in, their hands fidgeting with each other as they walked down the aisle. One of the demon Kings rose to meet him. Samara released a pleased sigh, her sound causing Lucifer to raise her hand and press a kiss to the back of it. Meeting his curious gaze, Samara sent a pulse of content and happiness his way. To her pleasure, she was sent back his own wave of pride and happiness. Squeezing his hand she turned her attention back to their subjects below them. Content in the knowledge that yes, she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Thirteen; Delirium.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: !!! illness and swooning again in this chapter !!! Fever type dreams that get spooky and deathy

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Kylo was losing his mind.

 It’s been known to happen to vampires of certain ages. Possibly ones even older than him, if any such do exist. Alive so long they start to rot and fester in their own bodies.

 Brains blown and shattered apart from all the violence of things they’d done. Drifting and flaking apart like much too dried clay. The horror of the acts some vampires committed to feed. Not everyone could face or stomach it for so long. Drove them cackling into the worst sort of madness.

 He’s seen men fall apart too. Mortal men. He’s seen entire armies and countries of men perish. Losing their heads to the last breath, infected with illness, or pox or the plague.

 Deformed and rotting away already, before death had even come to them. Life clung on to them like some leeching disease. Decaying their bodies before their spirit had left their flesh.

 He’d seen scores of roguish men who’d dallied with pox ridden girls. Perishing with no control nor use of their bodies and no eyesight to help them. He’d seen many many men succumb to it for some cheap penny’s worth of indulgence with some infested whore up against a tavern or brothel wall. Those men end up as dribbling and demented fools. Turned into deformed madmen.

 It was hell. It was as close to any hell as he’d seen. The Black Death. He can remember that aswell. That rot.

 How it bittered the air of every rust red Italian street. He’d been in Italy, in when it first struck. The hacking wet of sloppy coughs until blood comes frothing up.

 Bloated bodies of peasants - men, women, children and infants - swelled green with festering flesh, dumped in the river, clogging up the Arno. Crows pecking at the bobbing corpses, ripping off flesh and eyeballs like wet peeling paper.

 So many bodies-

 Worse than ever, Kylo remembers the stench of plague. Rotting meat writhing with maggots, but candied with something of the human flesh, somehow. He’ll remember it for eternity. That cursed stench of putrefaction cloying the rivers and streets. It would stay seared into him for all his time still to come.

 He recalls how some walled themselves into their own homes. They stayed inside to fester. Or drink themselves to death. Or pray. The illness took all of them before too long - faith or no faith. He could hear the wails of the nearly dead bleed through the thick red walls.

 Blackened fingers, the fever and the boils, the salty sweat of rot and the reeking decay of death in every house. Everything the sick body excreted, be it sweat, spittle or breath, exuded an overpowering stench that he will never forget. 

Whole towns emptied. Abandoned. Their population now lay rotting in the swallowing of the soil. 

 The doctore de la peste roamed the streets with their unseeing round glassy-eyes. In their beaks packed with sweet dried roses, mint leaf and carnation petals. The sickle of it trailed behind them like smoke cutting through the gloom. The ripe perfumery of plague.

 By the end. The river was overrun with corpses. Couldn’t see the water for the rotting swill of flesh and bones. Rats scampering over them feeding. Gnawing. Birds plucking out what they liked to feed on.

 It’s enough of a sight to make a man want to put out his own eyes with a red hot poker after seeing such illness, pestilence and misery.

 It’s happening to him right as of now; in fact. Losing his mind. He’s certain.

 They could mark this, 1816, as the year that he relaxed his firm hold on his sanity. It only took a thousand and twenty seven years.

 It only took the sight of his sweet dove, in his bed, writhing and sweating with fever. Delirious and dangerously ill.

 She collapsed after dinner and he swept her upstairs right away. Mrs Jones sent a note for the local doctor. Sent their bravest rider out on Erland, into the storm by the safest road. Jomar fetches her a cold cloth from the anteroom. Kylo can’t leave her side. He won’t.

 He sits on the bed and watches over her diligently. When Jomar returns with a bowl of icy cold water, stands it on the bedside and wrings out the cloth. Kylo takes it from his offered hand without even casting an eye in his direction. He takes the sopping linen and pastes it across her clammy brow.

 She’s splayed back in his bed, weak and insensate. To hell with liberties. He took the gown and shawl off her himself, and bundled the white cotton and red velvet sheets over her. She sank back onto his pillows. Sprawled limp.

 Her lovely pale face sheened in sweat. Whole body shivering and her breathing was shallow. Brow creased and wrinkled up in pain.

 Kylo’s sitting near. Pulling sticky strands of hair off her cheeks. Hating the sight of her like this. He’s banked the fire and had extra blankets put on the bed. But he’s unsure. He’s never sat at a sick bed for a mortal before. Well- not like this. He’s attended a death bed. But here? He doesn’t know what to do. How to act.

 Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see him. He’s certain she can’t see him or anyone else in the room. She’s dazed. Lost to sense.

 And he’s frantic. He’s mopping her brow but he doesn’t know what good that might do. She keeps twisting her head away from him. Fingers twining into the sheets, fisting them in her hands. Gasping and shuddering breath. Her chest is moving up and down so fast it hurts him to see this.

 Mrs Jones timidly knocks on his bedchamber door. Kylo’s voice is strained when he answers the knock. She comes in. Her face pinched and the very sight of it hurts Kylo’s nonexistent heart.

 “The doctor can’t attend her, my Lord. He’s trapped a county over delivering a baby.” She says breathless and pink from running up the stairs. Her skirts still picked up in her hands.

 That was Kylo’s last hope. He dismisses her with a curt nod. Not ill tempered at her news. Merely overshadowed by this whole room. All this grave pressing silence and illness.

 The very air in here feels tense. Made dry and hot by the fire. Stale with human exertion. And Still. So still with anticipation and uncertainty.

 Jomar returns with another icy bowl of water, a fresh cool cloth. Kylo reaches and swaps it for the clammy warm one. She groans and tries to twist away.

 Kylo soothes her. “Dove. It’s alright it’s alright.” He hushes her as she fidgets and tosses around. Knees tugging under the blankets. Hands still fisting in the sheets. She’s whining. She’s pleading with him. The hysteria has gripped its nasty hold tight.

 “No... no. Ugh. Please. No.” She gasps. Head looming far back. Neck stretched out. Dewy, and by the darkened light of his room, her long supple neck and throat is now shimmering amber. Kylo’s hand take the cloth away and she sighs a lungful of a groan in response.

 “She’s not talking to you My Lord.” Jomar insists. “It is the fever.” He assures Kylo.

 His butler is now washing his hands in the water jug across on the dresser. Scrubbing soap and his nails with a harsh scratching brush that sizzles at his skin. He dunks his hands under the cloudy milk of the water and washes away the soap suds.

 “What do I do?” Kylo’s pleading to them both. To Jomar and Mrs Jones. He looks like a little dark haired boy. An infant. Helpless and terrified.

 Sat there, teetering on the edge of his bed, starry silver tears in his eyes. It might be the only time they’ve seen him truly weak or scared. Wracked with agony with something even he can’t control.

 Powerless to help the woman he loves.

 Mrs Jones knows of that look. She sees the russet sparkle in his Lordships eyes. And it aches her. Sees the pain in his creased brow and displayed in the openness of his face. He is used to having power over so many things - this is not part of his influence. It does not share in being intimidated by him as most things and people usually do.

 This vampires one weakness; terror for the frailty of mortality. That she could and might slip away to a place beyond his mighty reach.

 Jomar crosses back to the bed, takes her wrist and feels for her pulse. His clever kind hands were cool on her feverish skin. Still she shivers in his grasp. He fixes his gaze downwards as he holds her frail arm. Returning it gently to her side when he’s done.

 “Her heart rate is very fast.” He says with veiled emphasis. He then leans up and peers over her face, gently cupping it to see her eyes. “Her eyes are unfixed also.”

 “I think it may be an affliction on her lungs. A chill caught from the rainstorm.” He suggests to Kylo.

 “How do we treat her?” Kylo’s demanding with every note of his voice laced with hope.

 Jomar shares an anxious look with Mrs Jones. “We don’t. Your lordship.” Jomar tells him gravely.

 “We can only wait now for the fever to break. But we can do everything within our power to make her comfortable.” He insists to his Master and friend. Laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

 Lord Ren looks up at him. Lost in his gaze. His silver bangle catches the light. A darting glimmer. Like a silver scaled fish swimming in dark inky waters. His butlers hope and goodness always shone great through the darkest of times.

 Jomars bronzed eyes melt for him like crushing gold honey and warm cocoa. Tries to bolster him kindly for this devastating news.

 “Is there truly nothing I can do?” Kylo chokes out. His voice hadn’t the bravery to rise beyond a whisper. He just had to watch her suffer like this? Twisting and delirious and unconscious with fever.

 “I’m afraid so M’lord. In the meantime-“ Mrs Jones says. Crossing the wide dark room to the window. Batting away the crimson drapes. The battle axe she was is on the warpath. She’ll see this right. Kylo wouldn’t trust anyone else.

 “We might try to keep her cool. Fever burns you up something wicked. So I won’t have her stifled. Loose blankets are best. And we are to mop her brow and her neck every hour. On the hour.” She commands. Jomar nods in agreement.

 “I’ll see to some laudanum for her relief, from the medicine cupboard.” He insists. Bowing his head to Kylo before slipping away.

 Off out the door. Picks up the lit candle holder in his hand from the side. The long ivory taper of it flickers a warm marmalade in the dark of his Lordships crimson room. Kylo watches the glow of it, and him, disappear down the dark hall. Swallowed up into the blackness of the house.

 The treads of his boots crushed silent and dead on the rug in the corridor. The hazy fog of champagne yellow coated the walls of Hellford like thick gold dust. Shining off every polished wood door and dark floorboard. Grows fainter and fainter as he moves away.

 Kylo turns back to his dove. Takes the cloth away. Re-wets it. Puts it back on her brow. He takes it away again once the cool is gone. Replaces the cloth with his own cold hand. All of his fingers dwarfing most of her head. He slips around and cups the nape of her neck and she rolls her solid head onto the arch of his arm.

 She’s so warm it almost burns his hand. His chest aches to feel her that way.

 She protests at the cold. “Leave me.” She sobs. “Leave me alone...” She cries. Eyes shut. Denying him the alluring cloudy grey gaze of those eyes he admires so much.

 “I will do no such thing...” Kylo says lowly. Stroking wet tamped hair off her forehead. Looking at her flushed cheeks which burn hot. He presses the back of his hand to them. To soothe them. The crinkle in her brow lessens a little at his icy touch. The only time his coldness has ever come in handy.

 Mrs Jones grabs the bowl of water from next to him but before she scurries downstairs to replace it she offers. “Your Lordship, I can send for a maid to sit with her. If you need some rest.”

 “I will stay.” Kylo presses. “I won’t leave her side until this wretched thing breaks.” He insists with stony determination.

 He looks back to Iris. Cupping her cheek in his hand. Watching her breathing pant rapid. She leans into his touch.

 With no clear action before him, other than to comfort her. His mind, denied of a task, emptied of all things, now fear began to fill it.

 Mrs Jones says nothing. But she gives him a trembling look of affection that attempts at bolstering him. She takes the bowl and she too pads softly out the room. The creaking whine of the door being softly shut was the final announcement to their being availed of company.

 Kylo turns back to her. A terrible weight squeezing down on his chest. He’s sat at a fair number of deathbeds in his life. He’d watched some human friends fade away. But that was certain. War or disease took them from him.

 This is not certain and it’s killing him all over again.

 It’s that night on the battefield in the snow again and again again. Draegan finding him. Coming across Kylo as he lay dying. The burning dripping searing blood leaking down his side. His wound was by the abdomen. The worst way to die. It could take days. The white hot agony searing his bones in acid all over again. Scarlet snow. Scarlet wet snow everywhere.

 He can remember cool slender fingers cupping his neck. The whisper across his cheek like a kiss of the icy north wind. “You know you will not survive this.” He explained. Unsticking Kylo’s leather gloved hand from the wound that ran along the entire side of his stomach. Silver eyes, like precious moonstones, looking at the blood laying black and thick on his palm.

 To the very last. Kylo fought like a warrior. When he often had resolved, as a Viking soldier, of pondering his own death. He had envisioned a glorious end. Sword in hand cutting down his enemies until his very last breath.

 He never imagined in his wildest dream that death would smile handsomely at him first. Never believed he’d be side by side with the devil - and that he would love him with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

 Never thought he’d love again - until he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. He lusted for her first of all. That instant carnal attraction. But that had masked how she truly made Kylo’s soulless body ache to love her.

 She brought him to his knees. And now he’s choking on his grief.

 “Please don’t leave me, Little Dove.” He begs in a whisper as she writhes and sweats into his bedsheets. Gasping and dulled.

 “Don’t go to the one place I can’t follow.” He begs. Laying his big hand over where hers was limp and stretched out atop the velvet covers. His hand dwarfed hers utterly. But his touch was so gentle. Unsure.

 “I told you if anything happened to you. It would kill me.” He says. Looking at her earnest face. So dewy and flushed.

 “I meant my words. Iris, If I have to spend an eternity without loving you then, I-“ His throat claws up. Suffocating his words. He shakes his head.

 He brings her limp arm up. Back of her clammy hand pressed to his mouth. Nuzzles a kiss to her skin. Tastes the salt of her sweat. Tastes her agony. He’s certain it reflects his own.

 “I won’t leave you.” He vows solemnly. A silky whisper that he speaks into her skin. He always takes his vows seriously.

 Treads rattle louder in the hallway. Coming back to the room. Jomar enters again with the bottle of laudanum and a spoon to hand.

 Kylo will be the one to feed it to her. He gently cups her face and slips the silver spoon to her lips. An oddly intimate act. He feeds the opiate into her mouth, she twists her head and some of it runs down her chin. Kylo wipes it away with the cloth. Taking up the task of the lowliest maid. Seeing so tenderly to her in her illness.

 He’s calmed a little by the fact of the laudanum taking away any pain she might be feeling. Her breathing settles. As does his worry.

 He retires to the chair by the fireside across the room. The same deep wine red velvet as covers his bed. He pulls it close to the end of his huge four postered bed. Drapes hanging heavy down all four mahogany posts. Protecting the pale infirm form of her within. He’ll watch over her from his bedside. Cradled in the comfort of the chair.

 Some ineffectual matronly mama of the ton may argue that this was most improper. A single man watching over the bedside of an unmarried girl. Worst still- an unmarried girl on the brink of an engagement.

 Kylo snorts to himself. Wondering if the deuced snotty boy of a Sergeant would even care that his intended was gravely ill. Probably only cared that she had fallen ill in Kylo’s manor.

 It didn’t matter that she was unconscious and insensate. She was in the very room with a man who compromised her honour, and Hux’s. Making a fool of him. In in Lord Ren’s very own bed, no less.

 Well. Not that either of them were in any fit state to be compromising the hell out of each other. But he doubts strict society will see it that way. This was enough impropriety just being within touching distance.

 One thing that does prevail upon him a tiny shred of bright happiness in all this darkness. Is the fact that he knows how desperately fuming this whole situation would make Iris’s mother.

 Him protecting her. Rescuing her. Keeping her safe. He’s sure the old harpy would be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog knowing where her daughter was. She’d likely spout out nastiness, how it was all a concoction for the dashing dark Lord Ren to seduce and spoil her eldest daughter. To ruin their hope of an advantageous marriage.

 Little did that termagant know, but it was far too late for that.

 Iris was worked her sweet steady way under his skin from every outing they’ve shared. Every look across a crowded ballroom. Every touch of their hands, gloved or not. Their dance. Their kiss. It was the inferno that brought their affection and regard for each other to a fever pitch.

 She trembles whenever he comes close. When their eyes meet he always feels the delighted shiver that runs the full length of her spine. The blush that prettily decorates her cheeks. Finer than any jewellery he could bestow on her gorgeous body.

 Funny how such a thing as her blush made him think of so many things.

 It made him want to whisk her away in the dead of night. Back to Bavaria. Install her there as the Lady of his castle. Sharing his land. Sharing his title. Lady Ren. He’d have her dresses tailored by the finest Dressmaker in Bavaria.

 Dust off the family jewels and then bedeck her in them. Head to toe. Nothing less would do for her. She’s suffered such a life of penury and scraping together to make her as bait to men for marriage. He’d see to ending that sad facet of her life. He’d let her choose what she wears. Whether or not she had to pay calls or deliver baskets to the infirm.

 He’d let her lounge in a boudoir parlour, reading books, and accomplish nothing in her day apart from having a sumptuous oiled bath if she so desires. He just wants to see her happy.

 He’d open the whole castle for her to explore room after room. Every tapestry. Every oil painting and marble statue. Every suit of armour he’d fought in over the years. Stood proud and polished silver on display. All of it he’d let her have.

 How he misses it... his home. Ranlor Castle.

 He misses the way the castle feels to step into. The scent of it. The edifying old thick stone halls of musty brick and how the smell of green and pine like the forest surrounding it, seeps in every window. Hanging upon the very air.

 He misses the warmth of the fur pelts on his bed on a stormy night. The sky flurrying with snow, wind howling at tiny lead crossed windows. He was so used to hearing the wolves cry out for the moon in the woods at night, as he fell asleep in his big soft bed. Missed the way flame and shadow danced up the thick exposed golden-bricked walls. It lulls him to sleep.

 The locals rightly call Ranlor the ‘devils rock.’ A dark superstition has long lingered over the land ever since Kylo had been in residence there.

 Named because of the way the - many - turrets either end of the castle rear out the landscape like two sharp pale fangs. Looking over all the local villages and tenants. The shadows of those turrets reach far and wide. Everything is eclipsed in it’s shade. Grisly things were said to happen too, in his woodlands. Strong men go missing and not even so much as their bare bones are ever recovered.

 Local folk legend blindly believes when the moon is full, that devils roam the woods. Black wolves turn into foul hungry demons with claws, ready to hunt upon the flesh of men. When the moon is its full eye of pearl in the sky, people are warned to stay off the forest. And stick to their homes. Bolt the doors and draw the shutters. Cower in their beds and listen to the wolves howls rise faintly over the snowy horizon. Piercing through the snow.

 Kylo’s work providing for his lands and Ranlor’s tenants so ably puts shame to most of the rumours.

 He is a generous Lord and master of the lands. Nothing is beyond his notice. He holds a ball for the local villages every year, near Yuletide season. Amidst the bitter winter. The staff bring in great log garlands made from the holly in the forest to decorate the hall. They serve brandy and punch and Kylo mixes among everyone to see how their year has been as his tenants.

 If families struggle, too many mouths to feed. He absolves their rent. Ensures they are kept stocked with food from the castles own kitchen to tide them over- He has no need for it after all. His servants eat handsomely too, Kylo makes sure of that.

 If bouts of illness flourish among his tenants and among those less fortunate than him, he puts up the money for the doctors bills. He takes care of his own. Even if they are not his kin. They are under his protection on his territory.

 He is remarked on being a very gallant and fair man. No one on his land would dare observe that he was frightening and cruel.

 Only if he is gotten on the wrong side of that is. If poachers steal from his lands and steal the food supplies belonging to his people. Or if he sees any drunken men take advantage where they shouldn’t with a passing maiden, outside the taverns. If a violent and ill tempered brute of a man who drinks his families wage away, so much as dares to raise a hand to his suffering wife or children- then does Kylo reveals his nasty side.

 He’s sure there are still gossips that believe the superstition of his home. In local taverns at night over pitchers of ale, some men lean in, to whisper and wonder and gossip if he is entirely as human as he seems.

 He rarely eats. Never drinks to excess. Had never taken a wife and he doesn’t dally with whores. He stalks the forest alone most nights. They sometimes remarked that he was not human. There was little humanity about him. But they never suspected for a moment that the bloodthirsty demon unleashed by the full moon, was in fact him.

 The reason some of the bones of missing men were never found? Because Kylo drains them of the blood and leaves the drained corpse for the hungry wolves to tear apart.

 Kylo ruminates on memories of home as he watches the firelight kiss across her pale form on the bed. Her breathing still shallow.

 “I’d so much like for you to see Ranlor. Little dove. You’d adore it.” He says. Speaking to her as if she were awake to hear him.

 He tells her about the forest. About the bitter winter gales that blow through. And how it thaws so prettily in spring. Woods full of blue hyacinths and pink scented stocks. Sugary and sickly perfume of them in the warm pine of sun-baked air.

 He tells her how she’d like the wildflowers and the baby roe deers and the lake when it’s warm enough to swim in. To dip into the fathomless sapphire ink of water. The graceful swans that dance across the blue waters surface.

 He tells her she’d like the local life. Much like here, people were humble and simple. Salt of the earth. People who make no pretence to be more than they are. How refreshing he finds that compared to all the Janus faced civility. Velvet draped over daggers, and dripping censure that falls from lord’s and ladies mouths, in a savage English country ballroom.

 He describes the villages nearby. On the road to Ranlor. The tall narrow houses built of walnut timber and smothered in white paint. Closely set together on cobbled grey streets. Some of the neighbouring villages were walled cities also. Keeps from medieval times. Set high up in the rocks.

 Quaint little hamlets were dotted along the Bavarian alps near his castle. He tells her of the nearest one to Ranlor.

 Brimming with taverns boasting the most excellent beer and joints of game, roasted on a spit, a flagon and a hunk of meat for no more than a half a gold florin. Cafes and shops there were, a florist also. He recalls the waxy punchy-coloured tulips and how they always always always caught his attention in the window. The striking eye-catching scarlet of them. He likes seeing it, as he often rides past on Erland. Or in his rattling big coach.

 There were coffee houses, bakeries and patisseries selling Austrian cakes and puddings. Butchers or other general stores selling the local cuisine of smoked or cured meats and sausages and cheeses.

 The spectacular wares always for show in the haberdashers window. Great voluminous hats with sprouting great feathers and dripping trimmings galore. Her silly sisters, he fancied, would adore to see such fine frippery. And most of all, there in that precious little village that somehow has found a warm place in his heartless chest, there are always vendors with their braziers, hawking roasted or candied nuts around the town square.

 He tells her how touched he was in her gesture of giving him a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, the day after they first met.

 He admits something to her then; of how he doesn’t often indulge in human food. But those he did eat. The buttery sweet burn of them reminded him of home. Lifting his nose to the bag to smell the smoky nutty scent sent him ricocheting right back to thoughts of that little Bavarian village. It touched him profoundly in more ways then he could say. She could barely spare the capital to buy them and she bestowed on him, such a gift.

 She bought it with her last penny and that truly astounded him. He was a veritable stranger to her then. He is so much more than that now. She’s so much more to him. And him, to her.

 Kylo will see out this lonely frightful night. He watches over her. Hopes the morning will bear better signs. Hopes that the tumultuous storm passes.

 It dies well enough. By the pale pink of a wet lilac and gold dawn, shining over the windowpane and into his chamber. Shrouding his sickbed in rosy gold, she is unfortunately in much the same state. Unchanged. Not progressing nor worsened.

 He sits and keeps a diligent eye on her. Had done all night. He requires little sleep. And so he talks to her. Mops her brow when she starts sweating again. Jomar and Mrs Jones flit in and out. Bringing provisions. And fresh cold water. More laudanum.

Mrs Jones brought him a plate of roasted meats and a glass of wine. It went untouched. She takes it away without saying a word. Gives the scraps to the hounds.

 Jomar checks on her every few hours. With his slight grasp of medical knowledge. They try sending for the doctor again. But he is still unavailable. Fixing broken bones from men caught up in last nights storm. Kylo curses the inflexible man every name under the sun.

 He doesn’t even retire from her side to take luncheon. Mrs jones had tried to tempt him with a grilled chop at breakfast. And still he refused. Tempted him with roast capons and a carafe of wine now, and still he declined. He’d gone longer without food before in his time. It wouldn’t hurt him. Three years he’d once gone without indulging.

 “You need to keep your strength up. My Lord. You’re no good to her if you starve away to skin and bone.” She chides as she carries out another bowl of water. Refreshing it.

 “Hardly likely.” Kylo’s insisting. Tugging at the rumpled linen of his shirt.

 Sleeves rolled and cuffed. Waistcoat he shrugged off some time in the night. Just in black braces, dull boots and dark breeches now. He’s sure he’ll be a malodorous wretch in need of a shave and wash. But he won’t leave her in this crisis. He won’t so much as go to splash cold water on his face. He’s not leaving this room.

 Hellhounds with glowing red eyes and slobbering gnashing teeth, couldn’t drag him away.

 Mrs Jones makes a move to put a matronly hand on her hip and chastise him some more. But there comes a groan from the bed.

 Kylo leaps from his chair and bolts across to her. “Dove?”

 He seeks for her hand. He listens to her breathe.

 It was now a shallow drag accompanied by a slight rattling wheeze when she breathed. The affliction had spread to her lungs. And he knows the opium will have suppressed her lungs as a result.

 A trickle of blood leaves her mouth and smears on the pillow. A wheezing hacking cough comes from her. It’s such a weak sound it hurts to hear it. He mops it away with the damp cloth. Smears at her pale cheek in its wake.

 “Oh no. God no. Iris...” He seeks louder. Trying to see if she responds. She’s limp as ever. Lost to him. Blood leaking from her lips.

 “Fetch Jomar.” He orders urgently to his housekeeper. She runs for the door and brings back the Butler. He checks her over and his face is grave.

 “Your lordship. Her temperature is rising and I believe it appears as if the infection is worsening.” He says softly.

 Kylo’s face falls. His throat bobs with worry.

 He knows she’s strong. She can temper the foul spitting words of her mother. She can temper this. She must. Or he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

 “Will she die?” Kylo asks outright. Face like steel. Eyes wet.

 “I’m not a doctor. My Lord. I cannot say. But she needs a miracle to fight this affliction that’s taken hold. It looks like consumption.” He tells honestly.

 Kylo nods. “I’ll call you both if you are needed again.” He dismisses them.

 They file out the room with sorrowful faces. Such a sweet girl. And their Master is clearly so cut up by seeing her in such a state.

 Kylo wraps his fingers around her hand.

 “Fight it little dove.” He urges her. She was shivering earlier. But now she’s stilled. Sweating and clammy. Burning up more than ever. She was getting worse.

 “Please. Please fight. You’re so strong Iris. My god, you don’t know how strong...” He begs as he cups her hand and one hand cradles the side of her face.

 “The first time I saw you, I saw your strength. Your resilience. You held your head high even though you didn’t want too. I felt your pain. I felt your back breaking under all that strain.”

 Her head stays limp on the pillow. Eyes blind to anything. Shut in unrest. He wishes more than anything that there was something he could do to aid her before this got even worse.

 She looks pallid. Ashen. More so than before. Sweating buckets and more blood leaks out her mouth. He wipes it away with the fresh handkerchief Jones left by the bed. He looks down in his hand and sees the sticky red staining the white cloth.

 Like a bloodied paw print in the snow. It doesn’t even call out to his hunger. He’s too beyond it. This is too perilous. Too serious to measure his animal instincts.

 Blood.

 The room grows cold. All warmth drops as if the sun had been snatched out the sky. Kylo feels the chill pinned along his skin as a ghost of a phantom breeze sweeps over him.

 His cool blood turns to prickling ice. The candles on the bedside flicker, the fire wanes. He knows what comes next. He hasn’t felt this in centuries. He hears the voice, as crisp and as sharp as frost in his head. The voice like silver coins and honey dances into his ear. Notes as fine as a dark deep concerto.

 “Your blood, My fierce one. Or have you forgotten. All life is in the blood.” Comes Draegan’s soothing mellow voice.

 The tone that was like feather down and silk to listen to the way he crooned. Every part of his manner was charming. The deep of his sharp eyes was piercing. Intoxicating.

 Kylo’s not been alongside mortals as Draegan had. He was a healer. Though he was a demon, he always conceded that there was no death without life. All life as such, is therefore to be treated as precious. Humans fascinated him. And he moved freely and happily among them. Whereas Kylo scorned most all of them.

 He strides from the bed to his unused escritoire across the room. Situated by the window for light. Not that he had any letters to write or close acquaintances to send them too. He considered leaving notes for Iris but there’s always a risk his letters would be discovered. He’s got a stack of them all written - tied up with a grey silk ribbon and hidden away.

 He rifles through his drawers until he finds it. A knife. A silver dagger with a weighted carved handle. He rounds the bed again, crosses to her and sits near her hip. He holds out his left hand and rips the knife across his index fingertip.

 Crimson beads up. He holds his hand aloft and watches it drip. Looks back to Iris and gently cups her face.

 “I know this won’t be pleasant. But it will help.” He tells. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain. It’s nothing to him. Nothing to the pain of seeing her suffer like this.

 He gently holds her cheeks and rubs his bloodied fingers across her dry lips. Smearing crimson onto her tongue. She frowns and tries to move her head away, mumbling in distress. But Kylo doesn’t relent until he’s sure his ichor coats her tongue. Slips silken down her throat.

 He takes his hand away and rubs the blood from her mouth that spilled down her chin. Leaving her as pale as she was before. The rose of her cheeks still glares awfully bright.

 He bunches the cloth around his hand. He’ll heal up in no time. He wishes he could say the same for her. Only time will tell...

 He holds her hand. Strokes over her dainty little clammy knuckles. “Twice now he’s saved you.” He remarks to her.

 “If I didn’t know him any better....” He sighs, trails off in his words. The very breath gets punched from him. To what end could Draegan be saving her? Whatever for?

 One idea occurs - it’s because he’s felt all that she means to him.

 That tears agony at him like animals claws tearing down his chest. Shredding flesh. When he thought how he turned his back on him, and scorned his love. And here he was, centuries later, calling out to keep her safe. To protect her.

 Kylo lets himself feel shamed.

 Ashamed for the ways he bypassed his feelings for Draegan, and let anger fill him so completely up instead. Now he’s met Iris? He understands what he put Draegan through when he left. Because she might leave him now, and he thinks he might just wither away to ash, to nothing, for agony of loving her so much. Unable to help her through this pain.

 Though now, perhaps he’s given her the catalyst to help her fight what ails her. He can only wait. And pray.

 He paces the room. Paces and then sits. And then he’s treading worn holes in the floorboards again.

 Before he knows it, night falls again. He watches out the window as the sun bleeds into blue.

 Night washes a filmy indigo over the landscape. Trees turn to dark gnawed fingers of branches. The grass shimmers with evening dew and the pond out front in view of his window, turns to gloopy blue ink.

 He stands with his back to her. Surveying the view out the window. Arms folded behind his back. He’s listening to the fire crack and the wind groaning outside on the cold glass, splashing hard against the house. And suddenly she speaks. Gasps out. Cries out.

 “So cold.”

 He whips around fast. She’s twisting from side to side and he sees the fire sheen off her brow. She repeated herself “It’s so cold...” He hastens to the bedside and takes her hand again. “Iris?” He asks.

 She’s still dazed. Still delirious. Twisting her head on the bed.

 “Snow. And blood. Why is there....so much blood...” She frowns. Her face all contorted. Her palms knot her fingers into her pillow. She’s writhing again.

 Kylo looks down at her. Puzzled.

   ~

   Her reality had became quickly spliced with odd fevered dreams.

 Snippets of actuality broke through the haze. She felt herself fall after she stood up from the armchair after their intimate dinner. She dropped but her body didn’t hit the floor. She’s moving again. And those lovely strong arms of his, are around her.

 She’s burning. Was she on fire? That’s what it feels like. She’s dripping sweat and trying to claw at her dry throat. Loosen her strangling clothes. Get some blessed sweet cool air on her skin.

 A cold chest she’s cradled into again. Widest muscled chest she’s ever beheld. And she’s moving. Her eyes are shut, it’s all dark, yet she feels weightless. Being carried.

 Then it all goes soft. She’s laying on velvet as gentle hands guide away clothes from her body. She’s aching so much her bones ring with it.

 She tries moving but she feels cemented. Every word she tries to croak is difficult. Making speech is like trying to let thick hot syrup drip off her sticky tongue.

 There’s this pain in her lungs. A thousand knives stabbing in when her chest expands. Kind hands touch her arm and her head. Their warmth scorches her already blazing skin. She tries to wriggle away. But she’s too weak. Her body won’t comply to the requests of her mind.

 There’s feather and down at her back. It crinkles and crumples, and she’s relieved the bed is so cool. Something bittersweet is dropped down her throat. Trickling down her melting tongue. She barely feels the rest. She drifts in and out.

 And the thing is, she’s not entirely sure she’s alone. She hears voices. A voice. Dark, deep, like a granite walled cave.

 She can’t feel much. But she feels cold thick fingers wrap around hers. She knows who those might belong too.

 The fire in her blood doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wane. She feels like she’s drowning and she’s not even in the rain anymore. Prickles and knives and all manner of horrible sharp things stab at her chest. Spears, lances, thorns and needles.

 It feels like her lungs rattle with poison and shards of broken glass. She wants to cough but it’s too much for the infirm state she’s in.

 In between her swimming head and trying to crack open her heavy eyes. Between bleeding crimson and a blazing twitching flame she can make out very little.

 Time and sensation are lost to her. But she feels how someone diligently holds her, cups her face, cool on her cheek, feeds her spoonfuls of water so she doesn’t dehydrate. Dribbled water and laudanum - spiced with honey and saffron to cut the bitterness - down her neck with a cold silver spoon perched on her lips.

 The dreams are the worst. She dreams about rain. About rivers and heavy crushing things, tar, black and rotten, squirming on her chest. Crushing her.

 Of fangs ripping pale flesh off bleeding necks, how that haunts her. Wine red blood and she’s laying in a sticky hot pool of it. Unable to move.

 Foul black demons with claws and leathery black wings and red eyes, drooling maws with gnashing teeth rip at her nubile skin. She screams but no sound comes. They throw her screaming into hell and brimstone, and the flames lick higher around her.

 She’s dying. She must be dying. She can see it. Lying under a chiffon veil draping her body. Dried white flowers, rustling and dead sweet, are placed on her chest. Hands crossed over her chest. A figure in hooded cloaked black looms over her.

 She squirms. She tries to bat them away. Tries to twist out their reach of these monsters. She calls and begs them, but to no avail. Cold splashed on her again. On her brow and on the back of her neck. She sighs and gladly welcomes it.

 A low melodic buzz murmurs in her ears like a thousand bees zipping and bobbing about her head. She can’t understand what it is. But it’s somehow a nice sound to listen too.

 It causes a gentle hum to seep into her aching bones and calms her heavy head. It’s like a balm. Salve on a wound. She doesn’t realise that it’s Kylo talking to her.

 When the fire in the hearth across the room crackled and spit sparks up the chimney, it felt like splits opened in her skin, forming like cracks in stone, and insects crawled out. Black scurrying beetles, She started itching at her arms. Clawing. But nothing was there.

 The cold soothe of her harbinger of peace is there to hold her hands and stop her nails raking her flesh away.

 More voices move around her. Tumbling around the air in the room. Cracking and snapping like zapping silver lightning and thunder. The mumbling grows in volume. Slithering along her spine. One of her arms feels like it’s been left in ice water - it’s where he’s holding and kissing her. Begging her to fight it. Pleading with her.

 She’s so tired. So wrung out. She just wants all this pain and fevered madness to stop. She’s soaked through to the sheets and her skeleton grates with ringing hot agony whenever she dares to move. She’d cry if her brain would grant her that meagre request.

 Her lungs have worsened. She knows it. Filled and clogged with dry sand, and salt. Sluggish and wet like a briny beach. It rattles when she breathes, and something she can’t name dribbled out her mouth. Drooling onto the pillow. She doesn’t know that it’s blood.

 She only knows that she’d quite like to fall away to her fever dreams and never come back.

 Iris so wants the lingering darkness to take her.

 However, one tiny shred of her feels cheated; she would’ve so liked to kiss Lord Ren again. One last time. The nicest thing that’s ever happened to her. She’d have liked to have tasted his kiss and drown in his loving attentions just one more time. Just one.

 It didn’t seem like a lot to ask of fate. Seeing the crummy hand it had dealt her in her wretched little life, thus far.

 Time passes. She’s not sure if it’s seconds, or minutes. For all she knows she may only have been lying insensate for an hour. Or it may have been days. Weeks. She can’t focus. She could have been lying stretched out there for Methuselah’s lifetime. She’s none the wiser.

 Then something else happens, something unexpected. Something wet is pushed past her lips. Only it isn’t water. And it isn’t the bitter saffron alkaline of laudanum.

 She doesn’t recognise this taste; it’s salty sweet. Hot metallic, and a blend of sour-saccharine burst. She doesn’t recognise it. It’s not unpleasant. But it’s not what she’d describe as palatable.

 She tries to twist. But her head is thumping and those flames are curling at her toes again.

 And then some distinctly odd things begin to happen. Even more odd than demon dreams or the bugs crawling out crevices in her skin.

 Where she swallows, the substance dropped in her mouth starts rolling down her throat. Carving away the pain in its path.

 Before long it reaches her swollen lungs. Slowly. One by one, each knife and needle, shard of glass, spear and lance is dragged out of her. Pulled away. Tugged out her pinching flesh. Relaxing her ribs.

 Gradually, all her pain lessens. Stickiness in her lungs, grating of her shallow heavy bones. It all fades. Agony slowly dies like a starved candle flame.

 The unknown liquid rolls through her like milk and crushed honeycomb. Ambrosia nectar. It tastes like gold. Like sunshine warming her bare skin after feeling nothing for months, but cutting winter frost.

 Fever dreams start to come back in full force. And they feel more real than before.

 She opens her eyes and there’s suddenly snow. It’s cold. It’s so very cold she’s shivering. Standing there, looking around a milky snow blotted forest.

 The trees around her reach vast, thick and tall. Trunks wider than her body. She cranes her head and she can’t even judge the tops of them. It’s just foggy grey up above. Heavy snowfall closing in.

 But all around her there are splotches of dark seeping in the snow. Dark jagged shapes lay misshapen in the thick thick icy drift.

 She feels it all. The squishing shift of the powder beneath her feet. Cold little stings of flakes melt onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Turning to tears that rain dewdrops down her skin. Her breath spirits silver out her mouth.

 There’s no stars up in heaven. No moon. Not tonight. Nothing to cast over this glum gloom and darkness.

 Noises patter and clang in the distance. Metal scrapes and hollow clashes. She peers around her and that’s when she comes to realise what all those shapes are...

 Bodies.

 Laying dead and still in the snow. As far as her eye can see. Men lay broken and scattered across the forest floor. Clad in simple dark armour. All wearing the same crimson coat of arms: blood and death litters them. That is their uniform.

 Crimson is still shimmering down the bark. Splashed there from the slash of swords across parts of anatomy she didn’t want to think about. She cannot imagine how her brain can conjure up such carnage. Such mayhem and suffering.

 Seeing a thousand, or more, dead men, pulled and carved to pieces. Violently separated from limbs, or heads or legs. Bleeding into the snow. Slumped sat against trees or piled on each other. Some studded with arrows. Some not.

 Splayed where they’ve fallen. Viscera exposed, stubby limbs chopped in half. Throat slit. Holes punched in their chests and bloodied organs tumbled out. Some men held it in their arms like dirty washing. It’s an awful thing to witness. Such savagery.

 What kind of beast could cause this? Could leave men dying and dead in this horrific way?

 She scans around. Unable to fathom it. These poor souls. Mouths gaping. Eyes wide and staring, unseeing, at the clouded heavens. Like sticky pearls shimmering in the dark. Death hadn’t been long in taking them. The blood leaving them is still warm. She can feel the blaze of it under her feet. Melting the snow.

 She sees no movement in the trees. Save for the snow heading down from high above. Settling like natures own confetti on all these fallen soldiers. Weeping over them, yet nothing else can be done but show them to their graves.

 Then she does make out something.

 A tall, lean, and strong figure moves through the trees away from her. Strong trunks of long legs. Sinewed arms. Even in his dazzling armour. Slender. So slender and elegant for a man. Most men lumbered. This one practically glided.

 Though he is scarcely standing out amongst them. Silver and white. Clad in brilliantly kept armour. The only thing that stands clear is the crimson splattered across this soldiers body. Gleaming down his silver armour. He comes to a standstill.

 If he was the last man standing; she suddenly realises with horror exactly what that means in odes to all the death surrounding them.

 She moves slowly towards this destination. Somehow desperate for a look. In the dim, she steps carefully and slow over the slaughter of mangled bodies and crimson hot snow. He has his back to her. Now she can’t see his face.

 She crosses this battlefield. Comes closer and closer. As if stalking a cautious stag.

 He was devastating in his height. Lean but not a man to be mistaken as being powerless. A long bloodied sword drips from his left hand. Even in this suffocating slim darkness, the curtain of white hair spilling long down his back is entirely obvious. Like a silk curtain. It’s braided too. Twisted into intricate plaits. Fixed with silver cuffs and wound with jewellery.

 There are silver coiled serpent decorations wound around some of his braids. They gleam in the night like far off stars. He moves as devastating as a supernova.

 If his hair moves like silk, so does he. Movements so supple yet languid. Certain. A great degree of confidence.

 He turns his head. She hopes to catch a glance of his profile. Wanting to see if his face is as handsome as his hair, or his impressive built frame.

 She’s curious. Somehow this is familiar for her; this white haired stranger.

 He turned only a fraction. Not enough for to show her anything. Not his face. Not his eyes. Though it seemed he was looking in her direction. She’s been caught.

 She freezes entirely and a smooth voice dances like honey wine and satin across the butchered dead and the snow.

 “Go back to him. Little spark. He’s waiting for you.... this isn’t how we meet.” He tells her.

 She cannot contest. She can’t even fight. Or speak. White fog swallows her up. Clouds her eyes. The blood and the soldiers and the snow falls away. Like she’s being dropped out of a white haze and sent tumbling down to mushy blackness. Spat out of heaven.

 She falls. Jolts. Her heart leaps in her chest as adrenaline spikes through her body. She gasps...

 And then, miraculously, she finally wakes.

  ~

   She stumbles back to life with a rattling gasp. Kylo didn’t even hear it. It was nearly ten at night. He’s sat by the fire in his bedchamber, watching the logs within crackle and sinking and burning to amber and ash. Unaware that she’d opened her eyes until;

 “Kylo?” Comes a weak little voice from the bed. Her voice.

 He stands and turns so fast his head swims. “Dove?”

 He strides so quick for the bed it makes her dizzy. He frets about stupid things, like the fact he hasn’t washed and shaved. He’s been too occupied in his avowed duty of sitting and watching over her sickbed.

 He kneels by her side. Happily cups the cheek closest to him. Her eyes are clear, hooded, but clear. No longer shimmering bright with fever. And her cheeks have calmed. Less glaring red heat, now just a kiss of pink.

 He places his knuckles on her forehead and had never been more relieved to feel her cooled. She shuts her eyes and smiles. Appreciating his touch. Savouring it.

 “My god. I thought I’d lose you.” He insists quietly when she opens her eyes again. He takes her dear sweet hand and kisses it.

 She takes a lot of energy to swallow and unsticks her dry cracked lips to answer him. Smiling. “Might I trouble you for some water?” She croaks. Her voice a strained crackle bleeding out her throat.

 He pours it himself. Hands it to her. Helps her sit up a little and tip the glass to her parched rosebud lips. She takes dainty gulps of it. Drains the glass and has enough. It’s not overly cool, but Iris swears it’s the best thing she’s ever drunk.

 He mops her brow again when she’s finished. Wipes the wet coils of hair away off her brow. It feels awfully nice and even though it’s shockingly intimate. She relaxes back onto the damp pillows and lets him comfort her.

 “How long was I?-” She seeks.

 “Two days, little dove.” He tells her gently. Placing the linen cloth down where it belongs. She swallows again. Refinding her lost voice. “It’s almost eleven at night.” He answers.

 “I’m afraid I’ve been a dreadful imposition on you.” She starts. Picking nervously at the covers.

 Kylo’s smiling again. Yesterday everything had been so grim he thought he’d never crack a grin ever again.

 “Think nothing of it. I’m merely happy to see you so well recovered.” He says as he squeezes her hand tighter.

 She casts her eyes for a second over the way his chin is flecked in onyx stubble. The way shadows linger under his eyes like heavy saddle bags. His hair doesn’t look unkempt. But his shirt is rumpled and faded cologne lingers around him. He’s been worried about her, than his appearance.

 “You need rest and sustenance. Fevers leave you weak. So I’m told.” He reaches for the head of the bed and pulls the bell cord. The hidden crimson panel of fabric that called down to the kitchens.

 “I wouldn’t turn down a cup of tea.” She sighs weakly. Beaming gently. No self respecting English woman would dare seek after anything else so fortifying.

 “I imagine my housekeeper will furnish you with a banquet.” He suggests.

 “How do you feel?” He seeks. It hasn’t escaped her notice his hand still twines through her own. It feels awfully nice. Cold. But not repulsive. She felt his touch even in her fevered state. It’s calming.

 “Like I’ve been kicked by a horse.” She sleepily admits.

 “Jomar said the affliction was on your lungs from the sound of your breathing. Do you need anything for pain?” He asks.

 “I Thank you. I am well. I cannot deny the fever was.., draining. But, it was the vivid nature of the dreams I couldn’t stand. It all felt so, real.” She confesses.

 “Delirium can be an odd beast.” Kylo agrees. He’s suffered blood delirium before. And that was like his own skin trying to willingly crawl off his own bones. It was beyond dreadful.

 “The most odd one was... wandering through a forest. After a battle, I think it was. Horrible. Such death and slaughter. And then I saw this man through the trees. A tall man in silver armour...”

 Kylo’s eyes are glistening dark. She carries on.

 “He spoke out to me. I could never forget his voice it was-“ She searches for a word. “Melodic. Nearly. Utterly enchanting. And he had this hair, very long hair. It looked like white silk.” She explains.

 “What did he say to you?” Kylo’s asking. Knowing full well what she saw.

 “Told me that someone was waiting- And it... wasn’t how I would meet him?....” she declares. Finding the whole thing bizarre. Then again; what sense could be made out of perplexing dreams?

 She looks bewildered. But Kylo knows the truth in it. He knows the various demons and reasons behind her channeled thoughts. His blood had taken its toll too.

 “Dreams are confusing at the best of times.” He states in comfort. She nods in agreement. But she looks like she barely has the strength to hold up her own head.

 She clasps his hand back. Her fingers and little strength she possessed, held onto him. “I’m very glad you were here.”

 “I’m always there for you. Iris. And I always shall be.” He promises.

 “What I did, scampering out into the rain like that. It was so foolish of me. And I don’t like to think of myself as acting like a fool.” She starts.

 “I thought I was going to die it hurt so much. But I didn’t want to. Because I didn’t want to leave this earth - without kissing you one more time.” She explains.

 “I know I shouldn’t say it. I shouldn’t even think it.” She swallows weakly.

 Twines her fingers through his. Clutches onto him all the more. Showing him the depth of her affection that she had always smothered deep down. She doesn’t want to suffocate it anymore.

 Kylo sees the wet of tears in her eyes.

 “I’m very glad of your improprietous wishes. They well reflect my own.” He admits. Kissing the back of her hand. He wouldn’t throw himself and his passions upon her whilst she’s recovering in a sick bed. He’s not that much of a letch.

 The door creaks open across his chamber and Jomar is the one to answer his summons. Kylo twists around where he is knelt. And when his butler sees his smile, and the calm of his expression. He hears his sigh all the way across from the door.

 “Might Miss Ashton have a tray of tea and some of that broth Mrs Jones had cook prepare?” Kylo asks.

 Jomars smile lightened up the whole room. “I shall fill the kettle myself. Your Lordship.” He beams. It makes Iris smile wide too.

 “Thankyou. Mr Jomar. You’re very kind.” She rasps across to him. He nods a grateful smile.

 “Ever your attentive servant. Miss. You got his Lordship to crack a smile for the first time since the dark ages. I feel like we ought lay roses at your feet.” He insists.

 “Just the tea. For now.” Kylo reiterates.

 “And might I ask you keep an eye on Miss Ashton whilst I retire to my washroom for a moment?” He informs.

 “Yes of course. Your Lordship.” Jomar steps into the room and aside so Kylo may pass.

 He squeezes her hand in comfort before he slips away. Off to go shave and wash himself and redress in a clean pressed shirt. And new breeches and small clothes. He felt quite rumpled in his current dress.

 The kind butler lingers by the bed. Handing her some more water even though she hadn’t requested it. She needed it. He could tell.

 “You all like his Lordship a great deal...” She comments.

 Jomar can’t deny it.

 “We love him. Miss. Though he may be stubborn and pigheaded sometimes. And most think him to be arrogant or savage. We are, all of us, so very proud to serve his house and his title.” He insists with not so much as a hint of false note to his tone.

 “He depends on you a great deal. It’s nice to see a man and his butler on such friendly terms.” She states.

 “We do make fun of one another. But it is enjoyable in its own way. He teases me. I rib him. And demand a payrise if he steps too far over the line. I have to remind him of his place...” He jokes in detriment. It draws a laugh from her.

 “If I may speak candidly. Miss Ashton. And do censure me if it is above my place to say so; but he admires you a vast vast deal. In a way I have seldom seen of him.” He openly admits.

 Iris’ heart feels like it wants to burst. So crammed full of potent emotion. It made her chest glow warm.

 “I could never censure anyone for such a admission. Mr Jomar.” She gives him a wobbly smile so full of love. Moved by his plea.

 “And I feel you should also know he hasn’t left your side these past two days. Hasn’t left this room. He administered medicine. Water. All himself. He didn’t even take the time away to eat or bathe.”

 Her eyes water. “So you see? He really is the most stubborn man. I doubt he’d have let that illness take you either.”

 “Most stubborn.” She agrees. And she cries happily. Heart so bursting full at the seams, of love for him.

 Seeing how much his staff admire him. How he’s surrounded and inundated by people he warmly regards. How respect from either party cuts both ways.

 He’s the most honourable man she’s ever had the good fortune to meet. She can’t ever imagine how or why she had once considered Lord Ren a monster.

 For her heart is quite sold to him.

    ~  ~  🥀 ~  ~  

[addytheheartbreaker]

The Dugsalan Gang/ Guilty Blood Gang members.

The Main Group are a total of 61 members (6 Main class, 13 High class, 9 Low class, 11 Associates, 13 Doll group and 9 Dead, Released and turn against the gang/Traitors) (Both old and new OCs, that is a lot of OC that I created in the past, surprised? But some OCs aren't really created). Here are the list of names of each member (my OCs) and their codename and nationality:

Main Class/ Founders or Legends of the group:

Addy the Heartbreaker (Philippines)

Cian the Madhatter’s Blade (Philippines)

Ishmael the Renegade (Philippines)

Giselle & Pestilentia the Jewelsmith & the Plague (Philippines)

Dante the Scarred Jaguar (Philippines)

High Class/Guardians of the group:

Narcis the Pride Force (Russia)

Sergei the Brute (Prussia, Russia)

Jefferson the Positive Electro (Canada)

Harold the Negative Flamo (Outer Space, Canada)

Fleurine the Baroness Bloom (France)

Caranoske the Chef Maggot (Japan)

Shirakawa the Scorth (Japan)

Ostin the Dark Killer (Japan)

Ishiru the Vantablack/ Black Mass (Japan & America)

Trevor the Devil of Defense (Vietnam)

Elaijah the Candela (Italy & America)

Nicol the Doberman Dog/Wild Dog (America)

Joen the Psycho Rabbit/ The Ringmaster (America)

Low Class/Commanders of the Group:

Stuwie the Nacro/ Revenant (England)

Thaila the Disciple Glyph (Germany)

Greta the Abbess Sanctified (Italy)

Silvia the Tigre (Valenzuela)

Sayaka the Kunoichi (Japan & England)

Calvin the Great Collector (HRE, Italy)

Shing the Unknown (China)

Shiela the Madame Mayeo (Korea)

Marco the Armillary-(Mexico, Japan)

Associates/Second in Command of the Group:

Daiyu the Mother Sympathy (Taiwan)

Tanya the Alpenglow (Belarus)

Yulia the Agent A/ Agent Avaricious (Ukraine)

Joel the Blueprint King (Switzerland)

Luisa the Luminosities (Liechtenstein)

Darius the Clocks (Lithuania)

Emils the Dusts (Latvia)

Kirill the Sticks (Estonia)

Penelope the Mrs.Muffin Swirls (Australia)

Jaslyn the Alpha (Malaysia)

Bikram the Hazardous (India/Nepal)

Doll & Dollies group/Chosen Poor Soul’s of Soldiers life chance

Alex the Royal Midnight (belong to Addy) (Philippines)

Tristan the Silver Star (belong to Addy) (America, Philippines)

Malik the Malignant (belong to Addy) (Israel & Philippines)

Daniel the Starshine (belong to Addy) (America & Philippines)

Larson the [no codename] (belong to Cian) (Philippines?)

Salvo the [no codename] (belong to Ishmael) (???)

Laura the Pirouette Still (belong to Ishmael) (???)

Claude the Prince of Spring/ the Photographer's Eyes (belong to Ishmael) (France)

Raul the [no codename] (belong to Dante) (Philippines)

Carlo the [no codename] (belong to Dante) (Mexico & Philippines)

Arnaldo the [no codename] (belong to Dante)

Ilya the [no codename] (belong to Narcis,Yulia and Tanya) (Kazakhstan)

Grigory the [no codename] (belong to Narcis and Sergei) (Kazakhstan)

Gang Members who are Dead, Released and Traitors

Ryan the Murk Surgeon (Released member) (Philippines)

Beatrice the Nature Nurse (Released member) (Philippines)

Obi the Silent Heart (Released member) (Australia & Philippines)

Joket the Acid Jester (Released member) (Australia & Philippines)

Rosaria the Dollmaker (Dead member) (Germany & England)

Jose the Spartium (Traitor of the gang) (Spain)

Zetro the Hider (Traitor of the gang) (???)

Bellatrix the Starlight (Dead member) (???)

Eric the Bedevil (Traitor of the gang) (America)

[iamamenacetosocietydamn]

From a human to monster [UF! Papyrus x OC]

[AN- This story isn't meant to be taken too seriously. This is just the result of completely boredom.

this may or may not get a second part depending on how i feel and if it gets received well (if it's even seem at all) and if you DO find this please keep in mind i am no professional writer so there will be mistakes in grammar, punctuations, ect. now with that being said, let's get to the story.]

Warning! this story contains things that may or may not be disturbing or a sensitive topic to some viewers, you have been warned!

My story begins begins at this giant mountain, I heard stories about it growing up, people who go there never return and I had come to a time in my life that I was both curious and saddened enough to not care if I returned or not, I know it sounds stupid but at the time I forgot about the people who really mattered in my life, everything had gone down hill and at that time I never really realize all the good things I had.

So i the stupid girl i was, drank a very unsafe amount of alcohol and stumbled my way over to the mountain. I saw a giant hole in the ground, I know now I shouldn't have went close to it but drunk me sure didn't know that, because she walked over and amazingly enough she didn't trip on anything but instead due to being drunk her balance was off and fell face first down into the dark pit.

...

I remember the pain, hitting every part of my body onto the walls of the pit, my arm was the first to go, I don't know what it got stuck on but somewhere grabbed onto my left arm and at the speed I was talking it was ripped right off, then I remember falling face first down and then... nothing.

The girl had had fallen quite the height, died on impact. her soul shattered to pieces as her body was left there to rot. 

All the dust with the girls broken soul combined together into the yellow flowers as she was left to rot.

it took maybe a week or two for the smell of rotting meet to fill the ruins enough for Toriel to walk to where she saw the rotting body, maggots eating the skin, muscles, the whole thing.

"oh dear, a human had fallen? well.. looks like this one is useless to i and the king. such a Shame" she spoke and left, leaving the body once more to be finished off by the maggots, ants and any creature desperate enough to eat the meat.

half a year had passed as there was nothing but a skeleton left. though today was a special day, something happened that would change the girls ended life forever. 

a reset caused by frisk had made a reacting to the dust and shards of her old soul, the dust formed into a white monster soul but it was different, from the cracks shined the light of a human soul. it didn't immediately take effect, after all she had been dead for half a year but once it did take effect her eye light up for a moment as she gasped and tried to get up but she struggled, having no muscles to move her bones was awfully difficult and she could feel all the pain she had missed off by dying, all those maggots eating her flesh to every hit she took while falling down.

it took quite some time for her to get used to her body, she stared in horror at where her arm would be, her clothes were old, dusty and broken, from her hoodie to the long sleeved shirt under it. she didn't understand how she was alive.

I put my hand to my head and felt no hair, no squishy skin, it was a hard skull I felt, even the motorbikers glove couldn't fool me when I felt it. where was I? was I stuck here? I had to get home.. how long was I out? I anyone worried about me? damn.

as I got up carefully I examined all of my dirty and broken clothes

this would have to do for now.

I cautiously start walking, every bone in my body aching, I stumble upon a flower, it seemed to be talking? was it alive? I would be surprised if I weren't a skeleton at this very moment, I shouldn't be alive myself, was this heaven? no, too much pain, more like hell. I didn't want to approach the flower but the way out was on the other side of the flower so I had to, cautiously I start making my way around the flower but it see!s I startled it because it yelped and suddenly there were these petals around me.

"Who are you!? get away from me!" the flower shouted

"woah woah! calm down I'm not here to hurt you! I just need to get past you so I can leave" I tried to reason with the flower

"leave? hah! that's real funny pal, there's no leaving this place, you're the last thing I'd want to worry about right now." the flower spoke as the petals got closer

"why? why can't I leave? please don't hurt me I haven't done anything wrong" I felt like crying, I just got my life back and now I was going to die by a flower, the flower didn't respond, the petals were near inches away from me and as I braced myself they fell to the ground.

"I can't do it, you seem so different from all of them.. I don't get it, you're a monster just like them and you don't even know why you can't leave." the flower seemed ashamed of itself for not being able to harm you

"I'm sorry I scared you.. b-but I'm not from here, I fell from up there who knows how long ago, I should be dead, I know I should but I'm not.. so I just want to go home.." I carefully kneeled down to try to be at the same level as the flower

"... you can't leave, us monsters have been locked here by a barrier for so long.. there's no way to leave, I'm sorry to tell you that." the flower looked away sadly

"oh.. well.. can I at least get out of this cave? I'd like to get washed and find new clothes.." I asked "oh and hello, my name is Rory, what's yours?" 

The flower looked back at me and smiled "Flowey, my name is Flowey" 

[AN- Hey! this is the end of this one! it's long, hah, if anyone does get interested in this story and wants more I'd be happy to write more about it, of course I won't flood my page with things nobody cares about /unless I get super bored/ but anyway- Heh- hope you all enjoyed.. oh God I'm nervous to post this.]