#TW blood and gore

[wonda-cat]

My c!Tommy exile arc zine is finally here! With illustrations inspired by @/alliumcola

I'm selling physical versions of this artbook for an extremely limited run of just 15 copies on Etsy.

Once they're sold, they're gone forever, so be sure to pick one up if you're interested or if you'd just like to support me and my work. 🌼

[luksi27]

LS doodles + a serious sketch I might make digital at some point

[artismeyou-12]

ok the first time I watched YouTube, their name "cupcakes" was still traumatizing since I was 8 years old

[its-to-the-death]

Villain Song Showdown Bracket F Round 2

Pieces of You/Hologram Professor song (Puppet History) - Villain: Hologram Professor

tw: blood and gore

Bloody Party/Welcome to Cake Island (One Piece) - Villain: Big Mom

[cannibal-wings]

WIP Wed for You Pay the Cost.

Been a while huh? Sorry about that, I've been furiously rewriting this section. (this is my third full rewrite of this sequence). It's been gnawing at me, it wasn't quite right before. But now I think it is.

Ok, this is a bit of the Water Room/Hall section. Just a bit. The sequence is long and I don't want to share the whole thing.

Trigger warning for my namesake. Leon eats a guy. (It was bound to happen eventually)

He yanked enough control back for himself to leap back to the pillar and then across to the overlook next to him. He made short work of those archers too. His knife was just as deadly as his claws and felt better to use, like the haze was lifting slightly from his mind. His heart had stopped roaring in his ears and he felt like for just a moment, he was going to be ok. Then he heard Ashley scream and all semblance of humanity fled him in an instant.

Leon jumped from the railing and landed hard on the back of a cultist, if he didn’t die on impact the foot claw to his throat finished the job. He looked from the various cultists that were gathered around him. Reinforcements from deeper within the castle. They all brandished weapons, spiked flails and shields, long, curved scythes, and a couple daggers.

Leon ignored them all and searched for Ashley, he spotted her running along the perimeter of the room, someone was chasing her. He bellowed out another roar. It was enough to make the cultists flinch. Leon started to move, he felt different, he felt predatory, his hands weren’t reaching for the guns strapped to his back, nor the knife that was missing from its sheath.

A blade dug into his side, one of the scythes. A cultist had managed to get a hold of herself and struck him, she managed to hit a spot that was still soft, the carapace underneath his shirt hadn’t fully moved in and hardened over that spot. It was luck. The last bit of luck her life held. Leon spun on her, grabbed the blade and yanked it free from his body with a hiss. Then with another hand he grabbed the shaft of the weapon and pulled. For a second, she tried to fight back, her hands gripped her weapon instead of letting go. This got her within striking range. Leon stepped on the scythe, snapping the shaft in half and raised his own scythe like claws. She was dead before she even realized she was in danger. One claw sliced across her throat while the other spilled her guts to the floor.

Leon looked away from the gore and back to the edge of the room. He spotted Ashley, she had lifted her bolt thrower and shot at the person pursuing her. He growled low in his throat, deep, and started to stalk over to her side. But he stopped when the person went down and Ashley again ducked behind the safety of a pillar. He felt a smile break across his lips. She didn’t need him, not right now at least. That meant he had all the time in the world to finish up what he was doing.

He spun on the cultists who had started to advance. That grin only grew wider, he could feel his jaws split and his mandibles pull away from his face. Leon moved much faster now, almost too fast for his mind to catch up, instead he started to rely on instinct, and let his body move without his input. He was able to dodge another scythe, he turned out of its reach and one of his secondary arms lifted itself to block a dagger, he heard the sound of metal and sharp claw clash. He kept his momentum and jumped straight over the heads of two of the shield wielding cultists. From behind he raked his claws across their back, he could feel them snag on bone from the spinal column and he ripped.

Humans, he was quickly learning, were very, very soft. Even infected humans. They were soft and weak and so easy to play with. Now that he was stronger, now that he couldn’t be hurt easily, it was the perfect time to begin to test his own abilities. He licked his lips and swallowed. The sweetness of the water still lingered, he wanted to replace it.

A cultist with a dagger tried to stab him in the back, the blade bounced harmlessly off and Leon turned. The cultist took a step back, his eyes full of fear. Leon could see that he was fighting with himself, trying to decide if he should hold his ground or run. Leon made the choice for him. He disarmed him with a quick slash to the wrist, his claw carving straight through the man’s arm, detaching the hand completely. It fell to the floor but Leon could hardly hear it over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. He flared his jaws and advanced on the man. The cultist had a hand over his stump, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. He looked back at Leon and screamed.

The scream was cut short when Leon’s outer mandibles covered part of his face, neck, and shoulder as he bit down. He opened his inner set of jaws, feeling them spread wide too as he chewed through the skin and muscle. The strength in the cultist’s legs fled and he tried to drop to the ground. Leon felt the weight shift and shoved his two clawed fingers into the torso of the man to hold him up. That sickly sweet taste was finally covered up with an addicting salty wash of blood. The cultist under his jaws had died, the last weak pumps of blood faded. He had likely been choked out, either by Leon’s jaws or his own blood.

Leon didn’t mind, the body was still warm, and he was hungry. So hungry. He hadn’t realized just how so until just now. Suddenly all that mattered was filling his gut. He wondered if just one cultist was going to be enough? He had his face buried in the man and didn’t see the other cultists backing up, giving him space. He also wasn’t aware of the archers as they all took aim. If they hadn’t begun to fire upon him, there’s no telling how long Leon would have stayed and feasted.

The arrows peppered his back, and a few of them wormed their way in between his plates. Lucky shots that finally pulled his attention away from the corpse he was eating. It was the smell of singed fabric that got him to look up. The pain from the arrows he hardly felt. Leon dropped the body; it landed in a crumpled heap by his feet. A large portion of the man’s neck, shoulder, and chest were missing. Leon’s jaws dripped with red instead of black this time. He licked his lips but there was too much to clean off, it was just spread around his face. He shook his head and sent droplets flying. More arrows rained down him, he noticed several cultists picked up shields and held them up. Leon simply raised his arms while he looked for a perfect angle of attack.

While he still couldn’t reach their level in one jump, he could grab hold of a decorative banner that was strung up between two of the balconies. It held his weight as he climbed it, his claws leaving tears in the luxurious fabric. Arrows continued to zip past him. Some bounced harmlessly off of his back plates, others caught the fabric, but most missed and hit the wall in front of him. Leon ignored them, they weren’t a threat to him, not a real one, but they could hurt her and that was unacceptable.

He made his way up to the stone railing and hauled himself up and over. At close range the archers were nearly useless. They couldn’t get an accurate shot off, and Leon’s carapace deflected most of the energy in the bolts if they did hit. He growled low under his breath when one did strike him in the chest, but the tip didn’t penetrate, it didn’t even crack his shell. Leon quickly cut them both down. With a loud roar he put one leg up on the railing and looked out over the water hall. He could feel that the cultists were regretting attacking them. He saw the way they shrunk back, how they flinched when he roared.

The stone under his feet cracked as he pushed off and leapt to the next balcony. He felt invincible. He felt good. As he tore apart more archers, he wondered why he ever resisted in the first place? It was a gift and he had been foolish to squander it. He was confident he could protect her now, and forever.

Ashley kept moving along the perimeter of the room. She kept herself out of the line of fire of the archers up top, but she also got the feeling that she wasn’t their target. A loud roar reverberated through the room. She clutched her ears at the sound. It wasn’t like anything she had ever heard before; no animal came close. It was like something out of a science fiction or horror movie. One-part velociraptor screech and one-part big cat roar. After the initial roar it would taper off into a vibrating growl.

She couldn’t spot Leon, he had vanished from view, and she only hoped that whatever it was that made that sound hadn’t torn him apart. There were bodies everywhere. She could still hear the sounds of combat, they were still after something, and the couple cultists that tailed her, told her all she needed to know about the situation. It wasn’t over. Worry was starting to creep over her when another horrible growling roar overtook the chanting of the cultists. She hadn’t heard a gunshot in what felt like ages.

Ashley was moving quickly, away from the edge of the room that dropped off to the second floor. She didn’t like the idea of accidentally going over the edge. But when she rounded the corner to the other side she stopped. There was a cultist with a shield, he was backing up himself, taking cover from something. Then he spotted her and began to hurry towards her. He was speaking something in Spanish to her, that she couldn’t understand. It wasn’t chanted, it almost seemed normal. He was afraid of something and kept pointing up to the balconies above them.

“Leon?” Ashley called out and moved back. In the back of her head, she had considered the thought that it was Leon who was responsible for the state of the room. But she also reasoned that if it was him, then this level of brutality was necessary. The man was still walking towards her, he was still trying to say something to her. By this point another had joined him. This woman wasn’t trying to speak to her though, she was just interested in doing her job.

Ashley hefted her bolt thrower up, it was loaded. She had already taken someone down and retrieved her used bolt. Later she could sort through her thoughts on that action. But right now, she needed to make sure she survived long enough to make it that far. She was confident she could take out the one without the shield, but there was no way her bolts were getting through that thick wood.

Wordlessly she aimed and fired. Her first shot went high and to the side, it dug into the cultist’s arm and she howled in pain. She gripped the shaft of the arrow with one hand and started to pull. Ashley quickly readied another shot and fired. This one missed completely and she took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she’d have time to reload, she had to make this last one count. Leon’s words ran through her head and she tried to imitate what he did, how he fired. Strong through her core, through her upper body. Don’t hold your breath, have steady arms. When the woman looked up Ashley shot. This time the bolt went straight into her chest. She dropped to the ground.

Ashley had made it to the opposite wall, she was still wary of the archers above her, but her main focus was on the man with the shield who was still moving towards her. “Leon!” She called his name hoping he could hear her over his own fighting. She would need help with this one, she knew it. Ashley dug bolts out of her bag and began to feed them into the bolt thrower. Maybe she’d talk to the Merchant next time they met about that extended magazine, because three shots were not cutting it. “Leon!” she tried calling out again, a bit of panic creeping into her voice. “Leon I need help!”

The man was too close for comfort now, she debated running straight across to the room to the other side, to put real distance between them while she figured out another plan. She was going to call Leon’s name again but as the words left her mouth something rammed into the man with the shield and pinned him against the wall.

The man had only moments to adjust the shield in a way that let him turtle up behind it, hiding all of his appendages while he sank lower to the ground. Leon snarled and began to tear at the shield with his claws, they left deep gouge marks in the wood. Ashley watched, stunned, as Leon threw himself at the shield, jaws snapping, as the man pleaded.

Leon managed to tear a hole in the shield and he shoved his hand inside to make it bigger. He wanted to be able to rip the shield in two, split it, but his hand was too large to fit inside. He growled in frustration, the motion vibrating his whole throat and chest. The strong wood of the shield was preventing him from getting his kill and he was getting beyond frustrated. He shoved his body weight against the shield, pressing the man into the wall. Then he backed off and heaved himself against the shield again, and again. Then went back at it with his claws. Each one tearing chunks of wood away.

Ashley watched him work at it. She shook her heard. “No,” she whispered. “No that’s not Leon, that’s not… that’s not Leon.” The creature in front of her wasn’t a man, it was a monster. If it wasn’t for the guns still strapped to his back, he would have been unrecognizable to her. He was covered in blood, it dripped from his jaws, it ran down his arms, and coated his hands. That roar she heard earlier was him. The thing that ripped apart the bodies around this room was him. “Leon stop!”

Immediately he froze and turned to look at Ashley. She gasped and ducked back behind the pillar. Her heart was hammering in her chest. The way he looked at her, for just a moment, like she was something to be hunted. Again, she thought, that isn’t Leon. She tried to steady her breathing, calm herself down. When she poked her head around the pillar he was still standing there. He was still looking her direction, only now he seemed thoroughly confused. He tilted his head slightly, his pedipalps raising a bit. The glow in his eyes dulled. “Leon?”

She watched as he opened his mouth, but no words came out, just a warbling sound, and a soft growl. Then the man with the shield decided to act and shattered the brief moment of peace. He pushed off the wall and rammed Leon with the shield. The movement caught Leon off guard and his feet slipped on the wet tile. He could feel himself hit the railing and lean back over it. But he didn’t go in. Two of his hands gripped the rail and his head whipped back to face the cultist. He let out another roar and spread his mandibles wide.

Ashley moved back behind the pillar and put her hands to her ears to block out the sound of screaming and flesh tearing. The wooden shield had snapped loudly, Leon had gotten through, and she wasn’t brave enough to look at what he was doing to that poor man.

---

Hopefully I don't rewrite this bit again. I really wanna nail this feral side of him, and I keep going back and changing things slightly, and redoing parts.

oh ho ho what could have caused this????? Why is he acting like that?? Will he come back to his senses??? I know these answers and soon you will too!

The estimate of getting an update done by tomorrow was uh, hopeful. It's not going to happen. I'm hosting some friends tonight, and I have DnD tomorrow. I still have to rewrite the whole fight with the Garrador after I lost it two weeks ago (I was so mad I just skipped it and started to rewrite Water Room), and I have to do the treasure puzzle room too. Then it's just the last scene after Water Hall. I'm like, 70% done with the chapter, but I don't think I can pump it out tomorrow. So it'll be a few more days.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 12

Summary: Revenge tastes so fucking sweet. Warnings: extreme violence, blood and gore, weapons, dismemberment (sorry...), torture, wound care, shower sex, unprotected piv sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, language Word Count: 7.1k A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry it took me a bit of extra time to get this chapter posted. I am the WORST at writing action-packed scenes and truly spent a week bashing my head against a wall trying to get it right. (it still isn't good lol) But anyway, pls look past the monstrosity that is ~my writing~ and enjoy the karma Kesi deserves.

Din really fucking hated being stuck on a ship with the three Mandalorians. Paz was a part of Clan Vizsla, another house within the Death Watch. While Din hadn’t interacted much with him, the scene in Nevarro was enough to make his blood boil. Paz had never seen Din remove his helmet, but the insinuation he knew had Din on edge. Maybe the apparent relationship between him and the girl led Paz to consider the chances of Din breaking his Creed. Paz wasn’t wrong, but his distaste for Din would cause a problem if it went any further.

All four of them had squeezed into the cockpit of the Gauntlet as they flew towards Oba Diah. For a few hours, there was nothing but silence and building tension between them all. Bo Katan and Koska had removed their helmets early on, proving to be one more thing that set Din on edge. Despite his loyalty to the Death Watch, seeing them so free in their own Clan made him extremely envious. Din had renounced his loyalty but wasn’t ready to completely break free from all he had known.

“So,” Bo Katan said, breaking the silence. 

She turned the pilot's seat around to face Din, a smug grin teasing the corners of her lips. 

“This girl must be something special if you’re killing in her honor,” she smirked. “Let me guess, you broke your loyalty for her, huh? Took off that shiny helmet?”

Din didn’t respond. Bo Katan could see right through him. 

“Does she know what that means?” Bo Katan raised an eyebrow.

“You are no Mandalorian,” Paz growled from beside Din.

Din exhaled heavily, turning his visor towards Paz. While Paz was twice his size, Din wasn’t intimidated; he was just worried that this situation would affect the mission.

“I have done nothing wrong,” Din said.

“Apostate! You have gone against our Creed, and for what? That girl?”

Din was out of his seat, pining Paz against his own with a vibroblade. Paz’s strength outdid Din’s, but Din kept a firm hand on Paz’s cowl to hold him down.

“I am still a Mandalorian!” Din snapped. 

“Your loyalty lies elsewhere,” Bo Katan chimed in. “Unless you and her have taken vows to one another, Paz is correct. You have broken the creed within your Clan. In their books, you are no longer a Mandalorian.”

“I am loyal to my Clan,” Din defended, though it felt like a lie.

“You are loyal to her,” Bo Katan argued.

Paz shoved Din, forcing him to stumble back into his chair. Din knew in his heart his loyalty was to her and her alone, but admitting that aloud to other Mandalorians made the weight of it too heavy to carry. Especially with Paz, that admission would come with a fight in words and fists, and he needed their focus on the mission. Din still needed time to learn who he was without his Creed before he could face any more scrutiny.

“Our focus is this mission,” Din said firmly. “Nothing else.”

“I will not stand beside someone who tosses their loyalty at a woman's feet,” Paz snapped.

“You have come to fight, Paz,” Bo Katan interjected. “You both can sort your issues out after. We will fight in return for Mando’s help, and I will not let the rules of your Clan stand in the way.”

Paz had little else to say in doing so, leaving the cockpit and retreating into the belly of the ship. Din sat defeated, watching the galaxy pass by as they flew closer to Oba Diah. His mind was fixated on Kesi and all the ways he would torture him, though he found his thoughts wandering to the quiet moments spent on the Crest with her. Just this one mission, and he’d be home.

The Gauntlet passed through Oba Diah’s atmosphere a day later. The planet was drenched in an endless array of grey clouds and smoke. As they flew further into the city, it became alight in colors of neon green that seemed to dissolve into the smoky haze surrounding the mountain crags. Din had never seen a city built around a fortress, but that’s what it was: a fortress. Nestled between the obsidian cliffs and mountain crags, they flew closer to a large spaceport where several ships were inbound. Bo Katan slowed the ship as they neared the port, her focus dead set on landing somewhere untraceable. 

“We’ll be lucky to make it out of here in one piece,” she grumbled. 

Koska scoffed at her words, throwing a deadly glare at Din. He knew it was because of his infatuation with killing Kesi that they were all in this predicament, but he didn’t care. He needed this. 

“Once this is settled, my help will be returned,” Din swore. 

“Oh, I know,” Bo Katan said. 

She found a secluded area in the mountain range to land the Gauntlet, giving them enough time to gather weapons and create a somewhat thought-out plan. Din knew that the Pykes were unpredictable, and whatever they were walking into, they needed to keep sharp. He was in full hunter mode now; nothing would prevent him from finding and killing Kesi. 

Paz was quieter towards Din now, instead focusing on loading his large blaster—there was a reason why Mandalorians referred to him as the Heavy Infantry Mandalorian. 

As Bo Katan lowered the ship's ramp, she adjusted her helmet on her head, Koska following suit. Din felt a sudden wave of jealousy washing over him as he observed their nonchalance with the motion, wishing he could feel that free with his armor. He could be as free as he desired with her but not surrounded by Mandalorians who scrutinized his every move and decision. 

“There’s an entrance into the fortress on the eastern edge of the mountain range,” Bo Katan explained. “We’ll move there and secure the surroundings before entering. I’m not sure where Kesi could be located in the fortress, but we need to stay alert and ready for any possible chance of a fight.”

They nodded in agreement and started to hike east towards the entrance. It was no easy trek to the entrance as they encountered unstable ground and falling rocks, but as they neared the fortress, the ground evened out and gave a clear path to the door. Din surveyed the surroundings; his blaster clutched tight as he scanned the perimeter. He gave an ‘all-clear’ sign to the other three, motioning them forward. Paz approached the entrance first, trying his hand at the coded system that kept it locked. Din wasn’t surprised to find it heavily armored, but it didn’t seem to phase Paz as he blasted the system and sent the door flying open. 

“Easy enough,” Paz grumbled, forcing his large body through the door first. 

It was, in fact, not easy. 

The security system of the fortress set off a loud alarm, the entire entrance drenched in red as they sprinted down the hallway. The blaring sound of the alarm drowned out Din’s mind as he raced through the building, his weapon lifted as he readied himself for the fight. Bo Katan and Koska remained further back to guard Din and Paz as they swept through the lower floor, scanning for any indication of straggling spice traders. They came up empty and continued to scour the lower level until they reached an unmanned turbolift. 

“Be ready for the fight,” Din instructed, leading them into the lift. 

Bo Katan unsheathed her duel pistols, followed by Koska lifting her blaster rifle to eye level as they faced the door. Paz was grumbling nonsense as he readied his weapon, training it at the door for when it opened. The turbolift ascended above ground, the lights flickering red as it came to a stop. Din held in a breath as he anticipated the worst, his weapon mirroring the other Mandalorians. 

They knew what awaited them when the doors opened. 

Pykes littered the hallway as the turbolift door opened, their rifles sending a downpour of blasts toward the four Mandalorians. Din ducked under the fire, sending a return of shots that forced a domino effect of Pykes falling to the ground. Paz advanced in front of Din, his large blaster nearly incinerating the remaining smugglers that stood in their way. 

“Good work,” Din panted. 

Paz huffed at his words, stalking forward as they turned down another hallway. Bo Katan and Koska flanked Din’s sides, their helmets whipping back and forth for any other Pykes on their tails. Despite their arguments on the ship, Din was grateful for their help because he knew he wouldn’t have survived this alone.

The hallway opened into a large operations room, the screens covered in static and blinking lights. Bo Katan surged forward to inspect the operation systems, checking for locations within the fortress that might be useful. Paz remained in the doorway, his blaster set to kill in case anyone ventured their way. Once Bo Katan located a map of the fortress, Din’s eyes wildly searched it for any clues. The entire Pyke fortress was a series of mazes that led to various operation rooms or spice mills. Din had a hunch Kesi would be in one of the main operations rooms, so he set his sights on traveling higher to the heart of the building. 

While they gathered information, another grouping of Pykes rounded the entrance, circling them until they were outnumbered. A slew of shots rang out from both sides, some of the shots hitting the hardware within the room and lighting the systems on fire. They had to move now before things got worse. All four Mandalorians fought their way out of the smoking room and maneuvered over the dead bodies as they searched for another escape route. Din led them back into the hallway toward another turbolift, keeping a mental note of which operations rooms he wanted to tear apart, all the while fantasizing about the way he’d torture Kesi. 

The turbolift opened into the heart of the fortress, the hallway lined with Syndicate members waiting to strike them down. Each advanced at a deadly speed, their rifles more powerful than the last group they encountered. Din surged forward, dropping to a crouch as he tore through the bodies with his vibroblade. Din was bloodthirsty as he watched them drop to the ground, their masked faces staring blankly at the ceiling as they continued through the fortress. He was ruthless with each kill, striking some with his blaster while he tore into others with his blade. The other Mandalorians didn’t hold back with their violence, either, their body count adding to his as they moved in deadly silence. 

“Check every room,” Din commanded. “If you find Kesi before I do, you alert me. He’s mine.”

The violence laced within Din’s words forced them to agree in silence as they split up, each tracking the halls on their own. Din moved through the main hallway of the fortress, the alarm still blaring in the back of his mind. His armor was doused in red light as he lurked around the corners, dropping Pykes where they stood. Some of their shots landed against his armor, but they made no impact on the beskar covering his chest or arms. 

He approached the first row of rooms lining the hallway, the metal steel doors taunting him with each step. Din nearly vibrated with rage when he hijacked the last room, the remnants of sabacc tables and spice dirtying the ground. He was losing his sanity with each step, knowing how close he was to finding Kesi and coming up empty every time a new room appeared. Standing in the final empty room, Din let out a frustrated yell, sinking his fist into the metal wall until it dented. 

“Mando!” Bo Katan’s voice broke through the rage-filled thoughts in his mind. 

She appeared at the room entrance, her helmet flicking to the wall and back to Din’s heaving body. He schooled his features, straightening his shoulders as he waited for her to speak. He desperately needed to hear those three words leave her mouth. 

“We found him,” Bo Katan said. 

Din’s vision went red. 

Bo Katan led him down a series of pathways, already covered in bloodshed and death left by her and Koska, till they reached a standalone room. Din clipped his blaster back onto his weaponry belt as he followed Bo Katan through the broken doorway. He wouldn’t need a gun for this death; he wanted to draw out the pain until there was nothing left of Kesi. 

Paz had Kesi pinned to the floor, Koska flanking his side with her blaster raised and aimed at Kesi’s head. Din stepped into the room and motioned for her to lower her weapon. She stepped aside, letting Din take her spot. 

“Leave us,” Din said, angling his head toward the doorway.

“We can kill him right now,” Paz argued.

Din’s helmet snapped toward Paz, and he wished Paz could see the dangerous glare twisting his facial features. Gnashing his teeth together, he waited for Paz to relent and leave.

“He’s mine,” Din snapped.

Paz gave one stiff nod and retreated into the hallway. 

Kesi laughed, exhausted, as he slumped against the wall, his teeth barred and yellow eyes gleaming under the flashing red lights. The color distorted his features, his face shadowed and mocking as he stared at Din. 

“All of this chaos for some whore?” He taunted. 

Din’s fist made contact with the center of Kesi’s face, bone cracking the only noise above the alarm system. This was just the start of what he wanted to do to the vile piece of shit in front of him. Kesi doubled over, groaning and clutching his bleeding nose, and Din took a slow step forward, crowding him against the ground. Lowering himself into a crouch, he gripped Kesi by the hair on his scalp, forcing him to meet the visor of his helmet.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Din growled. 

Kesi spit blood at Din’s helmet, the splatter minimal across the visor. Din wished Kesi could see the murderous grin he had as he watched him writhe under his grasp. 

“You realize the type of people that will hunt you down, right?” Kesi laughed, blood coating his teeth.

“Let them.”

Din unsheathed his vibroblade and angled it at the base of Kesi’s neck. Dragging the tip across the skin, he relished at how the blood slowly pooled to the surface. Releasing his grip on Kesi’s hair, Din reached for Kesi’s hand and bent it sideways, followed by another harmony of cracking bones. Kesi wailed in pain, thrashing against Din’s hold. 

“You touched her once,” Din accused. “That needs to be fixed.”

Steadying the broken hand, Din took the blade to Kesi’s first finger, sawing against the bone until the flesh fell away along with the digit. He paid no mind to the sound of Kesi’s cries as he moved to the next finger, repeating the mutilation until his hand was void of all five fingers. Blood seeped into Din’s glove as he tossed the damaged hand aside, reaching for Kesi’s other to deliver the same torture. 

“Stop!” Kesi begged as Din tore into the first finger.

“Did you stop when she begged?” Din seethed.

Kesi only whimpered, his body shaking with a mixture of pain and blood loss. 

“I didn’t think so,” Din said.

With all of his fingers disposed onto the ground at his feet, Din lifted the blade back to the edge of Kesi’s jaw. The man was practically a heap of flesh and blood, his consciousness slipping with each passing moment. 

“Hell is too good for someone like you,” Din whispered.

He drew the bloodied blade across Kesi’s neck, a gurgled sound seeping from his lips. Din stepped back to watch as it stained his tanned skin and tattered clothes, the color of it darkening with each flash of the red lights in the room. Kesi’s body crumpled to the floor, his eyes staring blankly at the walls. Din wasn’t done yet. 

Grounding the sole of his boot between Kesi’s shoulder blades, he yanked Kesi’s head up and tore into the flesh and bone of his throat until his head fell from his body. 

It wasn’t enough to fix the past, but it was enough to satisfy Din.

The other Mandalorians didn’t question Din when he emerged from the room drenched with Kesi’s blood. Bo Katan gave him a knowing nod, grasping his shoulder as they turned to leave. Din was in a murderous haze as they rewound their way down to the east entrance, still on alert for other Pykes. So far, they were clear as they rounded the path back to the Gauntlet. 

“We need to go back to Nevarro,” Din huffed. 

“I’ll give you a week with your girl, and we'll leave for our mission,” Bo Katan replied. “No backing out now, Mando. You did us a favor, and now you owe me.”

“I understand.”

The ramp lowered to the ship, and they began climbing up. From the corner of his eye, Din spotted a Pyke lurking on the ship's west side, barreling toward them. Din flipped his blaster from his hip, but not fast enough to avoid a sharp pain threading up his abdomen. He heard the remnants of footsteps running down the ramp behind him as everything around him faded. 

**

You were getting stir-crazy in the confines of the room Karga had stuffed you into. You had the freedom to leave as long as he oversaw your every move, but without Din, nothing interested you. Which was pretty fucking pathetic. Never could you have imagined your life revolving around a man—it was sort of laughable. But you loved him, and that outweighed the unfortunate butterflies in your stomach swirling about. 

You had sat yourself by the window most of the morning, watching the citizens of Nevarro roam about the main street. Though most of the town was filled with bounty hunters and drunken gamblers, you could spot small families occasionally. That pang of jealousy still thrummed inside your heart as you gazed upon them; you hated that you couldn’t have that life. You hated that you couldn’t give Din that same life, too. If he ever wanted to have a family, it wouldn’t happen with you, and that was a truth you’d have to learn to live with. 

As the morning passed into early afternoon, you caught a glimpse of a ship passing through the atmosphere. It was Bo Katan’s ship; you knew that much. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough through the inn and streets; your breath ragged as you finally made ground toward the docking port. It wasn’t until you saw Paz Viszla carrying a limp body down the ramp that your body stood paralyzed. 

It was Din. 

“What the hell happened?” You nearly screamed, barely avoiding stumbling into Bo Katan. She kept you at arm's length despite your body fighting against her hold. You tried to conceal your worry, but you failed… poorly. Din’s hand was clutching his side, blood pooling over his glove. You didn’t even have time to understand why the rest of him was caked in dried blood, either, but you had a terrible hunch you knew the reason. 

“A Pyke snuck up on us as we were leaving,” Bo Katan explained, still keeping you feet from Paz. 

You schooled your expression as Paz laid Din on the ground, followed by a pained groan muffled through the modulator. You pushed off Bo Katan, crouching down to inspect the wound. 

“You couldn’t have fucking helped him?” You yelled at Bo Katan. 

She pulled her helmet from her head, her eyes filled with anger as she glared down at you. 

“We barely made it out of Oba Diah alive,” she explained. “They hunted down our ship through the atmosphere and nearly shot us down. You’re lucky any of us survived.”

You shot to your feet, jabbing a finger into her breastplate, followed suit by Koska raising her blaster at you. You paid no mind to the weapon in your face as you barred your teeth at Bo Katan.

“Do you want his help for your own mission?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Then help.”

“He doesn’t want our help,” she argued. “He kept asking for you. So you help him. He’s no good to us if he’s injured, so the sooner he can heal, the sooner he can fulfill the side of his deal.”

You could barely contain your anger as you snapped your head toward Paz. You pointed to Din’s weak body and gave silent instructions to lift him. 

“Bring him to the Crest,” you ordered. “I’ll take care of him. All of you need to fucking leave.”

“Remember, little one, he did this all for you,” Bo Katan said. 

Her words were close to breaking you, but you wouldn’t give her that power. You had hated her from the start, and in that moment, you really fucking hated her. You hated her for the reminder that you were the reason Din had gotten into the mess, and more importantly, you were the reason he was injured. You’d carry that guilt for your life. 

It took both you and Paz to carry Din up the ramp of the Crest, Din moaning with each step. He had mumbled your name a few times as you held his side, forcing tears to sting your eyes. He was alive; that was the important thing right now. Once Paz situated Din on the floor of the cargo hold, you screamed at him to leave and waited until the ramp closed to finally lose your shit. 

You held Din against your body, his helmet tipping to the side, the cold metal grazing your skin. The coldness of it stung, eliciting a wince from your mouth, but you pushed past it as you came to wrap your arm around his shoulder. Glancing down at his side, you peeled his hands away, exposing the gnarly gash. It was still slowly leaking blood, the tear in his pilot suit soaked in crimson colors. The fabric itself was seared away, the weapon that caused it far more violent than a standard blade. 

“Vibroblade,” he choked out, answering your wondering thoughts.

Your eyes shot up to the helmet, watching as it rocked to each side, his focus fading quickly. Your hand squeezed his bicep, forcing him to stay focused on you. You examined the wound again, seeing that it had penetrated through the thickest layer of his skin. It would need more than bacta spray and a med patch, but you would try what you could to suture it. 

Din let out a low groan, his helmet smacking back against the wall. 

“Hey!” You snapped. “Mando, you gotta stay with me, alright?”

“Din,” he sighed. “We’re alone.”

Your head rested against his arm momentarily, your pulse thumping in your ears as you tried to assess the situation. Fingers reaching up under his cowl, you pressed against his jawline, feeling for a pulse under his sweating skin. It was there; it was faint. No matter what, he had to stay awake and alert. 

“Din,” you whispered. “Din, can I take your helmet off?”

He didn’t respond, his muscles growing lax under your hold. 

“Din!” You hissed frantically. 

Without a response and permission, you pressed the latches on either side of the helmet, letting it crash against the metal floor as you tossed it aside. The chestnut curls of his hair stuck to damp, tanned skin, the remnants of battle plastered across his face. His brows were furrowed in apparent discomfort, thick eyelashes fluttering as his eyes remained shut. You swiped a finger over his cheek, collecting a rolling trail of sweat as it fell from his brow. In any other situation, you would be pressing your lips against his urgently, but this wasn’t the time. 

“Din,” you said quietly, “I’ve got to get the bacta spray, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He grunted in response, his lips twitching as if to say something. You halted, waiting for any sound to leave his pursed mouth. But nothing came. Leaving a chassed kiss on his forehead, you found your way to the refresher to grab the med kit, thankful he had restocked it when you arrived on Nevarro. Collecting everything you needed–wound cleaner, bacta spray, sutures, med patches–you rushed back to Din, watching as his chest rose and fell softly. 

“You still with me?” You asked. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, his body leaning into your touch slightly. 

“Hmph,” was all that came from his mouth. 

“Good enough for me,” you sighed.

Eyes roaming back to the gash on his side, you tore away more of the suit’s fabric to make enough room for the wound cleaner. Dumping the liquid onto your hands, you started massaging it against the soft skin covering his ribcage. Din grunted as the liquid stung his open wound, the chemicals working overtime to sanitize the extremity of the injury. It would be a miracle if he came out unscathed from an infection. The more your hands worked around the skin, the more he flinched away. 

“Stop fucking moving,” you snapped. “I can’t help you if you keep jerking away from me.”

You hadn’t meant to be so mean, but it was the underlying worry bubbling to the surface. You weren’t mad at him; you were just mad. Mad that it was your fault he left in the first place. Mad that his fixation on killing Kesi led him to be attacked by the Pykes. Taking a moment to breathe, you wiped your hands on your work pants, the caked-on blood smearing across the linen fabric. That was never coming out, you thought to yourself. 

Realizing you forgot a towel, you improvised, ripping apart your shirt to clean off the skin around the wound. Din winced again, this time his body twitching away from you as you touched him. Reaching a hand up to his neck, you tried soothing him, only for him to respond otherwise. With a violent grip, Din grabbed your wrist, the leather of his gloves digging into the tendons of your forearm. Yelping in pain, you glanced up, seeing his eyes set ablaze in anger and confusion. Twisting your arm harder, he hunched over you, face moving closer to yours with each constriction. 

“Hey!” you cried, “Din, it’s me!”

Still, he was unwavering, the anger too blinding for him to see past. You used all your strength to pry his fingers from your arm, only to be matched with the same strength from his own, pinning you further against the ground. You pleaded silently, watching the emotions stir within the brown of his eyes. Glimpses of reality flickered back and forth, the hold of the past a stronger vice than the present.  

“Din!” You nearly screamed. 

That caught his attention. 

Ripping your arm from his loosening grip, you stared at him in stunned silence, rubbing the finger marks that bruised your wrist. His eyes washed over you, up and down… up and down,  until he settled on your face with an apologetic look. Your name fell off his lips with a broken rasp. 

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, the anger in you simmering, “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I hurt you,” he said, hand lifting to hold your face. 

You batted it away, grabbing the bacta spray and giving his wound a long coating of the medicine. He yelped in pain, the initial shock of the chemicals stunting him from speaking again. 

“No more than getting yourself hurt,” you snapped. You resprayed the medicine, his body flinching from yours. “You should have never done this. I wasn’t worth this.”

“Angel,” He choked through a few breaths. 

“Don’t,” you whispered. “You know I’m right.”

“I needed to do this.”

Frustrated, you laughed, tossing the bacta spray half away across the hold until it clattered against the refresher door. Din’s head turned from the bottle to you, his brows knit with confusion. Peeling away the backing of a med patch, you smoothed it over the wound, rubbing it over and over mindlessly. He winced again under you, this time locking his fingers around yours in an attempt to stop your sadistic behavior. 

“Enough,” he rasped. 

“If you had just let it go, you wouldn’t be hurt. You should have stayed,” you continued, talking through your anger. Your hand smoothed the patch down over and over and over again until he finally squeezed your fingers until the bones ground together. You yanked your hand away, sitting back on your heels as you watched him analyze the bandaged cut. With med supplies covering the ground, half your shirt torn off, and his helmet missing, you could finally see Din piecing together the situation you had been left in. 

He sighed. 

“He deserved to die, angel. I swore I’d go after him, and I’m sorry I got hurt. There would always be that risk of getting hurt, and I’m sorry it happened,” he conceded.

You paused, watching as his eyes batted themselves close. His lips parted slightly, chapped from the oxygen intake over the last several minutes. Every inch of his face was covered in exhaustion and pain, the worry lines in his skin far more prominent than ever. Reaching up again, you thumbed over the small patches of gray in his beard, rubbing it softly as the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. 

“What’re you smiling for?” You grumbled, pitching the coarse hair between two fingers. 

Peaking out one eye, Din stared you down, capturing you in the dark brown of his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful. And I missed you.”

“And you’re lucky to be alive,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot. You had me scared that I would lose you.”

Din wrapped an arm around you, hugging you gingerly to his side, exhaling your name. You took careful consideration in not leaning against the freshly cleaned wound, your weight leaning more into his shoulders than anything else. He huffed a long sigh, his lips connecting with your forehead for a long, thoughtful kiss. 

“Thank you for taking care of me. I’m sorry you had to in the first place.”

“You left me no choice.”

Several moments passed without a response from him, the only sound being the light buzz of the cargo hold. His body rose and fell softly with each passing breath, his face finally softening as he rested. As long as his wound was cared for, he could rest, and you would let him. Peeling yourself out of his arms, you cleaned up the mess of supplies in the quiet, retiring to the cockpit to sit in silence. 

Above all else, you were mad at yourself. You could pin your anger on Bo Katan, but it was useless. You could easily pin your anger on Din, but you knew the reason behind his actions. He promised you freedom; he promised you Kesi would be caught, and that’s what you wanted, right? It had been everything you wanted, yet seeing him injured and hurt made you rethink it all. Was this how he felt after the attack on the Crest? 

But this was different. He had the help of three other Mandalorians and still came out injured. This could have been avoided if you hadn’t even been introduced into his life in the first place, but you wouldn’t let your mind roam to those invasive thoughts. Feeding into those thoughts brought you right back to that instinct to run. All you did was ruin everything around you, regardless of Din’s own choices; ultimately, it was your fault. Yes, you were free now, but that didn’t wash your hands clean of the blood on them. 

Hours passed before you heard rustling in the cargo hold. Climbing down from the cockpit, you found Din in the refresher, the sound of water softly echoing beyond the door. His armor and flight suit were piled on the bed, and his weapons belt hung inside the armory across from the refresher. Your eyes lingered on the blood covering the beskar armor, a chill running up your spine at the thought of what he did. Kesi was dead—more than dead, by the looks of it. 

The steam of the refresher left the cargo hold warm and humid, and the idea of warm water on your body seemed much better than staying in the freezing lower deck. 

Stripping out of your torn and bloodied clothes, you slid open the refresher door, the soft hiss of it closing lost beneath the sound of the falling water. Behind the fog and steam, you could see the silhouette of your bounty hunter, his tanned skin glistening from the water. His back was to you, giving you a complete view of his broad shoulders. While his hands worked their way through his damped curls, you could see the flex and movement of his back muscles, along with the scatters of scars that covered his skin in clusters. Small slashes from past battles, memories of bounties, years of fighting… all displayed in an array of darkened marks against his skin. 

Finding your way into the small space, you hugged your body against his, wrapping your arms around his torso. You could feel the way his body tensed and released as he adjusted to your chest flush with his back. He was warm, and you inhaled the lingering smell of gunpowder and sweat on his body. His hands snaked around your arms, fingers trailing down to interlock with yours. Your mouth roamed over his skin, kissing each scar as you moved across the planes of his shoulder blades. His fingers squeezed yours, drawing your own hands to his lips. With each kiss you placed, he left his own on your fingers, his soft lips covering you in tender kisses. 

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you around to face him. 

His eyes were soft in the dim lights of the refresher, his eyelashes covered in water droplets as he looked down on you lovingly. Din roamed his hands over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips as you leaned back to dampen your hair. Feeling him press against you, you pulled him down to meet your lips, the water falling over both your open mouths. Noticing him harden against your leg, you leaned into him, eliciting a soft moan from his lips. 

“Let me take care of you now,” he rasped, his mouth nipping at your jawline. “Let me make things better.”

A warmth spread low in your body in response to his words, wetness growing between your thighs as his hand trailed lower. He brushed a finger up your inner thigh, a shiver running through your body as you bucked against his hand. 

“Din,” you said breathlessly. 

Din had you pressed against the wall in one smooth motion, the cold tile stinging your skin. His hand coaxed your thighs further apart, a calloused finger drawing hard, slow circles around your clit. Keening, your head fell against his chest, your core clenching at each movement of his fingers. He responded to your growing whimpers as he slipped a thick finger between your wet folds, curling it deep inside you until you released a loud moan. Slipping another finger in, Din pushed his hand further against your wet cunt, his thumb finding itself comfortably against your clit. A blinding ripple of pleasure clouded your vision as your nails dug into the tensed muscles of his biceps. 

“Right there,” you panted, hips pushing forward to feel the curl of his fingers in the deepest part of you. 

A growl vibrated through his chest as his fingers moved at a rougher pace, drawing you right to the brink of your orgasm. Letting out an exhausted cry, you clenched around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand until his fingers were covered in your juices. As he pulled his fingers from you–drawing a small gasp from your lips–he bent down to meet your lips with a passionate kiss. Teasing your own open wider, Din deepened the kiss as your name fell off his tongue in a soft admission. 

He was insatiable. 

But you had other plans. 

Using what little strength you had, you pivoted until he was pinned against the wall, his pupils blown wide with lust. You rubbed your hands over the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling through the hair that covered his tan skin. You made sure to avoid his bandaged wound, seeing a small stain of blood leaking through the med patch. Kissing over his sternum, you let your weak legs draw you down, a trail of kisses leading the way as you positioned yourself on your knees. The placement of the water behind you hit your back in warm waves, the pressure of it soothing you as your fingers dug into the dip of his pelvic bone. Din let out a soft groan, his eyes never leaving you as your tongue danced over the soft flesh of his stomach. 

He was achingly hard by the time your mouth roamed to his cock, the tip leaking with precum already. Leaving gentle kisses along the length of his cock, you gazed upwards to find him wrecked with wanton need. You were working at an agonizingly slow pace, and he was at your disposal. With the tip of your tongue, you drew a long, steady line from the base of his cock, a deep shudder echoing through his body. His hand tangled itself in your hair, his fingers scraping against your scalp as he urged you to take him in your mouth. Letting him guide his cock into your mouth, you suppressed a moan as it hit the back of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he exhaled. 

He thrust into your mouth, slow at first, then picking up speed as he felt your lips adjust to the girth of his cock. Your eyes stayed trained on him, watching as his jaw fell slack each time you swallowed him. You felt his body as it began to tense up, the peak of his orgasm straining through his muscles as he tightened his grip on your hair. You circled his cock, the sensitivity too much to bear as he finally spilled himself into your mouth. Swallowing hot ropes of cum, you waited until he softened to release him, a string of saliva connecting from the head of his cock to your wet lips. Grinning up at him, you kissed the soft skin of his thighs, sitting back on your heels as the water cascaded over your scalp. 

Your rest didn’t last long as Din reached down, gripping your elbow and yanking you back to your feet. His lips were on you, hot and urgent, as his tongue dipped inside your mouth. He moaned deeply into the kiss, the salty taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. His fingers dug themselves into the plush curve of your hips, their grip bruising and rough as he laid claim over you. 

You mewled against his lips, your hands tangling themselves in the curls at the base of his neck, tugging softly as you felt his cock harden against your thigh. His mouth roamed down your neck, sucking marks into the skin–marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. You gasped as his teeth sucked down into the sensitive flesh between your neck and shoulder blade, just as his hands urged your thighs around his waist. With little effort on his end, Din hauled you up until your ankles were crossed at his lower back, your thighs widening to brace against his hips. 

“You want me to show how badly I need you, angel?” He whispered, his voice low. “Need me to prove it to you?”

“Please,” you begged. 

Taking himself in his hand, Din coated himself in your slick, splitting you open as he buried himself to the base of his cock. A cry escaped your lips as a hum of satisfaction left his. With a hand on your ass and the other braced against the wall, he thrust into you with violent strokes, each one hitting your core in blinding precision. He knew the exact spot that halted your breathing and left you wordless with nothing but high-pitched whines. 

“This is how badly I need you,” he gritted. “I fucking need this cunt; I fucking need you. Fuck, so good for me.”

You cried out, your body clenching as the ache inside your stomach grew until you couldn’t contain it anymore. 

“Din!” You sobbed. 

He was relentless, his thrusts more brutal with each force into you, and you could feel the tears spilling down your cheeks as you came. Your cunt pulsed hard as you clenched around his cock; his strokes halted as you squeezed around it. There was a choked sound lodged in his throat, and his own body tensed as he spilled himself inside you. His nails dug into the plush skin of your ass, his body grinding against your wet cunt as you continued throbbing around him. He hung his head a moment, mouth open as he panted heavily. Your own body was wracked with pleasure, a sting of pain coursing through your cervix from how cruel his movements were. As he slipped out of you, you could feel the mixture of your cum spill down your inner thigh, the spraying water washing it away as he guided you back onto your feet. The soreness in your thighs now would be thousands of times worse tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. 

You liked the reminder of him. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing your head softly. “I’m sorry for scaring you today, but I’m not sorry for what I did. You’re free now… you’re free.”

Fresh tears clouded your eyes as that realization settled in. You were free, and you were his.

“Thank you,” you sighed. “I love you.”

You glanced up at him, your bounty hunter, eyes aglow as he looked down on you. A gentle smile played on his lips, yet it didn’t fully meet his eyes. You could tell he was in pain as your eyes wandered down to his wound, seeing blood soaked through the med patch far more than you recalled from moments ago. 

“You won’t heal if you keep fucking me that hard,” you teased. 

“I guess I’ll never heal then,” he countered, pulling you flush to his chest. 

You laughed, tilting your head to meet his lips. 

“Let me clean this up,” you said, hands resting on his shoulders. 

“Later.” It was a warning. “I’m not ready to heal up just yet.”

Later, you’d ask him about Oba Diah, but you only wanted him and that taste of pure freedom.

[the-lady-maddy]

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[greeksorceress]

anon request: blond jace as daemon’s son, jaceluke.

The room goes deadly still as King Viserys drags his body to the throne. 

It’s a painful thing to watch. King Viserys’ sickness seems to be consuming him like fire melts a candle to nothingness, the metaphorical wax of his flesh is raggedly hanging by the bones that protrude what once was the gentle face of his grandfather.

Lucerys’ eyes drift to the other side of the grand hall where Queen Alicent Hightower and her brood stand, unable to cope with the proof of the King’s mortality. Alicent gasps, but doesn’t make a move to help her husband otherwise. Neither do Aegon or Helaena, who are both avoiding looking at their father’s decaying form just like him. Aemond is too occupied staring right back at Lucerys to rush to his father’s aid. 

When the King trips and his crown falls from his head, the Queen and her children still do nothing but stare with bated breaths.

It’s his stepfather who swiftly approaches the King, and with a gentleness unheard of in the Rogue Prince, guides his own brother to the very top of the stairs, not minding that the monarch is resting most of his weight on him. A movement in the sidelines catches Lucerys’ attention, a flash of Targaryen hair moving towards the brothers.

Prince Jacaerys Targaryen, first of his name and heir of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, holds the crown of the King in his hands while he follows his father and his uncle and grandfather. 

“My King,” mumbles Jace respectfully as he bends the knee in front of their ruler, crowning the weakened man who smiles down at him with crooked, half-missing teeth. 

“Thank you, my boy. Such a promising lad.”

Jacaerys smiles back at his uncle and grandfather before Daemon and him step down, back to Rhaenyra’s —and Lucerys’— side. There are knots tightening in Lucerys’ lower belly with anticipation. His half brother’s smirk, so close to the Iron Throne, ignites a telltale wave of desire that shamefully licks at his stomach. 

“I must admit my confusion,” states the King through heavy breaths, “I don’t understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

When grandmother Rhaenys takes a step forward, Lucerys almost expects her to deny his claim. Her face is solemn, but she sends half a smile his way that helps to even Lucerys’ heartbeats.

“Indeed, your Grace. It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.”

Vaemond scoffs at this. It’s of no consequence to the King, who has heard enough. 

“Well, the matter is settled, again.” The King is already tired from the few words he had to spare and the trek to the throne, and his tone doesn’t lack finality. “I hereby reafirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

His mother lovingly squeezes his hand, the tension is lifted off her shoulders under the protection of her father’s words, like a bruise soothed by a fresh balm. Lucerys, on the other hand, doesn’t have the chance to unclench his jaw and stop working his teeth into dust. 

Vaemond strides back to the center of the room, dangerous in his unveiled and unrestrained anger. The hall goes quiet once again, the precarious silence casted by the fury of the older Velaryon man makes Lucerys tremble with uneasiness. 

“You break law,” he spits at King Viserys, “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

“Allow it?” his grandfather asks in angry disbelief, “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” 

The Velaryon, more of a snake than a seahorse, turns back abruptly to point at Lucerys, throwing his accusations with venom coating his fangs, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

Lucerys whimpers. Cold sweat runs down his back, the hairs of his nape sticking to his skin. His mother grips his hand with renewed ferocity, as if she was afraid of Lucerys being ripped from her grasp. She might as well be, for Lucerys knows that what Vaemond is implying right now is high treason, and were the royals and the nobles to believe his word, Lucerys would find a noose around his neck sooner than later. 

“Go back to your rooms.” Commands Rhaenyra, and there’s credit to give her and the firmness of her voice as her hand quivers in their hold, “You have said enough.”

“Lucerys is my trueborn grandson,” states Viserys. “And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

It does nothing to placate Vaemond’s ire.

“You may run your house as you see fit,” he hisses with disdain, “but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned,” when his attention settles over Lucerys this time, he looks ready to pounce and snap his teeth around Lucerys’ throat, “I will not see it ended on the account of this—”

Then Vaemond shuts his mouth. He knows his grandfather might take this as a sing that the older Velaryon is weighting his options and the possible outcomes, but Lucerys knows better. Vaemond Velaryon is tasting the words, enjoying and festering on the acrid flavour of his cruelness. 

Daemon’s voice comes as a soft, challenging whisper.

“Say it.”

It’s a trick, like the Cannibal pretends to be asleep when someone comes too close to his hill just to open his jaw and close his teeth around the cracking bones of the unsuspecting wanderers. 

Vaemond doesn’t know this, though. He’s not a dragon after all. 

“Her children are…” he comes too close to this hill as he screams his next words, “bastards! And she’s a whore.”

The gasps and exclamations flood the room and echo against the walls, but Lucerys can only hear the violent thrumming of his own blood in his ears.

His grandfather asks for Vaemond’s tongue. As his chest heaves erratically, he chances a glance towards Queen Alicent and his uncles and aunt and is not surprised to see Aegon and Aemond enjoying his family’s humiliation.

It makes his stomach upset with a speed that dizzies him, and he’s ready to vomit his lunch over his own boots when a metallic slice cuts through the air and through Vaemond Velaryon’s head. 

Blood sprays everywhere. Some droplets hit Lucerys’ face and hair in the process. His eyes are open with horror, taking the sight of his grandfather’s brother corpse standing still for a second before loudly dropping to the floor. 

The part of his head that is severed from his body rolls in the hall as the veins in his neck keep spraying red, tainting the marble and the stone. Lucerys can see the bones and the muscles torn open as a lamb in the Cannibal’s den.

The gasps have turned into piercing screams, nobles rushing to cover the eyes of the youngest guests of the Red Keep and knights rushing to protect the royals. While the green faction of the family took some steps back and let their fear show, his mother shields him, standing tall and proud as Vaemond’s body lays defeated. A true dragon, the heiress of this empire. She hasn’t stopped holding his hand. 

When Lucerys looks for the culprit, he expects to see Daemon holding a red stained Dark Sister in his right hand. What he sees instead is Jacaerys, the beloved prince and heir, with The Promised still raised. The sword that Daemond and Rhaenyra gifted him in his thirteen name day is wet and tainted, but what weakens Lucerys’ knees and makes his blood sing is his brother’s face. Jacaerys’ amethyst eyes shine with vicious mirth, a bloodthirsty grin fixed upon his lips as he cleans the blade with his own cape. There’s blood dripping from his white strands and staining his cheek and the slope of his nose. Lucerys wants to lick him clean. He bits his own tongue to stop the moans that threaten to get past his lips.

“He can keep his tongue,” Jace says as he steps forward, “for I will have his head.”

Somewhere in the room, Otto screams at the knights. “Disarm him!” 

Jacaerys simply raises his hand at this before pommeling his sword again. “No need.” He then walks around Vaemond’s corpes and crouches down to take his head, looking briefly into Lucerys’ eyes with intention before directing himself to his grandfather and uncle.

“Son,” Rhaenyra warns.

“Son.” Daemon rewards. 

By the steps of the Iron Throne and before the wilting King Viserys, Jacaerys gets down on one knee and presents the evidence of his victory. 

“My King. I present you the head of the treacherous Vaemond Velaryon, who insulted our family. I’ve defended my mother’s name, as well as Prince Lucerys’. And I would dedicate my life to do so were he to be wed to me. May the remains of Vaemond be proof enough of my intentions, and let the realm know what should happen if Lucerys’ blood is put into question again. Let this be the first of many courting presents, for no one else but a dragon could defend my brother with fire and blood.”

Queen Alicent sobs and screams something at their mother, but Rhaenyra is too preoccupied with her own rage towards her oldest son. The last thing Lucerys hears before everything turns pitch black is Daemon’s laughter. 

[cryptidofthekeys]

Ibis Paint Edition:

This is when I started to get the hang of brushes, layers, and etc-

The first drawing I did when I got the app:

TW: Blood for the next one

I'm actually REALLY proud of this one btw- I loved drawin Evil Pep to the uh Cuphead Game Over screen ...not good with rhymes or dialogue tho

TW: Blood and Gore

TW: Yandere Themes, Y/N's kidnapped essentially- (you cant see the details I dont think bc of the lighting which sucks- again I really wish I coulda uploaded the direct files themselves :/

I'm not super into Buckshot Roulette but this was fun to draw

I don't do sketches a lot tbh but I like this Peppino more as a sketch than a finished drawing

This was my first attempt at drawing Evil Peppino btw-

TW: Some blood on this next one

My SM OC, CC: (I need to make a DIGITAL art ref for him- but legit might make this my icon on the bird app ...not showing my art there tho bc too scary)

TW: Blood

And that's all I got! Well there WAS one drawing that was nearly finished and also some animations that I would love to show but ...t-trying to post videos is h e l l so for now- my animations will be mostly unavailable

[vaguewrites]

It is time for angst

Yeah the story with Silas and Pedro in my au is that Pedro was ordered to kill someone he was told was making trouble for the family. He wasn't told who he was, just a short description and a date and time for where he'd be. Pedro took the shot before he even registered who it was.

He'd killed his boyfriend Silas, who had indeed been causing problems when he stood up to Pedro's family and was convincing others to do the same. So they made an example of him and used Pedro to do it, really digging the knife in.

So in my au during the course of the game Pedro's fragmented psyche hallucinates Silas at various points but he can't remember who this strange bloodied person is or why it's his fault but he knows, deep down, that he's right. Something is his fault, he just doesn't know what.

[loominggaia]

ZOV THE ELF-EATER

This guy doesn't appear in the series until much later, but here's his bio to get you hyped in the meantime!

(lore under cut)

HISTORY

Es Riq Zov was born to a Morite family during their long and arduous trek from the Serkel Desert to Folkvar Kingdom. His family sought freedom and fortune in these new lands, but to get there, they had to cross treacherous Evangelite territory.

The family was not so fortunate, for they were caught by Evangelite slavers just before reaching the border to Folkvar. Baby Es was separated from his mother that day and never saw her again.

He was instead raised by staff in a slaveyard nursery until the age of 7 years, when he was purchased by a young Evangelite entrepreneur. This entrepreneur's family had been running dealings in the slave-fighting industry for centuries, and Es was destined to be their newest champion.

This ghoulish businessman started training Es to fight right away. He fed the young goblin a diet of high-protein foods, questionable supplements, and yappo leaves, all while forcing him to exercise to exhaustion each day. Es was never taught how to read, write, cast spells, or solve equations. His training taught him only how to bring down his opponent in the quickest, dirtiest ways possible.

At the age of 9, Es's master entered him in the children's league of an Evangelite slave fighting ring. Es proved to be a vicious powerhouse, maiming and even killing some of his pint-sized opponents with no hesitation or remorse.

This trend would only continue as Es grew older. He competed in hundreds of fighting matches from childhood to adulthood, mostly competing against elven, faunish, and other goblin opponents. In one notorious match, he gouged an elven opponent's eyes with his thumbs to subdue them before biting out their entrails. Es draped these entrails on his shoulders, leaving the opponent to bleed out as he basked in his glorious victory.

This brutal attack became his signature move, dubbed the "gouge 'n gorge", which he would perform again and again to delight bloodthirsty audiences. He gained a frightening title along with it: Zov the Elf-Eater.

Zov became his master's greatest champion, so his master began investing large sums to money to make him an even better fighter. Zov's teeth were filed to sharp points, his long ears docked, metal plates were surgically implanted into his knees, skull, and knuckles, and he endured several eye surgeries to improve his species' naturally poor vision.

All of these procedures were illegal in Evangelite territory, so Zov travelled to Zareen Empire many times throughout his career. During these visits, Zov's master discovered something else that was illegal in his homeland: a more refined form of yappo leaves called 'wack'. This powerful drug was consumed by soldiers and athletes abroad, and he decided his best fighter should be taking advantage of it too.

Before long, he was regularly doping Zov with this powerful drug, and at that point the goblin had become an unstoppable powerhouse in the slave-fighting world. His name spread far and wide, and by the time he was just 25 years old, he was already a living legend.

PERSONAL LIFE

Zov is currently still active in the global slave-fighting circuit, performing mostly in Evangelite, Morite, and Zareenite lands. He is such a fearsome opponent that he has even been matched against more powerful species, such as satyrs, and still came out victorious.

After each match, Zov is rewarded with a sacrificial female slave, whom he sexually violates and then kills in the ring as an encore to his bloody performance. Other rewards are granted by his master, which include fine clothes, rich food, entertainment, and more comfortable accommodations.

Compared to most slaves in his position, Zov lives like a king. But compared to any free person, he is still trapped in a bleak existence, filled with violence and cruelty.

When he's not in the ring, Zov spends most of his time with his master's traveling caravan. He has his own private wagon, which is his bedroom and also his cell. He is constantly surrounded by his master's servants and security staff, but has never had a friend, for even those closest to him regard him with fear and distrust.

Zov is described by others as "a man of few words". He is said to have a volatile temper, and speaks more with his actions than his mouth. He suffers from frequent bouts of debilitating depression and psychosis, which his master "solves" by doping him with potent drugs like pink sugar to sedate him.

Zov's master exploits him in more ways than just forcing him to fight. He also charges other slave owners hefty sums of gold to breed their slaves with him, claiming that Zov's offspring will grow up to be extraordinary just like him. Though Zov has many children in the world, he has never had the opportunity to meet a single one of them.

Despite all the abuse his master inflicts upon him, Zov considers him a loving father-figure and trusts him more than anyone else. It seems his master is the only one he respects, for Zov has been known to attack the caravan's staff and even security when they get on his bad side. Yet he has never once laid a finger upon his master--the one who has hurt him the most throughout his life, and the sole person responsible for the hellish life he lives.

Zov is still illiterate in adulthood. However, his master once rewarded him with a picture book featuring famous places around Looming Gaia, and Zov has been smitten by art and culture ever since. He visits historical sites, libraries, and museums every chance he is permitted. His master noticed his seemingly spiritual reaction to music and now uses it as an incentive, promising to take him to live performances if he trains and fights well.

Little does Zov's master realize, these little tastes of the outside world have planted a seed of rebellion within his champion. Recently, Zov has been troubled by a feeling he's never experienced before: a desire for freedom.

Secretly, he wishes to escape his violent career and travel the world, where he can experience the finer things in life like the free people do. His dream is to explore all of the famous sites in his beloved picture book before he dies. At the same time, Zov fears freedom, for he does not know how to survive without his master's guidance--not to mention the drugs he provides to sate his burdensome addictions.

Will Zov ever find the courage and the means to make his dreams a reality? Or will he simply meet a gruesome, unceremonious fate in the ring?

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[icefir-windbreaker]

Written by @hotlineamyfics

Artwork by @mipexch

GRAPHIC WARNING BEFORE LISTENING: Blood and Gore, Mutilation and Self-Mutilation, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism and Religious Guilt. Viewer discretion is advised.

[silentdoves]

I Paid To Make You Mine, You See

Inspired by Hostel, Spencer Charnas needs to blow off some steam. Coincidentally, you wake up in an unfamiliar place.

18 + MINORS DNI

word count: 2908

hostel! spencer x gn reader || rape, torture || first person pov

content warnings: rape, abuse, blood and gore, kidnapping, torture, fingernail trauma, wound fucking implied

aka i am painfully attracted to the live performance of wurst vacation it's becoming a problem

also on ao3

I came to in pitch darkness.

There was something on my head, something blocking my vision. A bag, or blindfold maybe. My head was spinning. A headache was staring to form. Thoughts weren’t coming to me, I couldn’t begin to think back to how I got here or even begin to imagine where I could be. The air around me felt cold, and through the brain fog I came to realize I had been stripped down to my underwear. I felt cold metal around my wrists and ankles. I was handcuffed to the chair I was in. The rattling of metal filled the air as I pulled at the restraints. I knew I couldn’t get out of them, but I still tried. I shook my head around, trying to throw off whatever covered my eyes. The room around me was still, but I was unaware if there was another person in here with me or not. I began to yell, to scream and shout for someone to help me. I cried out until my throat began to hurt, and then I cried out more. I didn’t get a response. After what felt like hours of screaming, I heard the creaking of a door opening. The first sense to hit was smell. The smell of death. of decaying flesh and bodies. It hung heavy in the air and attacked my nose. I gagged. Tears had begun streaming down my face, soaking into the fabric covering my eyes. The door shut again and the smell began to fade. Now, there were sounds outside the room. talking, laughing, shouting. People. multiple sets of footsteps approached the door. I heard the door open again, and the sounds became louder. The conversation was in a different language, one I couldn’t understand. A voice stuck out to me, a familiar one. However, as hard as I tried I couldn’t place who it was. I let out a whine and began to pull at my restraints again. The new people in the room ignored me for awhile. They walked around me and continued to chat. Then I felt a hand on my face. It gripped my chin and moved my head slowly. The bag was torn from my head, and I had to squint against the sudden light. The hand on my chin stayed, and my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room as they looked me over.

“Perfect.” A male voice, the familiar one, hummed as they finally let go of my face. Finally able to see, I surveyed the room. Three people stood in here with me. One that had held my face and two seemed to be guards. Rubbery gloves came between my face and the one’s bare hands. A blue surgical mask covered their nose and mouth, though I could still pick out familiar aspects to them. An old, stained apron was draped over the front of them. His blue eyes stared me down, studying me like I wasn’t human. Without looking away, he dismissed the guards. The door shut behind them, trapping me in here with him. Finally he turned away from me. I took a quick glimpse around the room, seeing if there was any way of escape. My eyes fell on the table of weapons to my right. The one my captor was currently approaching. “There’s so many options, I don’t quite know what I want to do with you yet.”

It was on the tip of my tongue, where did I know this guy?

“What the fuck is this?” I managed to squeak out. I sounded scared despite every attempt not to. I whined as they picked up a weapon. “What are you doing-”

“Oh hush, begging won’t do anything but urge me on.” He hummed. His voice was higher pitched, yet still shot fear through my body. His mask shifted, telling me he was grinning behind it. His hand clutched a knife, and he brought it up to my face. I felt the blade brush my skin. The sharp metal left teasing touches, threatening to break skin. I tried to pull away, but his hand was in my hair before I could get very far. He laughed, a sick, high-pitched laugh that shot shivers up my back.

The familiarity clicked, and my eyes went wide. I gasped softly, “Spencer?”

“Oh, would you look at that. They were nice enough to get me a fan to play with,” He chuckled. Spencer Charnas, front man of Ice Nine Kills. I whined softly as I shook my head. This can’t be happening, how was this happening? Spencer saw my distress and his mask shifted with his smile. “Actually, you can keep begging. I like your voice.”

I didn’t say a word. I watched his eyes slowly narrow. The knife was pulled away from my face. I watched it as it moved down my body, the tip now rested against my stomach. The hand holding it twisted, and I felt it enter my skin. Breath hissed through my teeth, my eyes squeezing shut from the sharp pain. He laughed again.

“Come on baby.” He cooed. Shaking my head, I felt the knife sink in deeper. Blood trickled from the small wound, at which point he retracted. I peeked an eye open. Spencer looked down at me, a blood thirsty glint in his eye. “Beg for your life and maybe I’ll treat you better.”

Once again I shook my head. My body was shaking. Small waves of pain echoed through my body, radiating from the one puncture in my stomach. Spencer’s free hand came out to hold my face. The touch of his gloved fingers was gentle, a drastic difference from the pain in my stomach. Another whine slipped from my throat. He cackled. I shuttered, my body shaking from the fear. The hand on my face got tighter and tighter, their fingers digging further into my skin. Trying to pull away was unsuccessful.

“Oh keep making noises. If you listen I’ll be gentle.” I knew he was lying. His grip on the knife tightened. In a flash, I watched as Spencer dragged the knife across my stomach. The cut was shallow, but a sting still shot through my body. I fought back every noise, the urge to scream and cry out dying in my throat. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed together, his eyes boring holes through me. “I said make noises for me. You’re at my will, and I will do whatever I can to make you listen to me.”

His hand moved from my face as he took a small step back. I pressed my lips together. I stared at him with hatred and fear. He walked away, returning to the weapon table. I watched him pick up the bag that had previously covered my head. Unable to move away, the bag was slipped back over my head. Darkness engulfed me again. My heart beat faster. Spencer walked with silent footsteps around the room. I didn’t know where he was. Not until I heard the snap of scissors next to my ear. I yelped and jerked my head away as much as I could. I heard a laugh and then another snip, this time on the opposite side. Once again I jerked away. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to stop. My breathing was speeding up as he repeated this again and again. The time between snips shortened and shortened. At points his laugh overpowered the scissors, which was even worse to hear. I took breath in with short gulps, and cracked sobs slid out of my throat. Finally it stopped, it all stopped. Silence surrounded me once again, and my breathing slowed further and further before returning to normal. I still felt the man’s presence around me, I could feel him watching me. He was circling me, like a predator with its prey.

“That wasn’t that hard, was it?” He taunted, his voice coming from right in front of me now. I pressed myself against the back of the chair, hoping this was all a bad dream. Though, the dull pain in my stomach reminded me just how real this all was. The bag was ripped off my head once more, but the sight in front of me was different this time. He had removed his blue mask as well as the cap. Spencer’s familiar face stared back at me. He was neatly shaven, hell he looked like he made himself look nice just for this. He still wore the bloody apron and gloves. A twang of attraction shot through as I stared at him. I’d always been attracted to him, and even like this he was undeniably hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and watched as he picked up a pair of pliers. “You’re staring, dear.”

I ripped my eyes away. My heart pounded in my chest as he cackled. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, so vulgar,” He hummed. The pliers grew closer to my hand, and as much as I tried to pull away I couldn’t. He held my hand in place as the pliers clamped onto my nail. I cried out in protest, but that didn’t stop him. A soft tug shot a dull pain up my arm and through my body. I tried to squirm, I tried to pull away. But his grip on my hand was too intense. His movements were slow, making sure he prolonged the pain as long as he could. He hummed as he worked, like this was the most casual thing in the world. Maybe it was to him. I closed my eyes, and only felt as he ripped my finger nail out. I screamed, crying out until my voice cracked and broke. Tears streamed down my face as my finger throbbed. And he just laughed. His grip on my hand readjusted, the pliers tightening around another finger nail. I caved.

“Fine! Please, please stop.” I cried, and when I opening my eyes again I saw him grinning down at me. Fuck, that grin. It dripped poison. He looked more animal than human. He looked terrifying. I sniffled, tears still running down my cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, doll, I just want to have some fun. To blow off some steam. That’s all.” His voice was soft, mocking. He was teasing me. And that damn smile never left his face. He took my face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the tears on my cheeks. In any other situation I would be comforted and comfortable. But right now, there was none of that. But I still didn’t find myself pulling away from his hands. I found myself crying again, from all the emotions of the moment. His smile faltered. “Oh don’t cry, I’ll take good care of you.”

“No you won’t. You… You’re gonna…” I couldn’t get the words out between sobs. I sniffled, finally managing to pull myself out of his hold. My gaze slid down to the floor. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh maybe I am.” My eyes shot back up to his. Spencer grinned, that darkness back behind his smile. “Maybe I’ll just bleed you out, let your life slip through my fingers. Your fate is in my hands, darling.”

I felt myself shaking. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. I was terrified, though also, in a fucked up way, turned on. He didn’t seem to notice my fear as he pulled himself away from me back to the weapon table. I pulled at the restraints once more and finally, after realizing how trapped I was, gave in. A heavy sigh slipped out of my mouth, one that drew his attention. He turned back to me curiously. I just shook my head and dropped my gaze. He laughed again. It was a harsh sound, like the cut of a knife or the sting of cold air. He came back over to me, I saw his shadow at my feet. I heard the rustle of clothes, and looked up to see him slipping his apron off. The heavy fabric hit the ground with a thud. I hoped this meant he was done with me, however the dark smirk on his face told me otherwise. His eyes didn’t leave me as his hands fumbled with his belt. The room was deathly silent aside from the noise of his belt sliding off.

“Please don’t,” I mumbled, but I knew I was stuck. I was trapped. He was going to do whatever he wanted to me, and I couldn’t stop him. He unzipped his pants, and I was forced to watch as he pulled his cock out. My underwear was yanked down to my ankles. The cool air on my sensitive area caused shiver up my spine. I squeezed my eyes closed as he stepped closer. His dick poked at my hole before harshly being shoved in. I cried out, but quickly felt his gloved hand over my mouth. Pulling back slowly, the man thrust harshly forward again. My cries and sobs were muffled behind his hand. He repeated his motions. A loud groan came from his throat, and the hand on my face began to dig into my skin. The thrusting sped up, and pleasure started to overcome the fear in my veins. A couple soft moans slipped from my lips. I peeked my eyes open to see him grinning.

“You fucking whore, you’re enjoying this?” He cackled, and I felt my face heat up. “Well then come on, moan for me some more. Show me how much you’re enjoying me raping you.”

I tried to shake my head, but couldn’t move under his hand. As his thrusts got harder, I bit back another unwanted moan. He didn’t seem to mind. Degrading words kept slipping through his lips, making it harder and harder for me to keep quiet. His free hand snaked up my body and wrapped around my neck. His thrusts got sloppier, and as I felt like I was reaching my breaking point, he came. I felt his hot cum inside of me, his cock twitching as he pumped me full. His cock was completely inside of me, stretching me completely. I whined softly, squirming from the feeling. Finally he pulled out, and I felt his cum spill out of me. Warm, dripping down my nude body. His cock was still hard, though he didn’t do any more. There was still a dark hunger in his eyes. I started to cry again, though he didn’t seem to care this time as he turned his back to me.

“Please let me go!”

“No can do, darling.” He grinned as he walked back to the weapon table. I watched him. His hand floated over each weapon, before finally picking up an ordinary knife. I kept my eyes on him, not knowing where else to look. He returned to me, his cock back in his pants, but the bulge was still visible. I felt the tip of the knife press into my arm. His hand under my chin made me look up at his eyes. He had a content look on his face. He looked pleased. I felt the knife dig deeper into my skin, piercing slowly through each layer. I squirmed from the pain. His hand trailed from my chin to my arm, gripping it tightly to make it stay still. The knife dug in deeper. It pierced the muscle. I looked over and saw the blade deep in my arm. The man pulled the knife out. The blade was covered in blood. Blood poured out of my arm, coating my skin and dripping to the floor. silent tears rolled down my face. I heard the knife clatter to the ground. His fingers dug into the gash. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, all I could do was watch and stare as his fingertips disappeared under my skin. A blinding pain shot through my body. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could barely feel his fingers past the pain. Wide eyed, I watched as his finger gripped onto something. He pulled muscle and veins out of my arms, a large mass that dripped blood into the growing puddle on the floor. A single vein ran from the mass back into my arm, still connected to my body. Spencer easily ripped it. A strangled whine came from my throat, the only noise I was able to make as pain pulsed through my body. He laughed again, watching as blood sprayed from the wound. It pumped with the beating of my heart. I stared at the blood, my head beginning to spin from the blood loss. The sound of his zipper came again, and I managed to see him once again pulling his dick out. My eyes started to feel heavy, my head spinning more. I tried to focus on staying awake, but I just couldn’t. His bloodied hand gripped my face again. I watched a knife come into my view before getting placed against my neck. It felt far away, but I knew it was there. The blade dug into my skin. Droplets of blood rolled down my neck.

“Just a couple more rounds, dear. But, this time, I fuck all your holes.” A searing pain spread from my neck, and I saw blood splash on his face before my eyelids came crashing down for the last time.

[its-to-the-death]

Villain Song Showdown Bracket F Round 1

Pieces of You/Hologram Professor song (Puppet History) - Villain: Hologram Professor

tw: blood and gore

Necrostar (The Vice Quadrant by Steam Powered Giraffe) - Villain: The Necrostar

[peacheenie]

so I was curious on something.....

they look so funny and out of place mama mia.... funnily enough the bots have been sticking together like this since i started playing... guess bill and louis are having a Bonding moment.

haha wet head 

anyway thanks to Despair and ScratchnSniff on steam for putting them in the terrifying zombie game world yall are hilarious gj

[the-lady-maddy]

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