#these lost worlds are all so lifeless and splintered

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 0.2 Birth by Sleep - A Fragmentary Passage - Castle Town

#kingdom hearts 0.2 birth by sleep a fragmentary passage #kh0.2 #castle town #castle of dreams #realm of darkness #scenery #my gif #this game is so beautiful and i love how dark and gloomy it is #it's unsettling to see how the water from the fountain and everything else is suspended in time #these lost worlds are all so lifeless and splintered #i should be used to it by now but the sudden upgrade in graphics always catches me off guard and i find myself- #spending a lot of time looking closely at all of the details #it's just so interesting to me to see the locations in these games portrayed in such a new visually distinct way #also this is my first time being able to play this game for myself. i used to have to watch the cutscenes online

[brassknucklespeirs]

ɢʀɪᴇꜰ ɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄᴋʟᴇ [ʀɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

The feeling was so strong, and honestly not in the good way. It took over her body, clenching and squeezing at her muscles and causing a tension that took over her very being. And yet through it all, her mind gave her constant conflicting messages; you're fine, you're not sad, you're not in pain, you're not grieving, you're completely and utterly fine. She was exhausted from trying to keep up with herself, and it showed. Her closest friends, Bill and Joe, would have seen the change in her. It wasn't a big change, but the usually happy and witty friend of theirs turned maniac, and everything she did became erratic. She didn't seem quite right, though those who didn't know her well would not think much of it, for she was okay just enough to hold it together.

But Joe and Bill weren't there anymore, having been hit in Bastogne and both sent back to the States with injuries that would see they would not be returning. She had reminisced on a similar feeling she had after they had jumped into Carentan. At the time, Y/N wasn't sure how she was feeling, and there was a constant back and forth in her emotions that she was trying to juggle like a bad circus act. She had thought back on how she had sat staring wide eyed at a replacement who had been shot right before her eyes, a young teenager who would have had his whole life ahead of him, now reduced to nothing but a lifeless body at her feet.

"I'm fine, I promise." She had muttered breathlessly to Toye who sat with her on the truck, looking worried as his friend held a bewildered gaze, staring into space without a single thought in her eyes that swum with tears.

"I don't know if that's quite true, but regardless, I'm here, and I always will be." Joe had spoke softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her head, before pulling back and running a reassuring thumb over her cheek, a smile on his lips. Bill had sat on her other side, wrapping an arm over her shoulder, gently tugging her towards him with a grin on his own lips. She remembered those smiles, as if they were engrained in her mind, a memory brought out at any moment she needed it.

But now, she was left without Joe or Bill, both of whom had been her support, her constants. Though it was a sweet gesture meant to calm her jittery bones, the expressions on her best friends' faces would seemingly follow her like a ghost, constantly haunting her steps at every corner she took. When Joe and Bill were hit, Y/N knew how she felt. She was lost, truly and utterly. The two pillars that helped her stand constantly were knocked down themselves and she felt she had nothing to hold her up. Everything turned dark, like the night sky was perpetual, however not the beautiful star filled sky, but a blanketed cloudy night with a catastrophic storm brewing. The winds of change blew her left and right and she struggled to hold on to herself. She watched as Buck lost himself to it, and she pondered whether she would too; she honestly thought she was a goner at that point.

Y/N remembered Joe's words. I'm here, and I always would be. Liar. She thought hopelessly as she clung to herself, arms wrapped around her torso as she rocked herself back and forth. She had ensured no one else was around; it was simply splintered trees and that grieving girl.

In a way, she did lose herself. Everyone watched as she became a shell of herself, merely a solider forced to fight. She was on autopilot, just awake enough to be able to reassure people she was fine, before going back to her stoic, tight jawed expression. She was haunted, she was tired, and she was so utterly over seeing those she cared for being diminished to nothing but a memory. It was driving her mad with grief. She had lost her ability to handle it, and instead had resorted to simply not dealing with it. She had flicked that switch in her mind that dealt with grief, with loss, and had become nothing but a solider, ready to take on the world with nothing to lose.

Dick had found her there, in amongst the snow, shivering and on her way to tears as she seemed to whisper words to herself, speaking her thoughts aloud. He paused his steps, wondering if he should announce himself, but the man couldn’t stop himself as his heart ached for the woman.

"Sergeant L/N." He called gently. She stood immediately, her movements fast and aggressive as she all but snapped her heels together, as if she was the perfect, well oiled machine of a solider.

"Captain Winters, sir." She replied, voice devoid of emotion as she forced herself to hold it together, like a default setting she was ready to flick on when she needed. He stared at her, head tilting the slightest amount while he studied her carefully.

"Y/N," He began, and she felt the default setting turn off as soon as her name left his lips, like the false portrayal of this fighter had melted away to show nothing but the diminished woman she felt herself to be.

"Dick," She whispered back, her shoulders dropping to show her true feelings. He stepped forward, grabbing her hand gently as he tugged her forward towards him. Her jaw tightened and slacked with every other second, as she was trying to stop herself from feeling certain emotions, not wanting to show how hurt and lost she truly felt.

"Talk to me sweetheart." He said quietly, drawing her closer to him so they stood almost chest to chest, his eyes intently staring at her. She wanted to hold back, wanted to pretend she was fine, but something about the man made it hard to do so. She looked up at him, the man who had been a constant thought in the back of her mind, the kind of dream she would hope she'd see every night but never be able to have while she was awake. And yet he stood here before her, staring at her with such a soft gaze, one that she thought she would only see while she slept, as if she was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. They had always had something lingering in the space between them since they had first met during basic training, but it seemed neither had the time to explore further as they were thrown full force into the war. But even then, the lingering eyes and protective manner in which Dick moved around her showed her that he was fully aware of it.

"I just…there so many things going through my head. Like when I'm dead and gone…will they remember me? Will I be anything to anyone? Will I be worth the talk?" The woman muttered, the words dripping from her lips like syrup, slow and thick, emotion encompassing every syllable.

"To me, you will." Winters said softly, so softly that if the wind was blowing any harder it might have wasted away, never to be heard. But she heard it, and it made her snap her head in his direction, eyes watering as she gazed at him. Her visions blurred with tears and she felt her knees grow weak before she dropped to them, but he wrapped his arms around her frail body to stop her from meeting the ground harshly as the sobs that so desperately needed to come fell from her lips. His hand running along her spine reassuringly as he held her close, letting her feel what she must to

Dick felt his throat constrict, his own emotion coming forth as he heard her heart wrenching cries, and flash backs of his own grief came back to him. He saw the young SS soldier, saw his dropping smile and his bright eyes. He saw his body jolt in his mind as his bullet hit the boy in the chest, before he saw his body hit the ground. Dick's arms tightened around the woman, his hand finding its way to the back of her head as he cradled it to sit in the space between his jaw and shoulder.

"I know. I know." He whispered to her, his mind recounting the faces of the soldier who were under his command that had lost their lives to this war. His eyebrows pulled together as tears gathered in his eyes, but he gulped down the feeling as he held her. "It's..it's not easy, and it feels never ending, I know. But, you're….you're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I know you don't feel like you can but…I know you can keep going, for Joe and Bill, for yourself." He muttered.

"I…I just feel so heavy Dick." She choked out as she pulled her face from his neck and gazed up at him with red rimmed, wet eyes. He nodded his head as he returned her gaze, showing his own teary eyes.

"Then let me carry some of it," He replied, "Let me take some of the weight sweetheart." He continued, squeezing her hand he had moved to grab.

"How?" She whispered so softly that he almost didn't hear her.

"Talk, let it out, cry, let me hold you tighter, do what you have to. I'm here for it all." He said, trying to prompt her to feel.

"People have said that in the past and now they're gone." Y/N said honestly, her heart clenching in her chest painfully as she thought of Joe and Bill.

"Well I can't promise anything, and you know that. But for this very moment, let me take some of the weight." Dick said gently, running his fingers through the hair that wasn't covered by her helmet. His words echoed on her head, and she felt her body loosen. She knew she didn't know what would happen, but for now? For now she could try her best at handling everything if he held her hand through it.

"O…okay." She whispered as she let her head rest on his shoulder. It was as if the physical contact between them had let her weight transfer to him slightly, as if every moment she spent in his embrace she was able to breathe more. She didn’t feel as though she needed to cry anymore, she felt as though she simply needed to stay enveloped in his arms. Y/N pulled away from him eventually, her eyes drier and her heart less heavy as she gazed up at him.

"Thank you Dick." She whispered to him causing him to smile.

"Of course, anything for you." He replied quietly and her heart jumped at his words. They stared at each other for a few moments, and with every second, they seemed to grow closer to one another. Dick pressed his lips softly against hers after a moment, and Y/N welcomed the feeling, returning the kiss with the same gentle passion. They pulled away not long after, not wanting to get caught up in each other, but ensuring that there was enough there to express one another's feelings. They stared at each other once more as they pulled away, eyes full with a fondness that had always been there but never truly expressed.

As time went on, she felt lighter, not like the entire weight of her feelings had disappeared, but like every time her knees were ready to buckle under the weight he was there to hold some of it for her. Dick seemed to be a new constant, not a replacement of Bill and Joe, but something new. She wasn't sure if she was thinking too much into it but she felt as though this felt different. His eyes lingered on her just a little longer, his gaze always questioning her wellbeing in a way that a leader, or even a close friend, wouldn't do. His gaze held more of an affectionate gentleness, something she had only dreamed of.

That night at the Eagle's nest, many of the men had gathered to drink and celebrate the victory in Europe, elated by the surrender of the German army and their allies. But Y/N was tired, and felt herself in serious need of rest. She hadn't been able to see Dick in a couple of days passed the odd wide eyed gaze across the room, and she felt herself grow heavy. She had stayed in her room until Luz had come to visit, asking if she was joining them. She smiled sweetly at him, but the emotion struggled to reach her drooping eyes as she did.

"I just…need some time alone please." Y/N said to George, a small reassuring smile on her lips as she stood by her bedroom door.

"Of course, let us know if you need something." Luz replied with a large grin, one that she was very used to. She smiled fondly at him before nodding gratefully.

"Thanks George." The man smiled once more before wandering off to see the other men, leaving Y/N by herself. She sighed as she closed the door, letting her shoulders slump while she leant against the door. She went to walk over to her bed to sit for a moment, but another knock sounded on the door and she turned back to it again with a quiet groan. She swung the door open, expecting one of the enlisted men to be there, asking her to come drink with them but was surprised to see Winters standing there. He looked at her with a small smile, his hands playing with the fabric of his hat that was grasped between his fingers.

"I can go if you need some time alone." Dick spoke suddenly, and she broke out of her moment of admiring him

"No!" Y/N blurted out, her voice louder than she intended. Her eyes widened at herself, before clearing her throat awkwardly. "No. Please…stay." She uttered, her voice much quieter now as if she was questioning her own words. Dick let a small smile cover his lips as he nodded, stepping further into the room as he closed the door gently.

"How are you feeling?" He asked fondly as he looked at her, the both of them standing in the middle of her room.

"Um…better, in a way. But not so much in others." Y/N replied with a small smile, her eyes flickering between his face and her hands that she was clenching and unclenching in front of her. "I don't know how I'm ever going to get over what this war had made me feel. How will i…how will I ever explain this to people who don't understand?" She said as she looked at him fully. His face took on an empathetic softness, and he stepped closer to her, his hands finding their way to her shoulders.

"I don't know if you ever will be able to. I'm quite sure I won't be able to." Dick spoke with a gentleness that she had been hoping to hear. His hand moved to her face, his thumb running over the skin below her eye and along her cheekbone. "But…you don’t have to be able to explain it to me." He finished with a smile that made her feel safe, her chest feeling less constricted until a thought crossed her mind and it came back once again.

"But you won't always be there, will you?" Y/N whispered, a sadness taking over her expression. Dick took a deep breath, his adam's apple bobbing as thought over his next words.

"Who ever said that?" He spoke, and he seemed so sure of himself. She looked up at him again, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

"What…what do you mean?" She questioned, fiddling with her fingers unconsciously. He let a smile grace his lips as he reached for her hands, untangling them before interlinking them with his.

"I mean…I…" He began, though he seemed to trip up on his words. "I would like you to come back with me, after…this." He continued, his cheeks growing slightly red. "Only if you want to." He finished quickly. Y/N's breath caught in her throat for a moment as she stared at their hands.

"What…me? You want me to come back with you after the war?" She said with wide eyes, her mind swimming with thoughts, overthinking to the point where she questioned whether she had made up the words he spoke in her mind.

"Well…yes." He said with a slight tension to his sentence.

"I….okay." She whispered, looking up at him again, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she did. His face broke out into a large smile, his eyes lighting up happily.

"Well…that's good." Dick said, his face showing relief. Y/N felt her own face break into a smile as she stared up at him.

"That is good." She replied, and they both shared a smile before Y/N leaned forward and pecked his lips gently. His face showed a shy bewilderment that caused her to giggle quietly. His lips twitched at her laugh before he leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her lips, pulling her closer.

"It means you won't ever have to carry everything by yourself. Not now and not ever." He whispered as he pulled away, a genuine loving care in his eyes. She smiled at his words, eyes swimming with tears. He returned her smile, pressing his lips to her forehead gently before looking down at her once more. "I won't ever let you feel that way again."

#here have a random ramble i just wrote in an hour #idk wtf this is but it's feelings so... #take it or leave it #gods i am in my sad girl emotions rn #FUCKKKKK #find me the nearest mountain i can climb and scream off #richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers drabble #i really don't know wtf this is #so don't come for my throat please #i'm sensitive rn #dick winters x reader

[teainthesnow]

Whoops I did it again and have written another piece inspired by the last Cass Apocolypse Update (my previous piece)

@somerandomdudelmao

----

He feels it the moment that it happens.

There’s a faint wind that brushes over him. A feeling, a memory, and a lingering sensation of a hand letting go.

And he knows with heart wrenching clarity that this is it.

It’s over now.

He’s not... he’s not a twin anymore.

Well, okay, that’s not exactly true. He knows with complete certainty that he will always consider himself a twin. One half of a whole. No matter how many years pass, and no matter how long he must now live without him, he will always, always be a twin.

Of that he is confident in.

But it is different now.

He knows that he felt something break. Something that he had never really noticed before had snapped. Had broken irreparably.

He is cold. Empty. Numb.

He feels so many emotions yet so little at the same time.

His thoughts are a mess but painfully silent.

This can’t be it.

It can’t be over.

But he knows he’s just in denial.

He clutches tightly at Donnie’s arm once again and tries to pretend, even just for a moment, that things are the same as they always had been.

That Donnie would wake up.

They would find a cure.

Win the war.

And live the life that had long ago been ripped away from them.

But the lie, the hope, cannot last forever in this moment.

He hears the pounding of footsteps, the panicked voices of April and Casey. He can feel as Raph shifts to a more upright position, as Mikey frantically begs for his brother to wake up.

He gets to his feet and stares at his brother cradled within Raph’s hands.

He’s so thin.

So different to how Leo remembers him to be.

And here, in this moment, as he lays limp and lifeless, he has never looked more small.

And Leo’s heart breaks all over again.

He can’t deal with this. Doesn’t want to deal with this. He want to continue living in denial where they’re all happy and healthy and not... and not... this...

There a sudden warmth against his plastron, a pair of arms clenched tightly around him. Numbly, he tears his eyes away from- away from Donnie, and looks down.

Its Casey.

His face is buried into his plastron and Leo can just about see that his eyes are pressed tightly shut. He can feel the growing damp spot as the tears flow unbidden from his eyes.

And somehow, that is what gets him to break. The numbness slowly washes away, the reality really begins to sink in.

It’s over.

Really truly over.

The tears begin to drip down his own face, his vision blurs.

And then another realisation hits him.

He’ll never see Donnie again.

Because he doesn’t have his ninpo to fall back on. He lost that ability a long time ago. It had never been too bad, that he could not see the spirits of their ancestors or Splinter. Of course it had hurt, and there had always been a slight lingering bitterness but he had also never really dwelt on it.

Because, to him, Mikey having that ability had been enough. He had been content to just ask Mikey to say hi for him.

But now... Now it stings with a fresh wave of bitter agony.

So even that, even just the ghost of his brother remains far, far away from him.

The dam really, truly, breaks at that and he collapses to his knees, taking Casey down with him. He buries his face into Casey’s hair and sobs. He thought Splinter’s and Raph’s deaths had been painful, then thought losing Raph the second time was the worst that it could get. But this, despite knowing that it was coming, is a whole knew agony that he had hoped to never experience.

There really was no going back from this.

No second or third chances.

Just another new loss that will carve another deep scar into his heart.

So he cries, and grieves. Not caring an ounce about being strong, about being brave.

He is distraught and in pain.

And so very, very angry at the world.

He wants to go and fight the Krang. Make them pay for what they did. Wants to rage and scream and yell until his throat is sore and his voice nothing but a raspy croak.

But even that seems too much.

So for now all he can do is cry.

His cries are coming out in hiccupping sobs at this point, and he can hardly even catch his breath. But he cannot stop. Nor does he want to.

A hand on his shoulder has him looking up through watery eyes.

April smiles down at him, her own eyes red and so incredibly sad.

“It’ll be okay.” She reassures softly, voice breaking as she does.

She kneels down beside him and takes him in her arms.

“We’ll be okay.”

Another set of hands join them. These ones smaller than his own and April’s.

It’s Mikey, cuddling up next to them, squeezing himself between Leo and April and crying softly as he does.

And then finally he feels the cold metal of Raph’s arms, enveloping them all.

And there they remain, lost in their grief, and locked in a desperate and soothing embrace.

But all the while each one of them knowing, each of them starkly aware, that there’s a gap, a missing piece, that will never be filled again.

#little do they know though that it will be TT~TT #cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #once again #thanks cass #for an amazing series #tarts&crafts

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Ooh what about combine (Rapunzel)Artist Yuu and coma Yuu just for some angst? Like Yuu isn't waking up from the coma at all and their friends start to worry about them. While they're at the NRC infirmary, first year gang gets idea to decorate Ramshackle for Yuu's return bc "they've been out for a long time, they should wake up any day now." Or so they think

Anyway they go to Ramshackle with balloons and decide to start decorating with Yuu's room, then work their way out towards the living room, except they go into the room and it's covered in paintings. The walls are painted, the bed frame is carved and painted into, the curtains are dyed and stained with paint splotches. They had never been in Yuu's room before and the only indication that someone lived in Ramshackle was that the living room was no longer covered in dust.

But here, Yuu's presence fills the bedroom. Unfinished paintings of classmates and dorm leaders, crude stick figures of Adeuce doing stupid shit, and beautiful landscapes of what they could only assume was Yuu's homeworld. It was like a visual journal of what Yuu thought about at the end of the day. First year gang doesn't know what to do now. All this creativity and life came from that still lifeless body in the infirmary?

Bonus: Yuu does not wake up. Everyone is devastated. Most everyone shows up when Crowley announces that Ramshackle will be torn down bc damn bird can't bear to look at a constant reminder of his failure to protect a student brought here through no fault of their own. First year gang beg Crowley not to tear it down, it's filled with so many memories!

"Which is why it must be dismantled."

The building supports are felled with wind magic and the building caves in on itself. The crowd notices "welcome home" balloons arise from the debris and paper chains strewn about the now crumpled walls. Everyone, even dorm leaders are tearing up, but not before first year gang run toward the debris, to which Crowley tells them to stay back. None of them listen. Jack and Sebek are heaving huge wooden beams out of the way where the living room was while Epel, Ace, and Deuce are digging through the rubble, sobbing and wincing whenever a splinter gets caught in their finger.

They finally find a piece of a wall that had been painted and a piece of the bedframe that had Yuu's handwriting on it. Meanwhile Jack and Sebek find a piece of the living room wall and fireplace the gang had all painted together after they found out Yuu was gone for good. It was all they had left of Yuu now that all evidence they had exist was literally destroyed.

This is so well done...

Crowley cannot bear to look in the dorm, the paintings of him making him feel hollow. This student that looked up to him was gone. Grim stayed with Ace and Deuce The ghosts have left the dorm too making it even more empty.

He looks around at the decorations for a party by your friends and Kalim no doubt, all of which refuse to believe you would die so easy.

But you are not from this world. You are not used to their air, the magic, the germs here. You are not going to bounce back...

He can't stand it. He hates having to tell everyone the news. The complete shock and horror in their eyes when the announcement of the demolition of the dorm. The anger.

Storms around NRC get worse from Malleus mood. His only true friend gone. Jamil had to console Kalim's hysterical crying when he was told there would be no welcome back party. Ruggie is pissed he never got to thank you for saving his life, the guilt will always weigh heavy on him.

The octotrio lost the person who saw them for who they were, not their personas. Riddle lost the one who was patient with him. Cater lost the one person who he truly considered a friend. Epel lost the one person that saw them as a man. Ortho lost their other big sibling figure. Idia never wanted to go outside again. The first years, your closest friend group, were devastated at the news. The staff all agree classes are a bit more... dull.

In the rubble they all search for a little piece of you to keep, to remind them of you. You won't be dead in their memory. You have no family here to mourn you, nor prepare a funeral, so everyone pitches in. They'll be damned if you are buried in an unmarked grave despite everything you've done.

Malleus however, goes off to cast a little spell. One the thorn fairy did a long time ago, a spell of slumber. It'll keep you alive a little longer, you won't truly be dead yet, just asleep. This is his way of mourning and accepting the fact your gone. In his mind, he hopes you wake up...

#serennefarosh #not writing #not requests #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #epel felmier #twst first years x reader #twst first years #first years #grim #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #riddle rosehearts #ruggie bucchi #malleus draconia #idia shroud #ortho shroud #kalim al asim #jamil viper #dire crowley #angst

[some-pers0n]

White Noise Telepath

Fandom: WoF

Characters [OCs]: Sol, Miasma

CW: Nothing

Summary: Solstice (or rather Sol, thank you very much) is an explorer who has recently rediscovered the Lost City of Night. However, after looking around a fair bit, he uncovers something...odd. That isn't any NightWing he's ever seen before.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This one goes out to @kratt09. I saw you tag me saying you want to know more about my OCs. Here's my WoF ones. These new ones are silly. I'd love to ramble a bit more about their lore if pressed. Or other OCs too, I guess.

Even when coming here knowing that it would be a haunting sight to behold, there was nothing else even comparable to the beauty of the Lost City of Night. Ruined buildings from an age long forgotten. Abandoned and left to the sands of time. Even the insects and lizards avoid this place, deeming it as too unsafe. Cursed land that remains to this day to be uninhabitable to even the most desperate of scavengers. Not one soul dared to step into such an infernal city.

Meaning it was a great place for aspiring explorer, Solstice of the SandWings, to check out!

Solstice (or rather Sol, thank you very much) was always enamoured by the legends of ancient cities and lost worlds. The forgotten Kingdom of Night and the legends surrounding it were fascinating. Nobody truly believed in it. Some thought that it never existed, while others were convinced that the Darkstalker fellow fully destroyed it. Nobody could agree on how or why he did it. Some said he sunk it into the ocean because he deemed them all unworthy to keep living. Others said he burned it after the queen had slain his lover. A couple of times he read tales of the Darkstalker simply killing them all instantly so their souls will pass on in peace.

Whatever it was, it sure didn't work. The city was still here, albeit in a dilapidated state. That and the fact that the NightWings still roam the continent, so the giant murder plot didn't pan out in the end. At least some stragglers got through.

Sol climbed on top of a fallen pillar, overlooking the landscape. He was staring at what must have been the plaza. The rotting remains of marketing stalls were half-buried in the sand. Through it all, Sol could almost make out the patterning of the stone walkways below.

"Oh, marvellous!" he muttered, pulling out his sketching scroll and jotted down some notes. A good explorer always writes down their discoveries, do they not? He didn't exactly want any other dragon to come around. Queens and their "expeditions" were more like glorified tomb-raiding. What he was doing? Simply marking locations and visiting worlds of the past before going back to write his adventures. He was sure there would be some dragons out there who would love his tales and findings.

The sun shone warmly in the sky, beaming down onto his black and grey scales. He had orange accents that streaked down his neck and claws. It was as though it were a river of lava pouring and streaming down obsidian, following his body and splintering off into sections. Or rather, the ring of light around a moon during an eclipse. Striking and lovely in its own way.

He slipped his inkwell and scroll back into his messenger bag, slinging it back over his neck. He Hopped down and walked around the deserted plaza. The sand was coarse, yet fine and soft to the touch. It was quiet. The air was still and the only sounds were Sol's talonsteps.

Yet...the lifeless city didn't feel as empty as it should. A small, unsettling feeling in his stomach grew as he thought about it more. Perhaps he was being paranoid and a coward, but he couldn't shake it off. He took small breaths to try and calm himself. Yeah, maybe he was just being a bit overdramatic-

...what was that? He craned his neck, facing a seemingly vacant alleyway. It was a tight space. He could fit in it, but with not too much wiggle room to spare. He could've sworn he heard something. Shuffling. The faintest breathing. Something was in there. It had to be.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody there? Am I just going crazy or...is there actually anybody there?"

No response.

"Well, if you aren't going to come out now, it's going to bother me for the rest of time." He stepped forward, readying his claws. This was stupid, yes, but one must prepare for anything when exploring these ruins. Once or twice before he had a close encounter with a dangerous mongoose. Gave him a nasty little bite, that horrible bugger.

He walked into the alleyway. It was even tighter than he thought. His breathing was strained as he looked around to try and figure out where the source of the noise was. Then, he heard it again. Rustling. What's worse is that now he knew where it was coming from.

It was directly in front of him.

He looked down, seeing pale white scales somewhat buried in the sand. It was a long, bulky serpentine body that twisted and shifted around. Right at his feet he could make out the head. Its eyes were a striking red as its tongue flicked out to taste the air.

It was a snake.

"VIPER!" He stepped back, almost tripping over his talons. "Moons above, are you..." he muttered, "no, no you can't be. You're too pale to be a dragonbite viper. Unless you're albino or something." He inched away more. "Please don't kill me... I quite enjoy living, thanks."

The snake looked at him, its eyes unblinking. It slithered closer to him. He was about to try and stomp on it when he heard a voice.

"Tallus! Clearsight above... Gave me a proper heart attack with your little disappearing act."

Sol looked forward. To his surprise, a dragon was standing there. What made him worry was the alien appearance of them. Slender and sharp, almost reminding him of a RainWing. Her scales were a rich, deep purple. It was as though staring at a part of the starry skies above. She had two sets of black horns. One set came from the front. They were small and pointed upward. The other went out from the back and curved around like a ram.

The most bizarre thing were the wings. Four of them. They were thin and translucent, resting at the side. The word "wasp" popped into his head. They were more bug than they were dragon.

She picked up the snake and looked up at Sol. She tilted her head, a confused, yet playful expression on her face. "Oh, hello! You're new." She rested the snake around her neck and approached him. The scales glittered in the afternoon light. He noticed she was wearing a large black hat, little stings hanging from it with beads attached to the end. Her glasses were silver with lavender-coloured lenses. Along her horns and body were tiny accents of white.

Above all though, she radiated a feeling of warmth. Not in a typical sense, but looking at her was fairly calming. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about her though. Well, other than the whole bug-dragon thing.

"Salutations, I'm Miasma. Pleasure to meet you." She held out her talons. "You must be one of these SandWings I've heard so much about. Barb and all."

Sol stammered and stuttered. He stumbled to form the words he wanted to say. He wanted to do something, say anything. Why was she in the Kingdom of Night? Why did she look so strange and nothing like any other dragon he'd seen before?

Instead, he sputtered out, "can I draw you?" He cringed instantly. "No wait! That was the wrong thing to say. Talons and tails, I'm so sorry..."

Miasma squinted briefly before laughing. It was hearty and warm. "Draw me?" she scoffed. "What for? I don't see why."

Well, now that he dug this hole for himself, he might as well keep going. "What tribe are you?" he asked.

"Mh? Oh, a NightWing."

His eyes widened. "Excuse me, what?"

"NightWing. Can't you tell? I would've thought all of you would at least recognize another tribe by their appearance."

Sol stared at the very un-NightWing-like dragon. "...I don't think I've ever seen a dragon like you before?"

"Welp, now you have." She looked him up and down. "So, I gave a little bit of background on me. Don'tcha think you could do the same for me? Not like I'm going to steal your name or anything."

He got up on his feet, dusting off the extra sand. "My name is Solstice. I prefer Sol though." He shook her talons.

"Nice seeing another dragon here at my base of operations. That's what I like to call my home, by the way.

"I can tell."

"Not too often do I see living dragons around here. Come to think of it, I haven't seen anybody in...well, ages! Ah well, I'm sure there are reasons."

"Yeah, there are. There was a curse placed on this kingdom. Dragons being superstitious avoid it, and eventually it becomes a lost piece of history."

"Huh. Odd. I've been around here since I can remember and I haven't heard a thing."

"How long have you been around here for then?"

"Hm...since I hatched? Don't recall too much. Foggy memory and all. Actually, it's all somewhat cloudy. All I can safely say I remember is waking up on the shore with only my name." She shrugged. "Mystery for another day though! Doesn't bother me none." She turned her attention back to him. "So, what brings you here?"

"Huh? Me?" Sol pointed to himself. "Exploring mostly. I've always wanted to come here and find this place. Lo and behold, I do. I've been taking notes and drawing things and then, well, your snake scared me."

"Tallus spooked you?" She laughed, letting the snake coil around her neck. "He's just a big suck. He can't hurt a fly. Literally. I have to go look for some plants for him to eat. Usually, I go over to the big rainforest area and pick berries and such."

"Wait, the Rainforest Kingdom?"

"That's what it's called? Galaxies and geckos, my brain is just scattered," she chuckled. "Regardless, I like visiting there every once in a while. Find some new trinkets and, if I've brought those old goggles, I can chat with the locals. Dead locals, but locals nonetheless."

"I'm sorry what?" Sol asked. "Hold on, hold on. Back up. I'm sorry if this comes off as...well, rude, but can you explain what's going on a bit? Why are you here? What do you mean by all of this? Who even are you? Why do you look like that?"

She blinked. "Well, my name is Misama. I am a NightWing. I live in the now-ruined NightWing kingdom. I do so because it is my home. I collect weird objects and such. They are pretty strange and some have different properties- OOH!! You might know some of them!" She began to walk deeper into the city. "Come on!"

"Still not my name!" he said. Yet, he couldn't help himself but follow. This was a great find. A living dragon in the NightWing ruins. Not to mention such a strange and bug-like form too. Despite her instance, it was safe to say this was an entirely new tribe! Was it dangerous to trust her? Oh, absolutely. Yet, there was a feel to her that was comforting and cozy.

Still, one could never be too safe. As he trailed after her, he watched her movements. He noticed that her wings didn't move too much. When they did, she winced. Were they hurt? He didn't want to pry too much. Regardless, he looked more at the city around them and where she was going.

To his surprise, she led him to the castle. Rubble littered what used to be the garden. Statues of what once were historical dragons were crumbled and eroded. She led him up the dusty ebony stairs and towards the door. "It takes a while to get there. Sorry!" She slipped through the archway and into the castle proper.

Sol ran after her. The interior was desolate and abandoned. The sprawling halls were massive, the ceiling itself stretching farther than what he could have ever imagined. His talons clicked against the black marble floor. The occasional hole in the roof let the daylight bleed through.

Finally, after chasing her down through corridor after corridor and up a long, long flight of stairs, she stopped. "There we go. Hope that wasn't too much of an issue there." She gave a small, perky grin.

"Moons above..." he wheezed. "How do you have so much energy?"

"Here it is though! My little section right for weird objects." She completely ignored him, opening the metal door. "This was actually bolted pretty good before I came here. Can't see why though."

Inside were shelves upon shelves of scrolls, rocks, pieces of jewelry, crowns, sceptres, anything. Dazzling objects of various shapes and sizes. Instantly upon seeing it all, Sol was hit with a wave of disgust and repulsion. Being near these things felt wrong. They weren't supposed to exist. 

Yet, Miasma was unphased. She just walked in like nothing was wrong. In fact, she took notice of Sol's change in attitude. "What's wrong?"

"Moons, how can you stand to be near that?" he mustered, stepping away. "It's awful."

She frowned. "...what?" she asked.

"Sorry, didn't mean to say it like that! I just..." Sol's eyes widened. "Blazing scales, are those animus touched!?"

"Animus?" she echoed. "That sounds familiar."

"They must be animus touched. I've read about them having this effect. Wrongness. Like a distortion in reality." He took another step. "How can you just stand to be in there?"

"I dunno. Nothing really feels wrong. Maybe I'm just used to it." She shrugged. "It's really cool in here though. C'mon! Nothing's going to bite you or anything."

Solstice looked at Miasma, then back at the room. He flexed his claws. He was an explorer after all. This would be a massive find. All of these animus enchanted objects. Imagine what they could do! All of the information he can bring back and write about. 

He flexed his claws and then marched on in. Fear cannot stop him now.

#wof #wings of fire #somepersonswriting #wof oc #wof fanfic #SP-writing

[whitherliliesbloom]

lives apart

[ ffxivwrite2022 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ #14 - attrition ] [ emet-selch, heavy mentions of wol ] ★ [ 902 words ]  ★ [ endwalker ]

attrition - sorrow for one's sins that arises from a motive other than that of the love of god

returned to the aetheric sea, hades realizes the height of his ignorance.

He had thought his gaze of contempt was deserving and just once upon a time - back when he’d still donned the title of Solus, of the ascian who opposed the new age of men. 

An emperor, the godfather, the eldest of elds, he whose judgement is absolute and infallible. He’d gazed upon the splintered shards of the stars and found the newly born denizens wanting - undeserving of the right to live in their stead.

And it was in that judgement- that anger and envy that he’d blinded himself to his own sins and lost the essence of who he once was, what the man in the seat of Emet-Selch should have represented.

And it isn’t until he’s returned here- drifting lifeless, yearning, regretting through the aetheric sea does he remember that girl... does he realize.

Ah, your gaze of contempt was an exact mirror of mine. Poetic, really.

He thinks back to the expression upon the Warrior of Light and Darkness’ face with a sort of affection Solus would have frowned upon with disgust, one that Hades would’ve denied until the very end... but he as Emet-Selch understood the reason for better than any other. 

Whenever he’d pass her and her companions by, whether in the Oculus of the Exarch’s sanctuary of crystals or in the midst of burning stars - a scenic recreation born from the deepest, darkest pits of his memories...he’d watched as she frowned, as she scowled, as she looked upon him with an anger he’d once thought was undeserving. 

Who was she to cast judgement upon his actions as if she was worth an ilm of her life? Who was she to thwart his efforts? Who was she to deny them, to deny their hopes and dreams, to deny their right to live - their right at their anguish for the unfairness of their fate.

How unfair, Solus snarks, the man who conquered and crushed and has learned to justify it all, it’s two completely different matters. How ironic, Hades chimes in, the man who has remembered their meeting in elpis from so many ages ago, that you should echo the very same words she has all the right to be saying to you.

Emet-Selch keeps silent, haunted by both and eternally denied of his sound rest as he drifts and drifts with naught but his thoughts. 

A voice from the past sounds in his head, one that he knows to be a fragment of his imagination... but one that resonates loud all the same.

And what of you? Running from your mistakes is quite unbecoming of one of the fourteen, don’t you think?

Oh, yes. Ever so self-righteous, you are, Emet-Selch and Hades mutters back with a roll of their metaphoric eyes... You’re just like your mentor.

But they know her words to be true, they know her words to be just. 

Azem’s words cut deep, as does her soul-piercing gaze and intuition, her creativity, her insight, her intellectual depth. There were many things about Azem that he’d remembered, none he didn’t look back upon with a longing fondness. But most importantly of her was her morality, her altruism... and her ever so unique stance on the world - that all life is important, all life must be cherished.

Azem’s soul had been so tenacious, so determined in her mission to help those around her that even sundered as she was, she had been reborn fourteenfold, with the exact same selflessness and fire within her. 

And the tragedy of it all comes with the part he played in trying to smother her light - to extinguish the love and hope she represented. He hadn’t realized... refused to realize until it was too late.

Was it regret? Was it grief? A part of him believes he has no right of such emotions, and another, more prideful part of him says it is merely indignation at his defeat... that he should be so weak as to lose to just a fraction of Azem’s power. Pathetic. 

But what he does know - he as Emet-Selch.. who has regained memories of Hades and Solus both... is that he has made his final judgement, his final decision. 

Not on the right of the new age to live, not on the worth of existence. But of himself. 

Who is it that he wants to be? What name is it that he wants to be remembered by?

Solus zos Galvus, the man who tore apart countless homes and almost single-handedly destroyed the lives of many, many innocent generations to come? Hades, the man of duty who worked alongside a mysterious starlight from the future.. the man who forgot.

Or Emet-Selch, the man who knows, who remembers, who has carried the weight of a thousand, thousand lives upon his shoulders and who had become blinded on his conquest for a past that was never to be returned. Of the man who has the sole duty of eternal guilt and sorrow for all that he has done.

He has made his decision, and not a moment too soon, as he feels the pull of his soul being summoned by a magic force all too familiar and warm.

Antheia. 

No. Illya. 

Hers is a call he will never refuse. Her beckoning is one he will always answer. 

It’s the very least he could do to atone - the very least he could do to repent.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #kiwisffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy #emet selch #hades #illya skawi #gpose #endwalker spoilers #endwalker #fanfic #mine #in which i say if nobody is going to address emet selch's wrongdoings properly #then i will

[ariainstars]

Then There’s Only One Thing To Do

Wolfgang Borchert (1947) translated by Ryan Wilcox

You. Man at the machine and man in the workshop. If they order you tomorrow to stop making water pipes and cook pots and start making helmets and machine guns, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Girl behind the counter and girl at the office. If they order you tomorrow to fill hand grenades and mount scopes on sniper rifles, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Factory owner. If they order you tomorrow, to sell gun powder instead of talcum and cocoa, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Researcher in the laboratory. If they order you tomorrow, to invent a new death to do away with old life, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Poet in your room. If they order you tomorrow not to sing love songs, but songs of hate, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Doctor at the sick bed. If they order you tomorrow to certify men as fit for war, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Minister in the pulpit. If they order you tomorrow to bless murder and praise war as holy, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Captain on the steamer. If they order you tomorrow not to transport wheat but cannons and tanks, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Pilot at the airfield. If they order you tomorrow to carry bombs and incendiaries over cities, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Tailor at your table. If they order you tomorrow to start sewing uniforms, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Judge in your robe. If they order you tomorrow to report to the military court, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Man at the train station. If tomorrow they order you to give the signal for the ammunition and the troop trains to depart, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Man in the village and man in the city. If they come for you tomorrow and with your induction papers, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

You. Mother in Normandy and mother in the Ukraine, you, mother in Frisco and London, you, on the banks of the Huang Ho and the Mississippi, you, mother in Nepal and Hamburg and Cairo and Oslo - mothers in all regions on earth, mothers all over the world, if they order you tomorrow to bear children - nurses for military hospitals and new soldiers for new battles, mothers all over the world, then there’s only one thing to do: Say NO!

Mothers, say NO!

Because if you don’t say NO, if YOU don’t say no, mothers, then; then: In the noisy port cities, hazy with steam, the large groaning ships will grow silent, and like titanic, mammoth corpses, filled with water, they will lethargically totter against the lifeless, lonely, algae-, seaweed-, and shell-covered walls of the docks, the body that previously appeared so gleaming and threatening now reeking like a foul fish cemetery, rotten, sickly and dead - the streetcars will be senselessly bent and dented like dull, glass-eyed birdcages and lie like petals beside the confused, steel skeletons of the wires and tracks, behind rotten sheds with holes in their roofs, in lost, crater-strewn streets - a mud-gray, heavy, leaden silence will roll in, voracious and growing in size, will establish itself in the schools and universities and theaters, on sport fields and children’s playgrounds, horrible and greedy and unstoppable - the sunny, juicy grapes will spoil on the neglected slopes, the rice will dry up in the desolate earth, the potatoes will freeze in the plowed fields and the cows will stretch their dead, rigid legs into the sky like upturned milking stools - in the institutions, the ingenious inventions of the great physicians will become sour, rot, mold into fungus - the last sacks of flour, the last jars of strawberries, the pumpkins and the cherry juice will spoil in the kitchens, chambers and cellars, in the cold storage lockers and storage areas - the bread under the upturned tables and on splintered plates will become green and the melted butter will smell like soft soap, the grain on the fields will have bent down to the earth alongside rusty plows like a defeated army, and the smoking, brick chimneys, the food and smokestacks of the stamping factories, covered by eternal grass, will crumble, crumble, crumble - then the last human being, clueless with slashed intestines and polluted lungs, will wander alone under the poisonous, glowing sun and vacillating constellations, wander lonely among immense mass graves and cold idols of the gigantic, concrete-block, deserted cities, the last human being, scrawny, mad, blasphemous, complaining - and his terrible complaint: WHY?

will trickle away unheard into the steppe, waft through the burst ruins and die out in the rubble of churches, slap against impenetrable bunkers, fall into pools of blood, unheard, answerless, the last animal-like cry of the last animal human being - all of this will come about, tomorrow, tomorrow perhaps, perhaps already tonight, if - if - if - you don’t say NO.

#war in ukraine #wolfgang borchert #translation #anti war #ryan wilcox #world war II

[moomv]

paper wishes. the cruelty of death

-word count. 1.0k (about 500 each)

-character. furina, neuvillette

-genre. angst, minuscule amount of fluff

-tags. fem.reader, death

-note. first time writing for neuvillette, i hope i did okay!! i wrote this before the newest archon quest so if anything turns out wrong i apologize!!

furina 

You were always around Furina, always by her side, the calm to her storm. 

Furina loved you, dearly, oh how she loved you. 

She often had tea parties with you, her favourite cake and your favourite tea. The two of you would talk for hours. The setting sun in the window and the empty plates and cups the only tell of the passage of time. 

Often would Furina skip out on her duty for your presence. Feathery kisses and sugared lips. You would scold Furina for not doing her work but all the while your voice was gentle and sweet and even if you were scolding her, Furina didn’t mind all that much because it was you. 

Furina was so deeply in love with you that every waking moment she wanted you by her side, she wanted your warmth and your gentle voice, she wanted you, you who was everything and more, you who the sun and moon and you who was so dear to her that she doesn’t understand how to live without you anymore. 

You died a day when the rain was heavy and the sky darkened grey, you died that day and all of Fontaine mourned your passing, the skies and mountains, the people and birds.  

The day is forever etched in Furina’s mind, a painful tattoo that no matter how much she tries to get rid of she never can. 

Furina is a god so why couldn’t she save you? For all her powers and authority, why couldn’t she save you? 

Her cries echoed throughout the room, painful and ever the desperate. “Why? Why? Why her? Why-!” She choked back another sob, her hand came over to your form, grey and cold and lifeless- gently she rested her hand on your cheek. Your eyes were shut and if you weren’t so cold, Furina would have thought you were asleep, back on her lap under the setting sun, with the wind caressing your face and your kisses lingering on her skin. Furina slumped to the floor, her once full heart shattered into splinters of glass, cutting every part of her body, her skin and ribs, her bones and heart, everything and all.

She pleaded at first, she pleaded to the other gods and the divined. She begged till her throat went hoarse and no longer could she hear her own pleas, and even then she pleaded, her head bowed and her body slacked. 

Furina doesn’t know how long she was on the floor but it wasn’t until Neuvillette brought her up and away from you that the thought finally settled in wholly: you were dead and no matter the pleading you were never coming back.

Furina died with you that day, the promises the two of you made and the memories. You died a day with rain and forever will those days be marked with what she lost and forever will Fontaine ache for what it took from her. 

neuvillette

You walked into Neuvillette’s life with no remorse; you were the bright sun and cherry-red apples, you fell in place by his side. You were gentle and empathic, you knew how to comfort him and say the right words. Neuvillette loved you so dearly even if he knew he shouldn’t. 

You were human, destined to die before him, destined to die and leave him all alone in the world. 

He knew this, but even still he fell in love with you. 

Oh, how deeply he fell for you. He could never put into words how much he loved you. 

The two of you got married, the day still burns brightly in his mind. He still remembers your smile, oh how bright it was. You were so very pretty too, a light and fluffy dress that trailed behind you, the ends looked like the ocean’s water and tides.

The days went on, quiet mornings with gentle kisses and sweet goodbyes. You would meet back again at dawn, the setting sun while you made dinner, Neuvillette always enjoyed your dinners, something about the way you hummed while you made them or how you would put in his favourite ingredients or maybe it was because you made extra for the melusines. 

The days when Neuvillette got a break from work he would spend them with you, a quiet walk through the streets of Fontaine or little dates at the local cafe. 

The years went on like this, simple harmony that the two of you shared, the simplicity of your routines comforting. 

The years went on and so did you. 

You grew older by the day, each day passing faster and faster until you were bedbound and now Neuvillette had to make the dinners, now he had to put in your favourite ingredients.

You were still cheerful at first, you still smiled brightly each time he walked in the room, each time he spoke, but by little you grew fickle and weak. 

You grew quiet over time, less talkative. Neuvillette tried not to let it get to him, he tried not to think about the inevitable. 

He tried to not think about it but by the time came and you were dying, he didn’t know what to do. 

He sat by your side, a storm raging outside the walls of your shared home. You smiled, your eyes captivated by the falling droplets, “It’ll be okay.” you took in a small breath before looking over at him. “It’ll be okay.” It’s not okay, he thinks, he doesn’t want you to leave, he doesn’t want to be alone again.  You brought your hand up to cup his cheek, “It’ll be okay,” you spoke again, your voice firmer; as though you were certain it would be.  Your hand fell down to his, “so don’t cry.” he didn’t even know he was until you spoke it, “I’m sorry.” his voice was quiet, you smiled again, “It’ll be okay."

You died and left behind much; you left behind a home that was meant for two and you left behind Neuvillette. It’ll never be the same after your passing, the cafe the two of you would eat will never be the same, the same as the streets of Fontaine where the two of you walked. 

It’ll never be the same but it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay just as you said it would because even without you there for him and without your gentle kisses and sweet words, your smile and laugh, it’ll be okay. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin angst #furina #furina x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #₊˚ʚ writes ₊˚✧

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman smut #the smut pile: apocalypse #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: sacrilegious #sin.somnophilia #sin.noncon #sin.dubcon #sin.blood #sin.sacrilege

[sharedcontrolau]

Ralsei keeping his distance from Player after the stringcutter route would probably splinter the Fun Gang.

Kris would be very defensive of their sibling after the incident, starting arguments and getting frustrated with Ralsei for being upset that Player isn't the grand infallible entity he expected them to be.

Ralsei, on the other hand, can't look at Player without seeing the limp, lifeless bodies of innocent darkners. They of all people should know about the importance of sparing darkners. Yes, they were in a bad spot, but they should have at least refused or protested more! They have so much power at their command, and they never use it for the betterment of the future!

Susie and Noelle don't know how to proceed (heh) about this situation. On one hand, Player did a bunch of fucked up stuff. They killed a bunch of innocents and almost killed Ralsei before Kris managed to talk sense into them (heated argument that was not helped by Player's broken mental psyche). On the other hand, they were manipulated into doing those acts by the Bosses. It wasn't entirely their fault. Kris and Ralsei are at each other's throats, arguing about the incident. They just want it all to go back to the way it was before.

Player is feeling so much worse than before their adventure in their own Dark World. They've failed Ralsei. He's arguing with Kris almost everytime they see each other, because of <i> them </i>. They don't- they don't deserve Kris. Not after what they did.

I could definitely see Kris being a lot more protective of Player following the events of the Stringcutter Route. They don’t want to fight with their friends over this, but Ralsei acting like it was completely Player’s fault and all those lives meant nothing to them just manages to get under Kris’s skin in a very special way. Player is a teenager like the rest of them, a kid who wasn’t in a good mental state and the Extra and Final Bosses took advantage of that.

Ralsei is the absolute worst person for Player to be around unattended right now. It’s either him glaring daggers or telling Player they should have known better. It’s not doing them any good, Player knows it was their fault, but they want to help and make things better, but they don’t know how. They’ve completely lost control of how they view themself, and they don’t know how to get it back.

Susie and Noelle don’t know the best way to go about this, but they try to treat Player as normally as they can. They don’t fight about Player’s actions, and invite them along on things. Noelle knows how difficult it is to function when your family is in shambles, so she tries to create some kind of stability. Susie tells Player how it is, that while they did some fucked up things, it wasn’t done out of their own free will. Susie is still their friend, and she’ll be there to help them move forward.

But Player doesn’t know what forward means anymore. They’ve completely destroyed one of their friend’s trust in them, and might just destroy Ralsei’s and Kris’s friendship. Hundreds of lives were gone an instant because of them, people with homes and friends and families. No matter what Kris says, they don’t deserve forgiveness. They don’t deserve to be redeemed.

#deltarune #shared control au #the player #kris dreemurr #kris deltarune #ralsei #susie deltarune #noelle holiday #stringcutter route #player is ✨traumatized✨

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

AU with vampire Natasha x reader with a happy end? Please and thanks.

May I present to you: vampire Natasha and werewolf reader.

Stakes and Silver Bullets

Summary: Hunting at the full moon with Natalia by your side is a perfect cross between heinous and beautiful. One particular night proves that it can also be dangerous.

Pairings: Vampire!Natasha x Werewolf!Reader

Warnings: Repeated mentions of blood

Word Count: 4,485

To most people, the moon represented the fall of night. It was just this simple rock in the sky that reflected just enough sunlight that the planet wasn’t tossed into darkness as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Sure, artists might have loved the way it bathed the land before it in a different type of glow, and maybe some people could appreciate the beauty that was so much gentler than the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. For you, it was different. The moon was beauty and terror all wrapped up in one, simple celestial body.

Tonight, the moon wasn’t quite full, but it almost was. You didn’t have to check a calendar or even take a single glance out the window to know that. You felt it in your very bones. It was urging and primal. It had erased every other thought that might have flitted through your mind. In comparison to it, they were irrelevant. The glowing orb spoke to you. It made your soul sing along to its silent melody, your heart pounding to the steady beat. It was your very reason for being. But so was she.

“When is your night?”

You turned. There she was, the bright moonlight streaming through the window she sat at, shining upon her and making her glow even more beautifully than was her usual. Her red hair was still tousled from her midnight hunt, like dancing flames falling over her shoulders. Your eyes fell to the stain on her white dress, even redder than her hair. You only hummed in response as you stood up from your chair, paper and quill abandoned on the desk thoughtlessly. You moved toward her, arms moving delicately around her waist. Soon, you were standing with your head buried against her neck, revelling in that familiar feeling of the cold surface, lack of a throbbing pulse comforting in the strangest of ways.

“Tomorrow.”

She was clearly resisting still, refusing to succumb to the arousal she knew would start building any second now. “And how are you feeling on this eve?”

You actually growled a little, the sound canine in a way that no simple person would be able to achieve. “Primal.”

She hummed contentedly as you brushed your lips against the skin where you rested. You pulled away, delicately pressing the pads of your fingers against the underside of her chin, directing her lips onto yours. She immediately responded, her hands moving onto your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as you kissed her. The taste of blood in her mouth was exhilarating. Everything about her was. You ran your tongue along sharp fangs, loving the slight sting in the muscle as the surface scratched open. She retracted immediately.

“You are truly foul, my love,” she said, disgust crossing her features as she wiped her thumb against her lips, removing your blood from her mouth.

Maybe that’s why the two of you worked so well. This proximity with any other person would have been enthralling. The smell alone would have had her digging her fangs into the pulsing artery in their neck. That sweet substance that flowed through the veins of any breathing person was irresistible to that person she’d become all those years ago. You weren’t just any person. You had the blood of a wolf, and it repulsed her.

She was void of any of the substance. Those nights when you lost yourself, when you let that beast take over you completely, she was of no interest to you. The townsfolk were all you cared for- all you ached to taste between your lips. She would take hunt beside you, by your side during night as well as day, love burning so strong within you both even when you were doing things so hideous.

You were both killers. You were among the most hideous things that dared walk the Earth among things so beautiful. Monsters already, what was the harm in loving one another? You’d be burned at the stake for the blood that ran through your veins anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least now, neither of you was alone. You loved each other fully and entirely. If love was a human emotion, then she was your humanity, and you were hers.

“Foul? Is that so, Natalia, my beloved?” You jeered, a smile crawling across your lips. “Who is it that loves you so dearly?”

Her taunting halted immediately at the husk in your words. Your hands were sliding down from where you’d had them linked over her shoulders, fingers sliding over the silky fabric that draped over her body. Your gaze wouldn’t leave hers, the image of the moon shimmering in your irises as if it were a reflection of the beast that lived within. She knew who you were. She was the only one who knew who you really were, and she loved every piece of you, including that beast, with her unbeating heart. Her words caught in her throat for a long moment.

“You,” she couldn’t help but hum as your hands squeezed her hips. “Only you.”

Your hands slid down to her thighs over top of her dress. “I know.”

Your hands moved away. Despite the small whine that escaped her, it seemed the absence of your touch allowed her to regain her composure a little. Your fingertips danced across her chest and against the pendant that you’d given her a year ago. It was a gift, something you reasoned you earned for her, even if you’d taken off the lifeless body you’d woken up next to after a long night of feral canine power. She leaned forward to kiss you once more, but you leaned away from her, a smile on your face. You extended a hand.

“Come.”

She put her hand into yours and you led her toward the bedroom. Her lips touched yours once more. The feeling would always be so much stronger and far more intoxicating than the feeling of the full moon inching closer day by day. The moon used to be the thing that made you. It had once been your heart and your soul, and it had guided you through every aspect of your life. That was years ago. Today, it was her. Everything was her.

“I love you,” she whispered, red eyes boring into yours with such intensity you were sure she could read every single piece of your soul.

“And I you, my love.”

You embraced her, lying her down and kissing her again.

Tomorrow, she’d be with you in a way that would make the townsfolk cower in their homes, as if thin walls were any defence against your combined bloodlust. Her thirst and your hunger had wooden doors shattered into splinters within seconds of discovering the scent of life, or the sound of a terrified heart beating inside a breathing chest. Nothing would keep either of you away from that.

That night, though, wasn’t about the kill. It wasn’t about what you would do in the future at all. Right then, you lay with your skin against hers in the most sinful of ways. Hers was so cold but the canine blood running beneath yours was hot, as if you were made to balance each other out. Her lips were roaming across your torso and your hand was moving toward that part of her body only you knew. If you weren’t already damned from the wolf in your spirit or the blood that had spilled beneath you each month, then you’d surely be for lying with a woman in such a way. That, though, would have been a risk you’d have been willing to take.

Still, you had to wonder if those other nights were just as intimate. On those nights with her, when the moon was at its fullest and her body ached for that bitter taste it needed so badly, you felt so close. Those nights weren’t necessarily something you wanted. They were something you needed; to fulfill those carnal needs and satiate your body in a way nothing else could. Without those nights, neither of you would survive to love each other through to the next moon. When she was by your side, performing those nefarious acts and satisfying her most primal of needs, you were both showing that part of you that you knew only the other would ever be able to love. That meant just as much to you as hearing your name tearing desperately from her lips on a silent night like that one.

As the body beneath you began shuddering uncontrollably and your name was repeatedly thrown into the cool air like a prayer, you decided it didn’t matter. You had both. It didn’t matter which brought you closer. Both things brought her a satisfaction that made you just as content. Both would have you watching her with love coursing through your veins hot as lava and yet somehow as cold as ice. Maybe that’s what made them so intimate. How you loved loving her and how you loved being at your very worst by her side.

“How are you feeling, my darling?” You cooed softly, loving the way she threw her head back for you upon hearing your words.

You grinned a little as her shaking subsided. She kissed you with a force and passion behind it that any living person would have lost the energy to do. Even you were worn out. When she pulled her lips off yours, you couldn’t help but fall back against the pillows, breathing a little heavier than usual. She chuckled at this, beckoning you to come closer to her bare body. You did so without hesitation.

“Goodnight,” she whispered as you lay down at her side.

“Hold me, Natalia?”

“Always.”

It amazed you, the patience she had. She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t need it. Yet, her arms would wrap around you as you drifted off to a world where still your dreams were of her, and when you’d awaken, she’d be in that same spot right by your side. It was endearing, and made you lean to kiss her each and every morning. Each of those mornings she’d ask you the same questions: wondering how you slept and making sure her arms hadn’t been too tight around you. She did, after all, have the strength of a mammoth.

Your answer was always the same, too. You were fine. You would always be okay, as long as she was by your side. You both knew that if she had blood beneath her skin, she would blush. She would still giggle softly, turning her cheeks away from you on instinct, as if they were burning with that bright colour of embarrassment. The action was sweet. It would make you smile as you reached out for her, bringing her back against your chest for another few minutes before the both of you decided to venture out into the other rooms of your house.

Maybe it was the nightmare you’d had last night, but something was off in the woman you loved. She was busy sitting in one of the armchairs in the other room, cowering away from the sunlight that had managed to penetrate the small crack in the boards over the windows. You covered it up, taking away that dangerous ray of light as you moved swiftly to take a spot beside her. Your fingers threaded into hers with one hand, as the other came up to her cheek. Her face was filled with such concern, and it was making your heart ache.

“Natalia?” You tried ever so softly. “Speak to me, my dove.”

Slowly, her eyes turned to yours. “One day you will depart from this world, and I will be left without you, and you own a piece of me. I will never be whole without you.”

Truthfully, your mind sometimes wandered to that inevitable day as well. You worried, the thought constantly in the back of your head, wreaking havoc on your mind every time it dared wander to the event. It had taken her more than a hundred years to find someone to love the way she loved you, and the two of you were interconnected in a way you were sure a mortal person could never dream to understand.

You reached out for one of the old wooden chairs, bringing it toward you and, in a flair of theatrics, snapped off one of the legs. The superhuman act seemed to have quite the effect on her. Her tongue darted out from between her lips, eyes tracing the strong muscles on your arms. You chuckled, moving forward and flipping the broken chair leg over in the air, catching it back in your hand.

“When I depart from this world, my dearest of loves, you take this. If you find that you cannot bear this life without me, then follow me.”

She took the broken piece of furniture into her own hands. It was the only thing that could tear her from the life she’d been so long living. Splinters of wood fell from the end, scattering silently on the floor. She ran her fingertips over the old wooden stake, and you could tell she was wondering what it might feel like to have it driven through her heart. She set it on her lap and looked up at you, head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“And what if something befalls me?”

That was something you’d thought about before as well. She may have been unsusceptible to time, but she wasn’t so to the weapons the townsfolk brandished whenever they heard the name of the monster that lived over the hillside. Losing her would tear you apart, and you knew that, after all this time with her, you’d never be able to survive without her. That was a fact you’d long accepted.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out something so small you could hold it between two fingers. “Then I will follow you into the next life.”

The silver bullet shone in the candlelight, glistening as if to taunt you, knowing it was the only thing that would ever hurt you.

She beckoned you. You pocketed the small piece of metal once more, sitting down beside her as she brought you into her arms as if you were the most delicate material on the planet. That was how you stayed, knowing now that you would never have to live on a planet that didn’t have her, and she wouldn’t have to live without you. It was comforting in the most morning of ways. It seemed though, that was your normal: morbid and loving.

That was how you remained that day. She didn’t like you exerting yourself the day of a full moon. It kept you up all night and, if you didn’t rest the day before, you’d be worn when the sun came back up. She wouldn’t let that feeling of absolute exhaustion take over you. She could hardly remember how it even felt, having not rested for so many years, but she knew she didn’t like when you were uncomfortable.

You were only made aware of the time when the candle died out in front of you. You squirmed in her arms, kissing her cheek when she let you go. You peeked out the window to get the last glimpse of an orange sunset over the horizon. You couldn’t help but grin as you felt something tugging deep within your chest. You turned back toward the woman behind you, eyes already glowing with that golden shine when you did.

“My, is it time already?” She chuckled, rising from her seat so that she could run a hand lovingly down your cheek. “Let me know when we leave, my darling girl.”

You burst out the door just as that last glow of the sun finally faded out. The way your body bathed in the moonlight was addicting. You felt every last bit of human in you fade away, golden eyes reflecting that white orb in the sky as you watched it, morphing into that canine form that would make the townsfolk tremble in fear. The feeling of your body becoming who it was meant to be was indescribable, but it was so right.

You didn’t attempt to suppress the canine howl that erupted from your gut. It would have been unstoppable, and letting it out was like breathing out a breath that you’d been holding in all month. At the sound, too, she finally stepped through the front door, the sunlight that reflected off the moon not enough to hurt her in the way it did in the day. She took one look at you, eyes still so full of love even when you were in this form.

“You sound excited, love.”

You couldn’t have answered her if you wanted to.

The two of you tore off toward the town at a speed that would have had any regular person reeling. The doors were all shut and locked tight. You let her break down the first one. You approached, standing back and staring at hers, two sets of unnatural eyes locking in a passionate gaze. She smiled ever so gently before she moved forward, tearing the door off its hinges.

The screams from the couple inside only fueled you forward. You raced into the house, headed immediately for whatever beating heart she hadn’t already claimed. The man begging for life beneath you couldn’t have been more than twenty. He was pleading and sobbing and chanting his girl’s name, not knowing that yours had already killed her. You made sure to silence his cries.

Natalia was done long before you were. Even as you fed, you felt her eyes on you. It didn’t bother you. She never judged you, and she never would. How could she, being a monster herself? When you pulled away, blood coating your lips and cheeks, dripping down your neck and onto your chest, her pupils dilated a little. She moved forward, using her thumb to brush some of the blood off your cheek and putting it to her own lips.

“Shame. You taint that sweet taste,” she chuckled a little, letting you eye the red substance that was dripping down the corner of her mouth. “You are, however, still as beautiful as you are on any night.”

You wished you could kiss her right then, instead settling for the press of her forehead against yours. You could actually feel your heartbeat shift so that it drummed in time with hers. It was a long couple moments of that, her against you like you were the only two people in the entire world, before she finally pulled away. She smirked as she looked you up and down.

“Repulsive.”

You would have laughed.

The two of you moved through the village like that for a little longer, finding your next victim stupidly roaming the street at midnight on a full moon. You agreed to share the meal with the woman who’d actually been the one to catch it. You took a few steps back, watching as his face paled as Natalia drained the blood from his body. You could hardly believe how beautiful she looked. The moonlight hit every feature just right, illuminating her in a soft glow.

She stood when she’d finished, hand caressing your cheek as she did. “Had your fill yet, my darling?”

You shook your head no.

Neither of you had time, though, to go in search of your next meal. When you turned around, one of the townspeople was standing on the street, aiming a gun at you. You were cocky, at first, staring down the barrel knowing full well that no simple bullet would hurt you. When it whizzed toward you, though, and pierced your skin, ripping through your gut and shooting a searing pain through your body, you got considerably less cocky.

You watched as the woman who had been at your side flew forward and in one swift move, ended the life of the man in front of you. When you fell back, your eyes found the wound that was pushing your blood onto the cobblestone street below you. It was pooling, reflecting the moon above it. You felt blood starting to bubble up in your throat and you coughed violently.

You felt yourself being scooped into a strong set of arms. Her face looked blurry. Though, so did everything else. You could feel that you were moving so fast you were practically flying back toward home. You wondered if you would make it all that way, but it seemed that she was determined. You strained to keep awake, just for her. You weren’t successful.

The world wasn’t dark for long. Yet perhaps it was just that it didn’t feel long. When you blinked your eyes back open, red ones were watching you with such concern that all you wanted to do was kiss her worries away. Unfortunately for you, though, her worries were you. You didn’t have the strength to sit up and pull her toward you. You hardly had the strength to groan her name and let your hand travel over your own abdomen.

“Be careful, my love.”

You felt her hand cover yours in an attempt to bring your fingers away from the wound. You felt first that the skin beneath your fingertips was smooth. You’d morphed back into your human form at some point while you’d been unconscious. Then, you felt the dried blood that caked the area where you’d been shot. You whimpered at the tenderness of your own touch. A hand tugged on yours, bringing the pressure away from the area.

“Don’t touch.”

You squeezed her hand with all the energy you had. “Darling…”

“I know, Dove.”

Pain was searing throughout your body in a way you’d never experienced before. The bullet had not only pierced your body, but it was poisoning your blood in the way that only silver could. You groaned softly, clutching tight onto Natalia’s hand with all the strength that you could muster, which wasn’t a lot. Tears were streaking down her cheeks now, showing you an emotion that you didn’t often see on her face.

“Please,” you begged softly. “I cannot move on without you. I cannot leave you here to continue on without me.”

You immediately felt guilty for the effect of those words. She pulled you close, getting on her knees beside the bed and resting her head on your arm. You hushed her softly as a sob broke through her lips, the sound able to shatter your heart as if it were made from the finest glass known to man. You apologized as soft as you could, repeatedly and honestly. You beckoned her into the bed beside you.

You knew you were starting to fade. You could feel it. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. You could feel darkness looming in that place, waiting for you and waiting to punish you for every life you’d ever taken. That number was higher than you could count. You were shaking, sure the woman beside you could feel it against her body. You weren’t sure if it was a last effort of strength from your dying body, or a display of absolute terror to leave life behind.

“Natalia…”

“I am right here.”

You grabbed the front of her shirt in a weak fist, using gravity to help you in pulling her closer. At first, she thought you were trying to bring her lips onto hers. When she tried to kiss you, though, you shook your head, turning away. Face turned away from her, now, you had exposed a different part of your body to her. You guided her mouth down to her neck, whimpering as you felt her lips lightly brush the skin.

“No,” she refused. “You have the blood of a wolf. You could die.”

“Without it, I surely will,” you gasped, air feeling further away with each passing moment. “Please. Try.”

You could only feel it as she nodded. It was so carefully that she nuzzled against you, as if trying to memorize what your pulse felt like against her cheek. However tonight ended, that was something she’d very likely never feel again. You managed to hush her quietly as you felt a tremble run through her body. Her hand came to clutch yours as you finally felt her part her lips against your skin.

“Vile,” she muttered, and you felt a small smile grace her lips. “I love you, my darling.”

“As I you.”

With that, her fangs punctured your skin. The world went dark around you.

*

You were sore when you woke. Mostly it was in your neck. You swung your legs off the bed despite it, desperate to go find the woman who must have been worrying. You found her in the living room lighting a candle. She turned to you before you even had a second to clear your throat and try and get her attention. She was on you in an instant, peppering your face in soft kisses.

“You stayed with me,” she whispered.

“I could never imagine life or death without you, Natalia. I had to stay,” you chuckled, kissing her back briefly. “So, what am I?”

She shrugged. “The woman I love. Is that not what matters?”

You chuckled lightly. “Of course.”

She smiled, bringing you to her, resting her head against your chest. You wondered if your heart had stopped beating beneath her ear, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you were with her, as alive as you needed to be. You couldn’t be in life without her, just as you couldn’t be in death without her. She was your everything, and nothing would be whole away from that.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt her hand slide. It moved down your arm, across your side and your hip until it had slipped into your pocket, pulling out that shining piece of metal that resided there. She rolled the bullet slowly between two fingers, glancing at it with deep interest before handing it back to you. You took it in one hand, your other staying on her.

“I do not think it will work,” she remarked softly. “I think we have forever.”

You tossed the bullet out the window into the light of the waning moon. She pulled away from you. You watched as she moved away and picked up the splintering wooden stake that leaned against the table, smiling once at you as she held it out. She turned away, tossing it upon the roaring flames in the fireplace; the wood catching quickly and becoming nothing but fuel.

“Forever,” you hummed as she moved back into your arms. “Forever with you would be beautiful.”

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natalia romanoff #marvel #mcu #natasha request #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #wlw #lesbian #natasha romanoff au #vampire natasha

[cornacopicimagines]

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well. 

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride." 

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable. 

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything. 

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland #tom #prince!tom #prince!tom holland #prince!tom holland x reader #prince!tom holland x you #tom holland smut #smut #angst #fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #marvel #marvel imagines #actor #actor smut #actor imagines #actor x you #au #prince au #princess au #princess #prince #princess!reader #princess!y/n #slow burn

[babybottlepop96]

Basement (Levi Ackerman)18+ Only

Summary: Levi saves you from an abusive Ex.

Warnings: Abusive relationship, Yandereish situations, graphic depictions of blood, death, murder, weapon use

This is for @welcometotheclubhoe ‘s all around the world collab

A/N: Thank you for letting me apart of this and thank you @spellcasterlight for beta reading this!

WC:1584 "I did this for you." He spoke, his hand trailing down your red, tear soaked cheeks. His thumb lightly running along your bottom lip, swollen and bruised from his insistent kisses. 

"But why?" You managed to choke out, throat raw from crying.

"I love you and he wasn't good for you, (y/n)!" His voice rising in anger from just the thought of your abusive boyfriend.

~~~

You cowered in the bathroom after another fight with your boyfriend, Erwin. You had approached him, yet again, about his drinking habit. Missing the days before he lost his business, the days where he would take you out every weekend to either dance or have a romantic dinner. The days where you would cuddle on the couch and watch the worst B rated horror movies you could find. The nights where your bodies were covered in a sheet of glistening sweat, chest heaving as he hovers above you, eyes looking at you with admiration as you both cling to each other, thrusting against one another with silent words of love and praise.

Those are the days you wanted back, those are the days you once lived for.

But everything changed that night, things were broken, the picture of the two of you on your one year anniversary now laid shattered on the hardwood floor. Harsh words hissed towards you, “You inconsiderable bitch! Don’t you care that my life is ruined?! You have no right to say anything!” Ribs were bruised as his foot collided against your side, sending an agonizing pain throughout your trembling body as you held yourself, desperate to hold back the vomit that threatened to expel from your mouth. You went to the only person you knew you could talk to, the only person who knew Erwin better than you did, Levi. Levi had been best friends with Erwin since they were wearing diapers, Levi knew Erwin like he knew the best tea shops and cleaning supplies in town. They were basically brothers and Levi was furious at Erwin for treating you the way he had, but you made Levi, you begged Levi, to not do anything or say a word about this. Levi reluctantly agreed, having been harboring feelings for you for years now. But he was furious at himself for introducing you to his best friend when he wanted you for himself. Besides, he trusted Erwin then, he was sure Erwin would've been the most amazing person for you, but now? All he wanted to do was put his best friend six feet under in an unmarked grave. 

Every night from then on, you called Levi, crying. Crying about the words Erwin would say to you, calling you pathetic and worthless. Crying about how every night you would worry yourself about his whereabouts just for him to come home, reeking of alcohol, hitting you when you tried to voice your concerns. Crying about how much you missed the old Erwin, how much you wanted that Erwin back. How you still loved him even though he gave you every reason to hate him.

Levi listened, his own heart aching for you. His mind tells you to run away to be with him. He voiced that once, offering you to stay with him, to escape from the toxic environment that you once felt safe in. Somewhere far away, away from the heartache that was Erwin Smith. But you refused, adamant on staying, believing that you and only you could bring the old Erwin back. It broke Levi's heart that night. It tore his heart in two hearing how you still wanted to be with a man who abused you emotionally, mentally and physically. 

And then that fateful night happened, the night where Levi got a call from you, voice barely above a whisper. "Levi? Levi! Please! Please help me! I'm so scared!" You quietly sobbed into the phone, Levi already out the door, keys in his hand.

When Levi had to resort to kicking the front door of your shared home with Erwin down, he knew things were going to be bad. He heard Erwin yelling down the hall and made his way there, finding him yelling and pounding away at the bathroom door. Your sobs coming through the splintering wood between each hard pound. Erwin's knuckles were bloodied, whether it was his own or yours, Levi didn't care. You were scared and he was going to save you. 

Levi tried to calm Erwin down, he really did, but once Erwin brandished the kitchen knife he had in his other hand and made a dash for Levi, he had no choice. He drew his gun and before anyone had time to react, before Levi himself had time to think,  it went off, hitting his best friend right in the chest with impeccable accuracy. He collapsed on the floor, holding the wound in his hand as he drowned in his own blood. The blonde gurgling on the thick, sticky liquid was the only sound filling the home before he took his last breath, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own red fluids.

You opened the door a few seconds later and screamed as your boyfriend’s blood continued to pool around his cold lifeless body. Crawling over to him, you placed his head in your lap, angrily looking at Levi as tears streamed down your cheeks. 

Levi had to forcibly remove you from the floor, leaving Erwin's now limp and lifeless body on the floor, taking you back to his place. 

~~~

"You… you did all this," motioning around the room under his home. The basement that he had spent countless hours cleaning and disinfecting, de-bugging, just for you. The room he filled with your favorite colors and small knick-knacks he thought you would like, stuffed animals on a queen sized bed and movies filled the tall, dark brown shelves he installed. Just for you. "You killed Erwin, my boyfriend, your best friend, your brother, just for me?" You were so confused, between knowing Erwin was no longer the man you loved and still loving him even through all the shit he put you through, you didn't know how to react. 

You were angry at Levi, he killed the only guy you really seemed to love, but you were also thankful for him. He saved you from a quest you could not complete because the old Erwin was already too far gone to be saved. 

"You're safe now, (y/n)." Levi spoke gently to you. You looked up at the man who seemed to show no sign of remorse for killing his lifelong friend, but instead his eyes showed worry, concern and love for you. You're all he has ever wanted and now he has you. He was a killer, but he was your hero. Saved you from Erwin and yourself because you knew you would have never had the balls to leave him.

You flung yourself onto Levi, knocking the two of you back onto the freshly cleaned carpet underneath. Your lips met his in a wet, sloppy kiss. Coming together like two missing pieces of a puzzle, not even the events of what had just happened minutes before could ruin what was happening. Levi gripped the back of your head and the back of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he kissed back. Your hands gripped the front of his ironed white shirt, now wrinkled and stained with blood of your deceased boyfriend. This felt so terribly wrong, kissing the man who killed Erwin, his best friend, but nothing has ever felt so right either. Levi was always the one you ran to when Erwin was hurting you, Levi was the one who offered to take you away from the abusive relationship, Levi was the one who saved you. Levi saved you, he would've died for you, he killed for you. Maybe it was Levi all along, the one who you should've been with. The one who you should've chosen since the beginning, someone whom you had a small crush on when you first met him but decided on the blonde instead.

You pulled away from Levi, looking straight into his steel grey eyes. "I was wrong." You whispered just centimeters from his lips.

"What are you talking about?" He asked as he caressed your cheeks.

"I was wrong for choosing Erwin. It should've been you, it was always you Levi. I was just too blinded by my own heart to see you, right in front of me, the whole damn time. I'm so sorry." Levi then brought you in for another passionate kiss, flipping you over and running hands up and down your sides. 

"I love you, (y/n)." He said as he started to nip at your neck, nimble fingers swiftly lifting your shirt over your head.

"I… I love you too, Levi." You repeated his action and took his shirt off, running your fingers over his toned stomach, tracing scars from childhood and sport related injuries. "There is nowhere that I'd rather be than with you, right here, right now. Even if we had to stay in this basement for the rest of our lives, I don't think I could ever be happier."

So you and Levi spent the next few hours in that basement, the basement where you found yourself in love with the man who saved you, even if that same man was now a killer. He was yours and you now belonged to him.

#allaroundtheworldcollab #dark #abusive relationship #yandere like situation #blood #violence #minors dni #levi ackerman #levi aot #attack on titan fandom #abusive ex #death #levi loves you so much #he will kill for you

[adarkinterlude]

take my hand

i recommend listening to i can’t help falling in love by elvis presley whilst reading this :) i couldn’t stop thinking about them when i listened to this song yesterday, so here it is!! this is pretty sad so be kind to yourself :’)

you can also find it here on ao3!!

dedicated to the lovely @maraudermeryn as always <3

Monday 13th February 1978

Marlene looked at the girl lying next to her on the bed, her eyes sparkled with joy and she felt content for the first time in a while. Yaz was absolutely beautiful. but that shouldn’t be the word that defines her. Yaz is unapologetically kind and brave and everything Marlene wants to be as a person. She is there to ground Marlene when she can’t see straight, eyes blazing with fury, and make her see sense. She never once makes anyone feel uncomfortable or inferior unintentionally and if she does, she always makes it right in an instant. She is funny, oh gods, so funny and always knows how to cheer her up. Yaz is intoxicating, almost addictive and Marlene just wanted her. She knows how she’s changed since meeting Yaz, and she likes the person she’s become. More understanding. More thoughtful. More observant. And everything reminded her of Yaz.

Like that flower she saw on the side of the path on the way to Hagrids, it was small and bold but you felt utterly drawn to it and that’s how she felt about Yazmin. Everything drew her back to Yazmin.

The last song on their small radio in the dorm had finished and another was starting. She recognised the tune in an instant and jumped up, hopping out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Yaz giggled.

“Shhhh” and Marlene started singing as the lyrics began.

“Take my hand,” Her hand stretched out to meet the hand of the other girl with a grin. Yaz took it and was pulled out of the bed until the two of them were standing in the small space left in the empty dorm.

“Take my whole life too,” Yaz sang back, her face beaming with love and happiness.

She spun Marlene around on her finger and held her close as they sung the final line of the verse together.

“But i can’t help…” Marlene inched closer until their foreheads were slightly touching.

“Falling in love with you,” they sang together softly, and smiled into a kiss as they fell back onto the bed still clutching each other, high on bliss and contentment.

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

Saturday 8th September 1979

The wedding was beautiful. It still felt surreal that two of her closest friends had gotten married. And she was so so happy for them. But deep down inside, she knew how hard it would be to marry Yaz. But oh how she wanted to. Maybe after the war. Then they could have a small ceremony with all their friends and celebrate their love together. That would be nice. Maybe by that time James and Lily would have had a child, they could be our flower girl/boy! Marlene smiled at the thought of it until she heard a familiar tune being played on the dance floor, and Yaz walking slowly towards where she sat by Remus.

“Come! It’s our song!!” Yaz mouthed excitedly and Marlene leaped up into her arms as Yaz led her to the dance floor.

Like a river flows, surely to the sea

They swayed in time together, holding each other tight as if this was the last time.

Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be

The two girls looked into each other eyes, finding a sense of home and security in one another, finding love and peace together.

Take my hand,

They intertwined their fingers at their sides, swaying to the music.

Take my whole life, too

Her eyes twinkled, her mouth curved into a smile as she wanted to remember this moment forever and ever

For I can't help falling in love with you…

The two girls sang the last line together gently under their breaths, for it was their song and nothing could take it away from them.

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

CW: DEATH

Friday 24th July 1981

Yaz laughed as they messed around in Marlene’s bedroom, helping her pick an outfit for her girlfriend’s lunch date with Mary. Oh how Marlene loved that sound. The sound of their pure bliss and happiness together. She wanted to record it, and play it on repeat everyday, to hear her happiness for the days ahead of them, for the rest of her life.

Yaz had moved in with Marlene; her parents had found out about their relationship and kicked her out. It was tough but Marlene vowed to be there for Yaz as she had done for her.

They perked up when they heard the soft sound of their song once again. Smiling as their hearts filled with love and they got ready to start singing it with each other, to add another moment to their banks of love to this song.

BANG!

“AVADA KEDAVRA”

A blood curdling scream could be heard.

Marlene’s face paled, her colour completely drained and her mind started rushing, and crowded up with racing thoughts.

“MUM!” she cried.

She could see the next green explosion from her room above.

Yaz turned to the shaking girl, trying to keep her composure and strength for Marlene. “Marls, baby, here’s your wand. I love you so so much, do you understand?” she said softly, trying to hide the fear in her voice.

Marlene took the wand out of her hands, terror overtaking her features, and nodded. “I love you too, more than you could ever imagine,”

The song could still be heard as footsteps made their way up their house.

A third green flash filled the air as someone laughed maniacally.

“What do we do, what do we do?” Marlene uttered frantically.

“I don't know,” Yaz replied, tears streaming down her face.

This can’t be the end. Not now. Not when they have so much to live for. Not when they were going to spend forever together and get married and have fun with their friends. Oh god.

Marlene wept as they huddled in her room hidden, but not for long and she thought of her friends and all the good times life had brought her.

Time seemed to slow as her thoughts got faster.

Oh god Mary. She was meant to go for lunch with her. Mary, my darling. My beautiful brave lioness. Stay strong for me, you’ve got this, sweetheart. I love you so much, and I have treasured every part of our friendship. She hoped she had got the message.

And Lily, my sweet Lily. So brave and kind and I hope that you have the brightest future with James and with Harry. Oh sweet baby Harry. They were in hiding right now but she hoped and she wished that they wouldn’t find them. That they would live a happy life after the war and grow up till they were all old and had more children for Harry to play with and look after.

She thought of Remus, who had gone through so much but still sent his help and thoughts to her brother when he had been attacked. When he knew that she would have reacted terribly. Marlene still felt the guilt in her stomach. Be strong Remus, she thought.

She was pulled away from her thoughts and mental goodbyes as the door splintered open.

“Expelliarmus!” and the girls’ wands were snatched away.

It was time.

The song was still playing softly behind them, as the final verse started.

The two girls, stricken with grief and fear, looked at each other as they reached out and sung their song for the final time.

“Take my hand,” Marlene sobbed.

They reached out and took each other's fingers, feeling a sense of comfort as they faced the last minutes of their lives.

“Take my whole life, too.” Yaz sang back softly, holding the girl tight.

Another green light flew towards Yaz and her body went limp, falling onto the floor, pulling Marlene along with it.

“No,” she wailed. “No,” you were meant to finish this with me, she thought. No one can take our song away from us remember?

Marlene sobbed over the body of her lost love as the final green light hit her, pulling her away from this world and back to Yaz. Back to her family. She didn’t feel the pain of the killing curse. But she had felt the pain of their separation. The pain of losing her. The pain that came with that final verse, never to be finished.

And so the radio finished it for them, eerily in the broken empty house that was once filled with love and peace, in the silence that hung above them like ghosts, as the two lifeless bodies held each other.

For I can't help falling in love with you…

#im so sorry #marlene mckinnon #yazmin patel #marlene and yazmin #marls and yaz #marlene x yaz #atyd #all the young dudes #mskingbean89 #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #angst #hurt #OUCH #dw: death #i cant help falling in love with you #mary macdonald #mary and marlene deserve everything #yaz atyd #yazline #interludesinthedark #interludesinthedark writing

[qitwrites]

⬅ Previous || 27 || Next ➡

“How is he?”

Aizawa’s voice, normally gruff and sleep-heavy, sounds sharp and worried. His eyebrows are pinched tight on his forehead, and his hands are folded across his chest with an iron grip, as if barely keeping himself together.

Ken looks at Aizawa and sighs. “He talks and he talks and he talks, but he’s not really saying anything.”

Aizawa purses his lips.

“I don’t think speaking to me will be the breaking point.” Ken laces his fingers together and stares at them as he continues, “But he will, indeed, break. As you did, as I did, as we all did. And when that happens, perhaps, being in the dorms will offer some semblance of comfort.”

Ken looks up and waits till Aizawa catches his eye. “I will be here when he needs me. Until then, I shall continue our sessions, even if he just keeps talking without saying anything.”

Aizawa nods curtly, mumbles out a goodbye and walks back to his accommodation.

---

A hero never forgets their first.

The work is dangerous. Most days are easy and mundane, and then there are days where the hits keep coming. People get hurt, heroes get hurt, and villains get away. You even lose people, in the crossfire or because you were too late, and those wounds never fully heal, the scars faded and jagged, moving with your every move, a constant reminder.

And then there are the days when you feel the Earth beneath you crumble as you watch a child die. When you lose someone young, innocent, with baby fat on their cheeks and wide toothless smiles. Kids with scrapped knees, stars in their eyes, and the softest hair. Kids like Eri.

A hero never forgets their first child.

Aizawa watches Kaminari speaking animatedly with his classmates, eyes bright and body language lax, and feels his fists clench.

He sucks in a deep breath, pushes away any thoughts of blue hair and big, loud smiles and continues his lesson.

---

It’s Bakugou that stays behind in class one day, two and a half weeks after the incident.

“Something’s fucking wrong with Sparky.”

“Language,” Aizawa says automatically, before lowering his books and looking at the blonde. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, something is just. Since that day, he- Fuck, I don’t know.”

Aizawa lets this one go. “He’s been coming to class. He’s attended every therapy session with Cementoss. Lunch Rush tells me he’s eating well, and he seems-“

“His eyes-” Bakugou interrupts, nose scrunched in deep thought. “- his eyes are too bright. That’s not his usual, happy-go-lucky-idiot shine. They’re too bright.”

He stands up and pulls his bag over his shoulder. “His eyes feel artificial. He moves his body too much, every movement exaggerated, like he’s constantly compensating. Like he’s fucking pushing something down as hard as he can. And then, there are these moments-“ Bakugou stops just shy of the door. He looks over his shoulder but his eyes don’t seek Aizawa, instead glaring at the tiles near his feet.

“There are these moments when his eyes are vacant, like he’s not even in the same room as us.”

With that, Bakugou walks away and Aizawa finds himself thinking back to the past, the well-acquainted pain in his chest rising from slumber, squeezing till his heart feels like it’s about to break, shatter apart the way it did that day.

Because Aizawa and Hizashi grew up.

That day though, they lost Loud Cloud, who was nothing more than a kid. A young child, gone before he could ever learn just how terrible the world really is.  

---

Kaminari attends class. He eats lunch with his friends, jokes around with them, trains every day, and sleeps in on the weekends. He never finishes his homework on time, calls his parents at least twice a week, and continues to go stupid when he overuses his quirk.

He also goes quiet more often, enough for Kirishima to pick up on it too. Bakugou watches Kaminari carefully, watches his eyes go vacant in the middle of movie night, watches him flinch when metal protests under the force of Midoriya’s quirk during training and watches his smiles get wider and more rigid, eyes so bright the fluorescent bulb in the common room dims in comparison.

There is nothing to do but wait.

---

It took Aizawa three months to break after Shirakumo.

Long after the cremation and the memorial and after the chatter picks back up in the hallways. He goes home one day, puts his bag on his desk and takes a seat, intent on finishing his homework. His pen is nowhere to be found so he yanks his desk drawer open-

Only to find a blue and white pen with the name Oboro etched into the body.

Aizawa thinks he hears a crack as his heart splinters and the tears begin, flowing freely. He bites into his forearm to keep from wailing, and he can’t see or breathe or feel anything past the wave of pain that drowns him.

With shaking hands and a complete lack of coherent thought, it takes him 14 minutes to type out a message to Hizashi. It takes the blonde another 8 minutes to get to his room, scoop him up and cry with him, and that wound never quite closes, always exposed, ever-present.

---

It finally happens on an average Wednesday, a month after the incident.

Aizawa’s just finished up with homeroom announcements, and as he straightens up the stack of papers on his desk, he hears Jirou.

“Kaminari, check out this mem- whoa, you ok, man?”

He looks at the blonde and startles when he sees the tears streaming down his face as he stares vacantly at his own hands.

Aizawa moves fast, because that’s what pros do- they calculate, they assess, they make split second decisions that spell life or death and everything in between.

He instinctually activates his quirk just as he whips his capture weapon out, pulling everyone around Kaminari away from him. Because he smells the static in the air, feels the prickles on his skin and he knows the boy is this close to losing complete and absolute control of his quirk.

Kaminari doesn’t acknowledge the chaos around him as people yell out in surprise and try to understand the situation. Aizawa keeps his eyes on Kaminari, and watches as Bakugou turns to Yaoyarozu and yells, “Make me some fucking insulated gloves now.”

Surprisingly though, it’s Shinsou that snatches the first pair and jumps across the desks to get to Kaminari, ducking down to his eye level, staying out of Aizawa’s line-of-sight.

“Hey, do you know where you are?”

Kaminari jerks at that, his eyes snapping over to Shinsou. They’re still vacant and hollow, lifeless. Shinsou keeps one glove on but leaves his other hand free.

“Kaminari, do you know where you are right now?”

Slowly, like he’s underwater, Kaminari swallows and shakes his head.

“Ok, that’s ok, take your time. I just want you to know you’re safe. Do you need anything right now?”

Kaminari looks around slowly, as if trying to understand what’s going on. He looks back at Shinsou and swallows thickly.

“There’s so much blood,” Kaminari says, and his voice sounds haunted. He bites his lip as a fresh pool of tears gather in his eyes.

“Get Cementoss,” Aizawa says to Shoji, his eyes still trained on Kaminari. They’re starting to feel a little dry and irritated, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Bakugou is also by Kaminari now, hovering behind him protectively, keeping the others away.

“I don’t understand,” Kaminari suddenly says, voice clear and colored with genuine confusion. “How does a kid just die?”

He laughs, a slightly hysterical sound, before his eyes, wide and far too bright, whip over to Aizawa.

“Sensei, there’s no way that kid died, yanno? She was so tiny, barely up to my hip. And so cute, with a lisp. There’s no way she’s dead. Obviously.” He knocks his own head, a hard hit that makes Kirishima flinch, and Bakugou gently holds his arms, to keep him from hurting himself. Kaminari barely notices.

“Kids don’t die,” Kaminari says, his eyes boring into Aizawa’s. “Right, Sensei? They don’t. How can they? They’re too tiny. Someone that small can’t die.”

Aizawa’s eyes sting, and he can say it’s his quirk but he feels it in his heart, a bone-deep ache that’s just second nature to him.

“Kaminari, nobody can live forever.” He clears his throat, slowly walking around the table as he approaches the boy, holding his gaze. “Nothing is forever, not even the- not even the children.”

Kaminari’s eyes go vacant again. “That can’t be true, you know? Cause that means she’s gone.” He looks at Shinsou. “Her hands fit in my palm Toshi. Her entire hand. I don’t. There was so much blood, I can’t- how?” He reduces to nothing but a blubbering mess, and finally, he slumps sideways, right into Bakugou’s abdomen before he wails, the sound of a deeply wounded animal permeating into the very walls of the room.

Shinsou keeps a grounding grip on his knee while Bakugou pushes a hand into his hair, holding him close to his stomach. His own face is scrunched up, eyes red and daring anyone to say anything, to him or Kaminari.

Bakugou goes with him when Cementoss comes. They take Kaminari to the therapy room and Bakugou stays the entire time.

Aizawa turns to face his class again, once the chairs are moved back in place and the shock of it all simmers down, leaving behind an empty cavity in the very middle of the room.

“You never forget your first,” Aizawa tells them, speaking from his soul. “You will never forget your first, and I want you all to promise me that when it happens, you find me. You find somebody. You seek help. And you keep pushing forward. So that someday- “

He clears his throat and pushes through, “So that someday, there won’t be a first anymore.”

He watches his students nod before they turn to each other, looking up ways to help someone in Kaminari’s condition, using their time together as a reference for what will help the most. And Aizawa feels hope and pride gently coat his heart, a band-aid atop a deep, bleeding gash, but it’s something.

He thinks about bright blue hair, a smile that put the sun to shame and the warmth of a gentle soul.

You never forget your first.

#bnha #aizawa shota #bnha oboro #my hero academia kaminari #boku no hero academia #bnha headcanons #bnha: thicker than blood #WARNING: THIS TACKLES THE SUBJECT OF DEATH AND LOSS #ive had this idea for a while #and then the latest episode happened and it had to come out #this is probably the most serious piece for this series yet #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou katsuki #cementoss is a certified therapist #i feel like his calm disposition would make him a great therapist #mentions of death #also his breakdown is a version of my own grief #which i know from experience is not a uniform thing for all people #it manifests so differently

[razorblade180]

Shackles 10: Beasts

[part 9]

“You know I’m really getting tired of walking through hot rocky deserts.”

“Yang, you’re the last person I want to hear complain about the heat.” Ilia grunted. “Just be thankful we aren’t in Menagerie.”

“We marched through it yesterday for a couple days.”

“Oh….well then stop complaining! Dawn has barely broke and Vacou is marginally less hot. These two know what I’m talking about.”

Blake and Jacquelyn remained silent. Both were lost in thought, mentally preparing for what was ahead. Ilia clicked her tongue. She looked at the spot marked on her map to make sure she hadn’t messed up the directions.

Blake could hear her teammate’s heartbeats as they walked. Jacquelyn might’ve been quiet but her heartbeat was faster than a hummingbird. Yang’s beat like a steady drum while Ilia’s, well, it was actually calm. Not a beat of worry. Blake was envious.

“What I wouldn’t give to be calm like you.”

Ilia looked back at her briefly before looking onward. “There’s nothing you have to give. Last time I checked we were taught to be calm by the same person. Though I guess…it was more of a quiet rage. He had that in common with my parents.”

“Has.” Jacquelyn corrected. “And I wouldn’t say his rage was quiet. Sometimes it felt like he could only scream into the wind.”

Yang raised her brow. “Wasn't that annoying? Concerning even?”

“Rage doesn’t do well bottled up. Should I have been concerned and annoyed when you yelled at me?”

“I…that is…” Yang sighed, giving up on a response.

“Rage like this can’t be solved immediately with wimpy meditation practices or a stress ball. Better to shout in a nameless desert than to go around breaking things. Anyways, that hasn’t happened in awhile. Adam has been lost in thought lately more than anything. Now that’s concerning. Being alone with your thoughts is risky business. I’m sure we all agree on that.”

Ilia stopped walking as she made it over a dune. “I don’t know. Thoughts are probably the best thing in a place like that.” She points down towards a lone rock plateau with a tattered wooden mineshaft entrance.that’s blocked by debris. “We made it.” Blake and Jacquelyn said nothing as they began walking ahead of her. Small talk was over.

Yang took a deep breath. She was never one to be nervous about situations like these. Being a huntress meant you saw some disturbing things by nature, but that didn’t stop the air itself from feeling dead. Blake described the scent as a slaughter house earlier. Somehow, Yang could tell she was right. “We ready for this? Who knows what is waiting for us inside.”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ilia will stand guard outside. We don’t want them knowing our numbers fully or any backup arriving. You and Jacquelyn back me up while I take the lead.”

“Works for me. But…” Yang approached the entrance and pressed up against a support beam, widening the entrance as debris crumbled out of the way. “That’s better. I’d rather have a quick escape instead of a squeeze through when things get loud, because it’s definitely going to.”

Blake smiled. “Quiet was never your thing anyways, but remember, this is a dust mine. Dried up or not, let’s not shoot anything immediately.” Blake walked in with her swords ready. Jacquelyn followed second with Wilted Rose on her hip.

Yang gave Ilia a wink before following the other two. The shaft didn’t take long before it started sloping down into darkness. A problem for anyone not hanging out with a faunus with great eyesight, or a girl whose hair glows like a torch on command. Normally that would be a benefit, but it made things all the more uneasy for Yang.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too dark in here? I mean…I don’t think the guards themselves could see; unless…” she trailed off. Breaking their focus was the last thing she wanted, but Yang was certain they already knew. Step by step the cave expanded. Water dripped down to the pools below. Faint clinging metal grew louder while Yang’s light revealed rusted cell bars, chains, and mining tools. A thick, potent odor hung in the air so intensely that it made swallowing difficult.

“Don’t look inside, not yet.” Jacquelyn uttered, holding back her gagging.

Blake marched forward. “Smell getting to you?”

“It’s not the stench that makes me want to hurl.”

At last they reached the end of the holding area to reach another passageway. Light curved through it and Blake’s pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hear people. Dozens of them. Workers and…the rest.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes glowed. “Then what are we waiting f-”

“They aren’t moving. Everyone’s just…” Blake approached cautiously, crouched and weary. A knot festered deep inside her. Tears she restrained kept fighting to the surface the closer she got to turning the corner until Blake finally came around. In front of her was the main area. Faunus of every kind stuffed into this giant chasm. Men, women, and children bound in shackles all over the place while guards over watched them; yet nobody was working. They all were watching a man on a platform make another example of the very person that brought them here. Without thinking, Blake spoke.

“A-Adam…?” She said barely above a whisper, yet all heard her in the deathly quiet chamber.

Guards and prisoners alike turned to her in surprise. Jacquelyn and Yang came in soon after with their own look of shock at what they were witnessing. Tired, dread, shock, pain, terror, rage, lifelessness; so many expressions stared at the three from the prisoners who cowarded and guards that pulled weapons.

“Halt. Let’s not be too hasty.” Sobek said, turning around to view his arrival. They couldn’t help but notice his white lab coat stained in red that matches the curved knife he currently wiped on his sleeve. “My goodness. Well isn’t this quite the surprise. I should’ve known catching a big fish and the fact some of my men hadn't returned in a while meant someone was gonna come knocking on my door, but my wildest dreams didn’t think it would be you. Ms. Blake Belladonna, welcome to Purgatory. I’d shake your hand but…” he grabbed Adam by the hair to lift his battered face, but that was tame compared to the gashes and massive bruises that riddled his body in red and purple. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He lit Adam’s head droop limply again.

Overwhelmed, neither Blake or Jacquelyn could speak. The two had yet to shake the shock of it all. As for Yang, she chose to break formation and get in front of both of them. “Why?” That’s all she could ask. That’s all there was to ask. Yang was so caught up by the horrific sight before her that she failed to realize her eyes had long abandoned their lilac color.

Sobek smiled at her. “What’s this, a human? Well I suppose wonders never cease. Caring humans do exist but to find one here is both shocking and unfortunate. You see these monsters before you aren’t worth your compassion. Every last one of them are affiliated and conspired with the very group that poisons the world you and I cherish.”

“That does not answer the question! Why the hell are you hunting people?”

“Animals! How many times do I-” He took a breath, composing himself. “These animals do nothing but spread misery, breed hate. They teach it to their vermin and drag the good faunus through the mud! Just like they did with my daughters! The White Fang aren’t faunus. They’re animals that need to be tamed; and the ones that can’t get put down! The High Leader understands.”

Blake tensed up. All eyes shifted to her and her alone.

“It was faunus like you that showed the rotten parts. The posers and liars that threatened good names. You yourself waged war against the splinter cell this filth-”

“Let him go.” Blake finally spoke. Her voice trembled. The taste of iron hit her mouth as her teeth clenched and pupils constricted. “Let them all go, right now!” She yelled.

The charisma the man held faded. “Excuse me? S…Surely you’re not defending them?”

“And why wouldn’t I!? This…it’s sick. In what right mind does any of this make sense? All you’re doing is hurting people.”

“They get what they deserve.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE!?” Blake could feel her blood boil. Her nail pierced skin and she could feel her heart pound. “I don’t give a damn what your reasons are. I don’t care if anyone in here took lives. This is not how things work. You don’t get to decide others' lives, especially after this!”

“You stand here before me and defend the likes of Adam Taurus, terrorist?”

“I defend life.” Blake pointed her sword towards the man. “I defend change, no matter how bleak!”

“……I see. So you're a beast after all. Then mourn for them.” Sobek withdrew his hospitality, and then snapped his fingers. The guards took their weapons, then went for the prisoners to immediately beat, stab, and shoot whoever.

Yang wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Before she could even act, Blake had let out a scream of pure anger, leaping through the air to Sobek while a trail of tears were left behind. The scientist had made a mad dash towards a metal down with Blake in pursuit.

“Blake!? Don’t go alo-shit!” Yang dove back into the passage they came from to avoid gunfire. “Damn it all!” Yang readied her for a shoot out when the sound of lightning rattled her ears, followed by the sound of several yells before silence returned. Yang looked out and found gunmen on the floor, Jacquelyn walking by them.

The maiden said nothing. Her goal was a simple one and if she was honest with herself, everything else was white noise at the moment. Wind lifted her up to Adam’s platform. Jacquelyn gripped the shackles that strung him up, freezing them until they shattered like glass. His body fell onto hers and she fell to her knees. The world gave Jacquelyn her fair share of tragedy, but this was too cruel to comprehend. His face was so swollen the skin was purple, his good eye swelled shut. Blood leaked and clotted all over his torso and back from stabs, gashes, shocks, and the broken bones.

“Adam?” She uttered, but no response was given. She leaned down to hear the faintest sign of breathing and a weak beating heart. What should’ve sparked hope only made her cry. They had kept him conscious through so much and now his body…

Guards begin to circle around them aim their guns. “Don’t move! Step-” the guard couldn’t even finish his demands before letting out a strained cough as the rock wall behind him shot out like a spear through him.

“I’ll kill you.” Jacquelyn lifted her head, making all the guards shake in fear of her glowing tear filled eyes. The wind picked up around her and the air began to freeze. “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“FIRE!” The guards shot into blistering winds that cut and carved the area around their target, firing back ice and imposing the pressure of her storm to the point the entire cavern shook.

“Give me a break. So much for dust safety.” Yang ran through the area, punching and shooting unsuspecting enemies caught up in the whirlwind of dust as she made her way to prisoners; tearing apart chains and yanking them out of walls. “If you can walk then help those who can’t!” She shot falling debris from afar that nearly blocked the exit. “Hey! You’re going to bury us!” Yang’s words didn’t reach the emotional woman holding her partner. Yang looked around frantically. Guards still poured in, some tried escaping, and others ran to where Blake left. All while prisoners either ran for safety or layed dying; beyond the limit of what they could take. “C’mon, act Xiao Long. Act!”

Her feet moved without thinking. Yang didn’t know how this was going to end but if she wanted the best then she’d have to reach for it with her own hands. If that meant rushing head first into a snow storm then so be it. Her hair ignited into pure flames and her clothes kindled like dying embers. Yang lunged right into the dome of wind to grab Jacquelyn.

“Jackie, get a grip! People need us right now. We’ll all die here if this keeps up.” She put her hands on the sides of Jackie's face. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

Jacquelyn looked Yang in the eye. “He…He’s dying.” Her hands pressed against open wounds. Fire and ice sealed and cauterized wounds but what good it did was unclear.

“Adam’s a stubborn bastard. He cheated death before and he’ll do it again.”

“But-”

“I will take care of Adam! I promise.” Yang put her hands on Jacquelyn’s. “You take care of the guards following their boss and back up Blake. I hate to say it but I don’t like my odds going through that door, so I’ll get these people out. Okay?”

“E…Even if I barrel through them all I don’t know if I can handle-”

“They’re… weak.” Adam mumbled, gaining their attention. He could barely see or move but managed to move his hands enough to grab Jackie’s. “All mutilated, barely trained; but insane. Sobek, he… Atlas.” He coughed blood.

“Adam!”

“Just…grab Blake.” His consciousness faded in and out. However, Adam managed to squeeze Jackie’s hand for reassurance before going silent.

“Well you heard the guy. Though if you do see a chance to grab the bastard…”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice.” Jacquelyn was hesitant but gave Adam to Yang. She finally stood up, gripping the hilt of the crimson blade on her. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” With one fluid motion she drew the blade while channeling her magic. A fierce and single slash cut through the wind; pushing it out with force that pushed everyone while the attack cut the metal door down. Jacquelyn didn’t delay any further in doing what she was asked. Yang put Adam on her back best she could. Thankfully he was able to wrap his arms over her shoulders.

“Do me a favor and don’t fall off.”

“Do me a favor and don’t get me shot.”

Yang groaned. Of all the people she had to save. Right on que, bullets flew their way. Time to head out. Yang did her best to run with the extra baggage. Adam honestly wasn’t too heavy but that wasn’t a good thing realistically. Chances are he hasn’t eaten much in days. If it wasn’t for the swelling then the man’s features would’ve been sunken in and pale. Yang can’t say she has compassion for him but she’d be hard pressed to believe she could idly watch if it happened right in front of her. Ruby would say that’s what makes her a hero. It was more frustrating in Yang’s opinion.

“For your sake I hope you’re worth all this trouble.” Yang kicked downed guards trying to get up from the wind blast to give others more time. “Well at the very least all these people are so I guess I should shut up about it.”

Adam did his best to look at the chaos. His vision couldn’t register faces but he saw how many people pushed and rushed over one another. Though one of them, he couldn’t help but think about Sobek’s words and thought process. It was twisted, outright demented, yet one part of it held true to an extent. Adam felt his ego take a hit. He led them here.

“…I got what I deserve.”

“Tsk, if you ask me you’ve only gotten a piece of it. How you get rest isn’t for me to decide, thank goodness. If I were you I’d start thinking on how-”

“Cells.” He interrupted. “Don’t leave without opening the cells.”

“Huh? Most looked empty or wore silent. No one even came up to bars.”

“A girl, Jasmine, she should be there. Brother too.”

“Dude you can’t afford many detours. I’ll try but no promise we’ll find anything. I’m telling you it was quiet. Dead quiet.” Yang felt ill saying that last part. “What kind of person does this to kids? Can’t imagine a childhood like this.”

Adam’s grip tightened. “I can.”

After a few more minutes of letting stragglers go first and looking out for danger, Yang left the cavern. Defending everyone was a Dream already killed before it could start and she promised to look after Adam so taking her time wasn’t an option. “Do you know what cell?”

“I was strung up on a platform.”

“A no would’ve been fine.” Yang started checking one at a time, punching in doors just in case. It was far too dark to see completely in them otherwise. “Uhh Jasmine? Hello?” She kept looking again and again but no one answered. Yang was about to cut her losses until she heard hissing when a prisoner bumped into a set of bars. “Jasmine?”

No one answered. Yang grabbed the bars and hissing turned to growling. There was definitely someone in there. She busted open the door and stepped in, lighting a section of the area. A gasp escaped her lips at the sight of blood soaked dirt. Pale eyes glowed in the corner. Yang stepped closer carefully until the girl could no longer hide in the dark. A maple skinned girl covered in dirt, sweat, and blood crouched low with eyes as scary as Blake’s; her teeth gritted while the volume of her growl grew louder with her soiled white ears folded back. Yang was easily in no real danger, yet the glare on her was startling. This little girl clearly was ready to kill if need be.

Yang got low. “H-Heeey. Sssshh It’s okay. I’m gonna- ah!” Yang winced. Jacquelyn lunged forward and sunk her teeth into Yang’s good hand. Yang didn’t lose composure. She reached out with her other hand, rubbing the child’s face. “Feel better? Hehe, let’s get you outta here.”

Jasmine tried biting deeper but was caught off guard by a third hand resting on her head. Her eyes widened once she realized Adam was one the woman’s back. Her jaw loosened up and the rage turned into grief.

“Jasmine, where’s-”

“Adam…?” Yang said, staring to the right. Her light didn’t reach the other side of the cell but it was enough to make a trail of blood and limp arm visible. The two went silent again. Adam pulled Jasmine closer until she climbed up on him, clinging for life as she began to whimper against his back. Yang let her hair fade out and then left, walking through the dark. She didn’t want to see another second in this place.

xxxx

Jacquelyn wasn’t much of a better time. Unlike the rest of Purgatory, everything past the medal door reminded her of Atlesian research labs. Including the defenses. Around every corner was an annoyance. Two armed guards tried getting the jump on her but were quickly outmatched. Jacquelyn froze the first with ice breath while the second tried taking a swing at her. Catching the fist, Jacquelyn twisted the guard's arm and pinned her against the wall; draining what aura she could in the process before pressing on. Jacquelyn was thankful Yang calmed her down when she did. Expending more energy like that would've been bad in her condition. Jacquelyn felt like she was running on fumes.

“I can see why my mom never gave me siblings. Gotta make this quick before I’m the one who’ll need saving.” More enemies marched from behind, forcing her to run through the sterile hallways. On the way a trail of several guards were already taken out that led to a bigger group of struggling men. Jacquelyn could make out a pissed off Blake in the middle of it all.

“LET ME GO!” Blake headbutted the one restraining her right arm and swung at the ones in front of her. A burst of strength rushed through her. She gripped the guard on her left arm, flinging them across the room. Blake swiveled around to aim at the ones behind her but Jacquelyn was quicker on the draw. Adam’s signature gun already riddled two with wounds while the blade cut down three more.

“Where’s Sobek?”

“He keeps heading deeper in.” Blake pointed at the scientist’s fallen scales and light trail of blood. “I tried taking a shot but I kept getting swarmed.” Blake noticed the pack behind Jacquelyn and tried running but was immediately grabbed by the wrist. “Jacquelyn!?”

“It’s a trap. We both know that.”

“We’ve known that from the jump. If we corner him then-” Blake and Jacquelyn shot past each other at the same time before standing back to back. Jacquelyn slammed her hand on the ground and conjured ice walls to by time. “Damnit! There’s no end!”

“Yeah…let’s retreat.”

“What!? But you’re the one-”

“I know! Believe me, I know. Honestly I want to tell you I came here to back you up but Yang offered to take Adam to safety in exchange for yours.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Yang…offered?”

“Truth be told, I think it was more self preservation than kindness. Listen I don’t want to get blown up again but Sobek seems like the type to let it all burn when things fall apart. I told you that you’d find your answer when we arrive. Don’t tell me it was to get angry and die?”

“……” Blake shut her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t help. If anything her heart felt like it was beating faster. Pent up frustration gnawed away at her so much she couldn’t stop shaking. Her grip was so tight around Gamble Shroud her hands threatened to bleed. “What did you say earlier outside, about screaming when you’re enraged?”

Jacquelyn chuckled. “We’re well past that point. Don’t tell Adam but I think we should break some shit. Lucky for us we have volunteers. Care for a violent escape?”

Blake turned away from the path deeper into the lab and faced Jacquelyn’s direction, listening to reason. “Back me up. I’d feel guilty if your baby got hurt.”

Now that was an offer Jacquelyn couldn’t refuse. Blake’s kindness managing to shine even while in this situation was something Jacquelyn could only respect. She got behind her. “I’m in your hands. Now let’s get busy.”

Jacquelyn spit the wall in front of them to funnel the lackeys in for Blake to cut loose on with her blades, performing a double cross slash into snap kick that launched one backwards into the group. Keeping on the offensive, Blake followed up with a rising knee to push them further back. A strong gust of wind from Jacquelyn helped increase the force and distance Blake went while suppressing the rest. A guard tried restraining her but only grasped the afterimage while the real one unleashed an aura slash that went through the crowd. Deep cuts engraved the wall and glass shattered. Blake tossed her blades up and went through the halls quickly guiding Jacquelyn safely to the other side.

Pressure filled the air. A dense building of force rose steadily until Jacquelyn couldn’t ignore it. “Blake? What did you do-” the cuts in the wall doubled in size. An almost unseen second flash went through the hall, the blades traveling with it until stopping on a dime in front of Blake for her to grab from the hands of a clone Jacquelyn never saw materialize. It faded as quickly as it was noticed. One by one the guards adamant on killing were dropping like flies.

“A double moon slice? Heh, I guess you really are his disciple at heart.”

“In more ways than one.” Blake flung the blood off her blade while she sharpened them on one another.

“And why would you say that?” Blake looked back at her. The vacant and dim stare she gave expressed a bleak hollowing pain Jacquelyn couldn’t mistake. “Oh…well that’s okay. It just makes you one of us.”

#rwby #adam taurus #sobek #blake belladonna #ilia amitola #jacquelyn frost #yang xiao long #rwby shackles #rwby au