#Sulfuric Wrath

[drondskaath]

Oppressive Descent | Sulfuric Wrath | 2024

American Raw Black Metal

Artwork by Ainuliblis

#Oppressive Descent #Sulfuric Wrath #American Black Metal #USBM #Black Metal #Raw Black Metal #music #band #art #artwork #artist #Ainuliblis #Inferna Profundus Records #Bandcamp

[therxtking]

Ok I need to rewrite some of my characters to make them more like. RP compatible.

Runic will never change tho, she's a shitty steed that wants to eat children. She stays. Cannot change perfection.

#hELp #Most of my muses have never been threaded but I've had them for almost 15 years #Ife sucks Runic sucks Gordon's fucking mental Sulfur sucks Zicamaia is boring as fuck Creelissal is precious but kinda boring for lore- #Sloth is MIA Wrath is well Wrath but she's mom coded so you either get eaten or adopted Cheshzhire is barely coherent #Shit I gotta shake these up

[play-now-my-lord]

We all know the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah here. We all know the story about Lot begging his wife not to look back at the place they lived their entire lives burning to ashes behind them, not to turn her face to the horrible wrath of God bearing down on their backs - salt water in his eyes, his voice hoarse, pleading with her and the creator of the universe for the story to end any other way. Burning, sulfurous wind singing both of their hair, unearthly sounds never heard by a living person, all receding behind them agonizingly slow. And yes, we know what Lot knew in his heart when all of a sudden his wife's labored breaths, the unsteady shuffling of her feet, all came to a sudden stop. We all know this story, and we experience it every day of our lives.

That's what getting an email feels like

[inbabylontheywept]

All that remains: Part I

In the land just past the Decapolis, by the tombs of the city's most ancient forebears, there lived a man called Legion. Some days, he howled like a beast, laughing as he savaged his own flesh with the jagged edges of stones. Other days he wept like a child, teeth chattering even as the sun blazed overhead. But more days still, he lingered in the quiet spaces, haunted but lucid: A stranger to the land and a stranger to himself.

He called himself Legion because he was made of many parts. Memories without attachments, stories without endings. Fragments. Worse, he felt like he could only hold a few of the pieces at a time. Trying to assemble himself felt like an endless effort of cupping his hands together tight, filling them with details, reaching up to his mouth, and realizing they had already slipped through his fingers. An endless thirst for which he had no cure. 

The town called him Legion, because they remembered what he often forgot: That he was a Roman, as well as a former soldier. If he’d been anything less, they’d have driven him away. Instead, they fussed over him endlessly, all too aware that to harm a single hair upon his head was to invoke the wrath of the largest army the world had ever seen.

(Which was a problem, because he was all too willing to harm himself.)

On Legion’s good days they simply gave him space. He’d tried describing once, all the things that could bring his demons out: The clash of metal, the twang of a bowstring. A scream of pain. Those were easy enough to remember and avoid, but others were not. Certain phrases in Latin, ones related to marching, used for giving directions. Certain smells - the roasting of pork, the burning of sulfur. The way some men from distant lands braided their hair. 

So many little things. 

They were a lot to keep track of, and the cost of failure was high. It seemed easier for the people of the town to simply avoid him altogether. That it let them ignore his suffering was simply a pleasant side effect. 

On his bad days, they had to intervene more directly. He was strong when he was well, but his sickness could make him almost invincible. Whole teams of men would be sent into the tombs while he screamed and roared, and it could take them hours to tie him down and pry the rocks from his trembling fingers. To put a rolled up rag into his mouth and silence the phrase he shouted over and over, summoning more demons into himself with each incantation: TORNA MIRA, TALIS EST COMODUM MILES BARBATI. 

Sometimes, it took more than a day of being restrained that way for him to find himself again. They’d send children out to the edge of the town to listen, and when he finally went silent they’d travel back to free him from his chains. It was a beastly, shameful task every time, and Legion made it worse by never being angry. Without fail, the first thing he said every time the rag was removed was:

Συγγνώμη, ��εν ήθελα να σε τρομάξω.

Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you. 

Everyone knew that the way things were being handled wasn’t enough. Everyone, even Legion, knew how things would end. They just weren’t sure when. 

It turned out that it was longer than six years.

#historical fiction #weird theology #thanks sam kriss #i liked writing this but i am mostly relieved that its done so i can write something else #bible fiction? #cant believe i left mormonism just to keep writing bible fanfiction lol #its like my peoples legacy to keep doing this #the ol' family tradition #theism

[sky-kiss]

A/N: Can't sleep. And horrible, horrible, unholy creatures prompted for soft ascended fiend. Please understand, any additional ficlets this week will be horrific and dark to counterbalance this crime.

Also. Using my OC (which I don't do here) to cheat this prompt. In an established universe. HAH.

Ascended Fiend Raphael: You think he chuffs? I think he chuffs.

“He’s making a mess of the place.” 

“Well, we wanted to see what he was capable of?”

Haarlep fixes her with a withering look, lips pressing to a thin line. Their face is naturally expressive; Joi has the distinct pleasure of watching all his thoughts pass across his face without pretense or restraint. The sum of these parts amounts to an unambiguous: you fucking dolt. 

“We knew. The princeling wanted to showboat. And now look.”

The fiend continues its rampage through the arena, tail lashing behind it, wings spread. Its fires burn brighter than ever, hot enough to leave the entirety of the building sweltering. A tinge of iron hangs in the air, married to sulfur and the sickly sweetness of charred flesh. Raphael has been neither subtle nor graceful in his carnage: the room is a mess of gore, devils, and demons alike. 

A bolt of hellfire tears from its right hand, ripping across the arena. The Abishai screams in agony, briefly sputtering before its form gives way. Ash flutters about the arena, and the fiend howls its delight. 

He’s beautiful, she thinks. All the wrath of the Hells made manifest. Raphael lifts his head, scenting the air. Robbed of his toys and the distraction of live prey, it looks for alternate means of entertainment. The creature’s good eyes fix upon them. 

“If the brute comes over here, I’ll sacrifice you,” Haarlep grumbles.

She pats their chest. “I’m well aware.” He’s done it before; he’ll do it again. The incubus intends to outlive them all. “Help me down?” 

Their expression twists with savage delight. “As the lady wishes.” 

Haarlep holds her elbow as she climbs over the arena’s edge. The distance makes her dizzy, forty or fifty down into the pit, necessary for some of the beasts the Archduke houses below. Flight is an option, but it’s easier to fall, whispering the familiar incantation to make herself feather-light. 

The fiend shrieks. Raphael’s voice bleeds into the bestial sound, one note among many; she holds onto this familiarity as it tears across the remaining space, hellfire, and claws. She swallows. 

The claws of its right-hand curl around her waist, pressing just to the point of pain. Some break flesh. Raphael huffs again, sniffing, hot gusts of air ruffling her hair. Joi holds out her hand. 

It kneels. The distance between them remains too great, the size difference too vast. The fiend hauls her nearer, chuffing, nuzzling the center skull against her chest. She trails the tips of her nails across his forehead, ignoring the hiss of pain in her side and the blood staining his jaws. 

“You’ve upset Haarlep, dear one.” One could be forgiven for mistaking the sound it makes for a laugh. If nothing else, her duke preens, wings stretching to their full span. It tries to get nearer, to close what little invisible space exists between them, recognizing its scent on her skin.  It purrs. “They worked very hard to find you all these toys…” 

“...and he’s broken them immediately.” The incubus snaps, voice echoing around them. “Ungrateful little brat.” 

"They're going to be insufferable tonight. You understand this, yes?" The right head’s expression twists in some approximation of glee. Joi shakes her head, cooing to the great beast until it finally sets her down. She kisses its ruined skull, motioning it to follow her towards the holding pens. Perhaps they will find new prey among the wastes; perhaps she’ll indulge its appetites. 

So much potential. So little time.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #raphael x durge #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my writing #do you want cavities? #because this is how you get cavities #oc: joi #ascended fiend raphael

[lynbaccha]

Primo's new summon is something he has not seen before, but the feeling is kind of mutual.

(Includes me bending the lore timeline, because I can. I mean, young Primo, can you blame me?)

The summoning was never an easy task. It was always about control. Each side fighting for it, each side struggling to get what they wanted. Most importantly, however…

Would the other side lose the battle? Would the other side make a mistake and bend, unwillingly, to the summoner’s mold?

This ghoul didn’t want to lose. For what felt like hours it fought back. Almost like a barbarian in legends against an enemy kingdom. All alone. Doing everything in its power to remain as a master of its own life. 

But, like a tired animal after a dragged out chase, the ghoul made a mistake. And thus, Papa’s magic got a hold of it. Its wrathful scream of defeat echoed in the ritual chamber, as it was dragged up from the debts it calls home. 

Then, silence. During it, the smoke subdued and smell of sulfur vanished, as soon as they have appeared, revealing the summoned demon. 

The battle was over. Papa had won.

Primo, exhausted and worn in his own right, expected to face confusion and questions, at most. Every ghoul so far had those. Why me? What is my purpose now? And countless more.

Not with this one, no. 

It remained silent. So silent it threatened to suffocate the surrounding atmosphere. Its piercing eyes slowly, cautiously, scanning the room. All the new ghoul had to offer to others, was fear and hostility. Not that anyone blamed the poor thing, though. The situation, when put into perspective, must have felt terrifying. 

However, because of how hostile and fearful it was, Primo immediately recognized the situation as dangerous. On top of that, the male ghoul was big. The biggest one he had seen so far. Slender looking, like a water ghoul, but they had powerful horns, and muscles, like an earth ghoul would. 

Did he summon a hybrid?

No matter... This situation could turn ugly. And he knew he had to prevent it.

So, Primo approached the new ghoul. The moment he moved, the other male’s head snapped directly towards him. The ghoul’s gills flared up, and a low growl left his chest. The demon was cradling a glowing lantern in his arms, as he curled into himself.

The other ghouls almost held their breath, ready to jump on the new summon. Their job was to serve and protect Papa, and they took it seriously. The options all together were worse. And they hope the new guy will realize it sooner rather than later…

Under the demons watch, Primo took a few stepped closer, as he observed his new summon with as kind eyes as he could muster. In response, the ghoul showed his sharp teeth. The tail trashed behind him, and the young human man could see a stinger on it.

This is bad...

”Calm now…,” Primo spoke softly, and stretched his hand. Before he could say anything more, he felt a sharp pain in that very same hand, mere seconds after the new ghoul has buried his teeth in Papa’s flesh and bone.

From that, it was chaos.

Primo was pulled back by one of his ghouls, and the new summon was pulled into the other direction by two others. In an attempt to restrain the big ghoul, the rest twisted his arms enough to make him drop the lantern, that rolled directly in front of Primo. New Papa immediately picked it up, as the ghouls tried to restrain their fellow demon.

The effort was nothing but futile, as the chamber soon filled with snarls, growls and sounds of broken bones. The massive hybrid was pure rage and terror, and he felt threatened. Primo’s other ghouls tried to scratch, bite, and hit, and the hybrid did the same.

Primo observed. The new ghoul was panicking. In despair, even. After the lantern, it’s only possession…

And the moment the aggressive ghoul locked its eyes on him, he knew what to do.

The order was absurd to his ghouls. An order to stay back. To let the new summon to come to their Papa. The other ghouls fought against their Papa’s orders for a moment, until Primo reminded them of their duty. To obey their Papa.

The leap the new demon made was almost too sudden. Ghouls are faster than humans, much faster. However, this one was, again, was just summoned. Exhausted and not in its full strength. Without that fact on his side, Primo knew he would have been done for.

He reached the injured hand he carried the lantern in towards his ghoul. The hybrid came to an immediate halt, crouching a little in front of Primo. He wasn’t sure what to do, and it clearly was thinking the way out of the situation in front of himself. Both physically and mentally. This human cannot be trusted, Primo just dragged him from their home…

Why? That is the question Primo saw in the other’s eyes. Simple, yet full of confusion and uncertainty.

Gently, Primo put the lantern in the ghouls arms. Its owner’s another hand immediately reached to cradle the object, while the other was still tensed to its side. The demon’s gaze lowered to check for any damage to the possession, and he expressed its relief with a gentle bonk against the lantern’s glass.

Then, the two met each other’s eyes. Primo’s own were filled with compassion, as he laid his injured hand onto the other one’s arm. The demon tensed up a little, inhaling a sharp breath… Before he could relax, and feel the peacefulness in that feathery light touch from the being that he should despise.

”Easy now, tesoro,” Primo spoke once again. ”Easy now…”

The ghoul in front the Papa was full of confusion. Absolutely speechless in front of such kindness. From a person that dragged it off from its home. Even more confusing was that the ghoul couldn’t clearly remember when was the last time he had received gentleness. Scars on the gray skin told that much. The blind, green eye, framed with a scar, acted as a tattle tail of its brutal past.

”What is your name?” Primo asked. The ghoul answered with a blink. His name hasn’t mattered since small forever. He didn’t really need to even remember that. Just that he has one...

Yet, with surprising ease, the slightly strained voice whispers against the pressuring silence, gentle gaze of the another, and familiar warmth of the artifact;

”Arvak...”

#the band ghost #primo #papa emeritus i #nameless ghoul oc #nameless ghoul oc arvak #water ghoul #earth ghoul #oc backstory #i'm bad at tagging #i'm bad at writing #but fuck i enjoyed to even try to convey feelings of these two in this small fic #lmao

[ciarax]

Fallen pt.1 | H.H.

Alastor x Fem!OC

Summary - In Hell's tumultuous depths, Neriah executes Lucifer's grim tasks, only to be rewarded with a temporary relief from the agony etched onto her skin. Stained and scarred, Neriah is faced with the consequences of her rebellion.

Warnings - Angst, mild description of injuries, Lucifer being an asshole?

A/N - I'm not really sure how this whole Tumblr fic post works but I'll figure it out. For now, enjoy this little prologue. I usually don't write reader, but for any requests I'll gladly accept.

Also, feel free to suggest how to improve, English isn't my mother language.

The air in Hell hung heavy with a mixture of sulfur and echoes of damned souls, Pentagram city bustling with energy, yells and screams of sudden battles at every corner. The remains of the demon she had just dispatched on Lucifer's behalf were scattered across the unforgiving pavement. The Overlord, with dangerous ideas of rebellion and suggestions of toppling the Morningstars from their privileged positions, had met a gruesome end. Despite Lucifer's temporary absence from the throne of Hell, his influence was still potent, especially when threats to his power or, more importantly, his daughter Charlie, arose.

Neriah Sighed, barely cleaning her hands on her teared dress, irremediably stained with blood and who knows what else. She didn't care, though, that was a job Lucifer had oh so kindly asked her to do despite no deal what made between them, but the reward was made Neriah gave in every time. The dead body of the Overlord was left to root in a desert alley, it would be found by a drunk or a prostitute, who knows.

The soft, red tufts on Neriah's head, resembling fox ears, twitched slightly upon hearing some grunts from the body left behind her. Despite being a fragile human soul, Neriah had to admit how that demon was quite adamant on surviving her wrath. Tilting her head to the side and narrowing her eyes, she approached the still groaning form. The demon, reduced to a battered state still managed to lift his head, locking eyes with Neriah, defiance and pain etched across his features and dark blood tickling down what remained of his face.

“Persistent, aren’t you?”, Neriah mused, her voice low with a detached curiosity, “most demons would’ve succumbed by now.”

Her words stirred an involuntary growl from the demon, a mix of pain and resentment, evidently struggling to form coherent words but still determined to survive. Only having the energy to follow with his eyes the crouched figure of Neriah, her light hair stained with fiery red tips and some of his blood.

“You cling to existence with an admirable tenacity. Why resist the inevitable?”, her voice was not as emotionless as before, Neriah’s sapphire eyes mixing with the bloody red’s of the demon in front of her who, despite being on the verge of fading away, still managed a crocked smile showing his charred pointy teeth.

“Death’s embrace ain’t appealing as you might think, fallen angel. I have my reasons to linger”, the demon replied, his words punctuated by labored breaths.

“Reasons?”, Neriah mused, fox ears twitching slightly at the demon’s words, “Everyone has reasons, yet, your kind rarely survives my judgment.”

Neriah didn’t wait the answer of the demon, rising up to her feet and towering over him, her expression unreadable as a small flame on her hand quickly grew in size and heat, completely surrounding the former overlord of the Seventh Circle. The flame danced and kept burning until ashes where the only thing left on the barren ground, the warm light merging with the slightly charred limb on Neriah’s back, the once white feathers barely responding to the manifestation of power. With the task completed, she turned away, blending once again into the chaotic streets of Hell.

The air in Lucifer’s grand chamber was still and dusty as if none bothered to live in that huge castle anymore, its existence left to itself. Neriah stepped forward without sparing a glance at the almost abandoned furniture, her eyes focused on the slightly bored expression on Lucifer’s features. A sinister smirk twitched on his lips as he observed her arrival, lounged on his obsidian throne which kept Lucifer on higher height.

“Ah, Neriah, how delightful of you to grace me with your presence.” Lucifer’s tone held a hint of amusement, aware of the upper hand he got against the woman in front of him, her sin permanently etched on her body.

Neriah’s ears twitched, her eyes narrowing as she carefully studied the amused expression on Lucifer’s face, “Your nuisance has been dealt with… I did you what you needed. Now, you give me what I want.”

“Sharp as always”, Lucifer chuckled, summoning the same ointment that gave him the possibility to require Neriah’s assistance whenever he thought useful. It was the price to repay all the favors Lucifer asked her to do, as Neriah couldn’t deal with the aftermath of her sin by herself.

Neriah was quick to catch the small bottle, her sapphire eyes, slightly torn toward a much yellow hue studied the ointment with care before nodding satisfied. Her expression stern as she turned around, however, she was halted by the voice of the King of Hell, his tone cutting through the air with a warning.

“Have you ever considered the possibility of redemption? A Virtue such as yourself, Neriah, fallen to Hell for your rebellious act. It sounds quite pathetic, don’t you think?” Lucifer's words hung in the air like a venomous whisper, a calculated taunt that sought to destroy Neriah's composed facade.

Lucifer couldn’t see the expression on Neriah’s face, her body still turned away from him and showing nothing more than her torn and stained dress and the cause of her constant pain. The cause of her constant pain was laid bare for the King of Hell to see—the remaining fragments of what was once a beautiful, pure-white wing. Now charred and with singed feathers, the appendage devoid of any practical purpose other than to serve as a permanent reminder of what had caused Neriah's expulsion from Heaven. The twin wing was missing, leaving behind only a permanent, open wound scarred onto her skin, slightly lower on Neriah’s back than the usual position of the wings for an angel.

“Redemption is a luxury I cannot afford, Lucifer”

Lucifer’s chuckle turned into a smirk, “How come, the vessel of change who can’t redeem herself? And here I thought yours wasn’t only a child tantrum, my dear Neriah.”

For once it hadn’t been hard for Lucifer to see a change in Neriah’s usually stoic expression, the subtle twitch of her atrophied wing gave him a glimpse of how he had struck a nerve. It was precisely what he wanted—to provoke a reaction, to peel away the layers of her composure.

“Are you the one talking about being redeemed, Lucifer? The first angel who crashed down here in this hole of damned souls”, Neriah tilted her head slightly, her once sapphire eyes now tinted with yellowish hue as her lips turned up into a not-so-subtle grin of amusement. Satisfaction radiated from her face once she noticed the growing irritation on Lucifer’s face, his eyes starting to turn red as his ego inflated with anger.

Before Lucifer could answer, though, Neriah vanished in a mist of black dark red fog, the echo of a smile reverberating in the huge, barren hall.

The air clung thick with an unsettling weight, and eerie tapestries adorned the walls where Neriah reemerged, depicting angels in descent and demons rising. Neriah's footsteps echoed against the cold stone floor, each sound reverberating through the desolate halls like a mournful lament. As she made her way towards the towering gates, the colossal entrance groaned open, revealing the sprawling expanse of Pentagram City below. The symphony of agony and chaos gradually faded as she ventured deeper into the heart of the abyss of the less populated area of the city.

A small, solitary sanctuary tucked away from the chaotic heart of Pentagram City. The air was thick with the oppressive weight of her surroundings, the stone walls, adorned with shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.

Closing the heavy door behind her, Neriah gingerly removed the tattered remnants of her dress once she reached her bedroom. She winced as the cool air met the exposed skin, the atrophied wing on her back throbbed incessantly.

With a sigh, she cautiously traced her fingertips over the remnants of her atrophied wing, the pain was a twisted reminder of the rebellion that led her to the depths of Hell. Neriah's thoughts drifted back to the events that had led her to this forsaken place. She remembered the misplaced act of compassion and the thrill of defiance that had coursed through her veins as she stood against the celestial order, the echoes of betrayal that had haunted her every step as she plummeted into the depths of Hell.

The remaining wing on her back was the witnessing of the Dominion angel she defeated, while her own wings were securely tucked away from prying eyes, this one wasn’t possible to do the same, attached on her skin the moment she fell in Hell, the visible remainder of her sin.

Neriah struggled to reach the charred wing on her back, gingerly trying to apply the salve, the angles and contortions causing her to wince with each touch.

The echoes of her musings were interrupted by a sudden, low chuckle. The shadows in the room seemed to dance as Alastor materialized from the darkness, his grin both charming and unsettling. Neriah's sapphire eyes met his when Alastor’s voice cut through the silence.

"My, my, what have we here? Struggling again, my dear Neriah?"

Alastor's piercing eyes met Neriah's in the mirror as he approached, his gloved hands reached for the ointment, offering his assistance, his touch surprisingly gentle.

The magic-infused salve provided only temporary relief, its soothing warmth offering but a fleeting respite from the constant ache that gnawed at her soul.

#Alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #oc #fanfiction #fallen angel #charlie #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #fem oc #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel

[poweredinpeace]

Luke 9:62 But Jesus said to him, "No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the Kingdom of God."

Lot’s wife looked back as sulfur and fire rained down from heaven over God’s wrath on Sodom & Gomorrah; ruined by fire and salt never to be planted again.

Nothing could grow to support life, just like nothing morally can grow in a sexual perverse society; one lead to the other!

To plant for God’s Kingdom the furrows must run deep and straight diverting eyes for the perversion of this world twist the heart into a false weed kingdom void of morals.

Isa. 3:9 The look of their faces testify against them. They parade their sin like Sodom. They don't hide it. Woe to their soul! For they have brought disaster upon themselves.

#politics #science #technology #parenting #pets #photography #quotes #student #architecture #art

[aziraphales-library]

hey, tysm for what you're doing, i've found so so many amazing fics through it

i was wondering if you've got any where after the bookshop fire Crowley just loses his shit, like, the "bastards! all of you!" except he's acting on it, 100% vengeful demon after all of heaven and hell. doesn't have to be after the fire even. i'm mostly just looking for bamf crowley fics because i've found a disturbing lack of them? or even if he's just some sort of villain, or fighting demons, or or or. preferably not E rated.

thanks!

The bookshop fire is not a moment people choose to make Crowley a BAMF, and most fics link that to trauma for Crowley. You can check our #protective crowley tag for fics where he is more of a bad ass, and I have some bamf Crowley fics here for you...

Forget Me Not by Supergeek21 (T)

Aziraphale wakes up in Heaven with a pounding headache only to realize he has very little memory of the last 6,000 years. The good news is he successfully averted the War. The bad news is the Serpent of Eden now wants to kill him for revenge, or so Gabriel tells him.

***

When Crowley pops by the bookshop to visit Aziraphale and is greeted by the full force of an angel's wrath, he has no clue what he's done to incur such rage, or why Aziraphale is apparently reading his old work reports, but he'll be blessed if he isn't going to find out and win him back.

The Art of Creation by Bookwormgal (T)

Once upon a time, long before humans set foot outside of Eden and long before his inelegant landing in a pool of boiling sulfur, Crowley had been an angel. An angel with a very different name and far less cynicism. And that angel was made to build Her creations. He built stars, nebulas, and other beautiful and complicated things far out there in the cosmos. He shaped fundamental elements and materials into new creations. He molded burning fires and sculpted dust into breath-taking patterns. He started bright and powerful reactions, serving as a catalyst to spark the birth of stars. He set various celestial objects spinning.

He built. He took raw materials and built wonderous things with them. He built because that was the role that She made him for. In the end, was rebuilding that much different than building? And wasn't rebuilding fairly close to healing?

When it was his angel's existence on the line, Crowley was willing to grab at any chance available. He would find a way to fix what had been damaged. He would find a way to save him.

But I would walk 500 miles by Augenblickgotter (T)

There's a conspiring of foes from both sides that forcefully kidnap Aziraphale. Crowley is in hot pursuit and will stop at nothing, finding some unlikely aid along the way, and bringing up his True Form when the time is needed.

Some depictions of pain and violence, minor character deaths by Holy Water, and mild gore. Also mild claustrophobic and dingy descriptions of Hell. And the boys relationship can be flat out platonic asexual best of friends or downright dirty lovers. The story is up to you and is more about how far they would go for each other. ;) No, no monster sex in this one either (comb for my last fic if you need it). Just BAMF Crowley ready to walk 500 Miles through Heaven or Hell to save his Angel.

I've Got You by caffeinefire (T)

Aziraphale felt the change in the air, a burst of power and a whiff of ozone. He spun, and jumped when he came face to face with Gabriel leering cheerfully over his right shoulder.

“Aziraphale!” he smiled as if greeting an old friend, then clapped his hands together loudly, so close it made Aziraphale flinch. “You’re early, so glad you could make it.” He began to walk around him, admiring the circle beneath his feet, careful not to cross it. It posed no real danger to him, it had already been activated, but crossing the bounds of an active circle was never a fun experience.

“Gabriel,” his voice wavered despite his best efforts. “What is the meaning of this?”

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

Hellfire didn't work, but Heaven has one more idea. And this time, they're going to force Crowley to watch.

Beyond Grace by HKBlack (T)

“Crowley, I need you to do what you do best.”   “Wozzat?”

“I need you to find me, and rescue me,” Aziraphale whispered.

After Aziraphale is discorporated Crowley goes on a mission to do what he does best. Recruiting help from both of their former Head Offices is easier said than done, especially when Hell thinks the whole thing is a ruse, and Heaven thinks you’re on the hunt for more angels to corrupt.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard.

Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved.

But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bamf crowley #protective crowley #aziraphale whump #kidnapping #mod d

[egginfroggin]

(Tags from this reblog) (so, so late in responding to these, ouf)

Yeah, it is a horrible time for everyone!

(This got super long, so full rant is under the cut)

Ingo was raised to believe that his powers, like Emmet's, were a gift from one of the Dragons.

He's has been under the impression that his powers -- while unusually strong -- should be able to be controlled, and believes that he is at fault for his own lack of control.

In actuality, bonds are needed to temper the uncontrolled ice that Kyurem cursed him with at birth. The powers grew with age, and unfortunately, Ingo was cut off from the very thing he needed to have any hope of controlling them.

On Kyurem's side of things, however, it sought to spread the same agony of isolation that it felt to the humans that scorn it. Its curses, throughout the ages, always end in tragedy -- the cursed child is either killed, or goes mad and winds up dead by force or by choice.

Ingo is the first cursed child it has ever met, and it was intrigued by him. Here's this isolated, lost soul, deprived of the warmth all children should have, and yet he isn't mad. He's more sad, than anything, and desperate to keep his twin and kingdom safe.

So, curiously, it shares the secret of controlling its powers -- the warmth of bonds -- and forms a connection with Ingo. Ingo gets some control over his "gift," and Kyurem gets a bond for the first time in centuries, if not the first time ever.

So they both get solace and find a level of understanding in each other, and then things go wrong, and Emmet finds Ingo. Cue interaction and separation (may have dropped him down a chasm, oops), and Ingo's emotions becoming once again volatile and full of guilt.

Kyurem chooses arguably the worst time to confess that it cursed Ingo, because Ingo is already full of guilt and self-hatred for hurting Emmet again, and the Kyurem basically tells him that he was never meant to control himself.

Ingo was, as per Kyurem's interference, essentially born to sow misery in his family. Kyurem, when it cursed him, wanted him to be miserable, and to spread that cold hatred to those around him, because Kyurem couldn't do that itself.

Control wasn't ever anything Ingo was meant to have.

Needless to say, the abrupt realization that, frankly, none of this is Ingo's fault simultaneously lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders and incited the worst, most vicious wrath Kyurem has ever been on the receiving end of.

I remember mentioning that bonds need to be reciprocated and upheld. The bond between Ingo and Emmet is all but broken, and while Emmet keeps offering his end, Ingo never picks it up and ties it to his own, completing the connection.

Ingo breaks their bond just about immediately, which leaves them both worse off than they were before, because Kyurem can now properly mourn its isolation, and Ingo properly embraces his own (symbolized by his eyes adopting a sulfur tone and his skin turning pallid, almost gray, visually matching with Kyurem).

So... yeah, betrayal is a good word for it. Ingo has been trusting Kyurem and eagerly accepting its tutorship in the hopes of bettering himself, and then he finds out that... basically, it was this or death, and was always meant to be death.

Everything about Ingo's existence at that point in the fic is a happy (read as: miserable) accident set in place by Kyurem.

And Kyurem didn't even tell him, didn't even think to tell him, until when? When he tells it that he almost killed his twin again? When he's a mess of emotions? When he's already poured everything he has into their connection, worn his heart on his sleeve and confessed every bit of self-blame he's ever felt to it?

It tells him that it was all unnecessary?

It couldn't have said as such earlier, so that he'd have had even a tiny, modicum of a chance at making things right?

No amount of regret can fix this.

#iced tracks #eggin's writings #submas #subway boss ingo #kyurem #kyurem doesn't even really try to apologize it's just. yeah. #the problem with forming a bond is that it softens people in a way #kyurem came to care about ingo #and so it feels the loss that much more strongly #also! ingo is the only person who knows where kyurem is incidentally #so when he winds up back at the castle kyurem is really alone #I'd like to point out that ingo does plan on making amends with the legendary #because he does kind of still need to fix what he did #but he needs to cool off first or else he doesn't know what will happen #and unfortunately he never gets the chance #because that's when drayden and ghetsis (especially ghetsis) find him #so! bad times :> #thank you for the tags! #edit: just realized how long this is so I put in a read more

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow, Day 4

Lost

I feel like we really need to talk more about how the Lost Woods are a concept as beautiful as it is terrifying actually.

Wild/BOTW/TOTK Link fans, this one's for you and brought by my severe sleep deprivation, enough caffeine to kill a grown woman with less spite and my medieval literature/narrative/poetry teacher who motivated me through the entire creative process via helping me throw ideas at the wall even as all of the essays I gotta turn in are going to make me late in posting Sage. *laughs hysterically, immediately collapses*

As always can be read as romantic or platonic, and it's up to interpretation what's going down on this one. And can also be read in or outside of an LU context, I'm leaving it vague both on purpose and because of sleep deprivation lol.

Of all places you could say you most intimately did not wish to be alone after being separated from the Chain, the Lost Woods of literally any era but specially Wild’s would definitely be on your top three at a pristine number one.

Really, if you weren’t currently being stalked through the darkened, shadowed weald of the once welcoming evergreen home of both the Minish and Kokiri, whom you knew could be much, much more beautiful lovely (it did aid in raising a good chunk of your beloved heroes, after all) and with your heart working with all the urgency of a wounded deer being chased by a wolf. You’d almost commend it for it’s choice in setting this time.

Keyword being almost, for it compared naught to the sheer and utter terror that burned through your every sinew, marrow and veins at the accuracy of that statement, and the implication that your nebulous and hauntingly familiar current hunter grew ever more clever each passing second of your adventure.

You ran, ran and ran through the living woods, trying desperately to find any possible landmark, an oddly shaped tree, one of the torches or the remain of the skeletons from the old, ruined iterations of the Temple of Time from long bygone eras that the forest had reclaimed, or the hint of the breeze soft whispers from the echoes of the Kokiri or the elated branch rattle giggling laughter of the Skull Children. At this point you’d take even the the mad, beast like howling of the Stalfos or the tortured wailing of Poes, somewhere between vesania tainted laughter and the primal, feral pleading for one’s survival that shook you to the marrow.

There was no such symphony now, the woods as silent as a grave.

(The hauting ground of so, so many that it did not love or could not hold onto anymore, whispered a corner of your mind, and it sounded like the Shadow, with it’s ominous phlegmatic hissing, twisted amusement and sadistic brutality all in one.)

Your arm had long gone numb, broken under the impossible force held by the beast of sulfur and obsidian that the world itself rebelled against warring at it’s very existence as it roared it’s wrath back at it, the Goddesses, Hylia and Demise and your heroes and princesses caught in the middle of divine design, your legs giving out under the weight of your exhaustion, you tasted copper from the wound on your head dripping down your lips but that did not stop you. Would not stop you, couldn’t stop you.

You grit your teeth so hard against the shout that wanted to tear it’s way out of your throat as you barely kept yourself from hitting your head, diverting your momentum against an old, lonely tree. Your blood sinking into the wood, good, better it than Dark Link.

You were tired, you were exhausted, you swore you could hear a growl among the melancholy of the mist. You hoped the shade did not manage to track you down as you made sure not to leave a trail of blood, but something tells you that it wouldn’t need it to track you even with the faint moonlight barely giving enough aid in your own quest to find it before it found you with your only, laughable weapon being an old arrow you’ve pilfered from a long decomposed corpse almost falling from your white knuckled grip.

You didn’t want to die, you needed to survive.

You though of the Chain, your lovely, chaotic, kind boys, of Sky’s ever ecompassing kindness and Four’s brilliant cleverness, Time’s quiet comfort and Legend’s fierce hidden gentleness and Wind’s trailblazing joy, Hyrule’s tender sweetness and Warrior’s warm protectiveness and Wild’s beautiful adoration for life.

You missed them, and it was likely you wouldn’t see them again, that more than anything hurt more than all of your wounds combined.

You try to push yourself up, to move, to live, to keep moving forward, caring not for the stillness of the glade. Barely noticing the sudden silence as you almost pitched forward once again, stumbling onto the earth as your grip onto your makeshift weapon finally gave out-

Only for a pair of arms to catch you, steady, magnolias and rosemary, petrichor from untamed, ancient Hyrule. A bright Sheikah cerulean tunic and a navy cloak falling over darkned boots.

You freeze, hands twitching, it couldn’t be an illusion. You’ve seen plenty in the corner of your eye as you traversed through the woods, attempting to lead you astray. None of them were solid, many of them weren’t quite as cold as this, whoever was holding you.

But it couldn't be real either, it shouldn't.

“Link...?”, came your tired rasp, you felt as if you’ve swallowed sand (briefly, you wondered if the taste of flowers on the back of your tongue mixing with the copper of the liquid of life in your veins was the reason. Then resolved yourself not to think about it), your traitorous body succumbing to exhaustion as the stranger gently held you up (friend, friend, but it couldn’t be, Wild tried to hold onto you, the memory of his desperation scorching under your eyelids like a brand and his howl of denial mixed with self loathing would haunt your for days to come, maybe months, he was far away and hopefully safe, it couldn’t be him).

The figure merely steadied you against themselves, silent as they swung you into their arms, you briefly struggled. It was instinct to put up a fight, to push against the liminal illusion cruelly meant to haunt your possible last moments as another soon to be lost souls chest, or heck for all you knew it could be the Shadow, dragging it out, playing with your torment as it gave you scraps of hope before taking it away. The figure paused, only to gently readjust you -painfully careful as the memory of the gentleness belonging to your Champion but oh so wrong made your heart ache-, the figure lowly speaking, their tone the emerald eternity of the kingdom’s fields and like setting stitches against your wounded self, like the soothing nature of early autumn rain. Almost a whisper, cracked like the wind through the leaves.

“... Rest. You’ll be alright.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to claw and fight and bite his throat off just in case even if you weren’t sure it would take, as with your head in the crook of his hood you couldn’t hear a heartbeat, but your exhaustion won out in the end. Held in the warmth of the sun over Faron Woods with the glimpse of fierce cerulean blue, the gaze of a reynard whom a part of you knew wouldn’t give you up without a fight and safer than you felt since getting pounced through that cursed portal.

When you next came to, it was to Wild’s frantic worry at the edges of camp, his hair like a frazzled shroud as he dropped everything in hand of his watch to check on your now wrapped wounds. Hugging you tight as you held him just as close back.

This time, you found a heartbeat, and you could almost weep with relief, and in the darkness of the woods a shrouded shade smiled.

Returning to the mist unseen and unheard. But content you were home.

#linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe wild x reader #props to those who catch the OoT manga/OTGW reference I managed to sneak in on what was going down with Reader #look. I don't agree that when Wild died something else took his place though I think it's a really cool concept #but I can agree that the person who went into that shrine ain't the same it came out even if it's still Link #I like to believe those are concepts that can coexist in the liminal and ephemeral context of identity #The Lost Woods are technically alive and I intend to explore that concept for as long as I can #summer writes linktober shadow 2023 #summer writes

[kittenfangirl20]

Continuation of this post.

*when Adam wasn’t with Lucifer at the Deadly Sins Gala, he was hanging Fizzarolli and this other imp named Blitzø (with a silent ø) who was dragged along with some owl demon named Stolas that was friends with Lucifer, but Adam could tell that Blitzø was happy to be there with his owl demon lover, Adam decided he wanted to dance with Lucifer again so he went to find him and saw him with what looked like a fat Christmas tree, Adam remembered Lucifer pointing him out and said he was Mammon, the Demon Prince of Greed, Adam wondered why he couldn’t wear his usual clothes when Mammon wore that hideous getup not realizing that Lucifer just wanted Adam to wear a tux*

Mammon: Lucifer, you sly dog, I never thought that you would collect the whole set.

Lucifer: Excuse me?

Mammon: First you got Lilith, then Eve, and now Adam. You have fucked the first of humanity.

*Adam clenched his fists until his claws dug into the palms of his hands drawing gold blood, since he was a fallen angel his blood remained gold instead of turning red, Adam felt an clawed hand clutch his shoulder, he could tell by the hot breath smelling of sulfur that it was Satan, the Demon Prince of Wrath*

Satan: Are you going to let Mammon talk about you like you are some cheap whore, show him that you are a true man.

*Adam shouldn’t let those words get to him, but he was too angry and hurt to think straight, all he could think of was Lucifer laughing with the other Demon Princes and Princesses about how he slept with the first three humans, Adam pulled himself from the grip and stormed over to Mammon and Lucifer, before either could say anything, Adam kneed Mammon in the gut and when Mammon fell, Adam pinned him to the ground and started to mercilessly punch him and he felt a little satisfaction when blood was drawn from the punches, but Adam was pulled from Mammon and lightly flung aside into a sitting position with Lucifer looking down at him confused*

Lucifer: Adam, what is going on?

*Adam looked down in embarrassment knowing that all eyes were on him and he flinched hearing Satan’s cackle echoing through the now quiet room*

Adam: I want to go home.

*his voice was soft and filled with pain, Lucifer’s confused look was replaced with one of sorrow and understanding, he held out his hand to Adam which he quickly took, Lucifer opened a portal and led Adam through, instead of his hotel room they were in an office filled with ducks*

Adam: Where are we?

Lucifer: The office in my palace, I thought we would like some privacy so we can talk.

*Adam looked around and saw the paintings and photos of Lucifer’s family, it felt as if Lilith was about to laugh at Adam over his actions at the Gala saying that it was proof that Adam wasn’t worthy of someone as sophisticated as Lucifer, he was upset and noticed that there were no pictures of him up on the wall not knowing that on Lucifer’s desk there was a framed photo of Adam being hugged by Charlie during one of their many visits to Lu Lu World so Lucifer could always look at him and Charlie while sitting at the desk, Adam let Lucifer lead him out of the room while Adam was trying to not cry because he feared that Lucifer was about to break up with him*

(If you are wondering, I am basing this off the fact that in the Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss Universe, Lucifer and Satan are two different characters and while Lucifer is a way more sympathetic character in Hazbin Hotel, I see Satan as the master of evil and a manipulator like he was in the Bible, so basically he is what Sera thinks Lucifer is)

#hazbin hotel #adam #hazbin hotel adam #sinner adam #fallen angel adam #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #helluva boss #mammon #helluva boss mammon #satan #helluva boss/hazbin hotel satan #adam/lucifer

[acridtongue]

THE MOUTH TO HELL IS GRINNING WIDE IN FRONT OF YOU ...　　

* ◟ : 〔 LEE DONG-WOOK , NON BINARY + HE / THEY 〕 ba-rom, lee , some say you’re a forty year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both amorous and erratic, one can’t help but think of enlacing by clipping when you walk by. are you still the underboss / memory maker for the terrors / stoneage industries, even with your reputation as the hellmouth? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and WHY DO YOU ALWAYS A SMILE WITH FAR TOO MANY TEETH ; THIS SMILE HAS NEVER INVITED COMFORT, THE MISPLACED LAUGHTER BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW ELSE TO RESPOND, A BEAUTIFUL FACE DOESN'T EQUAL A BEAUTIFUL SOUL, although we can’t help but think of midnighter ( wildstorm comics ) + corinthian ( the sandman ) + ryou asuka ( devilman crybaby ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

... IF YOU SMELL THE SULFUR IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE

TW: NONE AT THE MOMENT.

BASICS

full name. ba-rom, lee nicknames. baron / rome date of birth. june 11th. zodiac. gemini. age. 40 gender. masc nonbinary. pronouns. he/they sexuality. bisexual. occupation. underboss for the terrors, memory maker for stoneage industries

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

height. 6'1. hair color. dark brown. eye color. black. build. lanky, but built well. very subtle muscle tattoos.   hellmouth tattoo sleeve, on his right arm. sword tattoo, at the back of his neck. mechanical joints on his left hand. piercings.  tongue piercing, double earlobe on his left ear and antihelix, single lobe on his right ear and triple helix.

PSYCHE

stability. erratic. intelligence.  above average. positive traits. amorous. charismatic. exuberant. negative traits. erratic. manipulative. arrogant. alignment. lawful evil. temperment. choleric-sanguine. sins.  lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath. virtues.  chasity / charity / temperance / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice.

AESTHETICS

nightmare in a suit. a grinning face in a melancholic room. beautiful, but rotten inside. tongue laced in acid. too charming to be honest. the devil you know.

FACTS DUMP -

since barom was a child, he's had the innate interest in technological advances. despite his extroverted personality, his hobbies were always quite introverted. learning his own code, delving into the seedier parts of the web. since an early age he was making strings of numbers useless to those interested in things more physical. however, this was the perfect start for a future memory maker.

as a memory maker, he specializes in memories meant to reflect trauma and the swirl of emotions which comes from it. graphic details concerning a magnitude of negative character regression, intense emotions and feelings of shame. while this is his specialty, he also is intrigued by introducing feelings of euphoria and the concept of hubris into replicants. his goal is to make replicants as flawed and unpredictable as natural humans. no one is perfect and no one is spared from trauma or character flaws.

#lawlessintro #ill add more facts when im not tired but here's the potatoes to the meat.

[sailor-toni]

I’m Humanity's Last Hope, But My Hot Arch Enemy Came to My Balcony Missing His Arm, and Confessing his Love for Me?!?

You can also read this on A03, FF.net, or Wattpad!

Dan Phantom had disappeared two years ago after he was a hair's breath away from destroying the last of humanity. The anti-Ghost shield was destroyed, and their weapons were useless against him. The last thing Valerie Gray saw was a younger Phantom with Sam and Tucker alive and fighting. Then she woke up in the hospital, with her father at her bedside, praying. Much like the citizens of Amity Park, who huddled up in their homes, praying for Dan’s wrath to be quick and painless. And many believe someone had answered their call, for in the disbelief and silence Amity Park rebuilt itself once again. A new shield was erected, and life moved on for those who survived, leaving those like Valerie Gray behind, wishing to be rid of the gory past. But how could she let go when she knew he was going to come back, and when it came to Phantom, she was never wrong. 

 “I didn’t know where else to go.” The sound of the rain smashing upon the metal roof was drowned out by his words.

Valerie’s grip loosened at the sight of him. Dan Phantom, humanity's greatest threat,  was standing at her balcony door, his left arm reduced to an oozing green hole, and his ghastly blue skin bleed through his ripped suit. He smelled of sulfur and fire, with half of his white cape, reduced to half of its size. The remaining half had been burnt to a black crisp. All while green ectoplasm ran down his body in thick rivers. With a sigh, she moved aside and let him in. 

    Phantom’s hulking form came into the light of the apartment, limping past the kitchen before throwing himself upon the velvet bench, his head resting against the wall of photographs. Star had been the one to come up with the idea. A gallery of photos, one for everyone she cared about, so that when they passed they wouldn’t be forgotten. Valerie tried to remember when this all started, was it freshman year when Phantom started showing up? Was it when he ruined her life (for the first time) and made her father lose his job. Valerie chucked in her head, at fourteen she was so angry and frustrated. Her home was gone, her friends had dropped her, and the two of them were forced to move into a run-down apartment building. The first week they lived there, the water heater broke. She remembered crying in the locker room the next day, ashamed at having to use the school’s showers to clean herself. Phantom was smaller back then, but it wouldn’t be the last time he ruined her life. 

    Her first aid kit was an army green metal box filled with borrowed medical supplies and surgical tools. Her fights with Phantom and other paranormals had made her medical expenses skyrocket, and Valerie found it easier to collapse on her couch and fix herself up.

“I’m going to have to clean the area up before I can fix it. It’s going to sting,” She said. 

“Do your worst,” He said. His smirk was smacked clean off his face when Valerie grabbed the remainder of his suit and pulled it off his shoulder. The fabric was soaked in ectoplasm and had begun to harden over the hole. Dan bit his lip, grunting in pain. “This must make you happy, to see me like this.” 

“Why would you say that?” The wet fabric was cut clean off his skin, landing on her hardwood floors with a splat. The skin around the wound was torn, with parts stretched and twisted into small skin strands. It looked more like torn leather than skin. Deep in her medical kit she pulled out a brown bottle of peroxide. 

“I don’t need that. Unlike you humans, ghosts don’t succumb to infe-” He cut his own words off with a loud grunt. Ectoplasm started dripping out of his clenched mouth, as the foam of the peroxide cleaned the dirt and debris away.

“Ghost or not, one should always make sure wounds are clean of any poison or dirt before treatment.”

“Since when has peroxide removed poison?” 

“Don’t be a baby, it’s just peroxide.” 

“You dumped half the bottle on me!” 

“It’s a big hole,” She pressed a wet cloth against it, gently rubbing away caked green blood and anything the peroxide couldn’t catch. 

“I now see why you fight on the front lines.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Well, usually women tend to work as nurses, not as soldiers. As women tend to be more motherly and nurturing; but you seem to be lacking those qualities.” Only Dan Phantom could say this to her with that smarmy smirk on his face. Like he expected to be praised for his observation. Valerie took the cloth, wrapped it around her two fingers before quickly jabbing it deep into his wound. “WOMAN!” He threw his head against the wall, throwing several pictures off their hooks. “You cruel bitch! AH! FUCK!” 

“Talk shit, get hit. You came to my house, you follow my rules,” Valerie said. 

“I came to you for help! Not to be assaulted!”  

“Is that not the reason you attack Amity Park every few weeks? You fly in proclaiming yourself to be god, only for my lonesome self to kick your ass back to the Ghost Zone. At this point one would think you have developed a fetish for it.”

“You think I am a masochist?”  

“Only a masochist would attack Amity Park over and over again, and lose every time.” 

“I have not lost!” 

“Your goal is to take down the ghost shield and destroy humanity. You monologue it everytime we fight. Yet the city is still thriving, I would call that a loss. Now strip.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You have more cuts and wounds on your chest, I need you to take your shirt off, so I can get to them.” 

“Of- course.” With his remaining arm Phantom grabbed his shirt, and phased it off his body. His chest was sculpted like a Greek statue; with the cuts and bruises mimicking the destruction of time upon a statue's body. A new warm damp cloth was retrieved from the kitchen to wipe away these wounds, while Phantom held a rap to his exposed hole. Her stash of band aids had been raided and taken over by Paulia’s and Star’s children who came over with their mothers for visits. So Peppa Pig and Firetruck band-aids were used for the scraps and bruises. “Do you have any __?” The end was left hanging, for the first time in a long time Phantom looked concerned? Worried?  

“No. My friends have children and I watch them when I’m not busy fighting you.” 

“Ah I see. You do have a motherly side,” Dan chuckled. Valriew wrenched her arm back for another strike. “NO! NO! No! I was making a joke!”

“You know the rules!” 

“Do you do this to the children?” 

“The children know how to keep their mouths shut. Plus, I like them more than you.” 

“That wounds me Valerie.” 

“Aw… well, get over it.” She said, With a fresh roll of gauze, she shoved as much as she could into the gaping wound. “Tomorrow morning I’ll replace this with fresh gauze and we will change it out every day and night until it closes up on its own. Since you’re a ghost, that shouldn’t be too long.” A second roll was wrapped around his chest and shoulder, securing the wad in place. 

“You always surprise me. I didn't think you would actually help me,” Dan looked up to her, his red eyes meeting hers. 

“Did you come here expecting a quick death?” 

“No, but I don’t have many allies. I’m afraid that is one of the many consequence s of world destruction. Not many are quick to lend a helping hand to the one who is destroying it.” 

“So you came to me?” 

“When I thought of hope I thought of you.” 

“Mmm… I can tell when you’re lying.” 

“Am I? Are you not humanity's last hope?” Valerie thought about dumping the vodka in her fridge on him, but he wasn’t completely wrong. 

“I was, but since you’ve been gone for so long, there is nothing to protect humanity from.” 

“How long have I been gone?’ 

“Two years.”

“Hun, it felt longer.” 

“Where did you go?” 

“Did you miss me?” 

“UGH- don’t ask me that bullshit. Just answer the damn question.” 

Phantom’s laugh was like red velvet cake, deep and smooth, “I missed toying with you,” 

“I didn’t miss your taunting, now tell me what happened to you. Before I lose my patience and kick you out.” 

“You won’t do that.” 

“You wanna test that?” 

“I like to see you try.” 

“I’m sorry who just bandaged your body? You know I think I have more peroxide in the bathroom.” 

“NO! I think the first half gallon was enough.” Valerie finally broke character and laughed at the ghost. Her hand gripped the wall to keep herself steady. 

“Are you scared of peroxide?” 

“Only when you use it my dear.” Dan said. He sighed, pulling himself up and began his story. “Clockwork did this to me.” 

“Who’s Clockwork?” 

“The ghost of time. When humans die they become ghosts, when animals die they become the beast that roams the ghost zone, when plants die they become the floating land that make up the Ghost Zone. And when every day that dies and becomes a new, it becomes one singular ghost. He has made himself guardian of time, watching over it to make sure everything goes according to his plans. He had my younger self travel to the future and trap me in the Fenton thermos. And then he kept me in his tower outside of time, in order to ensure I did not cause trouble,” The last word he said with one set of air quotes. “I only managed to escape when the seal became rusted, and I tried to return to the past.”

“Why the past? You can’t kill your past self, that's suicide.” 

“No, I wanted to change the past,” Dan turned his gaze downward. “To tell you the truth all I could think about inside that soup can was you. I know with everything I have done things could never work out between us. I realize far too late that this was a mess of my own doing. But maybe I could go back and get a second chance as Fenton. To be able to tell you, I love you, without the guilt of what I’ve done. But I was weak from captivity and I fought the ghost of time, and you can see the rest.” 

    TIK TOK TIK TOK. The clock in her kitchen dragged every second through her body like a rake.  She always knew who Phantom really was. It wasn’t hard to figure out, Danny disappeared whenever trouble appeared, and he always came back with his skin painted in shades of pain. She didn’t want to notice, she loved him. Danny was her first kiss, and she had broken up with him to protect him. What a fool she was. 

    The second time Phantom ruined her life was when she was 15 years-old. The Nasty Burger had exploded, destroying the entire Fenton family and Danny’s Friends. Danny disappeared with a rich relative and Phantom's presence in Amity Park was gone. She spent months looking for him in every shadow and rooftop. At that young age she would never admit it, but without him there she was lonely. At 27 she was still lonely without him. He was the only one that knew who she really was. Ghost Hunter, soldier, hero, teen girl. If she could go back, Valerie would want to find out more about him, to know him like she knew him. Or at least to know him before his return. 

    Phantom came back with pale blue corpse skin, burning hot hair, and those horrible eyes. At first glance she assumed it was a new ghost, for the skinny boy was wearing anothers eyes upon his face. They were too big for his face, and full of undeniable rage. 

    Then came the destruction. Blood flowed through the streets as men, women, children, it didn’t matter. If it moved, Phantom ripped it apart and scattered its corpse upon the ground. Her hair was drenched in blood, as he held her down strangling her, his gloves twisted upon her neck. Those red eyes bore down on hers. It was as if he was forcing his hatred into her soul. She couldn’t remember what she said to him, but he threw her. The glass windows tore through her back, ripping through her suit and cutting deep. Her spinning vision was no hindrance to her next movements. Gun raised, the whiplashed broke her shoulder, but the scream from Phantom sent shock waves through her body. One thought rang through her hazy mind; Phantom had only come back to ruin her life a second time.   

    The fact that Valerie Gray was 15 year-old was quickly disregarded, as she was brought from the hospital bed to the front lines to save humanity from Phantom. 

“I understand if you hate me,” Dan said. 

    Valerie looked upon her gallery wall of photos. At 13 she had dreams of attending MIT and becoming an engineer. At 12 she had plans to marry a man who saw her as his equal and formed a life with him. At 11 she had proudly told her father that she would give him no more than three kids. But right now she was 27 years old, and she never got a chance to graduate from Casper High. 

“You give me plenty of reasons to,” She replied.     TIK TOK, TIK TOK. 

“And yet I let you in,” she mumbled. Dan’s head snapped towards her, for the first time in a long time his eyes were truly his own. “I don’t know what that says about me, but whatever answer you're looking for I can’t give now.”

“I understand,” He sent his gaze back down. 

    The third time he ruined his life was two years ago. Without Phantom Valerie found herself bored. Yes, she took out the smaller ghost that tried to fill the power vacuum, and many still proclaimed her a hero, but she had spent the past two years in stasis. Watching the days go past like molasses on a cold winter’s day. 

 “But it’s late. Let’s talk more about this in the morning.” She sighed. 

Dan pulled himself up from the bench, hissing in pain as he did so. She wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped him to the living room. 

“You’re letting me stay here?” 

“You said you had no one else to go to.” 

“What if I try to do something?” 

“I’ll pull your other arm out, now-” Her words faded away as the two rounded the corner. 

    On her couch was an old man with blue corpse-like skin in a purple hood and his legs hand formed together into a specter-like tail. The man snapped his pocket watch close, before tucking it into his tunic, the silver chain hung loosely around his waist. . 

“You!” Dan hissed. 

“I assume that is Clockwork?” Valerie said. 

“Your assumption is correct,” Clockwork replied. 

“The creep has probably been here the whole time listening to our conversation.” 

“T’was an interesting one.” 

“I didn’t think there was a ghost more annoying than you,” Valerie said. Dan rolled his eyes.  

“You must be jesting Ms. Gray, for I am nothing but a gentleman.” Clockwork said. 

“Sureeee A gentleman who eavesdrops on private conversations,” Valerie reached behind her, feeling the handle of her ecto-blaster hidden under her end table. “Can we cut to the chase. Why are you here, and what do you want?” 

“Val, you can’t fight him,” Dan said. 

“Don’t worry, I am not here to finish you off, the world will do that for me. I am here to offer Ms. Gray a deal,” Clockwork floated up, his face began to morph and shrink, twisting away the wrinkles until all that remained was a blue skinned child.

“First explain that, what the hell was that,” Valerie said. 

“As Dan has explained before, I am a ghost of time, the ectoplasmic leftovers of every second,, every minute, and every hour. As the days go past my body gathers more and more energy, resulting in a bodily form that is less than stable. I ask you to not mind it, I am sure my form will change at least three more times before we strike our deal.”

“And what deal are you making Mr. Ghost of every second, minute and hour?” 

“And what do you mean by the world will take care of me?” Dan snapped back. 

“My powers over time allow me to see every possible future, and when the most plausible future for the young Fenton boy was to become that,” Clockwork jabbed towards Dan. “I decided to intervene with time. Call it a bad habit of mine, but I prefer to see a peaceful world, rather than wanton destruction. So, I brought this doomed timeline to life and thrusted the young man. I am sure you remember that day, I believe you called him cute? Either way it was success, not only was the young man able to trap Dan, but he changed his course on life. The future now shines much brighter. But I am now stuck with a paradox. This future will never come to pass, meaning everything that happened after the death of the Fenton family and the nasty burger explosion will cease to exist. I have been using my power to keep this world alive, to allow its inhabitants to know peace. But I am only a ghost of time, helpless to time itself, and time does not like paradoxes. Before the sunrises this world will cease to exist. Living only in the memories of those who managed to travel here two years ago.”

“What?! Well what can we do?” Valerie said. 

“Nothing, all are powerless to the march of time. But while looking back on the timeline, I realized that for a hero as great as you, this seemed like an ill-fitting end. Thus, I am here to offer you a deal. I give you the ability to live in a world where Dan Phantom never destroyed Amity park, and in exchange you sometimes do things for me.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“You can’t be considering this?” Dan asked. 

“Given what he did to you, and who he is, I don't doubt him,” She replied. 

“Nothing crazy. Getting rid of a person here, moving a ghost there, small things to maintain the future of humanity.” Clockwork said. 

“Why would a ghost want humanity to stay?” 

“Because it is very, very rare for a ghost to be born fully formed without the aid of another ghost or a human soul. If humanity disappeared, eventually all ghosts born on humans would pass on and cease to be. And that would leave me quite bored.” 

“How virtuous of you,” Valerie whipped out her gun. “But I prefer to live in my own time now tell me how to fix this world.” 

“If I knew how I would tell you, but I am no deceiver.” 

Valerie blinked. Her TV came down with a thundering crash upon Dan’s body. The missing body weight sent her stumbling forward. Then she was stumbling backwards, as if pushed. Regaining her balance she felt cold hard metal against the nape of her neck. 

“How?” She breathed. 

“I am the ghost of time, therefore I am able to manipulate it to my will.” Clockwork spoke behind her, her gun wrapped in his aging hand. “Here take this. I speak the truth when I say I mean no harm to you.” He gave the gun back to her. The barrel had been sliced open and its core removed. Rendering it useless. 

“What about Dan?” She asked. 

“Since he is the reason the world has become like this, he will stay here and face his untimely end. A fitting end for someone like him,” Clockwork said. 

    The floor shook and rumbled under them. The sky beyond her apartment was cracking and swirling into a deep void. The rising sun spun into the pitch black vortex, depriving the world of its last sunrise. Signaling the end of this world. 

“He comes with me,” Valerie said. 

“No,” Clockwork grimaced. 

“Yes, you told him that he hasn’t earned a second chance, but how is he supposed to earn one stuck in a soup can?” 

“Fine, but you will be responsible for anything he does.” 

“I accept that,” Valerie moved forward and grabbed the pocket watch from Clockwork. The black metal had a blue CW engraved upon its surface. She put it around her neck before grabbing the thermos from him, and for the fourth time, Dan Phantom had found a way to drastically change her life. 

#Danny phantom #dan phantom #valerie gray #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #Val #Dark gray #shipping #romance #blood #clockwork #missing limbs #light novel title

[greywolf8725]

Ezekiel 38 (NIV)

38 The word of the Lord came to me: 2 “Son of man, set your face against Gog, of the land of Magog, the chief prince of[a] Meshek and Tubal; prophesy against him 3 and say: ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: I am against you, Gog, chief prince of[b] Meshek and Tubal. 4 I will turn you around, put hooks in your jaws and bring you out with your whole army—your horses, your horsemen fully armed, and a great horde with large and small shields, all of them brandishing their swords. 5 Persia, Cush[c] and Put will be with them, all with shields and helmets, 6 also Gomer with all its troops, and Beth Togarmah from the far north with all its troops—the many nations with you.

7 “‘Get ready; be prepared, you and all the hordes gathered about you, and take command of them. 8 After many days you will be called to arms. In future years you will invade a land that has recovered from war, whose people were gathered from many nations to the mountains of Israel, which had long been desolate. They had been brought out from the nations, and now all of them live in safety. 9 You and all your troops and the many nations with you will go up, advancing like a storm; you will be like a cloud covering the land.

10 “‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: On that day thoughts will come into your mind and you will devise an evil scheme. 11 You will say, “I will invade a land of unwalled villages; I will attack a peaceful and unsuspecting people—all of them living without walls and without gates and bars. 12 I will plunder and loot and turn my hand against the resettled ruins and the people gathered from the nations, rich in livestock and goods, living at the center of the land.[d]” 13 Sheba and Dedan and the merchants of Tarshish and all her villages[e] will say to you, “Have you come to plunder? Have you gathered your hordes to loot, to carry off silver and gold, to take away livestock and goods and to seize much plunder?”’

14 “Therefore, son of man, prophesy and say to Gog: ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: In that day, when my people Israel are living in safety, will you not take notice of it? 15 You will come from your place in the far north, you and many nations with you, all of them riding on horses, a great horde, a mighty army. 16 You will advance against my people Israel like a cloud that covers the land. In days to come, Gog, I will bring you against my land, so that the nations may know me when I am proved holy through you before their eyes.

17 “‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: You are the one I spoke of in former days by my servants the prophets of Israel. At that time they prophesied for years that I would bring you against them. 18 This is what will happen in that day: When Gog attacks the land of Israel, my hot anger will be aroused, declares the Sovereign Lord. 19 In my zeal and fiery wrath I declare that at that time there shall be a great earthquake in the land of Israel. 20 The fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the beasts of the field, every creature that moves along the ground, and all the people on the face of the earth will tremble at my presence. The mountains will be overturned, the cliffs will crumble and every wall will fall to the ground. 21 I will summon a sword against Gog on all my mountains, declares the Sovereign Lord. Every man’s sword will be against his brother. 22 I will execute judgment on him with plague and bloodshed; I will pour down torrents of rain, hailstones and burning sulfur on him and on his troops and on the many nations with him. 23 And so I will show my greatness and my holiness, and I will make myself known in the sight of many nations. Then they will know that I am the Lord.’

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

So, after receiving this ask from dear @boowoomp, asking me about any new AU I can give a sneak peek of, I decided to share a tiiiiny WIP of an AU I have been working on and off in the past year or so, and one of the dearest to my heart.

I took great inspiration and some terminology from G.R.R.Martin "A Song of Ice and Fire" books and from the Arthurian Legends I so much adore, and as I said, this is incredibly self-indulgent, but it's an AU that means so so so SO much to me.

So, allow me to share with you a WIP of "The Dragon Queen".

I hope you will like it! <3

(....)“Where is my cousin?” Byron heard the young Phillip ask. As he entered the room, with his imperious strut and haughty gaze, the older man couldn’t stop but think of how different he was from the young Princess. No, The Young Queen, as now that was her title.

“Her Majesty is asleep, thank the Gods,” he answered briskly. Dorothea had been his ward ever since her father and mother passed, caught in an ambush at the beginning of the war, and each day the Northman felt the responsibility for her well-being. She was his Queen, the Sovereign to whom he had sworn his sword and shield, but she was more than that: he had cared about her ever since she was a child, and now, each time he looked at her, he always saw a daughter - his daughter- not just the Ruler of Camelot. “Should we awake her? The Ironborn is bound north as we speak.” Byron shook his head, trying to hide the cursed weariness that had been threatening to take over him in the past few days. “Let her rest, Lord Phillip. She hardly had any sleep ever since the Borgias’ message reached us. You and I will be there to welcome the Protector of the Realm,” “So…the war is coming to us then?” Byron clenched his jaw, involuntarily. “As much as I hate to think about it, the war is coming to Camelot. The Scarred man will stop at nothing, this time around. He has already taken over the realm of The Magnificent, and the Siblings in Hellas are holding their ground, but I don’t know for how longer.” “We would be lucky if we were to have soldiers like the Spartan Furies in our ranks,” Phillip said, a thread of hope in his words. Byron turned to look at the young man standing next to him: He was barely older than the Queen, and much like her, he had never experienced war before. A Child of Spring, he was, and despite the thick beard he had grown in the past year, Byron could only see the young child that oftentimes tried to quarrel with the knights of the Queensgards. His eyes said more than he wanted to. He could try to hide it, but he was afraid. Byron sighed, resigned more than anything else. Then, he spoke again. “I will be fighting on the front line. The Ironborn shall come and bring his wrath upon them all. We shall not surrender this city to the Scarred Man. He shall NEVER land his hands on Camelot. So long the Queen shall reign -so long a Pendragon shall reign- the Kingdom will not fall,”

(...........................)

Ashes and smoke.

It was all Dorothea could see in front of her, amidst the snow that had started to fall from the heavy clouds above them. The smoke coming from the burning around them was so thick, it appeared as a cloud too.

The smell of brimstone and sulfur filled the air around her, an air so still, so silent, it seemed frozen in time.

The thundering sound of flapping wings and the shrieks of the Banes pierced that silence, rendering the whole scene even more surreal, if not for the wailing of the thousands of people running below, a hoard of souls miserably deluded that they could ever outrun the dragons hovering above them, delusional they could survive what was about to happen.

Queen Dorothea was soaring the Scarred Man City, a town perched on top of a hill that oversaw the harbour beneath them, her own army secured and away outside the walls of the citadel, but she could not see far beyond the dragon’s powerful body, her eyes filled with tears of wrath and pain.

She felt Zernas’ and the Ironborn’s presence at her left, Aldebaran’s and the Leviathan’s at her right, standing by, awaiting a signal from her on what to do next.

Morgenstern flapped his wings with impatience and irritation, snapping his jaws with a deafening sound, barely controlled and reined in by Dorothea’s own willpower.

The Queen’s will had always been absolute, her control of her dragon, her companion since birth, impossible to break. Much like the Bane of the Mediterranean, the Black Dread’s mind was forever bonded to that of his rider, so that no one would ever control him.

Dorothea’s will had always been adamant, immovable, and so was Morgenstern’s.

Yet, she felt her fear and anguish creeping up on her, their cold fingers clutching around her heart, squeezing until all the blood had left her chest; and with that terror, that sufferance lingering in her soul, she felt her own control over Morgenstern slip away, as her mind flew back at the time Byron had told her about her parents’ death, the moment she had learned that she was completely alone in the world, on the verge of a war against something never seen before, ruling a kingdom she had not been ready to rule.

Alone.

Her hands clutched the saddle fastened between the dragon’s powerful wings, as her whole mind was pulled to the memories of the arrow that had pierced Sir Jacob’s chest, her loyal knight, her brave Champion…the only one that had managed to bring her smile back on her lips, like a warm ray of sun in the long summer days, after so many years of cold winter.

Her breath hitching in the back of her throat, she found herself almost drowning in her anguish, unable as she was to stop her tearless sobs, her eyes only seeing the tip of the arrow piercing his chest, with blood gushing out of the wound, staining his robe with that crimson colour that matched her House Sygil.

She had no idea if he would live or die. When she had left him in his tent, with her Maester beside him and her medallion, the only protection she had to give him, she had left not knowing if he would be still alive, on her return.

No matter how much she had wanted to stay with him, her army -her people- were awaiting for her, to bring that War to an end…and yet, the only thing her heart whispered about was her champion’s smile, the way he would come to her tent each night, without failure,to bid her goodnight …the way, whenever she retreated to rest, she would always find a flower laying on her pillow, and she knew it was him who had gifted it to her.

She had no idea if she would see him smiling at her another day, she didn’t know if she would ever hear his voice ringing in her ear again.

Another tearless sob left her chest, a grunt so strangled in her throat, she thought she was going to choke on her own pain.

Morgenstern roared and bellowed one more time, shaking his scaly head, snapping his mouth filled with fangs, biting the empty air.

“Jacob,” she thought, closing her eyes, wanting to see his lovely face smiling at her, trying to will away the vision of his pale cheeks, his lifeless face, the blood that had started to soak his robe.

But nothing worked.

Nothing willed that vision away.

Rage filled her heart, as she breathed through her teeth, her jaw clenched so tight she thought all her muscles would snap.

She glared one last time at the ground, at the soldiers that had caused her people to suffer. She glared at them as they ran to find refuge in the houses, and in one moment of lucidity, she couldn’t help but think about how they all looked like a herd of sheep. Sheep herded by the Scarred Man, the one that, along with the Borgias, had caused that insane war, the one that had put their entire world into chaos.

”You are a dragon,” she remembered Byron telling her, after her parents had died, to help her endure the pain. ”Dragons are not afraid of sheep. So, little one, be a dragon,”

Closing her eyes, she saw Jacob’s pale face once more, his sweet hazel eyes closed to the world, his wound, his shriek of agony branded in her mind forever.

That thought, she realized, broke something within her soul.

If that was going to be the last memory of him, she thought, opening her eyes once again, her gaze filled with bloodlust, she will show no mercy to the ones that took him away from her.

”Burn them all,”

*That was her command. Three simple words. A Death Sentence for everyone below.

”Burn them all,” she whispered, prompting Morgenstern to move.

” BURN. THEM. ALL.”she finally screamed at the top of her lungs, diving with her dragon to the ground, as Morgenstern let out an ear-deafening shriek, shooting a column of incandescent fire - the black flames of the Banes - to the city, burning all that was on its path.

————————

Dorothea let out a shriek, kicking and punching and thrashing against the thin silken sheet that was constricting her against the soft surface of her mattress.

When she opened her eyes, her breath syncopate as she tried to grasp for air, she saw the blurry colours of the stars twinkling above her, and the delicate scent of orange flowers filling her nostrils, her attention immediately torn away from her ceiling when she heard her dragon’s earsplitting cry reverberating in the air, all across the citadel.

She was in her own bed.

Not amidst the war; not on the back of her dragon; not about to burn an entire city to the ground;

She was in the safety of her own chambers.

It had been only a nightmare.

She buried her face in her hands, unable as she was to stop the tears and sobs. She felt as if she was choking on her own breath, her heart thrilling in her chest as she fought the instinct to call for someone -anyone - to help her escape the nightmare she constantly walked into whenever she closed her eyes.

Because, she knew, the nightmare had not been a nightmare at all.

Feeling the all-too familiar pressure build up in her chest, she threw the bed linen on the floor, and ran to grab her lantern and her medallion, forgetting her slippers, forgetting her robes, forgetting even her mask.

Pressing a small star made of a frozen dragon tear-one of the many that made up the mosaic on her wall- she heard the sound of grinding stone, as a secret passage opened behind the tapestry on the other side of the room.

Trembling like a leaf, she felt tears starting to fall the moment she crossed through the opening, only the sound of her sobs and her bare feet against the cold stone path to accompany her, as she kept the lantern in front of her to show her the way. She didn’t need it, not truly, but after her nightmare, she didn’t want to be in the darkness alone.

After running as fast as her legs allowed, she found the door she needed to open to feel safe again, and desperately knocked against it, hoping, praying that he was awake.

Waiting in the chilliness of the passage, she heard heavy footsteps approaching the hidden entrance, and the man she wanted to see opened it, the warm light of his room washing over her like a caress.

“Your Highness…” she heard Byron say, his green eyes looking at her, as he realized she was absolutely terrified.

What took him aback was seeing her distraught face in full, her freckled cheeks streaked by tears, a heartbreaking and shocking sight. Ever since she had turned eight years of age, the year in which she had been bestowed with the Mask of Virtue that she would have to wear until married, he had never seen her without it.

Byron tried to take away his gaze from her sweet features, he tried to adhere to the Royal Protocol as much as he could. But his instinct as father - his instinct as protector - took over everything else.

He brought his hands to her cheek, brushing away her tears with his thumbs as he cradled her face with love.

”Dorothea, what has happened?” he asked, furrowing his brow, as the young Sovereign threw herself in his arms, her shoulders shook by sobs. The Lord Commander of the Queensguard didn’t utter a single word, focusing all that he was on the young woman he had in his arms.

Dorothea took deep breath, inhaling his perfume, the same she always felt whenever he used to tutor her - a mixture smoke, resin, cinnamon and musk -, allowing herself to be completely enveloped by it as she gripped at his robe with white-knuckled hands. When she heard his voice humming, a soft sound reverberating from his ribcage to her own heart, she felt the clench on her chest relenting little by little, leaving place to a numbing calmness.

They stood like that for a little while, as Byron hummed her a sweet song, one that had been composed by Queen Annette long before Dorothea had been born.

A lullaby that spoke of forests and rivers, of dancing lights in the sky and eagles that flew higher than the snowy peaks of the mountains.

A song of home.

His voice, ever gentle, ever sweet, was all that she needed to find her way out of the fear that had been lingering on her; the beating of his heart - strong, steady, calming - was just as welcomed to her ears.

”What happened, Dora?” he finally asked again, caressing her long silvery blond hair with a gentle hand, while he kept her flush to himself with the other.

”The same nightmare, Byron,” she hiccuped, burying her nose against his chest, keeping her eyes closed . ”The same memory visiting me over and over and over again. Flames and ashes and death. I cannot take it anymore, it’s driving me insane,”

”Oh, child,” Byron’s grip around her grew tighter, as he kissed the top of her head. He didn’t need to know more to know what she had been dreaming about. ”You should have never entered the war directly,” he said with a bitter taste in his mouth. ”You should have never had to witness death up so close.” he sighed, shaking his head. ”You should have stayed behind, here, safe and sound and away from all that had happened. You should have let me and the Ironborn take care of it,"

”I couldn’t hide away in fear, while my people were dying. I couldn’t ignore their cry, their pleas. What kind of Monarch hides behind their stony walls, while their people are being massacred and slaughtered?”she whispered. She thought about Jacob, and how, had she not been with him that fatal day, how had her medallion not been around her neck, he would have probably died on the battlefield. Her heart clenched at the thought. Never. Not on her life. Not under her watchful eyes. No harm shall ever come to her Sir Jacob ever again. ”There was no other choice possible, Byron. I had to lead my men. I had to lead them to victory. I couldn’t let Camelot and all that we stand for fall under the Scarred Man,”

Byron didn’t answer, knowing that her words were true; still, despite his heartache in knowing that the spectre of war was still lingering on her, he couldn’t help but feel the brightest of pride at her words.

”Your words are wise, young one, and noble and true. I just wished that you didn’t have to see all that you saw on the battlefield,” he murmured. ”If it can be of any consolation, you have given House Pendragon honour. I am proud of who you have become,”

#The Dragon Queen #Assassin's Creed #Jacob Frye #Dorothea Starrick #ASOIAF #arthurian legend #Byron Harrison #my writing #Nemo Writes #my ocs #ocsappreciation #ocfairygodmother