“How I yearn for a love that transcends death”

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

[necromanticpsycho]

Greetings,

You may call me Deady or Necro.

I use he/him pronouns, I write for both male and gender-neutral readers alike.

I was born in 2003, I am not a minor and furthermore minors are not welcome on my blog, as I do enjoy the darker side of things, including the horror aspect of obsessive love/yandere thematics.

As I've stated before, minors are not welcome, neither are ageless blogs, bigots, pedos, racists, zionists, terfs, transphobes, homophobes and other vermin.

[necromanticpsycho]

Never would I have thought I'd be using Dr. Easterman's voice lines to motivate myself to do uni assignments, but it works, so here we are

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[asterfey]

tags & content: NSFW, (probably) dubious consent, porn without plot, sexual content, rough sex, physical assault, threats of violence, humiliation, dom/sub, sadism, choking, cigarette burns, afab reader

“I’ll be damned if I ever felt a tighter cunt than yours, sweetness.”

Coyle’s voice is like gravel in your ear, fuzzy from the constricting grasp his fingers have on your throat. It makes it hard to breathe, your windpipe pressed together just enough to make your vision spotty. You can’t feel anything other than the strain in your back and Coyle’s hips slamming into you from behind, the light headedness dulling any other senses but tingling pleasure.

Blood drips from your split lip — caused by your earlier scuffle, in his haste when he’d slammed you against the metal fence by your hair, eager to dip his hands into your panties and roughly stroke through the wetness there.

You know a bit of blood riles him up. He’d already twisted your head around when he’d took those fingers and shoved them inside of you, his tobacco coated tongue licking into your mouth, teeth grazing the wound just to make it bleed more. When you’d moaned, hips bucking to try and grind your throbbing clit against his palm, he’d dragged his tongue under your chin, collecting the blood with a groan, and shoved your face back into the fence with enough force to make your temple explode and stars creep into your vision.

You don’t know what the other Reagents are doing, where they are lingering in the grimy police station, but you’re too fucked out to care. Your eyes keep rolling to the back of your head, toes curling in your shoes the harder Coyle’s cock hits your insides.

When he leans back, finally losing the clutch on your throat, you erupt into wheezing coughs. It’s hard to catch your breath when you’re being bounced against the fence with every thrust, feeling Coyle’s hand crack against the plump of your ass.

You squeal, the sting resonating in the flesh.

“You go on an keep them whore hips movin’. Work for it,” he commands, and even though you can tell his voice is laced with a smug grin, you know it wasn’t merely a suggestion.

Your trembling fingers scramble for stronger purchase against the fence, fingers twisting into the wiry metal. He’s stopped fucking you in favour of lighting up a new cigarette, his previous one discarded the moment he found something better to do with his mouth.

A low sound escapes your lips, something akin to a whine. You can’t tell yourself, rocking your hips back against his cock as he languidly watches behind the black tinted sunglasses.

The pit in your stomach thrums, trying to find any semblance of rhythm that matched his own.

Your fingers dig harder into the metal until they go white, thighs already aching from exertion.

Coyle doesn’t seem to care, rough hand squeezing your ass, roaming over the flesh as he puffs aggressively at his newly lit cig.

“Good lord,” he growls, palm smacking with enough force to leave a bruise. He groans at the feeling of you tightening around his cock, lips twitching into a deeper smirk. “Some fine fuckin’ work, honey.”

Just as your hips stutter, panting through the exhaustion, he finally ruts back into you harder. His free hand snakes around, closing around your jaw, forcing your head back until you let out a pained squeak. He shoves two fingers into your mouth, rubbing intrusively over your tongue.

Your lips part, moaning around them, his beard scratching against the nape of your nape as he pants against the skin, the heat of the cig making you wince.

His hips are slamming so hard into yours it’s jarring, barely able to catch a breath as his fingers continue to plunge mercilessly across your tongue.

“W-Wait,” you can barely squeak out, but that just earns you an even harder thrust that steals the air from your lungs. Coyle stuffs his fingers to the back of your throat, and you feel your eyes stinging with new tears.

“You got no fuckin’ manners or what?” Coyle growls, fucking into you again with enough force to rattle the fence. “Ain’t nobody teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

A muffled apology around his fingers barely escapes you. You can only focus on his cock driving in and out of you, plunging through your walls like jelly; his fingers stroke patterns along your tongue, saliva pooling along your lips. When he removes them, he twists your head towards his, sealing his rough lips over yours.

Smoke floods down your throat. It’s bitter and acidic, burning the inside of your mouth like fire.

His teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip to reopen the wound along the way, leaving you coughing and spluttering and gasping for breath when he pulls away. His hand creeps from your jaw to your face, fingers spreading a mix of saliva and blood around your mouth until you look like a humiliating mess.

“That’s right, sweetness,” he murmurs, leaning back to press your face back into the fence. “Bet you ain’t never been fucked by a real man before, huh? Been saving this pussy for a man of the law? Don’t you worry, I’ll keep fuckin’ you good.”

Your body bounces against the fence, the metal clanking, and you feel your orgasm blossom. Coyle’s hips slam once, then twice, and you can feel his warmth spill into you, your pussy clenching hard around his cock as your own climax slams into you.

Your head rocks forward, whining, the apex of your thighs giving an involuntary shake, cunt quivering from the aftershocks.

You pant, still gasping for breath, saliva and blood smeared around your mouth.

“Fuckin’ whore,” Coyle sneers, pressing the hot blunt of his cigarette into your spine, just above the cleft of your ass. You give a pained cry, forehead hitting the fence, a few extra tears leaking down your face. You can feel his thumb tracing your folds, right where his cock meets, a wry chuckle rumbling in his throat.

“But I don’t mind bein’ the one to teach you to respect the law.”

He shoves you off him, and your knees instantly buckle, hitting the floor with a thud. You bite back a whimper, swallowing it with the taste of ash. Through your hair, you glance up at him, as if expecting some sort of blow or other unsavoury favour.

But Coyle just loops his belt back, flashing his teeth. “I say you been rehabilitated, sweetness.”

[supesposting]

Urghhh Coyle noncon with a ftm reader….. Coyle noncon with a ftm reader where he’ll “fuck him like a f👍g if he wants to be one so bad” when he sees bottom growth… Urghhhhhh

anon❤️‍🩹 i love you❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹i love how you rhink❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹will you marry me❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this works so well for either pre murkoff or tegular coyle so i went with regular because i havent made a single fic of him torturing you as a reagent yet so it feels only fitting here, i can do one with pre-murkoff though if thats what you meant !!!!

we went crazy with the plot here again so sorry

this highkey took so (not so long but longer than normal) and im gonna kns because its soooo butt like when I write smut it feels like I'm writing plot driven smut and not freaky enjoyable smut so soooooo so sorry about that one

also also happy 31 followers!!!!!!!!! wow!!!!1!!!!!!11111!!!!!!! you're all the loml's I cannot express my gratitude

//

A New Man

Summary: While toying with a reagent, Coyle learns something that makes them his new favorite

Leland Coyle x FtM! Reader

Warning: NONCON, violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, descriptions of animal death, torture, outdated + transphobic/homophobic remarks, coyle behavior, low-key ahh

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A steel-toed boot connected with your abdomen, forcing out a pathetic and raspy wheeze from your lungs. The blunt force digging into your ribcage allowed for bruises to bloom over your body, surely making for a beautiful sight when in your sleeproom later.

"Y'don't wanna fuckin' stay down? Wanna keep tryin' me to see if I'll be nicer the second time?"

Although your hearing was dominated by an unabating ringing sound, Coyles' voice managed to seep through the blank space and infiltrate your ears. That didn't give you the strength to reply– not with the blood catching in your throat or the tears coating your eyes like frost. If you weren't half dead you might've been gagging over how the grime from the police station was practically staining every inch of exposed skin you had, your appearance mimicking that of a mangy dog in an alley.

The trial was soon to be concluded, and you weren't exactly blaming your teammates for using this to their advantage. The current torture session had been drawn out for what had to be 20 minutes, all of Coyles' attention dialed in on your twitching and lifeless figure. Perhaps he was still angry over your taunts and obscene gestures made earlier, or maybe it was the fact that you'd evaded him twice and celebrated obnoxiously. Pride was a deadly sin, y'know, should've been on the lookout for karma while running.

Nonetheless, your mind drifted to how much longer it would be until the scientists and doctors were here to drag you away like a scolded child who wandered off too far from the designated safe-space, not paying attention to your dim surroundings. Couldn't be that much longer... unless this was a trauma induced hallucination, you could've sworn you heard the faint screams of the snitch in his rawest form, so that means the shuttle should be available soon. Everyone would leave.

Including you.

"You got cotton in your ears? Look at me, you pussy-bitch!" An ironic nickname given by an oblivious man who would never know any better. A small, wet chuckle might've been able to escape your lips if a boot didn't step down on your back with a hand simultaneously bunching clumps of your hair to pull your head up, maneuvering you in the same way a puppeteer does to a puppet.

"Wake those pretty little eyes up, sweetheart. Your friends ain't comin', but I wouldn't worry. More time for us to get nice n' acquianted."

The sergeant never seemed to stop talking, a continuous rumble of profanities and oncoming lewd thoughts, but in this moment there was nothing. Your head hung weightlessly by his unforgiving grasp, the roots of your hair burning almost as tenderly as your sore back, and if Coyle wanted a reply or even remote reaction to his words then he was torturing the wrong man. Silence was the only offer you had after being stomped, electrocuted, headbutted, and punched– not out of submission, but out of preference for the solace that the quiet searing pain gave to you. In a sense the blood coating your body was a blanket, although sticky and fragrant, it was encapsulating and kept you warm while slowly bleeding out on the stations floor.

"No god-damn fun here, fragile piece a' shit.."

It wasn't until your head connected with the ground after being released, and the sudden presence of rough hands shoving at your shirt and pants did you show any signs of life.

"W-Wait-! Wait a m– stop, you f-fucking... I'm- you're not gay..!"

Something renewed in your voice, that voice that hadnt been used in minutes, even for crying. This struck Coyle in the most satisfactory and peculiar way as he paused a moment. His songbird was singing again.

The indifference to your suffering however was a never ending cycle as once more you were manhandled in a brutish nature onto your back, a sharp pain echoing through your muscles from the seared flesh having pressure put upon it.

The new angle allowed for a different view to be stolen on your behalf, yet the first thing you saw in this new position was your own bloodied reflection in the black shades right infront you. It was barely you, that shallow-breathing body staring back at you seemed flighty and hopeless, it was not someone you recognized.

The canines of the man staggering over you flashed, highlighting his tobacco stained teeth while sporting a cigarette at the same time.

"Man's got needs, does he not? Sure as hell might not feel good for you, but I need some release after dealin' with a pesky little fucker."

It reeked with instigation, an open invitation to challenge his direct statement of what was going to happen, letting you bite at the bait.

And did you bite hard.

It even threw Coyle off balance slightly with the way you scrambled. Arms and legs thrashing, hands reverting into claws that were willing to catch on anything in their way.

It took the officer less than a minute to restrain you effectively. Now sprawled out with every limb exerting force over you, who had now succumbed to the shivers and shakes of an oncoming anxiety attack, Coyle puffed a cloud of smoke straight into your face. The shows the reagents put on when he said those magic words was always entertainment, and it was pure delight to revel in the variety of reactions each one had before he officially defiled them, but Jesus. This was pathetic.

Behind those aviators, Coyle's eyes trained on you and your miserable demeanor. He'd seen this exact expression before from a hunting trip he'd gone on years before coming to Murkoff with a club he was involved in.

Right in the middle of the forest, the cries of what suggested an injured deer was a compass utilized to reap the rewards of the day. Stepping over briars and bushes revealed to the officer that it was in fact a fawn who had stumbled into a bear trap. The little buck being held in painful place as the jaws of the trap enclosed it. Out of all the urges stirring within, Coyle simply approached it slowly while examining. Thing barely had any fight left in it, making no attempt to move when he reached out to caress its reddened coat. Most pitiful sight Coyle had witnessed.

Until now of course. You, his little buck, choking on your own blood as the teeth of the bear trap enclosed around you on the ground. An awe-inspiring connection, you were simply basking in the bloody light he bestowed upon you.

"C-Coyle, please, f-fuck please don-"

Leaving a foul taste on your tongue, his name was said in an exasperated attempt to catch his attention. The prying hands of the law stripped you of any dignity you once had, bringing you a rung below the mannequins in the natural chain of order. The law was intensive, and the law never stopped.

"Begging like a desperate fairy... you like a man in uniform? Want it that damn bad, huh? Oh, I'll give it to ya."

The proceeding moments flickered in your mind like a rotting movie reel. First the shirt, calloused hands being smothered over your hips and shimmying upwards so he could have as much skin-access as possible to mark with his own brand. Then the pants, with sturdy thumbs hooking on belt loops to peel them off against the trembling body. The boxers took an extra moment to work with, simply because the information had finally refined in Coyle's dense skull.

Silence overcame the both of you, unexpected and nauseating silence. It stemmed from a man whose life foundation was noise; shouting, directing, commanding, producing, murmuring, poorly-singing. Not even the hum of a baton energized particles in the air.

Say something. Fuck, say something you stupid bastard, anything.

"So... you've been lying to a man of the law. Hell, to everybody."

"I'm not... I'm not a liar."

That tickled him. This meeting had tickled him. Although not fully understanding, Coyle began to understand why he enjoyed these encounters with you so much more than the others. After considering your response, he sneered,

"Sure. Makes sense why you act like a low-life queer, been dreaming of a man to come around 'n fuck you like one?"

"What?"

Something revitalized inside the man, as was evident with his ches huffing like he was riling himself up with some internal foreplay you happened to be missing.

"You wanna be a fag so bad?"

Your heart was drumming through your chest, and if you had any medical knowledge or faith in a higher power you'd hope your heart was about to constrict and a subsequent heart attack would free you from whatever the fuck Coyle was going to state.

"Then I'll just have'ta fuck you like one."

It was a jarring sentence that hadn't entirely registered with your nervous system as starving hands cusp your cunt through the cloth of your boxers. It wasn't comfortable, or even slightly considerate. Coyle's hands seemed to be informed by previous sexual encounters he'd had with women, simply rubbing in pressurized circles and teasingly sliding up and down your slit. The nonoccupied hand lightly took the cigarette from his mouth.

It became glaringly obvious Coyle had no preference for waiting, desiring carnally to view what his new toy looked like beneath the linens.

Humid air rushed to cling to your exposed lower half once everything had been ripped off, no salvaging the cotton materials strewn across the room. That wasn't your primary focus anyhow, not when tears cleansed your cheeks in opposition to the man ogling at your anatomy, both hands on your thighs to shove them apart and get a clear view. Food for a starving man may've been a hyperbole if Coyle hadn't immediately lowered his mouth and body to explore your pussy.

The wet tongue latching to your enlarged clit emitted a shocked whimper from yourself, stomach tensing from the unsuspected actions. The head between your thighs was lapping endlessly, dragging the flat of his tongue up and down until he alternated to aggressive and invasive sucking.

Since arriving at Murkoff, this was the first moment of sexual ecstasy granted, and it was the most sickening experience you've ever faced. Unable to move due to the senseless beatings beforehand, and now with the hold on your thighs warning you to not move an inch. Your face scrunched with a timid essence as you stared at the ceiling and just laid there. Every lewd suck and audible slur of saliva co-mingling with your own wetness had you reprimanding yourself with quiet sobs.

The clit torture ceased after some point, ending with a harsh slap to the sensitive bulge and a gruff chuckle from your perpetrator.

"Should be good enough for me to just slide right in. Gonna be real unfortunate if not."

Coyle let out a small laugh once again, this time towards his own crude joke. An abrupt thrust of the hips made him bottom out inside you immediately, a hoarse scream being brought from the most guttural parts of your chest at the vivid and clear stabbing sensation plaguing your hole. No words besides strained laments escaped you, and each one was met with he same amount of reverence.

"Jesus almighty... clenchin' around me tighter than any whore before."

Expiring the breath he was holding in, Coyle began to finally fuck you, his wait gifting him a rewarding feeling. Bigger than average, his cock throbbed harshly against your sore pussy, and as that length retreated only to bottom out inside you again, your walls still hadn't adjusted. You began to doubt that you'd ever adjust, which Coyle probably wouldn't mind.

The prior foreplay was simply to make you wet enough for his own comfort, so he would be able to torture you to this fullest extent. That was the thought floating around the liminal space in your head while the sweat began to accumulate all over your beaten body, taking on the aromatic properties that Coyle infecting you with; ash, smoke, sex, filth.

If the pace he was setting wasn't an indicator that he was enjoying it, then the stuttering groans and deathly way he white-knuckled your hips and throat were enough. Pinning an injured animal just to fuck it ravenously, with enough force and constancy that some would assume this was the first fuck Coyle's had in months, was soul-crushing. The only escape were the small moments that your vision would begin to blur as he choked you tighter, the veins in his forearms working overtime to keep you on that fine-line.

Small jolts of pleasure were drawn every time his body happened to rub against your clit, or on the off chances that his tip grazed that sensitive spot as he fucked inside you. For the most part however, it was like playing with a rag doll, you were there for him to toss and throw for his own pleasure. You were at least a loved toy.

"Good boy... y'haven't made a noise, must- must be gettin' used to it,"

A sharp inhale cut him off, and in that short moment where he gained his composure, your eyes reluctantly wandered over his face where sweat beaded at his temples,

"that's all fags're good for. Takin' a good cock."

Clearing his throat, a devious grin flashed on him once more. He was examining your frightened figure. Eyebrows knitted in distress, hair dripping with sweat, face flush, eyebags clearly on display. But there was an anchor on your eyes. That's what he loved most about this; you were deeply angry, but that anger was suppressed by your own submission because of his presence. Only he could decide who you were, and with how smoothly it felt his dick was being pulled into your heat, he needed you to be his to train. Taught how pleasure is a reward, not an agreement.

"Lookin' at you, anyone could tell.. tell that you were made to be an obedient queer."

The explicit feeling of Coyle's cock gaining speed made you cry even louder, an arm raising to wipe your tears and shield your face as the rape seemingly was edging towards an end. Besides the sputtering hips and raspy pants reaching the air, your own cunt had become numb to the sensations now that the blood became lube, the pleasure so tortured out of you that not even pain brought eroticism. Under your breath without your conscious doing, a small poignant trail of 'stops' left your lips, begging to the god above you.

Upon lifting your hand to your face, it was swiftly slammed to the ground and pinned. There was no minor escape from him, every moment beneath him you would be present, remember it.

"Nuh-uh... that ain't how a real man takes- takes cock. You're gonna remember who fucked you this good whether you want it or not. Remember who made you into a man."

In-between thrusts, the sergeant leaned down and licked the tears flowing from your cheeks, moving from the very bottom of your cheek to the top in a painstakingly slow motion. The salty accumulations hitting his tastebuds, alongside your petrified stature, was enough of a sight to make him cum. Perfect trapped victim. Perfect perverted fag. What a fucking dream.

It came as a surprise to you however, too busy gagging bile back down your throat as the scent of cigarettes suffocated your being and that peppered beard dragged sharply across your fragile face. Pulling his cock from your stretched cunt made you wince, but the lines of cum staining your stomach and dripping down your thighs left the biggest pit in your stomach. Positioning himself upright, a finger dragged across the sweaty, cum smeared skin, and brought it to your mouth.

"Hmm... C'mon boy... taste purification."

Your vision blurred into a black abyss soon after that.

.✭.✭.

Stagnant, cool air rested over your quiet body, mocking that appearance of the numerous corpses riddled along the trial. Exposed, vulnerable, filthy, stained, dead. Everything you were, everything you are, and everything you will be when in the presence of him.

Crackling electricity shot out into the air, but didn't touch you. Instead, it singed something else before ceasing entirely. Soon enough, Coyle had lit a cigarette. A noise evoking something adjacent to fulfillment could be heard from the man, crouching down next to his little buck with a tilted head, just observing. One hand reached out to begin stroking the side of your gory face with gently, a manner that seemed impossible to picture coming from Coyle.

If the sergeant hadn't heard the doors opening nearby, he would've stashed you away forever. This was too fun. Damn Easterman doesn't know what to do with you.

But no. For now, Coyle was forced to resign to another area, it was time to continue and test his patience for the next time you appear. A man never left without a parting gift though, that would just be a tease.

The hand that was previously petting you now shifted to your chin, squeezing with just enough force to bring your eyes to look at him. A trained boy.. thats what he needed.

With cigarette-scented lips meeting your own busted ones, Coyle took the last bit of humility you held onto as he worked his tongue slyly into your mouth, claiming it as his.

The kiss was unbearably long, ending with a bite down on your bottom lip to reopen a cut that caught his eye.

"Think they're lookin' for you now. Bye-bye, little buck. Until next time."

[semperintrepida]

This is the worst timeline. (x)

[pftones3482]

If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.

[necromanticpsycho]

When you take a break from Tumblr, only to return to people arguing that men can be lesbians

[necromanticpsycho]

Pet play is the CG/L version of primal play

No, I will not elaborate

[necromanticpsycho]

Can't stop thinking about the fact that I've managed to write over 60k words for my book, but I'm nowhere near done and I'm proud of myself because of that accomplishment, yet at the same time I fear how long this is going to take to finish it

[necromanticpsycho]

Saw a goat with a baby goat and my day is already a 10000 times better

[necromanticpsycho]

Decided to make a new bg3 playthrough, already missing my precious Durge, but I finally have actual companions on my team so that's nice

Also Wyll is better than me, I would've fucking folded for Mizora cuz woof-

[necromanticpsycho]

I have no clue what to write, send help ._.

[necromanticpsycho]

There's nothing better than finding out that some son of a bitch hacked into your gaming accounts and deleted them through the night

[necromanticpsycho]

So, turns out it was a trojan-

Gonna stop torrenting for a while lmao

[necromanticpsycho]

There's nothing better than finding out that some son of a bitch hacked into your gaming accounts and deleted them through the night

[elvisqueso]

Tagged by: @mythicamagic

Make this picrew of yourself

Take this uquiz (How Fandom Would See You If You Were A Fictional Character)

because of Course I am.

Tagging: @subway-dove @elysabeththequeene @t3acupz @devilatelier and anyone else who wants a go

[t3acupz]

thanks for the tag @elvisqueso <333

sounds about right

tagging: @greenfinchwriter @thirstyvampyr @littleblackraincloudofcourse @littleoddwriter @aomiinwonderland @valentinsylve @totilo1 @love-songs-for-emma @sailorbowie @suchawrathfullamb @cedarxwing @stromuprisahat @antlercollections @brassic-bitch @scattered-under-moonlight @lbctal @hold-the-devil-well @hootybal-lecter @mangywayway & anyone who wants to!

[littleoddwriter]

thank you for tagging me, @t3acupz <3

I don't know about that, but oki, lol, dsjhfkskfs

no pressure tags: @hibiskooks @hersweetrevenge @dragon1d @gnrlkenob @kodasstar

@jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @thepurpleprince @areyouwaiting @prettiestvisitors & whoever else would like to do it, you're officially tagged by me! <3

[areyouwaiting]

Thank you so much for tagging me @littleoddwriter !! This was so much fun :>

no pressure tags: @necromanticpsycho @sailorbowie @lookatyou-strawberrybun @bargain-bin @moondead @onaiclockwork @probablynottola @ithinkwehitametaphor @devil-in-hiding @nofriendofmine <3

& whoever else sees this and would like to do it is allowed to feel tagged by me hehe

[necromanticpsycho]

Thank you for the tag dear <3

Tagging: @cinnamon-n-roses, @gulnarsultan, @galgant, @crazyyanderefangirlfan, @teyvat-writer and anyone else who'd like to join

[necromanticpsycho]

When the doctors said I was special, I thought he meant autistic, NOT THAT MY EYES WERE SO FUCKED THE DOCTOR HAD TO CALL HER FUCKING FRIENDS OVER SO THEY CAN SEE MY GODDAMN MUTATION

[necromanticpsycho]

Haven't posted in a while, so decided I'll throw out a draft of a scene from the book that I'm currently writing, hope anyone who'll read it will enjoy it lol

Jonathan’s silent footsteps merged with the shadows of the library as he made his way through the maze of infinite bookshelves, slowly nearing the place of the Artefact. To his surprise, Lilian greeted him, seemingly ready to fight, but their usual confidence was gone, replaced by uncertainty for the first time in Jonathan’s life. The artist tried his best to suppress a grin that threatened to paint itself across his angelic features, leaving the mask in the shape of a smirk on his face.

“Something seems to bother you. What is it?” His eyes seemed to glow with excitement, blue sparks escaping his twitching, aching fingertips that were oh-so eager to incinerate the Guardian that stood in front of him. “We both know it’s something related to this situation; to you, to me, the artefact,” he lowered his voice, almost turning it into a purr as he circled the short librarian like a predator, a serpent that was about to strike, a monster that he was never truly meant to become, but by some twisted turn of events he relished in his new role of a nightmare incarnate. “Speak. We both know, I’ll figure it out one way or another, you were always a bad liar so you might as well take off the burden off of your chest.”

“I need to hand you the Artefact; it’s for the better of everyone-”

“But?”

“But this feels wrong.”

“You’ve always been a dog to Professor Cruthaichear, obeying his words blindly like it’s the law of God. And for what? For him to ignore you?”

“How’d you know it was Cruthaichear that told me to do so?,” they asked, fear written all over their face as they took a step backwards.

“You told me.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

Lilian let out a gasp, anger flashing in their lilac eyes as purple lightning escaped their fingertips. Jonathan quickly stepped away, trying to stop himself from laughter. Lightning followed lightning, sometimes interrupted by a book flying across the enclosed space, but all those basic spells were swiftly dodged by the long-haired man. The librarian blocked each and every spell Jonathan had cast. Even the simplest of spells that the head of the Amethyst House used were ten times stronger than that of the average being, their stamina when it came to magic was also superior, much to Jonathan’s annoyance.

“That’s the problem with you. All of you.” His breath was heavy, but he stood with his head held high. “You all keep in line, practising what you already know, but you never branch out, you don’t learn new things. You lack ambition, each and every one of you.” The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by the purest abhorrence clearly visible on his face. “It’s pathetic. Everyone who has heard of you bows in awe, admiring your power, because all of you are masters in your own craft. But without it? Without that one thing, you all turn into useless excuses of mages!” As Jonathan raised his voice sharp, thick branches pinned the librarians body into the ground, piercing their limbs to the wooden floor in the process, the thorns wrapping themselves around the lines of energy and life. One wrong move and they’d meet their end. “Each and every one of you, Guardians, are unworthy of your titles, your status. You may claim to hold all of the power, you may be feared when you are together,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom created by the deepest kind of loathing. “However, when you are separated, alone, you have so many openings that are just begging to be exploited. I dare say it would be sad, but it’s joyful to see you fall. One by one, you’ll all go down, thrown from your throne by your own student. That would make an interesting tragedy, wouldn’t it?,” he smirked, his rage vanishing in an instant as he stared down Lilian with contempt. “Except, what I am witnessing is more aching towards a comedy with how easy it was to defeat you. It’s almost like you wanted me to win.” With a chuckle, Jonathan stepped over the body, ensuring to step on the fingers of the librarians dominant hand as he made his way towards the book. “But enough of that, I have more important matters to attend to.” His dismissive tone only seemed to anger the librarian, but their body was stuck to the ground, while the blond haired man wrote something in the book, away from the Guardians eyes. He ignored their protests as he watched the ink glow, before vanishing and seeping into the pages, ultimately setting in stone whatever he wrote. Jonathan teared out the page he wrote on, before returning his attention to Lilian with his signature smirk. “You, dear Guardian, are a mere coward. If you’d finally start thinking, working, fighting like you were meant to, you’d prevent a catastrophe.”

“What have you done?,” they asked in horror, their face turning pale.

“You can either stay for the show - wait for someone to save you and kill yourself after the guilt will crush you, or you can die trying to get out of here and try to make it seem like you tried to do something to save them from their fate. It’s a shame you didn’t even attempt to stop me, it shows your worth.” As Jonathan was about to walk away, he stopped, turning to them one last time. “Remember, whatever happens next is your fault. You could have prevented their suffering.”