The same blanket 'gabi is writing' warnings - there is blood, guts, death, angst, magic, and all things horrific and wonderful (to me at least). Every single fic I post this month will be Horror. Nothing is sacred to me. No one is safe in my hands. You've been warned.

Have some Dark!Outlaw Queen ruling over Hell with iron fists.

"Long live the Queen." Strong arms wrap around her as Robin presses a damp kiss, more of a bite than a kiss, at the nape of her neck.

"You're late."

She can feel his grin spread across his face as he bites at her skin one more time before turning to lean his back against the balcony railing. "There was a bit of an issue in the dungeon that needed seeing to," he says.

Humming, Regina leans on the iron bars, the gold of her claw-rings clinking against the metal as she looks out over their domain. "And how did that go?"

Robin doesn't answer right away. She can feel him raking his eyes over her, drawn towards the way her entire back is bare of the gold lace covering every other inch of her skin.

"I believe Will and I managed to get our point across well enough." His fingers trail butterfly soft over the base of her spine, half on her skin and half at the very top of her ass.

"Good," Regina murmurs, turning her head to look at him as she smirks, seizes his jaw with one hand, the pointed tips of her rings digging into his skin as she pulls him towards her, nose to nose. "I do hope you had fun."

Her pulse thuds against her skin as his eyes darken, a grin pulling at one corner of his mouth before the hand now gripping her ass yanks her into him, their hips and chests colliding as he swallows her moan.

They are already running late—most likely because he was having far too much fun in the dungeon to think about his time keeping—but she bites at his lips, her eyes rolling back under her lids as he sucks at her tongue and the hold he has on her hips tightens enough she thinks she will have bruises by tonight. Gasping, she pulls back with a parting sharp, swift bite to his bottom lip, drawing blood and licking the taste of him from her own.

"Later," she promises, her cunt clenching at the thought of having him. Based on the way she feels him twitch against her, the way his eyes blacken even more as he sucks his bleeding lip into his mouth and lets it slip back out at an agonising pace, Robin is thinking along the same lines. "For now, we are soon going to be late for holding court. And as much as I would love to punish you, I had something else in mind for tonight."

"Tempting," Robin breathes. "But you're right. Business first, then we can fight over who gets to make whom beg after." Winking he makes a sweeping gesture towards the open doors leading into their chambers, his hand moving to settle at the bottom of her bare back as she passes.

Court has always bored Regina. Even before her rise to power, before she was the one sitting on the Throne, back when she was just another demon at the beck and call of the King. His favourite plaything until she took his crown, and his head, and threw his useless remains of a soul into the River of the Damned to drown for the rest of eternity.

So since becoming Queen Regina rarely holds court. She never did see the point in it, when everyone in attendance knew the whole thing was a farce—Leopold had never cared for their grievances, never bothered to hold up his end of the bargains he offered those who dared to raise any—but it could, on rare occasions, be useful.

Robin grins from his seat beside her—he hates the formalities of the Old Ways more than she does, but she can feel the eagerness rolling off of him in waves—as he lounges on his own smaller but still impressive throne. And when Will and John drag a chained Sydney before them his eyes shine brighter, and far more deadly than the Hellfire that guards their realm. As Sydney is hurled to the floor in front of the steps leading up them, dressed in bloody and burnt rags, Robin looks positively gleeful. He lifts their hands from where they rest on the arm of her throne, presses a kiss to the back of it before rising.

"Do you know why you have been brought before the court today?" Regina asks. She keep her eyes on the pathetic excuse of a demon at her feet even as she watches Robin removes his cloak and gloves from her periphery. He doesn't bother to hide the exhilaration in his eyes as he folds them neatly on his throne before removing his scabbard and placing that on top. Sydney trembles and refuses to meet her gaze.

"I believe your Queen asked you a question," says Robin as he makes his way down the steps of the Throne Room. When Sydney remains silent, Robin's glare sharpens, focuses on him with such intensity that those closest to them tense—though Regina knows he is fully aware of each and every person in the hall with them—before he backhands him. It's swift, and harsh, and Sydney has no way to prepare for the blow that sends him clattering down onto the flagstones.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he pleads.

"And what, pray tell, should I be forgiving you for?" She wears a mask of boredom, of carelessness—like she is as engrossed by this scene as she would be watching paint dry—even as she bays for his blood.

"I… I never meant to offend—"

"I'm sure," she cuts him off, not interested in the slightest with his excuses. She didn't care when he was screaming them after he'd been thrown into her personal dungeons, didn't as Robin had doled out his punishment, and didn't now as he begged for his life. "Tell me, Sydney, you have served at this castle for a millenia, correct?"

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," he stutters, thrown by her question.

"And, in the centuries that you have known me, have I ever taken disrespect lightly?"

He shakes his head.

"So, why then, should I be lenient now?" A twitch of her fingers on one hand, a lazy, half formed gesture, is all the signal Robin needs to grab Sydney's right arm, twisting it up above his shoulder and holding it there.

"The Queen has plenty of other demons—ones who don't talk about wanting to bed my wife. Wanting to own their Queen—that are just as gifted as you are," he hisses to Sydney, though his eyes remain locked with hers even as Sydney begins to beg him.

She listens for a moment, lets him plead for his life so that everyone gathered can hear it. Hear it and witness what she does to demons who don't know their place, before she is jerking her chin at her lover and snarling "I tire of this."

Robin's smile turns bloodthirsty. "As you wish, my love," he says as he tightens his grip on Sydney's wrist, deaf to the other demon's cries, moves his other hand to his bicep and rips them in opposite directions, snapping his arm in two places. His fist collides with Sydney's jaw mid-scream, cutting it off before it can really start and causing his cheekbone to cave in. Blood pours from his mouth and nose, and trickles down his arm from where bone protrudes through his skin to form a puddle beneath him.

There is a dangerous glint to his eye that has her licking her lips and tilting her head to watch as he hauls Sydney up onto his feet, only to grasp the sword at Will's hip, no doubt deliberately within his reach, and swing it around to slice his hamstrings and send him back down, spraying Robin and those closest with blood. She watches, transfixed, as Robin passes the blade to his friend and circles him as he sways on his legs, before kicking out at his kneecaps when he reaches the front again.

As his knees crack and shatter against the stone floor, Regina stands. She glides down the steps, the lace of her gown trailing behind her like a river brilliant gold, stepping through the red mess snaking its way across the floor. She places a hand on Robin's shoulder, stilling him instantly, as she rubs at the muscles and presses a kiss—oddly chaste, innocent even, covered in blood as he is—to his jawline.

Sneering down at him Regina gestures with her hand, her magic lifting him up like a rag doll, and reaches forward to dig the razor sharp points of the gold covered tips of her fingers deep into the flesh of his neck. Unlike with Robin earlier, she holds him until five dots of blood bubble up to dribble down his front.

"You ought to have kept your wishes to yourself," she whispers, giving him a moment to look into her eyes, to see the steel her kind is made of, before she smiles and rips his throat out.

Robin laughs, delighted, and molds himself to her back as they watch him bleed out in front of the court. She can feel him, hard and wanting and pressing into the crest of her ass, as the light fades from Sydney's form, trapping his soul forever.

Not saying a word—Will and John will dispose of the body before his soul can regenerate, or find a new host. And the members of court can be counted on to spread the word of what happens to those who step out of line. Gossip has its place, even in Hell—she leaves the Throne Room, her arm linked through her husband's and her blood screaming for those promises of later.

thoughts?