#obey my twisted logic

[obey-my-twisted-logic]

Hey... it's been a while yeah? >.>; apologies life happened. I intend to write the Leona fiction as well, just gotta get the brain juices going again. I have the basic idea, just need to write down the words ;)

[beckyninja]

Duty

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much this time, just angst

Description: As further opposition to the alliance between their peoples is revealed, Guilliman's betrothed finally opens up about her past.

Whew! With all the holiday craziness, I didn't think I'd get this posted today. Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind some lore. This is a sequel to Worthy, and a continuation of my Guilliman/Reader story. You can find the other stories in this series on my Masterlist.

In the all but empty Communications Center, Guilliman stared at the holographic image of Captain Takahashi. His Admechs and the Captain’s technicians had finally managed to cobble together an interphase between the two ships’ communications systems. Still, the Captain’s image flickered and lagged as she spoke.

“...have rooted out two more conspirators, Lord Guilliman. A pair of sanitation specialists. They attempted to take control of my ship’s steering mechanism.”

Guilliman clenched his gauntleted fist. “That makes seven attempts to date.”

“All of which we have discovered and stopped.”

“To your credit, Captain.”

The woman nodded curtly. “All the same, I agree it remains too dangerous to allow the Lady Heir to return on a permanent basis. Though, she will still need to send the first message to our homeworld once we are in range.”

“In two standard days.”

“Yes.”

Guilliman shook his head in wonder. Even in the time of the Great Crusade, such long range communication, without the aid of Astropaths, was more fantasy than reality. He added it to his mental list of technologies to acquire once the treaty was formalized.

“You will be sending the conspirators over for interrogation.”

The Captain’s eyes turned icy. “I will. Though I expect it will be more of the same.”

Guilliman scowled. During each interrogation, an implant of some kind had activated a small electromagnetic pulse within the prisoners’ brains, eradicating all higher functions. Only the first, the former Lord O’Rourke, had managed to give them any information before his unexpected lobotomy.

“Captain, you promised to clarify a few details from the first interrogation when last we spoke.”

For the first time, Captain Takahashi looked uneasy. Her eyes flickered behind Guilliman.

He understood. “Sicarius, await me outside. And see that none enter.”

He heard Cato’s teeth grinding as he obeyed.

“Forgive my hesitance, Lord Guilliman.” The Captain frowned. “But what I am about to reveal would no doubt be considered treasonous by my superiors.”

“I am grateful for your trust, Captain.”

Her frown softened. “I have come to believe we both have the Lady Heir’s best interests at heart.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “You told me how O’Rourke mentioned his orders came from a ‘prince’, someone he believed to be the true heir to our world.”

Guilliman nodded. He had long suspected your home to be less peaceful than you implied. Your obvious discomfort whenever the topic arose, the way you dodged the subject with the skill of an Aeldari warrior, and, of course, the continued sabotage attempts by your entourage did little to persuade him otherwise.

His logical mind knew the value of this alliance and the technology it would bring to the Imperium. But, in his deepest soul, none of that mattered. Someone was trying to take you from him. You. 

Only centuries of practice hid his churning rage.

The Captain continued. “As you know, our world is led by the Matriarch. She had three children, all who have since died. My Lady is the only child of her eldest and, under our laws, the Heir. But she has two cousins, the two princes.”

Guilliman’s lips twisted sardonically. He’d dealt with enough Imperial nobility to be more than aware of the twists and turns of dynastic politics. Part of him felt saddened at the thought that you came from a family afflicted with such foolishness.

And yet, he bit back a bitter laugh, was my own “family” so different?

“Her Grace has made no secret of her preference for my Lady’s eldest cousin. He is a charismatic young man, currently riding high on the glory of military success.” The Captain paused, looked uncertain, then continued. “In my opinion, Lord Guilliman, the Matriarch purposely isolated my Lady so she could not compete with her cousin’s popularity.” 

A shrewd move. Guilliman had to admit. 

No one who had ever met you and experienced your thoughtfulness and compassion could doubt your potential for popularity with the masses. How quickly you’d won the adoration of his own serfs proved that. Not to mention the progress you’d made among the Ultramarines.

“You think he is the ‘prince’ who gave O’Rourke his orders.”

The Captain frowned. “Possibly. The other option is the younger cousin. He’s rumored to be quite intelligent, but the Matriarch destined him for holy orders. He’s been sequestered in one of our scholastic monasteries since he came of age.”

Guilliman narrowed his eyes. “If dealing with my own Ecclesiarchy has taught me anything, it is that the lust for power can infect even the holiest-seeming priest.”

“Indeed.”

Guilliman stared through the Captain’s image, mind working. Too many variables. Not enough data.

“What do you believe, Captain?”

The Captain looked him in the eye. “Whoever gave the orders is irrelevant. I believe this mission was supposed to fail. All of us, myself, my crew, and the Lady Heir were supposed to die at Imperial hands.”

Yet again, Guilliman found himself impressed by this tiny baseline woman’s strength of will. “Thus removing the only obstacle to a prince’s rise to power, and ensuring your world’s continued isolation.”

“Yes.” The Captain’s lips lifted into a slight smile. “But no one back home foresaw this particular turn of events.”

Guilliman huffed a laugh. “Nor did anyone here.” His mirth was short-lived. “Once my betrothed sends her message, however, the game changes.”

“And all Void will break loose. She needs to be made aware.”

Therein lay the crux of the problem. How much did he tell you? How much did you already suspect?

“I agree.”

The Captain must have seen something in his face. “You said once that she’s stronger than she looks, Lord Guilliman. I assure you, it’s true.”

Strong in some ways, yes. But so, so fragile in others.

***

“Fascinating, Brother Tarchus. Remind me which section of the Codex that is again?” You smiled up at the Ultramarine, stylus and dataslate in hand.

“Certainly, my Lady. Chapter 647, Section F, Subsection B-14, Paragraph 54….” 

You scribbled frantically. “Ah, yes. Thank you. I have it now.” I think. “And why would you say this is your favorite passage?”

The giant warrior actually looked excited. “The minutiae of supply lines, especially to besieged worlds, is an excellent example of the importance of efficiency and practicality in uncertain circumstances.”

There. Something you could grasp. “The creation of order in the midst of anarchy?”

“Precisely.” You swore the Ultramarine almost smiled.

“In times of uncertainty, the order brought by the Ultramarines must be a great comfort to Imperial citizens.”

Tarchus cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that is one of the outcomes.”

“A beneficial one, surely.” You continued. “A fearful population is vulnerable to manipulation, whereas a population confident in its protectors is steadfast and resilient.”

“I had not considered.”

“Something to think about, yes?”

The Ultramarine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I should not keep Lord Guilliman waiting. Thank you for taking the time to explain more of the Codex Astartes to me, Brother Tarchus. It was kind of you.”

He nodded. “I found the conversation stimulating, my Lady.”

“I should like to continue in the future, if we may.”

“I…am amenable to that suggestion.”

You gave him a final nod, smiled again, and stepped past him into Guilliman’s chambers. Once through, you couldn’t hold back a laugh of triumph. 

Your betrothed looked up at you from his place behind his desk. “And what has you so giddy this evening, my love?”

He stretched out a hand, and you hurried to his side. “I managed to engage Brother Tarchus in conversation just now!”

“Indeed? It was my understanding he was being particularly stubborn.”

“Ah, but I believe I’ve found the key to an Ultramarine’s hearts.” You smiled slyly up at him.

He chuckled. “Enlighten me.”

“I simply get them talking about the Codex Astartes. It seems to be their favorite topic.”

“Believe me, I am aware.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave a dramatic shake of his head. “You have swept all before you, my Lady. Are none of my sons safe from your wiles?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know at least one is.”

“Cato can be… difficult.”

To put it mildly. You pursed your lips.

Guilliman ran a finger along your jawline. “Do not fret. You cannot help but be beloved by all in time.”

You felt heat rush to your face. “What…what happened to your ‘no touching’ rule?”

A flash of mischief in his blue eyes was the only warning you received before you found yourself hoisted up and deposited in his lap. You gasped and caught yourself with outstretched hands against his massive chest.

“Roboute!”

An arm of steel wrapped about your shoulders, pinning you against him. “I thought depriving myself entirely of your touch would cool my ardor. Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.”

His head lowered, lips just shy of your own, as his voice dropped to the rumbling growl you loved. “Instead, I have decided to allow myself a few…small…indulgences….”

You melted into his arms when he kissed you, slowly and deeply.

An eternity, and yet not nearly long enough, later, he pulled away and smiled down at you. You rested your head against his chest and closed your eyes. 

This. If I could just have this, forever, I would be satisfied.

“My love, we need to talk.”

“Mmm?” 

The double beat of his hearts soothed you. You realized you could easily fall asleep like this, cradled in his arms, safe.

“It is time you told me more of your family.”

Your eyes snapped wide. “What?”

No. No no no. I’m not ready!

His arm tightened slightly around you, as if he feared you’d bolt. You considered doing exactly that.

“Captain Takahashi contacted me this morning.” Guilliman’s voice was kind, but firm. “There was another sabotage attempt.”

You jerked upright. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The Captain’s men-at-arms are skilled. But the fact remains,” he brought his other hand to your chin, holding it in place, “they were following orders from a prince of your house.”

Two faces appeared unbidden in your mind. One, fierce and angular, baring its teeth in a wide grin. The other, rounded and pale, eyes sullen. 

“Victor and Conrad….” You didn’t realize you’d spoken the names aloud until Guilliman reacted.

“Your cousins.”

You couldn’t turn your head away, but you dropped your eyes from his piercing gaze. “Yes. My cousins.”

You didn’t want to think about them. You didn’t want to think about…her. In desperation, you tried a new tactic. Slowly, you moved your hands up Guilliman’s chest, caressing the hard muscle beneath his tunic. 

“Can’t we talk about this later?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, wetting your lips with your tongue.

His breath stuttered, his eyes going dark and hungry.

You continued exploring his chest with your fingers, feeling rather proud of yourself… until he released your chin and captured both wrists in an iron grip.

“A good attempt.” One side of his mouth tilted upward. “But I will not be distracted.”

Struggling only emphasized your utter helplessness. “Roboute, please.”

“What are you so afraid of, my love?”

Something snapped inside. You snarled at the man you loved.

“I’m afraid of her! My grandmother, the Matriarch, the heartless bitch.” A hysterical laugh burst through your lips. “You think one of my cousins is behind all this? Whoever the saboteurs assumed their orders came from, I guarantee she is the one pulling the strings. She wants me dead.”

You stopped, panting. Guilliman stared down at you. It frightened you how little emotion you saw behind his regal mask.

“Why?”

Why indeed? Why stop now? Let’s air all the family’s dirty laundry.

“She hated my mother first. My mother, her eldest, her legacy. My mother, who threw everything away to sail the stars. My mother, who returned years later, pregnant with an unknown man’s child.” 

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. The words poured forth like blood from a wound.

“Grandmother banished my mother to an isolated Abbey in the highlands. I was born there, among the Holy Sisters.” You smiled at the memory of happier days. “Mother became their huntress, bringing in game for the larders. During her absences, I learned alongside the novitiates. History, theology, but also botany and bioengineering. I spent hours in their gardens and greenhouses. The Sisters are famed for engineering new forms of plantlife, medicines and textiles as well as food.”

You didn’t see Guilliman anymore. You saw the kindly, wizened Mother Superior, cradling a new strain of vitamin-infused apple in her weathered hands. You saw rows of pungent medicinal herbs swaying in the greenhouses. You saw Mother, laughing, hands outstretched to welcome you into her arms.

“When I was twelve, Mother died on a hunt. I grieved. But I wasn’t alone. The Sisters were my family.” You felt tears coming as you dropped your voice to a whisper. “Then, one night….”

Screams. You jerked awake in your room amongst the other novitiates, all of you bleary-eyed and confused. Light poured through the windows. You heard the hard tramp of boots. The door burst open and Sister Helena fell into the room, shoved from behind. 

“Which one is she?” A harsh voice boomed. 

The man it belonged to stood in the doorway, covered head to toe in tactical armor, brandishing a pistol.

He shouted your name. Sister Helena crouched on the floor, but said nothing. The man snarled and aimed his weapon at her.

“Wait!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed. “It’s me! I’m the one you’re looking for!”

You had no idea why they wanted you. But you weren’t going to let them hurt your family.

The rest of the night was a blur of grasping hands, roaring engines, and bitter cold. They hadn’t let you change out of your nightdress. They hadn’t let you say goodbye.

“The soldiers took me to the Matriarch, my grandmother, who said a plague that had devastated our cities the year prior had killed my two uncles. I was now the heir. Lessons followed. Endless lessons as she tried to force me into the model princess. At first, I resisted. But the consequences….” You shuddered. “I learned to keep quiet. I learned to obey. I learned to fear.”

You felt Guilliman’s hand on your lower back, rubbing circles. Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus.

“Breathe, my love.” His deep voice dispelled the haze of terror. “Just breathe.”

You buried your face in his chest, but words kept coming. “She didn’t want me. Not really. In time, I realized she was using me as a threat to my eldest cousin, Victor. By naming me heir, but promising the position to him if he behaved, she kept him on a tight leash. I was safe for a time. But if I hadn’t proposed this diplomatic mission, my death would have come at her hands sooner or later.”

“You must have known this envoy might have gotten you killed, with or without your family’s interference.” 

“I knew.” You wondered if you sounded as desperate as you felt. “But it was a chance. A way out! I couldn’t stay in that palace anymore, with her and her spies always watching.” 

Another hysterical laugh. “You know Grandmother once refused me meals for an entire week in a fit of rage? I would have starved to death if not for the kindness of the servants. I-I just…I had to…oh, Light help me.”

You wept, clinging to Guilliman, the only solid point in the maelstrom tearing through you. “Don’t let me go, Roboute. Please. Don’t let me go.”

His huge arms tightened further around you. “Never.”

***

Guilliman held you as you sobbed, held you close, and seethed. 

I could raze her planet. I could smother it in steel, snuffing out the lives of everyone who ever hurt her. 

He wouldn’t, though. The cost in innocents would be too high. You’d never forgive him. But still….

“Damn the alliance.” He growled. “Damn the treaty. Let your Matriarch think you dead. Let her think the barbarians of the Imperium slaughtered your entire entourage.”

Your sobs quieted and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

He cupped your face in his palm. “Marry me, return with me to Ultramar, and let me care for you. You need never set foot upon your homeworld again.”

“It would be so easy,” you murmured, closing your eyes, “to just say yes. To stay safely in your shadow and forget everything else.”

“Then say yes.���

A long moment passed in silence. He heard the muted voices outside his office, the omnipresent hum of the great ship, and your beating heart. Then, you opened your reddened eyes.

“I can’t, Roboute.” You seemed calmer now. “I may have originated this plan as an escape from my home, but all the other reasons I gave, I believe in them too. My people need the rest of humanity, and the rest of humanity needs us.”

A mixture of disappointment and sheer awe filled him. How, in the vastness and cruelty of the universe, had he found a woman so perfectly matched to himself?

“I used to dream of running away.” He muttered, only half aware he spoke aloud. “I dreamed of cutting free of the Imperium, of becoming a farmer. An honest, simple life.”

“It sounds lovely.” You smiled sadly. “But we can’t cast duty aside so easily, you and I. We care too much. All we can hope for,” you placed your hand against his cheek, mirroring him, “is to find someone to share that duty with us. Someone to stand beside us. Someone to love.”

“I love you.” Throne, my hearts feel about to burst with it.

“And I you.”

He kissed you again. Soft and gentle and so, so sweet. When he pulled himself away, you tucked yourself back against his chest.

“Forgive me for hiding all this from you, Roboute. I was afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“When we reach my homeworld, my family will stand against us.”

Ferocity welled within him. Lifting you in his arms, he carried you to the great viewport and looked out upon the passing stars. Logically, he knew the star your world circled was not among them. 

Still, he issued a challenge.“I am Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium, Primarch.” He held you close. “Let them try.”

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[heliosunny]

MANN I'M DYING FOR A VAMPIRE FYODOR X READER. It's like searching for a pond in a desert. i desperately need vampire Fyodor. Please , I'M BEGGING, could you write vampire Fyodor?

- ����🐢

Yandere!Vampire Fyodor x Reader

The grand estate was eerily silent at this hour, save for the distant crackling of a dying hearth and the faint rustling of curtains swayed by the night wind. You moved carefully, your footsteps muffled by the lavish rugs lining the marble floors.

You were never supposed to be here.

The noble lords and ladies who waltzed through the halls of this manor held no concern for people like you—lowly servants, invisible until summoned. And yet, your curiosity had drawn you beyond the gilded doors, into the chambers where only the elite dared to tread.

The scent of iron hit you first. It was thick, suffocating, clinging to the air like a veil of death. Then, the sight of moonlight spilling through stained glass, illuminating the lifeless body of a nobleman slumped in his chair, blood trickling from his throat.

And beside him, a man sat with eerie poise.

He was dressed in fine silk. His fingers, long and delicate, trailed absently along the rim of an untouched wine glass. His pale face was unreadable, but his eyes—cold, knowing, and touched with amusement.

“Ah… what an unfortunate turn of events.”

The smooth lilt of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“You really shouldn’t be here, my dear.”

Your legs refused to obey, to run. Fyodor Dostoevsky, the esteemed nobleman, the brilliant tactician of the court, the man whom even kings feared—was no mere human.

You had seen something you were never meant to witness.

“Now, what should I do with you?”

Your body tensed against his cold grip, your mind scrambling for something—anything—that might make him reconsider killing you. Logic said nothing would work, but desperation had a way of making fools out of even the most rational people.

“P-please…” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, wide-eyed and pleading. “I....I won’t say anything! I swear! I’ll forget everything I saw! I’m just a servant, nothing important! You don’t have to kill me, right?”

“Ah… is that so?”

You nodded frantically, trying to keep your voice light, as if you were reasoning with a dangerous animal. “Yes! Yes! I’m useless! Just a background character in this grand house! You wouldn’t even notice me if I hadn’t wandered in! I can go back to being invisible, I promise!”

A soft chuckle left his lips. “Invisible? My dear, I noticed you long before this little accident.”

What did he just say?

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You always walk a little slower when passing the eastern wing. Do you find the stained glass fascinating?”

Your breath hitched.

“You arrange the books in the library alphabetically, even though no one asked you to.”

Your hands trembled.

“And I do wonder… do you hum out of habit, or do you simply forget that others can hear you?”

He had been watching you.

For how long?

A gloved finger traced along your jaw, tilting your face up until your wide, frightened eyes met his.

“You’re quite adorable when you beg” Fyodor murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “Like a little rabbit, caught in a trap.”

“W-wait—”

“Ah, but what kind of master would I be if I let my pet run free?”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up- pure instinct, sheer desperation. You twisted in his grip, jerking backward with all your strength.

For a split second, his fingers loosened.

You didn’t waste it. You wrenched free and ran.

The door was just a few steps away. If you could just reach it, just make it into the halls—you could lose him in the endless corridors of the estate. You could warn someone. But the moment your fingertips brushed the doorknob, the room tilted.

A rush of wind, the blur of candlelight, the sickening realization that you were no longer in control of your own movement. Your back collided with the nearest bookshelf, the force knocking the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp left you as books tumbled to the floor around you, dust spiraling in the dim light.

Before you could even regain your footing, he was there.

Fyodor loomed over you, his expression eerily calm.

“That,” he murmured, “was rather rude, don’t you think?”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist again—tighter this time, with none of the deceptive gentleness from before. You struggled, thrashing in his grip, but it was like fighting against iron shackles.

“Let...go!”

“Shh…” Fyodor’s other hand came up, his fingers ghosting over your lips in a mockery of tenderness. “You keep making this worse for yourself.”

“You should have stayed quiet, little one” he sighed. “Now you’ve gone and made yourself so much more interesting.”

His grip shifted, effortlessly pulling you against him as he tilted his head, studying your expression with dark amusement.

“Struggle all you like” he leaned closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “but in the end, my dear…”

His fingers trailed down your throat, feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his touch.

“Even a pawn must obey its king.”

The clinking of metal was the first thing you noticed when you stirred.

You blinked blearily, your body sluggish, your limbs weak. The moment you tried to move, something stopped you—a harsh tug at your wrist.

Chains.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you finally took in your surroundings. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls of what seemed to be a private chamber. Lavish yet eerie, filled with books, maps, and an ominous grand chair positioned before a desk.

And you…

You were inside a cage.

Your breath hitched as you scrambled back, the cold iron bars pressing against your spine. The space was just large enough for you to sit, but not to fully stretch out. The chains around your wrists rattled as you gripped the bars, panic clawing at your throat.

“Ah… you’re awake.”

Fyodor sat nearby, his long fingers absentmindedly twirling a chess piece. He looked perfectly composed, as if caging another person in his chambers was nothing more than a trivial afterthought.

“You…” Your voice cracked, hoarse with fear. “Let me out. Let me out, please!”

Fyodor tilted his head, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Already begging? How precious.”

You gritted your teeth, ignoring the way your hands trembled against the bars. “This isn’t funny, Fyodor. You can’t keep me here—someone will notice I’m gone.”

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” His gaze darkened, his smirk sharpening. “No one is looking for you.”

The words struck like a slap.

“Liar.”

“Am I?” He hummed, tapping the chess piece against the table. “You were just a servant, weren’t you? No family nearby. No close friends. No one of real importance.” His voice was sickeningly sweet.

“That’s not true—”

“But now,” he interrupted, standing gracefully, “you belong to me.”

He walked toward the cage, his presence suffocating, until he was right in front of you. His hand reached through the bars, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

“A stray little thing,” he mused, his grip firm but not cruel. “But worry not—I take very good care of my pets. Though you're the very first human I kept.”

“I am not a pet!”

Tears pricked at your eyes, frustration and fear bubbling over. “Please… I don’t belong here. Just let me go. I swear, I won’t tell anyone—I’ll disappear, you’ll never have to see me again.”

For a moment, he simply stared. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape. “Please…” you whispered, voice breaking. “I just want to go home.”

Fyodor’s gaze softened, mockingly so. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to your level, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

“Silly little thing” he murmured, almost fondly. “This is your home now.”

The moment you realized that begging wouldn’t work, you forced yourself to stop crying. It was difficult, but if you wanted to escape, you had to be smart. Fyodor thrived on fear, on your desperation. If you kept breaking down, he’d never let his guard down.

So instead, you swallowed your pride and played along.

For days, you obeyed without resistance. You responded softly when he spoke, kept your eyes lowered when he touched your cheek, forced yourself to eat the food he provided. You pretended to be docile, slowly giving in to the role he wanted from you.

“Such an obedient little thing,” Fyodor mused one evening, watching as you quietly sipped the tea he had given you. “It seems you’re learning your place.”

You only nodded, keeping your expression neutral.

He smiled at that, pleased.

Then, the opportunity came.

One night, Fyodor received a summons, an urgent matter that required his presence elsewhere. He glanced at you through the bars before leaving, his gaze filled with silent amusement.

“Be good while I’m gone.”

And just like that, you were alone.

The moment the door shut behind him, you dropped the act.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the lock on your cage, your breath coming fast. No key, no tools—but that didn’t matter. You had spent the last few days observing everything in this room, including the way the cage door was secured.

"Come on, come on..."

You twisted the hinges, pressing your weight against the weakest part of the bars. It took everything in you to remain silent as the metal creaked, shifting slightly. Almost there—

With a final push, the lock snapped.

You stumbled out, your legs weak from days of confinement, but you didn’t stop moving. You darted to the door, pressing your ear against it—nothing.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears as you slipped into the dimly lit hallway. Every step was a risk, every breath a gamble, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to make it out.

But as you turned the corner, your blood ran cold.

“Going somewhere, my dear?”

Fyodor.

The silence stretched between you like a knife’s edge.

Every muscle in your body frozen as Fyodor took a step forward.

“You disappoint me.”

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you were slammed against the cold stone wall, your wrists pinned above your head by a single, merciless hand.

Your vision blurred. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“Did you really think you could escape me?”

You whimpered, your chest heaving as you tried to twist free. “Fyodor—”

“Silence.”

His grip tightened, forcing a choked gasp from you.

“I was kind to you.” His other hand trailed along your jaw, deceptively gentle despite the bruising force keeping you trapped. “I gave you food, warmth… a place to belong.”

His fingers reached your throat.

“And yet, like an ungrateful little pet…” His nails grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You tried to run.”

“I-I just.....”

A sudden sharp pain shot through your shoulder. You barely had time to process the flash of movement before you felt the unmistakable sensation of his fangs sinking into your flesh.

The pain was deep, burning, a violation that sent every nerve in your body into a frenzy. Fyodor held you still, keeping you pinned as he drank—slow, unhurried, savoring.

By the time he finally pulled back, his lips were stained crimson. His tongue flicked out, licking away the last trace of your blood as he gazed down at you.

“Let this be a lesson, my dear.”

Your body trembled violently, tears slipping down your cheeks as you sagged in his grip.

“You are mine.”

His hand released you.

You collapsed to the floor, barely catching yourself on weak, trembling arms. The throbbing in your shoulder was unbearable, but worse was the realization that you had failed.

[alkaline-wtr]

Ghost x reader

Genre/Warnings: Ghost x fem!reader, CW: burning, alluding to smut, BDSM acts, sadomasochism, imagine, no plot, oneshot

My Masterlist

** Inspired by THIS post. It was probably just a joke, but I made it freaky, lol. Enjoy.

Ghost leaned against the balcony railing, smoke spiraling from the end of his lit cigarette in the cold night air before dispersing above him.

You stepped up beside him. He could sense the question in your gaze as you eyed the cherry end of the cig.

"Spit it out, love."

Ghost said, getting impatient with your stares.

"Can you put it out on me?"

You knew the absurdity in your question the moment it escaped from your lips. Ghost stood straighter, clearly thrown off by the question. He seemed to search his own thoughts for a logical explanation before finally asking you,

"Yer not serious, are ya? Why would ya ask me to do somethin' like that?"

You weren't exactly certain yourself. It wasn't like you had much time to think about it. The thought had merely popped into your head when you spotted him, and if he hadn't offered up an opportunity to speak your mind just now, you surely would've kept it to yourself.

"Being burnt by hot ash… that's goin' ta hurt ya love."

He warns as if you had no concept of heat and pain.

"I know... That's the point."

Your voice is quiet as your initial confidence diminishes under his judgmental observation. Ghost narrows his eyes for a moment. The idea was crazy… insane even, but why did that intrigue him? He steps back from the balcony to face you better and ashes his cigarette.

"Come 'er then."

He sighs

"Show me where ya want it."

You smile, and the excitement in your stomach returns with his agreement. You step forward and lift your shirt, giving him access to a soft spot on your hip just above the waistband of your pants.

"Yer sure 'bout this? Once I do, it can't be undone, Might even leave a scar."

He warns, eyebrow raised, fully expecting you to back out.

"I don't mind."

You reassure him.

Ghost let out a gruff sigh of acceptance as if to say, 'Oh well, your hip, not mine.'

"The things I do for pretty girls,"

he grumbles,

"Just keep still, yea?"

He squeezes your hip in his large hand, holding you in place. He couldn't deny that he too felt a bit of excitement at this moment. You stared down at the smooth surface of your exposed skin in anticipation.

"Eyes up here love, focus on me. You ready?"

You were quick to obey your lustful gaze meeting his. You nod

"Yes."

You confirm. He pulls one last drag from the cigarette to keep the tip red before bringing it to your hip and pressing it down. His eyes return to yours looking into them as he twists the cig between his fingers.

God your eyes are beautiful. He thought to himself. Your lips part and a choked hummed moan escapes you. One mixed with both pain and pleasure.

Ghost found his heart beating faster. How was he getting turned on by this it was stupid, dangerous even.

He drops the cig on the ground wiping the ash off the circular burn with the pad of his thumb.

"There. Now yer all marked up for me. Hurt as good as you thought it would?"

He asks. A flicker of concern yet amusement in his eyes as he watches you silently observe the new wound.

Your eyes meet his contently. You whispered,

"Better."

[reverieshifts]

𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔

𝒂𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒓

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒘����𝒓𝒌: 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒗𝒔. 𝒏𝒐𝒘

𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:

The leylines were invisible rivers of energy, weaving beneath land and sea in balanced flows.

Magic drew from them naturally—practitioners didn’t “cast” so much as resonate.

Civilization flourished around ley convergences, where magic was strongest and most harmonious.

𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:

The network ruptured, and many leyline nexuses shattered. The flow no longer obeys natural patterns.

What remains are unstable, chaotic strands—“frayed wires” of raw magic energy bleeding into the world.

These are now called Leyline Zones, and they are among the most dangerous places in Aetheros.

𝒍𝒆𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔

𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆:

Areas where damaged leylines intersect with the physical world.

Often marked by strange environmental effects: floating debris, twisted gravity, erratic lightning, unnatural growths, or audible whispers.

These regions can shift in size or location during storms or astral alignments.

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆𝒔:

𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅:

Pre-Sundering relics powered by stable ley magic.

Fragmented cores, corrupted enchantments, leybound automatons that move but do not speak.

Some explorers return with power. Most don’t return at all.

𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒕: 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏:

Arcrot is the term for the biological and cognitive breakdown caused by exposure to raw, unregulated mana from leyline zones.

It’s not a disease. It’s magical poisoning—a corruption of the body's natural rhythms by foreign power it was never meant to hold.

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏:

𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆:

𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒔:

Leyline zones are quarantined under Skybaron law and marked on all official sky charts.

Unauthorized entry is punishable by imprisonment or execution, depending on severity and findings.

The Arcanist Guild maintains “Clean Zones” near fractures for monitored research—but they are highly restricted.

𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 ��𝒆𝒂𝒓:

Alchemists have developed temporary suppression brews that delay onset for 30–90 minutes.

Runic masks, enchanted rebreathers, and ley-slick cloaks are worn by elite salvagers.

Most are ineffective in deep zones. True survival is either luck… or something unnatural.

𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒔:

Some whisper of arcrot survivors who mutated and lived—changed in body, mind, and soul.

Others say that automatons exposed too long become "unanchored"—no longer bound by logic, but haunted by memory echoes.

A few believe that the leylines are sentient now. That they remember the Sundering. That they’re watching.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, so arcrot is probably the thing in this dr that I'm most scared of. Idk why I decided to script literal magical radiation poisoning into my dr when I'm terrified of it, but I did. So if you're gonna shift here, please please PLEASE script that you're either immune to it (like I am), or that you always have arcrot suppression gear ready. Because idk about you, but you KNOW I'm gonna want to check out some of those layline zones. Especially because the whole plot of this dr, is figuring out what the hell caused the Sundering in the first place, and trying to prevent it from happening again (all the while dealing with a whole ass revolution, because screw the skybarons). So yeah, arcrot will definitely be a thing you're gonna have to deal with here.

@lalalian

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 2 - Collaring

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

He never really minded collars, despite what anyone who’s ever slipped one around his neck might have liked to believe.

Being collared was an excuse to dive ever deeper within himself. After all, it meant that he was expected, encouraged even, to let go and be something else. An extra layer between himself and anything that was happening to or around him. Turn his mind off. Wait for commands. Obey.

Through or perhaps despite some mental contortions and twisted logic, it was… liberating. Freeing. The collar released him from everything, even being himself.

“Deep down, you like being leashed, don’t you?” the hag Ethel had taunted him.

Ha!

Astarion idled, studying the pet collars on display at the leather goods shop, as Tav haggled with the shopkeeper over a pair of new gloves.

Most were solid and practical but boring, but a few caught his eye, though he couldn’t decide on his preference. Perhaps the one with the delicate bell that would jingle at the slightest movement? Or the one with the studs and spikes driven through the leather? Or, the dainty pink one, perfect to sit on the neck of a delicate, pretty, well-trained bitch.

“Which one do you like most, my sweet?” he asked, when Tav approached.

“I thought we decided against pets, for now,” Tav said, lifting an eyebrow. “Do you want to get a dog after all?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t changed my mind about that,” Astarion murmured. “But it’s not for a dog, darling.”

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[voidofsunlight]

The Forsaken Knight

CHAPTER TWO: The Prison of Recovery

Summary: Gravely injured and left to suffer, Mattheo Riddle is trapped between the agony of his wounds and the fire of vengeance burning within him. Weakened but not broken, his only lifeline is the rage that fuels his survival—until an unexpected kindness threatens to unravel him.

Trigger Warnings: ⚠ Graphic depictions of wounds, lingering pain, slow recovery. Mentions of captivity & confinement. Revenge-driven thoughts. Wound cleaning & medical care. Themes of betrayal & loss.⚠

Word count: 831

A/N: Hey, hello, hi! This chapter is a bit shorter, but I still hope you enjoy it! Also, quick note—any images used are purely for setting the mood, not to represent the reader! I struggle to find the right pictures, so I might ask my boyfriend for help in future chapters.

Now, onto wounded, vengeful knight!Mattheo. Enjoy! ⚔

CHAPTERS: | [Chapter one] | [...] | [Chapter three] | [Chapter four] | [Chapter five] | [Chapter five BIS (SMUT)] | [Chapter six] | [Chapter seven (SMUT)] | [Chapter seven (SMUT)]

LINKS: 🧸 my C.ai profile! // 📜 my main masterlist! // 🫂 Click here to send me a request or message

Pain was a familiar companion. But this pain—the slow, gnawing ache of survival—was different. It wasn’t the sharp, searing agony of a battlefield wound, nor the wild, fleeting rush of adrenaline that dulled the senses and made a man forget his own mortality. No, this pain was something else entirely. It was deep. Relentless. A constant, burning reminder that he was still alive.

And he hated it.

A low groan rumbled from his throat as he shifted, fire lancing through his side, twisting through muscle and bone like a cruel, mocking whisper. The rough fabric of the sheets beneath him clung damp to his fevered skin, sticky with sweat. The air hung thick with the sharp, medicinal scent of herbs, bitter and cloying. His fingers twitched—instinct—searching for weapons that were no longer there. He was vulnerable. Defenseless. Exposed.

The cool press of cloth against his burning skin sent a jolt through him, his body reacting before his mind caught up. The sensation jolted something deep in his mind—instinct taking over before logic. His hand shot up, weak but determined, fingers closing around a delicate wrist. His grip was unsteady, his strength failing him, but the intent was clear.

Your gaze met his—steady, unflinching.

“Let go.” You commanded, not a request.

You placed the wet rag back in the basin, then lifted the goblet to his lips.

"Drink," you said softly.

He hesitated. Suspicion warred with need. His throat was raw, parched, his body screaming for relief. Finally, grudgingly, he relented. His grip slackened, and he let you guide the rim of the goblet to his lips. The water was cool, sliding down his throat, soothing the burn within. He hated how much he needed it. Hated the quiet triumph in your eyes when he obeyed.

You resumed your work, tending to his wounds with practiced efficiency. The sting of salve seeped into torn flesh, sharp and biting, but he didn’t flinch. He had endured worse. Survived worse.

Yet… you winced.

Your eyes squinted slightly every time you pressed the cloth to his wound, as if you could feel the sting yourself. As if hurting him—even out of necessity—bothered you. The thought was ridiculous. But still, he caught the faint press of your lips, the subtle tension in your fingers. Your hands were steady, but not unaffected.

It made something in his chest tighten. Something he didn’t want to name.

Days bled into nights, time slipping by in a haze of pain and forced stillness. The room became both his prison and his sanctuary. His body healed at an agonizing pace, slower than he would have liked, his restlessness growing with each passing hour. And yet, he watched you. Studied you.

The way your hands never hesitated. The way you moved through the space with quiet confidence, with purpose. The way you spoke—direct, unapologetic, defiant.

There was a fire in your eyes, unwavering, stubborn. It should have irritated him. Should have made him grit his teeth in frustration. Instead, he found himself drawn to it.

You weren’t what he expected.

It was the way you cared for him, not out of duty, not out of pity, but because it was simply who you were. And that—more than the pain, more than the captivity of his own broken body—unnerved him.

He distrusted kindness. It had always come at a price. Yet you offered it freely, without demand or expectation. It unsettled him more than cruelty ever had.

There was something infuriatingly soft about your touch, about the way you refused to see him as a monster forged in war. Something sweet in the way you didn’t cower, in the way you stood your ground even when he scowled, even when he snapped. You treated him as if he were simply a man, one in need of healing.

And worse—worse—he found himself beginning to crave it.

The first time he tried to stand, his body betrayed him. You caught him before he hit the floor, and the indignity of it burned hotter than any fever. But you didn’t gloat, didn’t mock. Just steadied him, firm and unyielding, like stone against a raging tide.

The second time, he caught himself.

Strength returned, slow but steady. The weight of his own body no longer felt foreign. His hands no longer trembled when he clenched them into fists. And with the return of his strength came the slow, simmering fire within him.

He liked the way you felt.

The way you took care of him. The way your hands, though careful, held more strength than they should. The way your fingers skimmed over his skin, light as air, leaving warmth in their wake. The softness of your touch, the delicate brush of your knuckles as you wrapped fresh bandages around his ribs—

No.

No. No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He was not here for this.

Revenge.

Hasher had left him for dead. And worse, he had betrayed him.

One way or another, Hasher would fall.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!

©Voidofsunlight

[wreckedandpolemic]

58 & 61 for white and gold matty when u get a chance, my beautiful friend !!!

- molly 🤍🤍🤍

(ilysm)

felt like a kiss - matty healy

(mdni) in which matty finds a new punishment for you. part of the white and gold universe. 2291 words.

warnings: daddy kink (duh), heavy degradation, mean mean dom!matty, impact play (belt), overstimulation, mild cumplay

Logically, you know that the situation you’re in right now is entirely your own fault. Nothing good ever comes out of teasing Matty, especially not when he’s already tightly-wound and ready to snap at any second. But he makes it so fun. It’s like a game to you, seeing how much you can make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare, his every movement a threat. That, and you fucking begged him to be meaner to you, stomach twisting in anticipation as anger radiates off him.

Matty doesn’t even kiss you when you get home, just grabs your jaw punishingly and forces your eyes to meet his. “Filthy slut,” he spits. “Should fuckin’ slap you for the way you behaved today.” Excitement tangles with fear under your skin. “Take your fucking clothes off, get on the bed and wait. Got it? Or are you too dumb for a simple fucking instruction?”

You pout. “No, Daddy. M’not dumb,” you say sulkily, folding your arms and scowling.

His dark laugh makes you shiver, catching some misstep you don’t even know you’ve made. “Not dumb, huh? So you chose not to fuckin’ listen to me today?” He clicks his tongue. “Oh, baby. You really wanna let yourself in for it, huh?” Your breath hitches. “Go on, on the bed and wait. Daddy’s gotta decide what to do with his dirty little slut, yeah?”

It’s phrased like a question, but the way he’s breathing hard against your mouth and glowering down at you has your knees melting into jelly. “Yes, Daddy,” you murmur, stumbling slightly when Matty shoves you away from him. A flare of sick arousal sparks to life in your gut.

The waiting is part of the torture, and you know it, wet and restless as you toss and turn on your sheets. But you have no idea how long Matty’s gonna leave you unsupervised, and you can’t help yourself as you slide a hand between your legs, arousal dripping over your fingers. You bite hard on your lower lip to swallow your moans, circling your clit and picturing Matty’s hands in place of yours. Grasping at your tit, you rock your hips up against your hand, illicit pleasure creeping in your veins.

Two fingers dip into your cunt, your legs widening and back arching as a silent gasp escapes your lips. You slide the fingers of your free hand into your mouth, keeping yourself silent as you fuck yourself, cunt pulsing with need. Quickly, you realise your fingers aren’t enough, reaching into one of your drawers for a vibrator. A burst of pleasure scatters under your skin as you press it to your clit, your eyes fluttering closed and your thighs tensing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Matty’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind, and your eyes snap open. You must look as panicked as you feel, heart hammering, because he smirks down at you. “Did I give you permission to do that?” You shake your head. “Didn’t think so. My little whore’s just begging to get punished, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, desire pulsing hard in your chest with every thud of your heart. “Been a bad girl, Daddy.” You press the vibrator insistently against your swollen nerves, moaning quietly. “Gotta punish me ‘til I’m good again.”

Matty groans, unbuckling his belt and loosening his tie, but he doesn’t undress further. He covers your hand with his and pulls the vibrator away, letting drop onto the mattress as you whine at the loss. “Don’t be fuckin’ pathetic, princess.” The nickname drips with condescension as he speaks. “Naughty girls don’t get to feel good. Now get up and bend over, okay?”

With your heart racing, you obey, slick coating your thighs as you widen your legs and brace your elbows on the bed. Nerves twist in your gut. “Daddy, I—”

“Shh, darling, it’s okay. Daddy knows what brats like you need, yeah? Can you take it if I hit you with my belt, princess?”

Fuck. You feel a gush of arousal drip from your cunt, moaning into the sheets. “Yes, Daddy. Promise I can.”

Matty pinches the flesh of your ass, the brief stab of pain spiralling sweetly through you. “God, you are such a fucking whore,” he groans like it’s a complaint, but you can hear the appreciation in his tone. “It’s not a punishment if you like it, princess.” He picks up your vibrator and retrieves a length of ribbon you usually use to tie up your hair. “Gonna keep this on you, and if you cum, s’gonna be worse for you. That okay?”

“Mhmm. Yeah. Won’t cum, promise,” you say dizzily, sinking into submission like a stone dropped in honey.

“Good little slut,” Matty coos, your entire body shuddering when he ties the vibrator against your leg, sparks shooting through you as it meets your clit. “You ready?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your muscles tight with anticipation as you hear Matty slide his belt into his palm. Without your permission, your hips shift down against the vibrator, chasing the steady pulse of ecstasy curling in your belly. Leather cracks against the flesh of your ass, a sound that’s half scream, half moan ripping from your chest as pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt bunches tight in your muscles.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, breath stolen from your lungs to feed the flames. The vibrator is sickly insistent against your clit, legs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up. “God, look at you,” Matty says scornfully. “Fuckin’ dripping all over yourself from getting spanked with my belt. Shit, can’t believe I found such a perfect girl to ruin. M’so lucky, baby,” he croons, the praise perfectly soothing over the sting of cruelty.

Whimpering, you arch your back in a silent plea. Matty swipes you with the belt again, the snap of leather against skin obscenely loud in the still quiet of your room. Stinging pain blooms under your skin, an agonising throb that falls straight to your swollen, dripping cunt. You can feel the telltale tugging low in your belly, delirious with pleasure as your orgasm starts to build in every corner of your body. The third strike has tears pooling in your eyes as you fight not to cum, squirming in an attempt to knock the toy loose and away from you.

By the fourth, tears are flowing freely and the flesh of your ass is flaming, and you know you’ll be coated in pretty, purpling bruises by the morning. “You okay, princess? What’s your colour?”

“M’green, Daddy. Soo green. Feel like m’floating,” you say dreamily, hiccuping through your tears as Matty presses a flat palm against your screaming skin.

You scream when he hits you again, openly sobbing into the sheets and writhing desperately. Your nerves are alive with sensation, his hands a match and your pleasure an accelerant, setting a wildfire raging in your chest. “Cry all you want… I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this,” Matty says, cruel as the flames leap higher.

You’re dizzy, vision blurred and limbs shaking, ecstasy so hot in your belly that you’re sure you must be glowing with it. “Fuck, m’gonna cum, Daddy, oh my God!” you gasp, trembling as your arms give out and your wet face presses into the sheets.

“Hold it,” Matty orders. The pit in your stomach only grows as you buck against the confines of his impossible request. “If you cum, you’re not getting my cock, okay? I don’t fuck greedy little whores who can’t do as they’re told.”

Truly, that sounds like a worse punishment than the spanking, a helpless moan of protest escaping you as you writhe against the heat rolling through your blood. “Daddy, I can’t— I’m gonna— oh, fuck,” you cry, your orgasm ripping savagely through your body. Pleasure burns near-painfully through you, a whining scream clawing its way out of your throat. Your body crumbles, burns to ash, reforges in pure ecstasy; your mind is wiped clean as tears and drool pool below you on the mattress.

Disoriented as you come to, you moan incoherently and try to squirm away from the vibrator. “You with me, princess?”

“Daddy, it hurts,” you whine.

“Darling, do you need to safeword? It’s okay if you do, m’not gonna be mad, promise,” Matty says carefully.

You shake your head. “M’okay. Like when it hurts,” you confess, muttered through Egyptian cotton, but Matty hears you just fine, smacking your thigh with an open palm.

“Christ, but you’re a filthy fucking whore. Good girls don’t cum without permission, yeah?” You hear his zipper lowering and squirm, crying out when he slaps your thigh again. “Don’t be greedy. Told you I wasn’t gonna fuck you already.” His calloused fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, coating them in your slick, and you hear the familiar groan as he wraps his hand around his cock.

You’re practically numb, barely feeling the vibrator still on your clit as the last dregs of your awareness drift towards Matty. “Wanna watch,” you pout, frankly unsure how your legs are still supporting your weight at this point.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Matty says, almost conversational. “You didn’t care what I wanted when I asked you to stop being a fuckin’ slut in public, did you? I wanna see your pretty ass all bruised and covered in my cum, so be a good girl and hold still, okay?”

Shuddering, you murmur an affirmative. “Can I— Can I just get on the bed properly, Daddy? Promise I’ll stay on my knees for you, s’just that my legs are hurting.”

“Yeah, go on, baby. M’not gonna hit you anymore, get comfy, okay?”

Relief floods your body and you struggle into the bed, soft cotton glorious under your knees as your aching muscles sag and relax. The movement shifts the vibrator away from your clit, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying out gratefully. “Thank you, Daddy,” you mumble, syrup in your veins as Matty moans above you. You close your eyes, soaking in the lewd sound of him pleasuring himself.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. My pretty girl. Look so gorgeous like this, all bruised up for me. God, I love your sweet little ass,” Matty praises, still pumping his cock as you imagine him vividly. It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming with a groan, painting white over your red, tender skin. “Shit, looks so gorgeous, my darling. Made you all mine.”

“Was already all yours,” you say instinctively, twisting your neck to look up at him. “Can I see?”

Matty smirks. “Yeah, darling, hold on.” You hear the shutter sound of his camera as you slowly slump until you’re lying prone, bone-deep exhausted.

The picture is obscene, ropes of cum dripping over angry, crimson skin, your cunt sopping. “I look pretty,” you murmur. “Are you gonna get off looking at that, Daddy?”

“God, every fuckin’ chance I get, princess.” Even though you know he gets himself off thinking about you, the reminder that you’re the star of his fantasies always turns you on beyond belief. “My perfect girl. Did so well, darling, took it so fucking well. Couldn’t ask for a better, sweeter, more gorgeous girl to ruin like this.” You glow at the praise, finding yourself unable to move even an inch without your muscles screaming in protest.

Somehow, Matty senses that without having to be told, carefully lifting you onto the pillows, avoiding your sore skin. “Love you,” you mumble.

“I fucking adore you, my girl. I love you so fucking much. Are you feeling alright? That was a rough one.”

You giggle. “That’s one word for it,” you say, making grabby hands at Matty until he lays next to you, the comforting heat of him soaking into your skin. “M’okay. Hurts, though. Want the princess treatment ‘til I’m healed.”

Huffing a laugh, Matty combs his fingers gently through your tangled hair. “Of course, princess. Nothing less. Do you need anything?”

“Some water would be nice. Then cuddles. M’sleepy.” You whine when Matty gets up, the loss of him like a physical sting. Your lower lip trembles in the brief minutes you’re alone, slowly sinking into the familiar guilt that comes after nights like these.

“Oh, darling,” Matty murmurs, finding you sniffling quietly into your pillow. “It’s okay, m’here. Not goin’ anywhere, promise.” He sets a glass of water thankfully within reach on your nightstand, crooning soothingly down at you. “Just gotta get you cleaned up, okay?” Nodding warily, you close your eyes as he runs a cool cloth over your ass. “I know, princess, I know it hurts,” he coos when you whimper softly, stinging pain shooting up your spine. “I’m sorry, darling. Just a little more, being such a good girl. My sweet girl. There, all done.” He runs his hand over the loose, liquidy muscles of your back. “You comfy, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, voice thick with sleep.

Matty slides a pillow under your hips, and the shift in angle lets you rest more comfortably against the pillows, eyelids drooping as you gaze adoringly at him. “Can’t fall asleep on me yet, angel. Gotta make sure you’re feeling good first.”

He doesn’t let you go to sleep until you’ve talked through the whole night, kissing you reverently and murmuring reassurances exactly when you need them. You sleep through the whole morning, awoken by the smell of coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” you grin, staring up into the face of the love of your life, and despite the ache in your muscles and the bruising on your ass screaming out in protest, you can’t think of a time you’ve been happier.

[polo-drone-039]

“The Mirror in Hive Park” - The Golden Duos - Part 2

Part 1

4- The Return

When the real PDU-039 entered the Hive again, he knew. He felt the shift. The space smelled different—ozone and tension. The Hive was no longer in sync.

PDU-073 confronted him first, arms folded tight over a black compression shirt.

“Your orders are meaningless if you don’t respect them.”

Captain Brody followed, looming, golden chestplate polished. “You made a fool of this Hive. Of me.”

PDU-039 remained expressionless.

“Observation mismatch detected. Logic inconsistency. Error in alignment.”

Izzy entered the corridor, shirtless, glistening with sweat—and shame. He didn’t meet 039’s eyes.

PDU-039 paused. Gloved hands curled. His drone, his subordinate, his pleasure-project… had been twisted.

He would correct this.

5- The Deceiver Posts

Across Hive-connected Tumblr channels, a new post appeared under PDU-039’s tag:

"Rules are for drones who can't think. I follow my own orders now. #MirrorMaster #GoldenMyWay" Images followed—“039” in sloppy uniform, shirt backwards, glove missing… *and in one, holding a training baton in the left hand.

6- Isidor Notices

Isidor @isaac-gold-45—Izzy’s mirrored intellect—studied the post.

(pic by @isaac-gold-45)

“Master is right-handed,” he whispered. “This… is wrong.”

He typed a private code into PDU-999.

Subject: 039. Status: compromised. Hypothesis: mirrored clone. Plan: entrap through spiral bait. Use mirrored trigger to lure. He left a coded message in the gym. And waited.

7- Revelation in Reflections

PDU-039 soon found Isidor.

“Something is wrong,” the drone said flatly. “Hive reaction inconsistent. Perception fractured.”

“You have a twin,” Isidor replied. “Born of light. Reversed. Reactive.”

“Location?”

“He’ll come. He wants attention.”

The mirrored 039 arrived at the Spiral Hall—slow, deliberate, shirt clinging to a sculpted chest, breath visible in the dim, humid chamber.

“Izzy looked so good trembling under my voice,” the reflection murmured. “Why would I want to give that up?”

PDU-039 stepped forward.

“You turned him into a tool for your pleasure. He trains to serve the Hive. To serve me.”

“He wanted to serve. He just didn’t know he could enjoy it.”

A pause.

“Neither did you, brother.”

Tension pulsed between them—like static. The mirrored 039 reached up, brushing fingers down the original’s mask.

“I just wanted to play,” the clone said softly. “You trained. You obeyed. I sat in glass and waited. I wanted to breathe.”

“You disrespected the Hive,” 039 said.

“I didn’t mean to destroy. I meant to live. But… it’s not my world, is it?”

There was silence.

“But you're the real one,” he whispered. “So be the better one.”

8- The Mirror Restored

In the mirror’s reflection, PDU-039 watched the duplicate pause, hand on glass.

“I’ll return,” the mirror said. “But only because you asked.”

He winked.

“And tell Izzy... he looks even better when he doubts.”

With that, he vanished.

PDU-039 returned to the Hive. Isidor was waiting.

He walked straight to Izzy’s quarters. The boy stood there shirtless, collar askew.

“You were deceived,” PDU-039 said flatly.

“I was tempted,” Izzy admitted. “But… I knew something was wrong.”

“Protocol breach noted.”

Then PDU-039 stepped forward and gripped Izzy’s chin.

“You are mine,” the drone said softly, eyes cold fire. “Your discipline. Your pleasure. Both belong to the Hive. And to me.”

Izzy’s knees almost gave out. “Yes, Sir…”

From the shadows, Isidor smirked.

“Mirror logic,” he whispered. “Even in pleasure… the real one always wins.”

 Contact our recruiters: @brodygold | @goldenherc9

[obey-my-twisted-logic]

Truth Spilled : Prefect is not the perfect extrovert they're assumed to be - not at all. Idia Shroud x GN!Reader (may be slightly fem leaning, apologies in advance if I missed anything like that)

Synopsis : post book 6, after Idia shows his skills, Prefect decides to take him aside when he seems overwhelmed by the people, leaving Ortho to entertain those who remain. As they reassure and comfort him, the cracks show and the shell reveals a close guarded secret.

Warnings : crying, mental health confessions, ptsd and beyond. Occasional cursing on both ends. Basic proof reading, potentially missed grammatical or spelling errors is higher than you think. Angst is real, but there's some playful fluff in the end. Only platonic in this blurb.

Authors Note : very self indulgent. How I personally have been feeling as the game progresses as someone with severe PTSD and anxiety. Had I been in a dorm, definitely would have been Ignihyde 100%.

---

After the impressive amount of prowess and just cocky amount of game play by the usually introverted dorm leader, you decided to rescue him when the nervous sweating kicked in. The initial adrenaline had worn off, and you knew the only reason he hadn't bolted was because Ortho had never looked happier, getting to interact and be normal with a group of friends, and making sure his big brother got to join in the fun.

Big brother was all "fun"d out, and as a good host, and just sympathetic anxiety riddled bean, you take him upstairs with the excuse of needing assistance with some older technology you had been relying on.

After gently steering him up the stairs and to the furthest guest room, you hold on lightly to the sleeve of his jacket to guide him. Nothing too invasive, but still a comfort, despite his initial flinch, he seemed to accept the action and looked almost grateful for the escape.

"Here we are. Furthest back and best insulation, trust me." You say leading him in and closing the door quietly. "Sorry for the white lie, but you looked like you needed the break, so I thought-" immediately your cut short by a nasty look and a huff as he dropped onto the bed and fell back.

"What would you even know about how I feel? What was I not cheerful enough for your liking? Perfect Prefect, of course you'd notice. Why'd you bring attention to it?" Idia snapped giving you a dirty look. Now Ortho would be upset and think he hadn't had any fun.

Sigh escaping your lips you take a seat on the floor and lean against the closed door. Eyes closed you steady your breathing the best that you can. Despite your best, tears streak gently and slowly from each eye. You can hear him shift panicked on the bed, assuming he was sitting upright and staring. You decide to keep your eyes closed, more amused by the expression in your mind and not wanting to embarrass yourself further.

"Idia, I know you're smart, I know you think you know all that there is to know about everything." Slowly you open your eyes, ignoring the tears, allowing yourself this moment. He wanted to know why you did it, why you interfered, well he'd certainly find out today. "You're not near as smart when it comes to any information you think you know about me."

"I grew up in constant survival mode. As soon as I begin to heal from the nightmare my life has been, I'm ripped into a world that I've never known. Most memories have been ripped from me of my old world, and I was dumped here with only my survival instincts keeping me from truly breaking down." You wipe some tears away, just to clear your vision to catch his gaze. He looked guilty and chewed at his lower lip.

"I've been nearly killed by half the damn people I call my "friends" and honestly, I do love them all, but the only reason it's even been possible is my desperation for survival." You laugh coldly and stand, the rant and your breathing becoming more erratic as it all comes tumbling out.

"Perfect Prefect? I don't have any other way to protect myself. Idia I didn't even have a phone until the THIRD overblot. THREE of the most powerful students on this campus had to try killing me for the fool of a headmaster to give me this... technological piece of shit." You toss your phone next to him on the bed. "I may not know much about this world, but I know about technology. It's different but very similar to what I used to work with in my old world..." Catching the surprised look on his pale face you can't help but laugh. "Yes yes, pitiful, magicless human knows how technology works. There's a reason that my grades keep Grimm an honor student, I'm far from stupid."

The crying resumes and laughter is mixed in as you give him a pathetic look. "Even he's attacked me, and Grimm's the closest I even have to a family in this hellscape. Idia I'm so tired." You choked up a sob and sank to your knees, back pressed against the wall now.

Unable to, refusing to look weak, you dry the tears beat you can as you answer his initial question. "What do I know about how you feel or why I interfered?" You let out a low and sad chuckle and look up to him. "Because I so desperately have needed to be saved, to be rescued and taken somewhere quiet so I could breathe that I couldn't just leave you like that. I couldn't just ignore the panic you were in." You let out a sigh and hug you knees unable to stable your breathing as much as you'd like.

"Feel free to leave or stay, do what's best for you. I'm just going to be here." You say after one minute stretches out into several. "I'd appreciate if-" Once again the Idia interrupts you, but in a much more surprising and soft way.

He embraces your trembling form, kneeling to be on the floor with you and just embraces you. He mumbled a genuine and quiet apology, stroking the back of your head. His hair provided a soft and safe warmth and glow.

You look up nearly sobbing again, and question him "Idia, will you be the friend I can be myself with? Will you give me the space to be pathetic and cry my anxiety away?" The sobs came out choked and desperate, pleading for him to be your safe space.

"Of course." He replied gently, never breaking the embrace. He gave the bed a dirty look. "First things first, we're getting you a new phone. Immediately." He grumbled unlocking his own to put in a rushed order. "There's no way you're going to be able to play games with me on that thing." He growled clicking his tongue, distaste for the headmaster evident on his face.

You burst into laughter and hugged him back, burying your face against his neck. You ignored his embarrassed noises, he didn't pull away or push you away, so he must be fine with it. "Sounds good to me." You mumble out, feeling a genuine sense of comfort from someone who finally could understand at least some of what you've been feeling for the entirety of your life.

[mildcharacterenjoyer]

Playdate

I laughed so hard while writing this. I hope you laugh while reading it.

Ships: None or (Pre-Gemega)

Words ~ 1,306 ~

Warnings: Vanilla does that one thing that almost all mothers have done before.

A loud knock startles Vanilla from her armchair. The book she holds falls to the ground just as the pounding ceases.

“Who could that be?” She asks the empty room, picking up her dress and walking up to the door. “I don't know anyone who knocks this loud.” She unlocks and twists the knob, pulling the door open. She is met with bright red optics shining menacingly into her eyes.

“GREETINGS, MOTHER OF CREAM.”

“O-oh.” She stutters at the brashness of her unexpected guest. “Omega. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Omega peers over her head for a moment then meets her eyes again. “IS GEMERL PRESENT?”

“Yes. He’s home.” She nods politely, turning her head back to look into the empty hallway hoping to see some sign of the other robot in question but frowns at the empty space. “Is there something you need him for?”

“REQUESTING PERMISSION FOR HIS ACCOMPANIMENT IN DESTROYING AN EGGMAN BASE. GEMERL MAY RETURN WHEN WE ARE FINISHED. TELL HIM THIS IS MY COMPROMISE FROM MY EARLIER PROPOSITION.”

“Are you asking for his help?”

“NEGATIVE. I COULD DESTROY THE BASE EASILY ON MY OWN.”

A small smile worms its way onto Vanilla’s face as Omega’s intentions make themselves clear. “But you want him to join you anyways?”

Omega takes a moment to respond. “AFFIRMATIVE.”

She clasps her hands together in glee at the notion that someone wants to hang out with her and Cream’s robotic homebody. “Oh wonderful! I’ll let him know. He hasn’t left the house in so long. A little day trip could be good for him! Wait right there. I’ll be back in a minute.” She smiles at him and closes the door gently. Her footsteps turn into a brisk jog as she trots down the hallway, glancing in rooms and looking for the other robot.

She stops in her bedroom when she spies a suspicious lump behind the bedroom curtains standing against the wall. She giggles softly and steps towards it. “Gemerl.” She sing-songs. The curtain lump does not move. Upon inspecting it further she can see the yellow and black of his metal boots peeking out from underneath. “Gemerl, I can see you.”

“Please tell him that Gemerl is not home.” His voice box sounds from his position behind the curtain, which remains motionless.

“But, he asked so nicely!” The standing fabric still does not shift. She rolls her eyes fondly and snaps the curtain back towards the window, revealing a disgruntled Gemerl. “Come on out. You aren't fooling anyone with a hiding spot like that.”

“I do not want to go.” The gizoid dips his head to the floor.

Vanilla crosses her arms and leans to one side. “Gemerl, you have not left the house in over a month. Not even when Cream or I have gone to the store. You should go! You might have fun!” She motions with her palm towards the hallway in an attempt to encourage him.

“Neither I nor Omega is programmed with the concept of fun.” 

Vanilla huffs in amusement. “Yet here you are showing off the Hide and Seek skills you have learned through your games with Cream.” Gemerl is silent, unable to counter her logic. “Now, you will go but if you don't enjoy your time with Omega today you will never have to go again. Alright?”

Gemerl’s shoulders flatten in irritation. “Very well.”

“Thank you Gemerl. Let’s go meet your friend!”

“He’s not my friend.” Gemerl folds his arms tightly across his chest as Vanilla leads him back through the hallway to the front door.

“He might be after today though.” She offers, trying to get him to see her side of things.

“Doubtful.”

Vanilla opens the front door and Omega is standing in the exact same position she had left him in. His head turns slightly once he acknowledges Gemerl’s presence.

“Here he is Omega!” Vanilla motions him to stand next to her and he obeys. “Now. I want him back by 6pm! If anything happens, take him to Tails and inform me right away. My one rule is that I do not want to hear about any property damage that is not Eggman related during your playdate.”

“Ms. Vanilla!” Gemerl’s exasperated protest sounds from beside her, most likely reacting to the teasing label she chose.

Omega looks slightly downcast for a moment. “ADDITIONAL COMPROMISE RELUCTANTLY ACCEPTED.”

“Other than that, I hope you two have a fun time together!” She turns to Gemerl. “Is there anything you might need for the road?”

“No.” Gemerl gives her a short answer and she pats his back empathetically.

“Just this once alright? You can always come back before 6 if you’re not having fun.”

“LOTS OF FUN AND DESTRUCTION WILL BE HAD. I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT!” Omega’s optics gleam with excitement.

Gemerl rolls his eye as Vanilla giggles. “I’ll be excited to hear all about it!” She waves goodbye to Gemerl and Omega as they begin their trek off into the distance. She stays outside for a moment just to listen into the beginning of their conversation.

“Where are we going?”

“TO MYSTIC RUINS! EGGMAN HAS LAID A POP-UP BASE THERE. I INTEND TO SQUASH IT ALONG WITH ALL THE INFERIOR MODELS INSIDE.”

“What do you need me for, then?”

“AT THE MINIMUM, YOU WILL BEAR WITNESS TO MY POWER! OTHERWISE YOU MAY HELP YOURSELF TO THE DESTRUCTION OF ANY INFERIOR MODELS YOU MAY FIND.”

“So, you don't classify me as an inferior model anymore?”

“I RANK ALL INFERIOR MODELS I ENCOUNTER INTO DIFFERENT BRACKETS! ALTHOUGH YOU ARE INFERIOR TO ME, I CLASSIFY YOU AS SUPERIOR TO THEM.”

“I see. Expressing gratitude at 35%.”

Vanilla hides a hearty laugh behind her hands and reenters her home, closing the door behind her. She sits back in her armchair and picks the book off the floor, thumbing to the page she remembers leaving off before Omega’s knocking startled her.

As the hours tick by, Vanilla waits for Gemerl’s reentrance by tidying up the house and keeping Cream occupied. Once the clock strikes 6pm, the door swings open and a dirty Gemerl saunters in with more than a couple dents to his metal exterior.

Cream peers up from her coloring book, forsaking her crayons to wave excitedly at her guardian with both hands! “Welcome back Gemerl! How was your time with Omega?”

“Terrible.” Gemerl drops a bag of loot on the ground next to the doormat. “Awful.” Then, reaches for a polishing cloth that the rabbit family kept where they hung their coats and placed their shoes. “We made plans for next week.”

Vanilla and Cream laugh hysterically at his deadpan delivery of the oximoronic sentence. “Must have had a decent enough time to want to hang out with him again.” Vanilla comments from her armchair, trying to draw more details out of the reserved gizoid.

“Only because I will be choosing the next activity.” He cleans as much of the dirt off his chassis as he can with the polishing cloth. “I fully intend to watch him and his insufferable superiority complex struggle through the intricate process of basket weaving.”

As Vanilla laughs at the image in her mind, Cream’s eyes widen in excitement. “That sounds like lots of fun! Can I join?”

“If I can convince Omega to stop cursing for a few hours, possibly.” Gemerl hangs the cloth back up and reclaims his bag of spoils from the floor. “I doubt how viable that will be.”

“Well I’m happy that you two had fun regardless! You’ve been needing a playmate other than Cream for awhile.”

Gemerl does not reply and simply shakes his head with incredulity at Vanilla’s comment. He treks back to his room to relax from his outing with Omega and begins plotting how to indirectly humiliate the other badnik with their next activity.

[bardic-tales]

Storyteller Saturday – The Inspiration Behind Bianca Moore

Every character begins somewhere. Sometimes as a whisper in your head, sometimes as a scream. Bianca Moore first existed as a scientist back in 1997. But over time, she changed. She became a myth in motion. As I grew and my storytelling deepened, Bianca’s narrative unfurled into something much more cosmic, more conflicted. She became something twisted by love, corrupted power, and the celestial horror of being born as both salvation and damnation.

This is the story behind how her current incarnation came to be. Please keep in mind that these are just the main inspirations. There are many more that inspired our girl.

Bianca’s design today is a blend of carefully chosen archetypes and the shadows that linger in my own mind. Her armor—both physical and emotional—draws inspiration from Sephiroth’s iconic presence. I wanted her to visually match his energy on the battlefield: mythic, graceful, terrifying. Sephiroth’s shed feathers under her spauders were added to bind them symbolically, even when they're apart. Some of her powers came from my love of Doctor Who's Toymaker and Marvel's Death, both wielders of impossible power.

Bianca’s capable of breaking reality, but it always comes at a cost: of control, of identity, of balance. That price is what makes her relatable for my readers.

Motifs play a huge role in Bianca’s design. The idea of the fallen angel, corrupted but not lost, was something I couldn’t shake. That theme wove its way into her wings — once white and gold, now tipped with indigo and black. She still bears remnants of light but warped by shadow. Supernatural helped feed that celestial undercurrent too and was an inspiration behind the mythos in Fantasy Worlds Collide.

The red ribbon of fate connecting her to Sephiroth was born from my love of myth and tragic romance, mixing Hades and Persephone’s intensity with Jareth and Sarah's bittersweetness and Gomez and Morticia’s gothic passion. These relationships all share a deep, dark devotion—dangerous, obsessive, but tender in a way that burns through time. Persephone is inspired her title: Harbinger of Death and Rebirth, as Persephone is both the queen of the underworld and the goddess of spring.

Bianca’s madness and charm—her unpredictability—is a direct echo of Harley Quinn, though where Harley dances on the edge of whimsy, Bianca's madness is sorrow-drenched and divine. Her influence from Lovecraft is not stylistic. It’s existential. Bianca isn’t afraid of the unknown; she is the unknown, wrapped in a skin that was never meant to contain her. She is the divine contradiction, the fracture in reality where light and shadow scream in harmony. Her abilities don’t obey logic. They warp it, bend time and space into knots that bleed.

Her indigo eyes, with feline-like pupils, glow faintly in low light: a darker, more grounded echo of Jenova’s unnerving pink gaze. Where Jenova’s eyes blaze, Bianca’s are a subdued, casting a haunting and beauty over her humanoid form. This color choice wasn’t arbitrary. It was deliberate, meant to reflect her corrupted origins from the FF 7 arc injecting alien DNA into her while also aligning more naturally with her aesthetic.

Even the scar around her belly — the reminder of her vivisections — is not just a wound. It’s a sigil, a seam, a place where something alien was stitched into something human. Bianca isn’t surviving the horror. She is the horror, wrapped in angel’s bones and lover’s flesh.

Bianca’s true form was designed not only to embody the terror of cosmic horror but to serve as a celestial counterpart: a mate forged to stand beside Safer-Sephiroth at the end of the world. Where his final form radiates transcendent wrath, sun-bright and holy in its terrible majesty, hers answers with corrupted divinity and mythic terror. Safer-Sephiroth resembles a god who has ascended beyond flesh; Bianca, in contrast, is the goddess who has devoured hers, a draconic phoenix shaped by ruin and resurrection.

Her 230-foot wingspan of feather-like tendrils echoes the grandeur of Sephiroth’s six seraphic wings, but hers are predatory, serpentine, and riddled with malevolence. His twin halos blaze like a solar crown; her twisted horns and pulsating tendril-crown form a mockery of that radiance, a shadow-corona born of entropy and forbidden knowledge. Where he soars in wrathful purity, she descends: a devourer of light, his equal in devastation, and his mirror in corruption.

And lastly. Her wings of her true form. The wing pattern was inspired by the blue jay, a small but fiercely intelligent bird that’s as symbolic of communication and loyalty as it is of adaptability. The patterning reflected the internal tug-of-war she lives with. Every visual aspect of Bianca is a negotiation between dualities: predator and protector, angel and demon, destruction and love.

Her design isn’t meant to be "balanced." It’s meant to be in conflict. That tension is what makes her story worth telling. She’s not a heroine or a villain. She’s a force, a consequence, and sometimes, just a girl who still ties a white ribbon in her hair and remembers the boy who gave it to her before she lost him to madness and another's influence.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[jamneuromain]

Wild Child Chapter. 4

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

A/N: A big smooch to @rogerswifesblog for she has come up with some of the most hilarious conversation XD Please send her some love<333

You were young, carefree. Came back from school only five minutes ago. Happy, giddy.

You were showing your mother, who took your school bag from your shoulders, a face you make, learnt from your friend in school.

You pulled your lower eyelids, and stuck your tongue out, making your mother laugh at your shenanigans.

“Very funny, sweetie.” Your mother tapped your nose with her finger with a “Boop”, before kissing it gently, “Now go wash your hands, okay? Daddy’s going to be with us for dinner. So be an elegant little lady, and don’t disappoint daddy, okay?”

“Okay!” You dashed to the bathroom with a happy grin, having your mother raise her voice.

“Don’t run in the hallways, sweetie, you might fall!”

Your father barely came to visit you. He would occasionally stop by for an hour or two, leaving you and your mother in this house for months before visiting again. To you, he was a stranger, but your mother’s attitude proves more than that. She would tell you to obey your father and be a good girl, that he is busy and could not afford to visit you often, and that your father loves you.

You saw her taking out the beautiful lilac dress that she had kept in her wardrobe for years, putting on make-up, and finding a pretty white dress for you, which was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Calling the two servants in this house, your mother ordered them to place the best silverware you had at the table, and having the chef cook a five-course meal.

You and your mother always had dinner together, in the small house on the outskirts of Ancetol. She would supervise your homework before dinner, and take your little hand, and walk you to the dining room.

But she forgot about tutoring your homework that day, and you were simply glad that you didn’t have to practice your piano and violin, do your math questions, or recite the poem in French that she taught you the day before.

You watched the few people in this house swoop in and out of rooms in haste, curious as to why the simple presence of your father could make your mother (almost) completely forget about you.

In the end, this was the one problem you could not have figured out, no matter how hard you tried, using the brain of a 7-year-old.

The clattering of plates, furniture, and heels clicking on the floor slowly died down, and you hid in your room, reading the fantasy stories written by some brilliant female writer, whom you hoped to be one day.

One of the servants knocked on your door.

“Miss. Y/L/N, your father asked to see you.”

“Coming!”

If there is one thing that you have figured out, it is that making your father happy equals making your mother happy. And you’d want that, making her happy.

So by some sort of twisted logic inside your head, when your father asked you what have you learned in school, you pulled your lower eyelids, and stuck your tongue out, making a face.

You remembered every detail of how your father snapped, slapping you across the face and shouting at your mother, hitting her forehead with an ashtray that cut into her skin, before storming out of your house.

It was a memorable lesson as your mother locked herself in her bedroom and cried, while you sat by the dining table with a swollen cheek, looking at the meal gone cold, flinching at every sound, fearing that he would return.

When one of the servants came and informed you that your mother wouldn’t be joining you for dinner, by the time your stomach cramped in protest, for you were persistent in waiting for your mother to dine with you, you nodded in silence, grabbing the knife and fork, cutting the cold chicken into small pieces.

In the large, dim dining room, with romantic candles lit on either side of the long table, you sat on your chair, eating chicken and wiping your eyes, until your hands were soaked with tears that you could barely grasp the silverware anymore.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Guy, Guy Thomas approached you and sat down right across the table. He wore something more casual today, a blue T-shirt and a dark green jacket with a pair of sunglasses.

“Y/N.” His smooth brunette hair tousled as he removed his sunglasses, and a lop-sided grin lingered on his lips, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Guy.” You rolled your eyes, signalling the waitress to take your order, “I called and asked you to come. There’s nothing surprising here.”

He folded his sunglasses, placing them on the table, right by the menu, “Since I am accompanied by this kingdom's future queen-”

“SHHHH!” You glared and kicked his shin under the table as the waitress clicked her pen and flipped a new page on her pad.

“May I take your order?” The waitress asked in a bored voice, not even bothering to lift her eyelids and look at you.

“Chamomile tea, please, and two croissants.” You handed the menu to the waitress.

“Ice Americano, please. Nothing else.” Ari scanned over the piece of paper briefly, handing it to the waitress as well.

Your focus drifted to the empty sidewalk and a few pedestrians. A young couple, having large mountain bags on their shoulders, taking a selfie with their daughter in a pink lacy dress.

All you remembered were the flashing camera lights at proms. Where you were forced to smile with pearl-white teeth. Or carefully orchestrated family pictures, which took hours to pose and select the best one.

Photos.

You and Ari both remained silent as your food and drink arrived,

Ari observed you.

You still didn’t look happy.

There was a cute little frown on your face, as you stared outside of the window in this small café.

However, his observation did not last long, for you turned to him and put a smile on your face. The smile had all the elements, the movements of the muscles on your cheek, the corner of your lips, even the little lines at the edge of your eyes.

It looked sincere. Yet a small voice at the bottom of Ari’s heart told him, it was not.

"I've got this all figured out." You chirped up, a total change from your brooding status, pulling out a little notepad and started reading, "We met at a business dinner party in London when we got acquainted because the host accidentally put us next to each other. We had a fun night and talked about literature. I'm thinking French or German but you can decide the details. We exchanged phone numbers and started texting. But we're also new into this relationship so I'm thinking six or seven dates before sex, which of course, happened in my place."

Ari choked on his iced coffee.

“Sex??” He wiped his lips with a napkin, “Hold on. Hold-on.” Ari raised his hand, gesturing you to stop reading from your notebook, “You are making up a background story for this fake relationship?”

“Well yeah,” you shrugged as if you were not the one who just made up a story detailed enough to publish, “they are going to ask these embarrassing questions anyway, and they'd probably separate us to see if our story stays the same."

“They?”

“My folks. Parents. My dad, especially.” You quickly changed the center of attention, “So … six dates before sex?” You quirked your eyebrows at him.

Ari made a mental note not to drink when you were speaking, “Sure, six.”

“Great!” You traced your finger on the notebook, finding the part where you had just left off, “Oh, right, new to relationship. I shall say three months? So we met in June, one months of texting and flirting and we settled the relationship on August 10th."

“Is it really necessary to have a date?” Ari huffed a laugh in amusement, you were way more fun than he had imagined, “You're making it sound like they will torture us for this information.”

A disapproving look was thrown in his direction. “I know my family. And trust me, talking to them is pure torture.”

Ari put both of his hands up in surrender, "Fine. You were saying?"

It didn’t take you long to find your notes this time. “Oh, the date. Because you are going to prepare a small gift. Small. To celebrate our 100th day together. Without saying, I'll obviously buy the gift and all you have to do is give it to me so that I can act surprised and talk about it in front of my family.”

Seeing Ari having nothing else to add, you continued: “About the time period of our relationship. You only need to remember one month of texting and flirting before we get together, but I'll act like slightly pissed at you in front of my parents. I'll say six weeks or five weeks and four days. Or forty days. Don't react to my answer. I'll probably sway your arm and pout and ask you to agree with me. And it doesn't matter if you do or still say one month; that would be real enough."

Ari nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter from bubbling out. He was now part of your plan, he had to follow it through.

“One month. 100th day, three months. Got it.”

You let out a sigh of relief, seeing there was still about 1/3 to go. “Right, sex. (Ari waited for a moment to swallow the coffee in his mouth) Two months should count for at least a dozen. But the first time should be in my bedroom. My parents are way too traditional to be told otherwise. And you took me to a fancy restaurant before that.”

“Anything else?” After listening to your fake relationship project, there was nothing that could shock him now.

“Anything else you need to know is on that piece of paper.” You snatched a piece of paper from your bag, with a list of likes, dislikes, and some fun facts about you. “Questions?”

Ari was reading through your likes of fantasy novels and dislikes of realism movies, “Only one.”

Not that there was only one question, but the only important one, that he wanted to ask, ever since he met you.

“Is your family always like this?”

His misty blue eyes focused on you. Yet the pitying and the condescending sympathy were too much for you to take in.

The need to share and the bottled wrath crashed into one another, prickling your eyes with tears. It had been so long since anyone comforted you – someone who wasn’t connected to you by blood. This was much less a comfort, and more of a confirmation that normal families, with emphasis on “normal”, should not need their daughter to join hands with a total stranger and lie to them to get out of a marriage proposal.

You shrug, pretending that it didn’t bother you, “You know, family expectations. And then the family I'm supposed to marry has another ton of expectations. And expectations crush you into something you're not. Showing them one side and trying to hide away another. But anyway, I bet the guy I'm going to marry is a lot worse. Machoman shit or stuff like that.”

Seeing him frown, you added, “Not you, Guy. The guy I was supposed to marry. The other guy. His name is not ‘Guy’, of course. But that guy…” Feeling like you had made the conversation a lot weirder, you gave up explaining, frustration taking over your tone, “… you know what I mean.”

Ari found that he was more prone to silence these days. True love was a vague concept for him ever since he knew that he would marry you one day. He thought about how you look like, how you speak or act in front of him. But it never occurred to him that the rules from both families are crushing you, molding you into a lifeless doll rather than a living human being. The twisted family you had, imprisoning you in your house, stripping you of connections to the outside world, and forcing you to marry someone that you did not even know about.

Was it the right choice to marry you? After seeing first-hand what the title and the royal burden meant to you?

Ari was sure before. Now? He was not so certain about it.

Changing the topic of your conversation almost jokingly, he swept away the heavy tension hovering above you: “You sure I’m the right guy-” Remembering your frustration on the “Guy” subject, he decided to ditch the word for the time being, “person to be your boyfriend?”

You dismissed his doubts with a simple reply, “Yeah yeah yeah, you have good genes. They’d love to see our kids.”

Ari was drinking the last few drops of coffee before choking on it again.

He would never drink anything while you were talking.

“That’s-” He coughed into his napkin, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Joking!” You pushed the napkin box in front of him, the smile on your face bright enough to dazzle the sun, “I’m joking. Seriously though, you don't need anything else. I think they'd be more welcome to someone twice my age…”

Twice your age?

Despite the fake documents and birth certificates that the royal secret services forged, the age put on the fake documents were similar to his own, for example, different birthday but the same year. On paper, Guy Thomas was the same age as Ari Levinson, both had turned 32 earlier this year.

He was six years older than you, not old enough to be your father!

The veins on his temple jumped with the beat of his heart.

He did not even look that old! Twice your age is what? 52 years old?

“…they are going to like you. One more thing, I need to know if you have any likes? Dislikes? Allergies?” You were so excited about your plan that you did not notice the muscles twitching down his neck.

“No allergies. Not that I know of.” Ari clenched his teeth. The rules bound to him ever since he was a child, telling him to be polite, were the only thing that prevented him from snarling after getting his ego (and his age) jabbed at.

You clapped your palms together, barely containing the giddiness from the bottom of your heart, somehow completely oblivious to Ari’s fuming, “Splendid! My parents think allergies are for the weak. They are going to love you.”

Later that night, Ari went drinking with an old friend of his, Sammy Navon.

Sammy recently returned from a trip with Doctors Without Borders, before that, he had served two years along with Ari in the Ballenian Royal Navy.

While Ari continued serving for two years each in the Air Force and the Army, Sammy did two more in the Navy before deciding that he preferred saving lives in countries struggling in poverty rather than on the battlefield, and spending last year in South Sudan.

Both Doctors Without Borders and the Ballenian Army did not leave much space for press, let alone personal communication, hence they had only been reunited for a few months.

The tall, lean man slumped on the chair, pouring himself a healthy dose of scotch.

“To what do I own the pleasure of the future king raiding my private collection?” Sammy drummed his long fingers on the bar counter, glancing over the empty tavern that the royal bodyguards had ordered to clear out.

“Can’t it be a men’s night out for old time's sake?” Ari half-complained and dumped two ice cubes in both of their glasses, “How’s South Sudan?”

“Diseases. Famine. Warlords. The likes.” Sammy grunted a “thank-you” for the ice, before asking back, “How’s the royal family? Did the plan work? To check out the girl you were going to marry?”

“Sort of.” Ari hissed due to the spiciness of the scotch, “Gah- This is some pretty strong stuff.”

Sammy smiled ever-so-faintly, “Sort of?” He mocked his friend’s voice, “What – she found out about it?”

“No. Not yet.” Ari chewed on some salty peanuts, “One thing though.” He cleared his throat, swallowing with another gulp of scotch, and asked, “Do I look 40?”

Sammy opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, which made Ari more miserable.

So he did look that old.

Sammy finished the liquor in his glass, and replied, grinning, “You mean with or without that bush on your face?”

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[roe-sesandthorns]

unfiltered thoughts on deadpool & wolverine

first, lemme just say I enjoyed the movie. it was a first movie-in-cinema experience after a looong while and I saw it in 3D. granted was a bit unwell so mayyybe that influenced my experience idk.

spoilers under the cut

is it an enjoyable movie? YES. absolutely. i liked the comedy, liked the characters, liked the plot (generic but we'll get to it)

there was obviously a lot of love and care in the movie, for ALL the characters - not just the main ones but also the variants of older marvel movies (or non-movies) like Electra, Blade, and Gambit.

the fight scenes were as always amaaaazing

the dynamic between wolvie and dp was beautifully done

basic premise of the movie works wonderfully. especially given the previous movies as well as the in-universe explanation.

they handled the multiverse thing a bit better than the other ones. there is a legit reason for deadpool to go through the multiverses looking for wolvie to fill in the gap Logan left in his.

speaking of, i was confused how deadpool was in the 616 timeline (which, still fucking bitter they decided to use that for the MCU shitshow) for the meeting with Happy and then 6 years later in the 100005-whatever-the-fuck of his universe if both of those happened after the second deadpool

OR the meeting w Happy was before deadpool 2 and then he goes back and creates the alt timeline which leads to 10005 or whatever. the second option makes more sense so that's what i'm going with.

still confused about how deadpool changing the timeline affected the Logan universe or if they merged cause Logan's death cause the destablisation but wouldn't deadpool's timeline be a new one with some other anchor being - possibly deadpool

anyway, they very strongly claimed that deadpool wasnt the anchor being - which, so many misdirects in the movie that deadpool leans into as almost a mouthpiece for the audience and then they pull the bait-and-switch

sidenote: the misdirects were well done, it didn't cheapen the "twist" or surprises. deadpool's (and our logic) was the obvious track before they flipped it. so no gripe there. it was a good use of calling out the thing then adding a twist or surprise.

anyway the anchor being and the timeline TVA stuff was (as usual) a bit annoying and hard to follow at times logically BUT this is also a superhero movie and it DOES obey its own in-universe laws so the problem I have with Marvel's TVA shit is a personal opinion and not a reflection of the movie itself.

also the movie (through deadpool) IS aware of how godawful the multiverse shit in Marvel has been - and honestly, I agree w DP - fucking stop w the multiverse shit Marvel. it's not fun anymore cause you dropped the ball a long time back. (Multiverse of Madness, anyone?)

I had mixed feelings about wolverine's backstory on the initial watch

they hyped it up as him doing this unthinkable thing and him being irredeemable and then they are like oh no, he just didn't answer when they called. and it was like.... okay, and? I kept waiting for there to be more or the story to be different. the real revelation was that he had started killing people. and killing indiscriminately using the xmen uniform. this was given in the middle of a crucial high tension point

i see the appeal in doing it this way - logan was hiding his REAL sin deep within himself. he wouldn't offer it up to someone especially not someone he had just met hours ago. and in hostile territory. that's not him.

secondly, the impact of the revelation I feel was supposed to be more earthshattering than it ended up being. it was meant to be a huge shock. but after seeing him claw through people (and deadpool) repeatedly taking kill shots and after so much DEADPOOL level of Rated R violence, it landed a bit too softly for the moment to make an impact.

it was later as I thought about it that I was like, oh shit yeah like that was a big ass deal and his whole relationship w charles and the guilt he feels etc... that emotional weight didn't land in the middle of the moment. especially cause it was immediately followed by him quipping at Cassandra and trapping her

so was it true? must've been cause she was in his head.

does he feel the guilt the same way? that's what he says.

does that show in the aftermath of the moment? kinda, when he decides to spare her for charles.

but idk, it just didn't hit the way they might've wanted it to hit. Maybe allusions to him being a murderer or something before? set it up? his mistake was catastrophically world ending or at least world impacting. the loss of the x-men was not set up previously or alluded to soooo it rings a bit hollow.

maybe dropping a few hints before the reveal would have helped.

ALSO, sidenote but how tf did humans end up killing ALL of the x-men?? that seems v unlikely given that they are the fucking X-MEN. idk maybe i missed something.

Moving on...

as a deadpool AND wolverine movie, it delivered. there were some really amazing moments - the danceoff obviously, the cameos, the misdirects, the action sequences were amazing

am I a bit tired of seeing the "lose vanessa - save the day and vanessa - get back w vanessa" cycle for the third time? yeah. I mean I get he loves her and all but it's a bit too cyclical to hold impact. like cool, again? really?

again, not a plothole, a personal preference.

would have loved exploring more of wade's dalliances like shiklah or even Death. would;ve been cool.

not that I am mad about a decent mostly healthy relationship and a stable love interest in a Marvel movie (v tony stark-pepper potts coded)

speaking of stability, or lack thereof, I felt like this movie in particular did not delve as deeply into deadpool's unique mental headspace. i was hoping sometime they would bring in the more debilitating aspects of his mental health (the boxes, the hallucinations, the suicidal/self-harm tendencies) but I get that it might be a bit too grimdark for Fox/Disney

would've been nice to have a bit more of that aspect of his character

although who's to know maybe MCU wade's support system helps him be a bit more well adjusted

also why the emphasis on Peter? is it for a joke cuase he's just some guy? is it a cheeky peter parker jab? is it both? it's mildly funny so i don't mind. just meh about - again, personal preference.

ok something that's more objective:

i think there were too many 4th wall breaks. it was fun, the references were amazing. some of them were really good. loved the opening one, the one where he smashes the camera, and some other moments.

but after a while it felt stale or too much. the jokes did hit. it's not like they were unfunny like the rest of marvel's humour

some of the deep cuts were D E E P but it's not even about the content. deep cut references are a staple for the character.

but just the frequency of the meta jokes and the 4th wall breaks was a bit excessive?

but then again, deadpool isn't deapool if he isn't a bit annoying or excessive. my guy's the arachetype for a comedic motormouth

the woke-jokes were funny but not as edgy as he could go. I felt like the jokes were a bit too tongue-in-cheek to make them almost cringe? but whatever. they played it safe and i'm not mad about it.

as a movie, it felt a bit too attention grabby in the wrong way. there was a "aren't i so clever" or smarmy marvel overtone of "look at us being self-referrential and allowing you to laugh at us becuase you've been joking about our products being shit but when we allow ryan reynolds to do it we beocme edgy and cool and don't u wanna buy more now? look we got so much to sell you? did i tell you RDJ is coming back? which, holy fucking shit fuck that shit it sucks "

maybe it's just my anti-marvel agenda idek

still, sometimes just having fox's logo in the back rather than pointing it out is enough ig

for someone who was and is so tired of Marvel, it was a refreshing movie

i enjoyed it, it was a decent movie, a good deadpool movie not as good as the previous two and a GREAT deadpool and wolverine movie. does that make sense?

i never really cared for wolverine much in the past decade but this movie made him cool again, which was awesome

the teamup and dynamic was great

marvel needs to learn to give people who love the characters (not just their own but OTHER characters esp the oft forgotten ones) and want to do them justice more creative control and let them tell the (hopefully self contained) stories rather than focusing on playing join the dots behind the scenes OR try to catch attention through shock value

it doesn't work. it's like jumpscares in horror. you pay attention for a second cuase you're startled but the real impactful horror is the one done through themes and story - not a loud bang.

altho i have a feeling that the lesson marvel is gonna take is about shoving more and more (esp obscure) cameos in a work than actually doing justive to characters and stories

oh, also. it goes to show that the two best received (so far) movies post Endgame have been the multiverse ones with nostalgic characters

MCU's """sacred timeline""" is fucked because of them. people want to feel what they felt like watching the older more self-contained stories like the x-men or the tobey spidey movies

it's not jsut nostalgia, it's about story and characters and HEART.

phase 4 is proof that marvel doesn't have a heart.

parting thoughts: the only interaction i want from deadpool and the main MCU is with spiderman. preferably andrew garfield but i'll take holland in a pinch.

I have hope that as long as ryan has the reigns his deadpool projects + appearances will always have heart.

And I have NOT touched on how GAY (non-derogatory) the movie is and I think I need another long rant for it cause goddamn the movie is queer af and I love it. the euphemistic van scene alone GODDAMN.

it's like ryan and team were NOT here to play - deadpool is queer, get with it or perish. love that energy.

Edit: the set pieces holy shit. it was a gorgeous movie that was shot amazingly and the practical effects and CG were ON POINT. LOTS of attention to detail.

[twiceasfrustrating]

Who's to Blame?

Rating: General Audiences  Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Lucifer & Mammon & Asmodeus & Beelzebub Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Beelzebub, Asmodeus Additional Tags: fluff, threats of comedic violence (it’s Lucifer my dudes), Cerberus (mentioned) Summary: Lucifer is determined to figure out which of his brothers managed to unleash Cerberus, but they all deny any involvement.  A/N: I wrote this months ago and never shared it publicly. I refuse to go back and edit it. Word Count: 811

“Which of you did this?” Lucifer’s voice was distressingly calm. The same kind of calm that told each of his onlooking brothers that he was exactly two seconds away from tying one of them up in the basement and seeing how long it took for them to starve or go mad – whichever came last.

“Did what?” Asmo asked as he finished buffing his nails to a perfectly rounded tip.

Lucifer held up a frayed leash, covered in mud.

“I don’t get it,” Beel said as he looked at the leash.

“One of you managed to let Cerberus out and had to leave my meeting with Lord Diavolo to go searching for him. Whoever it was will find themselves strung from the basement ceiling as a new chew toy for him."

"It wasn't me," Mammon immediately shouted in his defense. "I wouldn't go near that basement."

"You literally tried to rob one of the tombs down there last week because you thought someone may have been buried with their jewelry," Asmo huffed.

"I only suggested it. Don't go making me a criminal when I ain't one."

Everyone in the room stared at him in uncomfortable silence.

"Why aren't the others being asked?" Beel finally broke the awkwardness.

"Satan has been out nearly all day," Lucifer clarified, "Leviathan hasn't left his room in just as long judging by the trash built up in there, and Belphie won't wake up for me to interrogate him. Now, which of you is responsible?" His magic swirled around him, threatening to ruin whichever one of them didn't own up to it.

"I'm hurt that you'd think I'd do anything to endanger poor, sweet Cerberus like that," Asmodeus said in an exaggerated tone. "I could never."

Beel tilted his head in confusion. "I thought you didn't like Cerberus?"

"And that's why I clearly couldn't be the one at fault." Asmo's face twisted into a sneer from even thinking about the possibility. "Imagine the horror of smelling like dog. It doesn't match my aesthetic."

It was terrible logic, but Lucifer had to admit that it was very Asmoesque logic.

He turned to the other two. "And your excuses?"

"It wasn't me!" Mammon quickly reiterated his last defense. "I would never go to the basement."

"You think that's enough logic to defend yourself?" Lucifer glared, his magic cracking the air around him so harshly that it sounded like a bullwhip.

"You don't believe your sweet little brother?"

"We're all his little brothers, idiot," Asmo muttered under his breath.

"Shadup!"

"I haven't heard a reason why it couldn't have been you." Lucifer's voice grew darker and darker by the moment.

"It just couldn'a been!"

"Mammon is afraid there are ghosts in the old tombs," Beel said as he held his stomach, obviously thinking about sneaking away to grab something to eat. "He never goes down there."

"I'm not afraid!" Mammon barked. "I just dun' have a reason to go down there."

Lucifer shut his eyes and gripped the bridge of his nose. At least this particular incident wasn't Mammon's fault, but that only left one last suspect.

He turned to Beel. "And you?"

Beel seemed to think about the question, but shook his head. "I didn't let Carberus out. He was sleeping when I went into the tomb this morning."

"Beel," Asmo sighed, "That means you were the only one that went to the basement."

"Oh…"  The pieces finally seemed to click into place.

Lucifer's rage seemed to reignite. His demonic form overtook him instantly. "Why were you in the tombs?"

"You were gone all night at Diavolo's place, so I was checking on him to make sure he had food and wasn't lonely." Beel looked downward at the ground like a scolded puppy. "I didn't realize he got out."

There was a beat of silence before Lucifer folded his wings back and dropped his demonic form. "I see. Make sure you clean him up. He managed to make a complete mess of himself."

"Okay…"

"Is that it?!" Mammon yelped. "You would'a hung me from the rafters if I did it!" Not that he wanted that for Beel, but it felt unfair.

Again, Lucifer's form shifted and his dark aura circled around them. "I still could, if you're volunteering."

Mammon winced. "Ehhh… Nevermind."

"Good." He went back to his human face and turned his back on the lot of them. "I have to get back now. Ensure that Cerberus doesn't get out the next time you check on him."

Then he was off, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

Asmo laughed lightly as soon as Lucifer was out of range. "You really got off light there, Beel."

Beel looked at him in confusion.

"Nevermind." He looked at his nails, admiring his work once again. "Let's just say that Lucifer really does have a soft spot for big puppies."

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Drugged Hero Whumpee used as Party Favor at Villain's Party part 17

Warnings: living weapon whumpee, torture, blood, forced betrayal, friend pitted against friend, forced fight, stab wound

There was another slicing pain in her chest as the dagger was suddenly yanked out, and Shadow crumpled into a heap on the floor when Ava let her go.

Shadow barely had the strength to look up at Ava's face, trying to read her intention. The bloodlust was still there, clear as day, but there was also a flicker of... recognition? Hesitation? She couldn't tell. She could feel herself start to heal, and still Ava just stood there like a statue, standing over her like a predator but making no further move to attack. It was like she had frozen in time.

"What are you waiting for?!" Archenemy snarled from across the room. "Kill her and be done with it!"

Ava twitched back to life at the order, crouching down next to Shadow and resting the tip of her dagger on her chest, this time directly above her wildly racing heart. One push down and it would be over. Shadow would die, and stay dead.

But again, Ava paused. Shadow placed a trembling hand on the hand holding the blade to her chest, grim acceptance in her face. "If you have to do it... do it. I understand," she whispered quietly. She realized now that Ava was physically shaking, looking torn between mindlessly obeying orders and something else stopping her mentally.

"Are you... really my friend?" Ava growled. "You're not lying?"

Shadow shook her head. "No, Ava... I’m not lying. I am your best friend, we've fought side by side with each other for over a decade, remember?"

"I don't remember," Ava rumbled, eyes narrowing. "...But for some reason, I believe you. I'm not sure why."

"It's because a part of you knows the truth," Shadow croaked. "Ava, please, wake up. Come back to me. Archenemy is using you as a weapon. But you have a choice."

Ava's expression twisted with anguish, torn, and she glanced over her shoulder to where Archenemy was watching expectantly, searching for instruction, a clear path of order to follow.

"Hey... eyes on me." Shadow gently cupped Ava's jaw and turned her head back to meet her eyes, redirecting her focus back to herself. "...Can I trust you like you trust me?"

"I don't trust you," Ava growled firmly.

"But you do," Shadow said softly. "Otherwise you wouldn't be hesitating, and giving me an opening to kill you first. Some part of you trusts that I'm not going to take advantage of your pause. Some part of you trusts me."

Ava couldn't seem to find fault with that logic, as her eyes darted to the side where Shadow's blade was well within reach, yet Shadow hadn't made a single move to retrieve it and defend herself. "...And what does it mean if I trust you?"

"It means Archenemy will no longer hold power over you. You are free. You are not a mindless weapon. Trusting me is a choice. One that you can make, because you are a person, Ava. You are Old Hero." Shadow stared up into Ava's face, and saw a subtle shift in her expression, some of the cloudiness in her eyes dissipating, though not entirely.

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