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hekateinhell · 2 years

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Vamptember, Day 8

Armand/Daniel | Rating: M | Prompt: Movie | Word Count: 1897?

It started innocently enough, as these things were wont to do.

A similar curiosity that had driven twelve-year-old Daniel to hide in the closet with a flashlight and his father’s old nudie mags, now engulfed Armand—without the tempestuous cocktail of adolescent hormones and rages added in.

Perhaps.

Armand picking up Playboy at the newsstand. “These breasts… they appear different than they did in my day.”

“It’s plastic surgery, Armand.”

Armand picking up Playgirl at the convenience store. “Daniel, the men of today are remarkably well-endow-”

“Armand, please.”

Then came the sex shops. “What is this for?”

“It’s a butt plug, Armand.”

“But why would you want-”

“It feels good. Or so I’ve heard. And no.”

The porn theaters. “How intriguingly obscene,” he smiled. “An act for the public.”

Finally, the poor unfortunate souls Daniel was made to bed. Bitter yet proud, he performed as his puppeteer commanded. Armand in the background, in his own home theater—different film each time with an original cast.

Such a sweet murmur in Daniel’s head. “So beautiful, my Daniel. So strong, so hot-blooded.”

Ah, Armand loved his little jabs, didn’t he? Hot-blooded, indeed.

Not like Armand.

“And you’re a fucking cold-blooded cobra,” Daniel snapped as soon as Armand pushed their guest out of the door with a satisfied smile and a nod, like he’d just come out on top of brokering some covert deal.

And Daniel would never be quite sure if Armand used these exploits to live through him, or if he instead fancied himself the man or woman he’d hand-picked for the evening’s entertainment. Or both. Or neither.

Armand was a giving lover on occasion, having been no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh once upon a time. At least Daniel assumed, based on the obvious.

One early evening in a Vegas hotel, Daniel let Armand drag him out of bed. Shave him, shower him, offer him a piece of white bread and an apple from the room service tray.

“You will not require a doctor if you consume this fruit, correct?” Teasing, holding it out as if the red apple alone could atone for the drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, the nocturnal lifestyle Armand forced on him.

Armand stared as Daniel brought the apple to his mouth and bit in. The crunch sounding loud in the hotel room, the juice running down his chin. Armand lunged over the glass table and wiped it away with a curl of his index finger.

As it so often did when Armand moved at a superhuman speed, Daniel’s brain reacted by staggering everything else around them in slow-motion to compensate for the difference.

His mind was still on a stuttering lag when Armand announced, “I want to make a pornographic film.”

Daniel choked.

“What?”

Armand had the animated glow in his eyes that promised nothing good, coming to sit beside him on the red velvet sofa, sliding his hand up Daniel’s thigh, his glassy nails grazing the silk fabric. “I want to make a film like the ones they sell in your provocative little shops.”

“Oh yeah, and who will you be? Bystander number three?” Daniel quipped, irritated. Resenting the reminder that his body didn’t belong to him, not anymore. The bits of apple in his mouth felt gritty, ashy.

Armand laughed, so hard it almost sounded like he would have to catch his breath. Of course, he wouldn’t. A sound Daniel loved because it made Armand sound human; a sound he hated because his brain the reminded that Armand’s inhumanity was, in fact, what he loved most about him.

“You misunderstand me, darling. I want you and I in the starring roles, and I want to record it and watch it on the television afterwards.”

Armand’s messing with him, had to be.

Daniel had seen Armand naked, touched him—if not intimately, then in intimate places.

But it’s oddly clinical, Armand laying there motionless while Daniel tries desperately to incite some recollection of a passion or response from him.

Craving the validation of… something.

Poking, prodding, kissing, and licking until he gets frustrated to the brink of alcohol-and-barbiturate-induced tears, and Armand throws him a bone and guides him up to his neck.

“There, there, my beautiful boy, it’s not all bad. This, at least, contains a semblance of life.” Daniel nuzzling against Armand’s pale throat, licking at the tiny wound he has made for him, whimpering like a pathetic infant while Armand strokes his hair.

Armand wanted to film that, watch it on repeat like on twelve different screens he had Blade Runner, with nonstop commentary?

He could just go straight to Hell, probably had a 5-star penthouse suite waiting for him.

“It’s too early for your goddamned shit, Armand,” Daniel took a swing of his beer, bent down so his face was mere inches away from Armand’s seemingly innocent one.

Wagged a finger right under Armand nose, like he was scolding an obnoxious child. Derogatory, disrespectful, dangerous, and he knew it.

Yet, the deafening alarm bells that would’ve once told him to get his hand the fuck away from the crocodile’s mouth had long ago eroded from sheer neglect.

Let Armand bite.

Daniel wanted him to.

Armand didn’t seem bothered and unfortunately, Daniel knew good and well when Armand was bothered. He stared up at him with his usual unique mixture of mild boredom and genuine amusement. Lips parted, allowing his tongue to peek out and graze his bottom lip—a house-cat that’s had the same feathered toy shaken in his face.

“It’s my morning hour too, Daniel,” Armand breathed out, patient and affectionate. Placating.

Merciful today, huh?

“And I say it is not too early.”

And what Armand says, goes.

Daniel wasn’t so drunk that it wasn’t starting to make sense… Armand loved filming all sorts of things. Interviews with random people on the street, himself staring at the camera for hours on end, his hair growing back in his sleep. So, of course, why wouldn't he want to create a film like this? It was the natural course.

“Fuck you, Armand.” It's sort of a joke when he says it.

Armand clapped his hands together, a gesture Daniel’s come to associate as having the fraught potential to translate into raw meat smoothies and pet store mice being flushed down the toilet, amongst other, far worse things.

“Yes beloved, that’s the whole point!”

—

Armand’s completely naked and Daniel’s a twenty-five-year-old—of course, he stares, shamelessly.

“Daniel? Daniel?” Armand’s tinkering with the video camera. They’re both bare-assed on the bed, Daniel leaning against the headboard, Armand by his legs, sitting up, frowning with a perplexed expression on his face.

He handed Daniel the bulky thing, “Tell me what you suppose is the best angle to capture the point of insertion.”

The point of-

Daniel snorted, borderline choked again. Armand loathed being laughed at but sometimes it simply couldn’t be helped. He glanced at Armand’s artificially flushed face, thrilling at the rosiness in his lips and cheeks—more than one person died for that—and was surprised to see the corners of his mouth quirking up, barely, as if he were seeing the humor in this too.

A certain self-conscious sort of curiosity and excitement that reminded Daniel of his first time. And in a way, it was—his first time fucking a vampire.

Christ.

Armand stared at him, a slight lift to his auburn eyebrows, as if he couldn’t and wasn’t presently reading the thoughts rattling around Daniel’s skull.

“It will be my first time fornicating with a human since I have been one myself.” Those words actually come out of Armand’s mouth in a soft murmur, accompanied by a filthy smirk that passes as soon as it comes.

And now Daniel’s alert, because that’s a lot of information packed into one monotone sentence. Information that Daniel isn’t sure what to do with, what Armand wants him to do with.

Armand’s so cavalier, coming to kneel on the bed, summoning him closer with a languid wave of his right hand, rings flashing in the bright light of the hotel suite.

He’s figured out the camera now, standing with his back to Daniel while he adjusts the tripod a little to the left, a little more to the center, just right.

Daniel’s reclining on the a pile of red satin pillows, wishing to God he had a cigarette in his mouth right now. He should be fucking esacstic, borderline delirious with arousal right now. Fucking Armand had become a fanstay that lurked just out of reach when Armand came to lay naked beside him after the evening’s entertainment had departed or been disposed of for the leaving.

Daniel learned not to question when Armand deigned to escort their guests back on to the street instead of merely to the front door. A wicked, playful glint in his dark eyes when he would return from the streets, his clothes slightly rumpled, smoothing down his hair.

He could have done that before entering; he opted to right himself in front of Daniel—the implication as heavy and loaded as Daniel imagined the fresh, warm blood now surging through his lover’s body, his heart. His cold, dead heart.

“Not cold right at this moment, Daniel,” Armand sighed, bringing Daniel’s hand to rest over his bare chest, above the heart pumped full of stolen blood.

“I can feed you, sustain you,” Daniel had whispered once, reverent, almost possessive—not realizing in the moment how naive he sounded. “Oh, my Daniel…,” Armand looked almost mournful, as he dragged the sharp edge of a nail through the dark blond hairs on Daniel’s chest, his nostrils flaring as beads of blood blossomed to the surface.

“How sweet,” he mused, bending down to lick up the trail he’d made from Daniel’s abdomen to his clavicle. “How I wish that you could. I would love that your blood alone could nourish me.”

The Armand in Daniel’s memory, sucking at his skin to absorb the last taste of blood—the Armand that had crawled behind him naked to wrap his arms around Daniel’s middle, caging him to himself—seemed absent tonight.

There was no sensuality in his words, no captivated delight in his eyes, none of the inherent seduction in his movements. And when Armand straddled his thighs, handing Daniel a small bottle of lube, did the nasty thoughts start to take hold in Daniel’s mind—this was a project to Armand, as detached and clinical as dissecting a household appliance.

As divorced from intimacy as he was staring himself aimlessly in a funhouse mirror, eyes enormous and unblinking, head tilted to the side, lips barely parted for the breaths he forgot to take.

“Do it,” Armand commanded.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Daniel shook his head, trying to break up the thought that hasn’t fully registered yet to the point that Daniel might not be able to perform.

Oh, heaven help him if that were to happen. As he lubed up two fingers, Daniel considered the possibilities: would Armand decide to give him a larger dose of the Blood over the couple droplets he usually offered, so little yet just enough to bestow upon Daniel his ritual communion?

Would Armand instead request Daniel consume a chemical aphrasodic, coke or ecstasy at the ready?

Armand rolled over onto his back, pulling his knees up to his chest in a motion that’s too fluid, too instinctive. Daniel’s stomach flipped but he’s been subdued, broken in for now. A docile pet.

A hidden warmth in Armand's eyes starting to make itself known. Not so clinical after all, perhaps.

Good boy, Daniel.

#aka Pornography with the Vampire #I had most of this sitting around in Google Drive for something else & idk if I’ll ever finish it so I’m just posting it here for today #I didn’t bother to edit bc I’m on my phone so don’t @ me lmao #the tenses change at some point I think rip #vc #vamptember #prompts

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thepuppeter000 · 6 months

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Part 1 - The old tales

CHAPTER ONE

For the longest time now, a house has been lying vacant, a white and blue FOR SALE sign plastered in the large front window. Nothing was wrong with this home, brand new plumbing, gorgeous interior, and unbelievably cheap compared to other house prices in the area.

It was the neiborhood that was the problem. Tales of spooks, monsters, and paranormal activity floated around the workspace, newspapers, and school gossip. Tales of werewolves in the forests, witches living in old cabins, and people claiming to have seen the dead moving on their own – much like a puppet.

So there the house lies on Fortcress Drive. However, one day when a group of high school students pass by the old house, there it is. A big, red, SOLD sign sitting in front of the torn old sign.

Who in their right mind would move here? The town of Roseview, Michigan has just been getting smaller and smaller sense the . . . incidents. The talk of paranormal activity only began 20 years ago, when a home burned down out of nowhere, and other house fires began unexpectedly.

Some say it’s all superstitions, old stories passed around for no other reason besides gossip to fill boredom. Others say they’re all nonsense, just fiction, as if anything hidden from the eye is not real. But others . . . others have been part of it.

* * *

“Maria, darling, get your nose out of that book and help us unload the car!” Harlie Malicent, Maria’s mom said. Ah Harlie, the living embodiment of ‘Live, Laugh, Love, Family’. Sometimes I wonder how she ever tricked a man into marriage. An attractive one too – not my cup of tea, but I can see how he’s fuckable.

“Mom, I-” Maria went to protest, but Harlie isn’t one to take no for an answer. “Nonono, no backtalk. Book down.” With a groan, Maria put down her book on the windowsill of the porch. Almost hitting her head on the hanging potted cherry tree. Vines sprawl out, pouring out of the sides. The way the vines are hanging . . . something is drawing Maria towards it - “Mama!” whined a little girl. Annoying as ever, she’ll probably grow up to be a pick-me cheerleader.

Liela Malicent. Just turned ten years of age – still as childish as a toddler. “Mama, where’s bubbles?” She asked. Ah, Bubbles. I almost forgot about him. The poor abused goldfish – well one of them at least. They have gone through seven in the past year, these stupid adults too stuck up to tell their daughter that her fish died.

“Oh, your father took him to the vet, he got sick.” Harlie said. Liela huffed and muttered, more like yelled, “I want to see him!” as she stormed inside. Just as the little brat went inside, Maria walked back out. “Bubbles?” She asked her mom and closed the door.

Harlie nodded, “Yeah sadly. I just can’t tell her that her fish died, you know how emotional she is!” Before Maria had a chance to answer, a car pulled up into the driveway. Liela ran back out squealing, “Papa’s home, Papa’s home!”

Then there he was, in all his glory! Jessie Malicent! Jessie is an attractive man with a fit shape. He’s what you’d think of as your typical attractive man. Fit body, great smile, and not bad on the eyes.

Jessie gets out of the car holding a pizza box, and a smaller box that sits up top with breadsticks. Liela doesn’t care that brat not caring if the pizza falls- and runs right up to Jessie and hugs him. “Hi, Papa!” She said happily.

“Hey there, Kiddo!” Jessie said and handed the pizza to Maria, “Can you set that inside dear?” He asked. Maria just nodded and grabbed the food, her book, and walked inside. She was close with her father, but after the day she had she wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat.

There was barely anywhere to set the pizza box. There were two folding chairs, both surrounded by boxes. Maria groaned under her breath and stumbled her way outside, and called out from the porch, “Hey Mama, Papa, could we eat outside?” It’s not like they had a choice – there was no room inside to even walk.

“Of course, dear, great idea!” Harlie agreed. Then before they knew it, the family was sitting on the stone porch and eating pizza, using gas station napkins as plates.

Maria had been mostly spaced-out reading, though when her mom said her name, it caught her attention quite well. “Oh, Maria! We know how you like reading and tend to be – antisocial – at times, but we signed you up to the school nearby!” Maria was shocked. She was social, but only with those she was close with. She had a tough time making friends but was rather enthusiastic when she had friends back at their old home.

“Mama-” Maria went to say but Harlie carried on. “And it is biking distance from here! Now listen, I know the school year has already started, but it was just a week or two! Just think, being a first-year high school student!” Jessie added, “New school, new home, new start!” “I think it’s-” Maria couldn’t get a single sentence in before her mom cut her off again. “This will be great, darling!”

Maria stood up, “I’m going to bed.” She said and walked inside without another word to her family. Maria shuffled around the boxes, grabbed her sleeping bag and went upstairs. Maria opened the vacant room which would soon be hers.

Laying out the sleeping bag, she spoke to herself. “I wanna go home...” Instead of laying down, she walked to the window. Maria was looking outside, her bedroom window having a full view of a forest. She could almost see what looked like the roof of a house . . . but there was no way that there would be a house all the way out there-right? It was darkening outside, so she wasn’t sure.

Sighing, Maria sat down on top of her sleeping bag. Despite trying, Maria suffered a restless night tossing and turning. And then before she knew it, it was Monday morning.

* * *

Ah, Autumn mornings in Michigan. It could be anywhere from 80°F to a literal blizzard. Though this morning was a special one, crisp air, leaves of orange and yellow dancing in the wind, absolutely gorgeous.

Maria hopped onto her bike and set off for school. Her mother texted her the address and she had Google Maps pulled up on her phone. Maria rode her bike through a quick shortcut. It looked like other people also used this, as there was a trail of tire marks from bikes indented in the ground of a forest. Though something caught her eye . . .

Looking to her left, Maria sees just what she thought she had seen yesterday. That old cabin . . . so it was there! Maria stared at it for a moment, gazing at little beams of light floating around it – she's just seeing things. Tiny light beams flying isn’t real.

Shaking her head, Maria put her hands back to her bike handles and continued back off towards school hell.

Maria stopped by the office and picked up her schedule. Looking at her electives, she wasn’t the happiest. Drama and Spanish. Maria knew Spanish before this, so why did she need to take classes on it?

Either way, it was better to get Drama than something crappy like ‘creative writing.’ Was Maria excited – no. Was she wanting to walk out of those doors and go home – yes. But she did the only thing people can do – suck it up and deal with it.

A few weeks went by, and Maria was slowly adjusting to her new life. She wasn’t happy about it, but she accepted it. Her life now was quite boring until one day she met some new friends – little did she know they would be the reason for her torture.

So, there she sat, bored as could be. Maria was in English, studying for math. Hey, gotta study sometime, right? Never mind, she was on her phone behind her textbook. Who really studies anymore?

“Hey there, new kid! Maria, right?” a boy asked suddenly. Maria was startled, jumping in her chair a little. Maria blankly stared at the boy for a moment before eventually saying, “Can I help you?”

The boy passed her a smile. He was . . . interesting . . . to say the least. He wore more casual clothing, with brightly colored pins flowing down his school lanyard. Pins of anime, music, and pride pins. Anymore and he would have sold out Hot Topic.

The boy said, “I’m Mark,” as he knelt beside her. “You don’t talk a lot, and I haven’t seen you hang around anyone, so I thought I'd come and say hello!”

Ah, the gay theatre kid – just the light of every classroom. Look – even if this kid didn’t look like a unicorn died on him, you could still tell he’s gay “What lunch period do you have?”

Maria shuffled through some papers and found her schedule, “I have A.” She spoke. “No way, so do I! I eat lunch with my friends, you should join us!”

Maria asked, “Why?” “Because, you look alone, and why not? I like to meet new people!” Mark answered. “So, is that a deal?” Maria let out a small sigh, “Alright.” She spoke. Aria now started to smile. No harm in making friends, right? Wrong.

Just a moment later, the bell had rung. Mark walked back over to his desk while Maria gathered her things and got her bag on. When Mark walked back over, he asked, “Ready?” With a nod from Maria, they were out.

The hallways were like your average high school hallway. A fight the next hall to their left, a straight couple about to fuck on the water fountain, and a teacher dress coding girls that look like they’re cosplaying clowns in lingerie.

Walking into the cafeteria was just as bad. The table of ‘straight’ guys jerking each other off under the table, the kids off to the side mixing chocolate milk with fruit cups, the ‘couple table’ - which the whole table is just the assortment of couples; you know – the ones that only last for a day? The ‘popular kids’ relationships!

Mark led Maria to a table of 3 others. Two girls and a guy – Maria recognized them from other classes she had. The girls were leaning against each other – clearly dating; no doubt. Though they didn’t over-do it like some people (AKA straight people).

The boy looked chilled out, casually reading. He was reading, ‘May the Best Man Win” by Zr Ellor. Maria recognized the book from the library in her old town but had never read it.

The boy looked up, his face had a small touch of pink as his eyes met Mark’s, “Oh, hey!” He spoke. “Hey! I brought someone, y’all mind if she hangs out?” “Go right ahead!” One of the girls said.

Taking a seat, Maria said, “I’m Maria.” With a slight smile. “I’m Jill!” The boy said, then looked to the girls, “That’s Caroline and Sara!” Caroline waved, followed by Sara. “It’s nice to meet you!” Caroline said. After a while of talking and eating, Jill said, “Hey, Maria! We planned on a sleepover tonight! What do you say? I can give you my address!”

Maria looked up from her food, “Sure!” she said, “That sounds great!”

#story to read #the puppeteer #original story #work in progress #original character

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kallulovesu · 3 years

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I just read your Yandere Spain going after a Witch country reader. So hear me out on this one, What if England was low-key still into is ex... and is a Yandere. Like reason why they broke up with him in the first place was he was becoming a power hunger bastard they warned him he'll become if he doesn't stop or at least slow down; and he was becoming to over bearing and controlling in their relationship ( this was back when he was the British Empire BTW ). Bonus points if Both America and Canada is platonic Yandere for the witch country. Basically the reader was the mother and care taker they never really had. The reader took care of them more than England did and they were pretty close up until England made them break up with him.

(A/N:) Anon you’re such a big brain...I just had to write a little story for this 👐

You couldn’t stand any of it anymore.

His persistent need to know everything about you, how he started controlling every little thing in your life as your relationship progressed, the way he would manipulate you into thinking that you were in the wrong for wanting to break it off multiple times. It all felt so draining.

"No one other than myself would even think of getting close to you. After all, who would want to be with such a small, lonely country that has barely anything to offer?" "What about Alfie and Mattie? You know how much they love you, and you’re just going to let them down like that? You’re just going to let us down like that?" "You’re only overreacting. So just stay with us, okay?" "You’re nothing without me."

"You belong with us, love. Can’t you see that?"

The words he spoke lingered with you everyday, chipping away at the little confidence you had left and slowly breaking the happy facade you had always tried putting on. Even your two little boys started to seem like nothing but a reminder of your shackles.

You felt as if you were a mere marionette; each inch of you being controlled by his strings as he formed you into his idea of a perfect little darling.

It was becoming tiring. The mind games, the puppeteering...all of it.

And so, you had decided on running away from it all, no matter how much you just wanted to brush it off and stay with your ‘happy’ little family, no matter how much you hated doing his plan. You packed your bags before carrying out your plan, waiting until night fell to finally sneak out. You, of course had plastered that usual smile on your face, the gesture just feeling...fake and empty to you now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You had to pretend everything was going according to his plans.

Arthur was a smart man, but even he got blinded by simple gestures at times.

you hated doing this, but decided to suck it up and carry on with your little plan. Everything was going well, it seemed like no one noticed you acting a bit...off, and you only had to put your children to sleep before finally sneaking out.

"Mother, are you okay?"

Ah, speak of the devil.

You blinked, finally noticing said child before you. He had a worried look on his face, the nudging he gave your shoulder eventually stopping as he saw you paying attention again.

"Ah...! You’re okay, I thought you had forgotten about me..." a shy smile graced upon his lips, fingers slightly fidgeting with each other. You smiled at him, seeing him being enough to somehow cheer you up a bit.

"Of course I wouldn’t forget about you, Mattie." You pulled the child into your arms, hugging him. "I love you way too much for that! Besides, you’re my little angel." You said in a quiet voice, as to not wake up his twin brother.

It broke your heart having to say this all while you planned on running away, basically abandoning them. Arthur’s previous words, while you didn’t want to admit it still stuck with you, and you started to have second thoughts...almost wanting to give up on the plan and stay with your two little boys whom you loved way too much.

"Mattie, can you promise me something?" You suddenly spoke up, patting the boy’s hair.

...but it was for the better. You could only sit there and pray that the children you took care of turned into fine men while you were away, unlike their father.

The Canadian nodded, eyes looking up at you in innocent curiosity. "Promise me that no matter what happens you’ll forever stay the same, sweet boy that I’ve always known...even if I were to disappear one day." You held him a bit tighter, the troubled expression on your face hidden away from him.

"Mother...?" He gripped onto your clothing, confusion written all over his face. The question seemed innocent, but he couldn’t help but pick up the strange tone in your voice, which he couldn’t recognize...and it worried him.

"Please just answer." You pressed a bit more, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

Matthew opened his mouth, about to answer before a booming voice interrupted him.

"Not fair! I want hugs too!" Alfred, who you didn’t notice until now yelled. The boy pounced on his brother and tried pulling him away.

"Nu uh! You always hog her attention away from me!" Matthew resorted, clinging onto you with all of his tiny might.

"Lies! You’re the only attention seeker here!"

"That’s because everyone else forgets about me you meanie! Even you and father!!" Matthew cried, and you couldn’t help but snort a little at the remark, despite how sad you found it to be...poor boy.

You watched the two bicker, amusement written all over your face. It was better to enjoy the short amount of time you had left with your two boys.

"There, enough fighting you two. It’s past bed time," you clapped your hands, grabbing their attention. "you wouldn’t want me to tell father about you two misbehaving, do you?"

"No ma’am!" A small chuckle escaped from your lips, seeing the children immediately freezing and crawling back to their beds. Guess you weren’t the only one intimidated by Arthur, eh?

You went over to Alfred, giving the boy a soft kiss on the cheek and wishing him a goodnight before making your way to his brother, repeating your previous actions.

"Sweet dreams, I love you." Was the last thing you said, sparing them one last glance before closing the door behind you.

It felt as if your heart was clenching, already feeling a sickening emptiness in your chest as you just stood in front of the door, trying to recollect your thoughts.

There was no use in sulking, you had to go. Now.

And so you scurried away, making your way towards the front door. The few items you truly needed were already brought down to your house, with the help of magic of course. You couldn’t waste any more time being here.

You disregarded things such as clothing and other unnecessary things, only caring about the potions and magic handbooks that you had brought along the way. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what Arthur could do with these in his possession— recalling that one of them had a receipt for a never-ending love potion, and god did you fear what he could do with that...even a stronger witch such as yourself would have trouble dealing with that, especially if it was casted upon yourself.

...what a dangerous situation you put yourself in. You should’ve never interacted with that bastard in the first place.

You sighed, snapping out of your thoughts and turned another corner. The house was large, and you had found yourself getting lost multiple times...but it wasn’t the time for any of that, you had to get out. Now.

And luckily, you soon found yourself standing in front of a familiar, large door. You took a deep breath, relieved that you managed to make it here without the idiot finding you.

"(Y/N)?" A voice spoke from behind you. "It’s late, where are you going?"

Oh, never mind.

You turned back, facing the very man you wanted to run away from. It was obvious that he was woken up from his sleep, seeing that he was wearing his pajamas while lazily rubbing his eyes. A small candle was in his hands, most likely to help him look through the dark mansion halls.

"Why are you awake?" Was all you said.

"I was waiting... I wanted to rest with you, but you never came." Arthur said, slight disappointment evident in his voice as he walked over to you. "Now answer my question, where the fuck are you going?"

You stayed silent, merely staring at the man before averting your gaze. "Away from this house, away from you." He froze, eyes widening as he seemed to process your words

"Can you repeat that? I...i don’t think I heard you correctly," he lightly tilted his head to the side. "you wouldn’t do something that foolish, would you?"

"Oh, I would." You took light steps back from him, distancing yourself from your boyfriend— no, ex-boyfriend. "I’m not doing this anymore, Arthur. This is becoming too much for me."

"And? What about it? I pour my heart and soul for this relationship... and you just run away like that? Love, you can’t just do that..." every step you took was repeated by him, his hands clenching into fists as he tried so,so hard to not just burst right then and there.

"I know, I’m sorry but I just...I can’t." You looked down at your feet, avoiding his piercing gaze. "Look out for them while I’m gone." And so, you turned around completely and walked towards the door, almost reaching towards the handle before abruptly getting stopped by a hand pulling you back.

"No!" Arthur yelled, his grip only tightening on you.

"England, you’ll wake up the kids-"

"Shut up." The man didn’t say anything for a while, trying to calm himself down. "Call me Arthur...please just call me Arthur."

"How about we just get inside and— and drink some tea while talking? I still have some sweets left from earlier today, so we could add that." He offered, pulling you closer towards him. "Please?”

You were looking at his hand, the hand that brung you comfort so long ago...but you couldn’t help but feel your skin crawling every time he held you now, fear overtaking you at the thought of what he could possibly do with them.

He was dangerous.

"Why?" Was all you could bring yourself to say. Arthur‘s grip softened, wide eyes looking at your downcast ones.

"...Why?" He repeated, "why what?" his eyebrows furrowed.

"All of this, why did you do it? For what?"

"Is it because you want my land? You already said it yourself, my country is basically useless...so why are you so persistent on keeping me here? Or perhaps it’s because of Alfie and Mattie? I’m sure they...wouldn’t really mind me going, they still have Francis and you after all."

"So why? You could have everything you wanted without me."

"Darling..." his eyes faltered for a minute, most likely taking all of it in and thinking of what to do. Arthur opened his mouth, wanting to say something-

"Arthur, do you even love me?"

Before being interrupted by your voice, which slightly cracked.

The man could only stare at you, mouth slightly agape. Whatever he wanted to say was completely forgotten about, instead being overtaken by his sudden shock— then panic. "Darling...what are you talking about? Of course I love you, I love you lots and lots. Everything I do is for your own well being."

"I’ll even change myself if it means having you by my side, so please..."

Love... Could this really be called love? You thought, finally mustering the courage to look up at the man and studying his face.

Confusion. Sadness. Distraught. Interest.

He looked conflicted; obviously not knowing what to do with his control on you slowly slipping away. Your actions were a mystery to him, and he wondered...what were you planning? What was going on in that little mind of yours?

"Ah," your eyebrows furrowed. "I see."

Your question had most likely caught him off guard, which was a good thing... you supposed.

Arthur gently tugged onto your arm, bringing you closer to him. "I-I can’t put it into words how much I love you...so just come inside, and let me show you." He offered again, eyes calculating, as if he were deciding the best course of action; whilst yours were sharp, refusing to show weakness.

"This isn’t love, England. You’ve done nothing but hurt me in various times by now, and I’m sick of it." You stood your ground, willingly stepping closer to look at him directly in the face— "Threaten me, physically harm me...hell, beg on the ground for all I care! But I’ve finally made my decision." and so, you took advantage of his weakened state to rip yourself away from his grasp, making him flinch.

"I’m not doing this anymore Arthur. You can figure everything out by yourself now, I’m done. We’re over."

You loved him, you truly did love him from the bottom of your heart...but you just couldn’t be with him anymore."

"Dear—"

"Enough. I’m- I’m done listening to you." Walking back, you took a deep sigh of relief; glad that you were finally able to stand up for yourself.

"Don’t even think of following me, unless you want to get turned into a mere frog."

#sobs I tried #WHY DOES WRITING DIALOGUE FEEL SO DRAINING #yandere #yandere x reader #Yandere headcanons #yandere aph #yandere hetalia #Yandere hetalia x reader #yandere england #yandere Arthur kirkland #yandere boy #reader insert #x reader

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ��Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #jasonette #bio!dad joker #bio!mom harley quinn #Poison Ivy x Marinette #platonic brucinette

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americancowgirl19 · 3 years

Text

Puppet Master

Summary: Riley Biers, king from the shadows.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vampire mob shit

Reader: Female Vampire Reader

Pairings: Riley Biers x Female Vampire Reader

Word Count: 2,310

A/n: @fyeahtaylorp

Masterlist

“And what do we have here?” Aro questions, tilting his head as Felix forces the vampire he, Demetri, Jane and Alec brought back from America.

“This is one of the two vampires responsible for the newborn army in the Cullen territory, Master.” Jane tells him. “The other was torn apart and burned.”

Aro steps forward and places his hands on the American vampire. He struggles but is unable to escape Felix’s grip. Aro reads his mind. He sees his life, his death and his ‘resurrection’. He pays particular attention to the part in his memories where the Cullen boy, Edward, told the guards about this boy being his daughters mate.

“I see,” Aro whispers, pulling from him. As far as he could tell this vampire had no ability other than the fact that he is easily manipulated. For millenniums he had hoped that when his daughter finds her match they would be as useful as she is. The fact that he’s one step away from being useless is a disappointment.

His first instinct is to kill Riley before his beloved daughter ever finds him. Then, perhaps, he could find a suitable match and have Chelsea bond them together. Unfortunately, for him, the plan is just a passing thought as not even two seconds later the woman in question struts into the room.

Riley instantly senses you. He struggles even more in Felix’s grip until he can see you. Even though you’re barely in the corner of his eye, it’s enough to settle him.

“I wasn’t informed a trial was in session,” You state, your voice sounding as smooth as honey. Riley craved to hear it once more.

“Ah, my darling,” Aro greets, smiling brightly at you. You return the smile, albeit a more reserved one, as you walk to his side. “They have just returned from their mission and brought back the one responsible for all the trouble,”

“I see that,” You mutter, your eyes not sparing your friends a single glance. You stare at the kneeling man as he stares back at you. “Have you come to a verdict?” You question. Aro’s calculating eyes stare are you.

“He created a newborn army, caused quite the eruption.” Aro tells you. Your head turns to him. It only takes one look for you to catch onto what was going on.

You love your father as he loves you. The two of you worked hard to build this coven. As much as you loved him, you weren’t naïve. You knew your father’s thirst for power. You knew he would do anything to gain an inch, even if it meant hurting the ones he claimed to love.

You also knew him like the back of your hand. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. Even if it had only been a few minutes since you walked into the room, you could already sense the tie binding you to this new vampire. A tie that Aro knew about. You assume, by the look in Aro’s eyes, that this vampire has no ability to please Aro.

Only vampires that were useful to Aro’s ultimate plan survived breaking the law. The only reason he’s still alive is because of the connecting tie to you. Still, you knew that wouldn’t have been enough to save him had you not arrived.

“Well, I’ve been paying attention to the human news. I haven’t seen a single report about some demonic creature tearing apart a city in America. That means the vampire secret is still a secret.” You tell him. Aro’s lips tighten, his eyes trained on you.

You walk toward the kneeling vampire, unable to help yourself you comb your fingers through his hair enjoying how his eyes close briefly to enjoy the contact. You don’t stop walking, you pace around Felix as you continue with your second point.

“Has he had any dealings with the Children of the Moon?” You question.

Aro shakes his head hesitantly. A pleased, yet cocky, grin lifts across your face.

“He hasn’t exposed our secret to any human, unlike your precious Edward Cullen. He also hasn’t hunted in Volterra, that I’m certain of.” You mutter, knowing that your friends had brought him straight to the castle. “He hasn’t been a false witness to any other crime. Any immortal children?” You ask, your eyes glancing to your father as you pause by the twins.

“No,” Aro says lowly. You stare into your father’s eyes wonder if he wanted you to continue or if he was done pretending to be in charge. He remains silent prompting you to continue.

“Yes, he has caused some attention with his hunting habits,” You concede. You slowly move back toward Aro. “and yes his newborns made a mess of things. However, all the newborns are now gone and his hunting's in the future will be more... discrete,” You promise him.

“The Volturi do not offer second chances,” Caius growls from his throne. Your eyes roll as you turn toward him.

“Oh, do shut up Caius or I will have you punished for the town you drained in 1305,” You snapped, glaring at him. You and Caius spend a few moments staring each other down. A stare down you inevitably win. A small surge of pride runs through you when Caius averts his gaze.

Turning your gaze, you look back at your father. You continue to step closer to him until your just about toe-to-toe. You’re posture is relaxed but your gaze is challenging. You dare him to go against you.

“So, let me get this straight you want to kill him for a law that has been broken by everyone in this castle at least once?” You ask. “I just don’t see how that’s necessary,” You hum.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aro states.

“Perhaps,” You hum condescendingly. “Felix, let him go.” You order. The brutish vampire releases Riley. You hold your hand out as you continue to stare at your father. Riley looks around him as he slowly stands up. Slowly, he takes your hand. “Though, is suppose to make up for his transgressions he can have a place on the guard,”

“A marvelous idea,” Aro nods. You hum, taking your gaze off of him. You send a smirk to Caius before pulling Riley out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Riley askes you quietly. You don’t answer.

You take him to your part of the castle and into your private quarters. It’s one of the largest rooms in the castle. It certainly impresses Riley.

“Make yourself at home,” You tell him, closing the door behind the pair of you. Riley turns to you after observing the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Riley asks.

“Before I tell you my story,” You say taking a seat by the table. “Why don’t you tell me yours? It’ll be easier that way,”

You waited for Riley to begin. You understood his hesitance. When he did begin, you soaked up every detail. You managed to bite back multiple growls at every mention of this bitch Victoria. You didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed that she’s already dead. You honestly would have liked the pleasure of killing her yourself.

“Well, I can tell you for certain that Edward was right. Victoria was using you. She wasn’t your mate.” Riley sits down in the adjacent seat. “You weren’t anything more than a means to an end,” You tell him.

“What is this place?” He asks, looking at you. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Volterra, Italy. You are in the Volturi castle. We are the strongest and largest coven of vampires. The vampire world, like the humans, have laws. We’re the coven that enforces them.”

“And I broke your laws,” Riley states.

“Some minor ones,” You shrug. “You did nothing that nobody else in this coven has done,” You assure him. Riley frowns his eyebrows and you sigh. “Think of us as... the vampiric mob.” You smirk. With that explanation, everything starts to click for Riley. “Every vampire here serves a purpose because every vampire here - well, almost every vampire has some sort of ability. Like Edward with the mind reading and Jane with the torture,” Riley nods keeping up with you so far. “If you have value to the coven, you live. If you don’t, you die.”

“And what is my value?” Riley asks. You press your lips together.

“I’m your true mate,” You tell him not wanting to beat around the bushes. “You’re still alive simply because I want you to be.” Riley’s eyes widen a fraction.

“You’re my mate?” Riley whispers. You nod, gently holding his face in your hand.

“And I have waited for you for over three thousand years,” You tell him.

“You’re-... What?” Riley asks. You grin laughing at his astonished look.

“I had lost faith that you would come,” You whisper to him. “I figured after all the lives I took and destroyed that I wouldn’t ever find you. I figured you had lived a human life and died long ago without me ever knowing. I never believed I was worthy of you but here you are,” By the end your sentence you had moved even closer to him. “And I will destroy this entire coven, my father included, before I allow one of them to harm you.” You promise.

“Three thousand years?” Riley whispers. You laugh kissing his cheek.

“I hope you’re into older women,” You whisper in his ear before leaning back in your seat. Riley’s quick to grab your hand before you can withdraw from him completely. You smile, interlocking your fingers with his.

“You’re father’s in this coven?” Riley suddenly asks.

“Aro,” You tell him. “He can read every thought in your mind with a single touch,” You explain. Riley instantly pictures him. “He would have had you killed had I not shown up,” You mention.

“Can you read minds too?” He asks. You smirk.

“My gift’s a little deadlier than mere mind reading,” You tell him. Riley raises his eyebrows obviously wanting to know. “I can kill everyone in this castle at the same time without lifting a finger or blinking an eye,”

“How?”

“Molecular combustion,” You tell him. “I can speed up the molecules in your body until you just burst. I can do it so fast you won’t feel a thing or I can draw it out,” Riley winces. “So, as you can see, if I want something, I get it,” You wink at him.

“What do you do here?”

“Destroy problematic vampires,” You answer shortly. “My father, along with Marcus and Caius, run the coven. I’m not into politics or power all that much. I have enough to make me happy. I have more power sitting in the background than I would on the front lines,”

“How so?”

“Fear,” You smirk. “Everyone here is afraid of me, with good reason. I’ve killed some of my fathers prized possessions more than once. It’s why the twins make such an effort to befriend me. I’ve also sped up Caius’s molecular structure enough to cause severe pain for a month straight after he pissed me off one time. They can’t control me. They can rule the coven all they wish but if I want something all I have to do is take it. It brings me great joy to watch the oh so powerful Kings of Volterra shudder in fear at the sight of me and stand by helplessly while I take what I want. Stomping on their ego is always satisfying.”

“So, even though I have no power, I will be apart of this coven?” Riley asks.

“Yes,” You nod. Riley slowly smirks.

“And since you truly hold all the power, does that make me the second most powerful vampire?” Riley arches his eyebrows. You chuckle winking at him.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Riley smirks broadly. “You spent the last year being that red headed whore’s puppet but now you’ll spend the rest of your immortal existence playing puppet master with the strongest coven, hell the entire vampiric race as your puppets” You tell him.

Riley imagines his future with this kind of power. You stand up and walk behind him. Your arms circle around him and rub his chest. Your head nuzzles into his neck, your teeth nipping at his marble skin.

“Anything you want, my love, I will be sure to give it to you,” You promise him.

“Your father is the king of Volterra... but if we control him then...” You hum biting his ear seductively.

“You catch on quickly, my dear” You whisper to him. In a flash, you come in front of him and straddle his waist. His hands instantly grab your hips. “Rule from the shadows,” You tell him. “Wil Aro, Marcus and Caius as a front all opposers and enemies will target them instead of us,”

“Surely vampires know of your power, wouldn’t they be able to figure it out?” Riley asks.

“When I use my power, I never leave witnesses outside of this coven,” You tell him. “There are only three people outside of this coven that know of my power. Edward Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Alice Cullen. Should word spread, I made sure they knew what I would do to those they love,” Riley smirks holding you close to him.

“Rule from the shadows, all the power we want, all the benefits, hardly any risk,” Riley mutters.

“A major step up from small town Forks, don’t you think?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Well, I certainly didn’t think this is where I’d end up,” Riley admits before getting handsy with you. You smirk, dragging your nails down his chest. “Certainly glad I did though,”

“Ditto,” You whisper, pressing you lips to his unable to hold back any longer.

#Riley Biers #Riley Biers x reader #Riley Biers x Female!Reader #Riley Biers x Y/n #Vampire!reader #vampire #Plus sized reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #Volturi #female!reader #Mate #soulmate

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shade-romeo · 4 years

Text

It seems I'm in a mood tonight lads.

Roman sat on Logan's bed, watching him walk back and forth from his desk to the pinboard on the other side of the room, hanging up different papers and pictures.

The two sides had been dating for a good while now, but Logan had requested that they kept it secret until he was ready to tell the others. Roman, wanting Logan to be comfortable, agreed.

So now, the two were peacefully hanging out in Logan's room, keeping idle conversation as Logan worked.

"..Roman?" Said side perked up, seeing Logan standing in the middle of the room, a paper in hand as he looked at him. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts." Roman smiled sheepishly, as Logan smiled a bit and shook his head fondly, going over to pin up the paper in his hand.

"...Hey Logan?"

"Yes?" Logan acknowledged as he stepped back to look over his pin board.

"..Why can't we sit closer during meals and stuff?" Logan sighed heavily as Roman scrambled to elaborate, "Cuz, well, I just wanted to be closer to you, cuz we hardly get any time to actually be romantic, and cuddle and stuff, so-"

"Roman." The prince went silent, as Logan turned to look at him. "I love you, and I do wish we could have more time together like this, but I do not want to risk Patton finding out about our relationship."

"..You mean Patton and Virgil."

"Hm? No, I don't care if Virgil finds out." Logan hummed. Roman tilted his head, confused.

"..Well, why is Patton finding out a bad thing?" Roman asked.

Logan sighed, moving over to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Because Patton has a tendency to.. tease. He likes to.. basically make fun of me, for having feelings. And if he found out we were dating, that would increase tenfold."

Roman blinked, taken aback, "Wh.. Patton would never do that! He's the nicest person ever!"

Logan shook his head, "Of course you would believe that."

Roman made a little offended noise, "And what does that mean?"

"Patton has trained you to believe he can do no harm." Logan elaborated.

"Trained?!"

"Yes Roman. Listen, I mean no harm when saying this, but, you are Patton's figurative 'Lapdog' " Logan explained, causing Roman to sit up and cross his arms.

"I am not his lap dog! I am a prince!"

Logan rolled his eyes, "And tell me, when was the last time you did anything without getting permission from Patton?"

Roman floundered for a few second. "W..Well I started dating you without permission!"

"Yes, but as soon as it was official you insisted on telling Patton about it, and wouldn't drop it until I forced you to stop and listen to me." Roman stood up off the bed, standing in a way that obviously portrayed how defensive he was getting.

"Yeah-! Well-! I.. I'm- ...I'm my own side! And I can make my own decisions!" He exclaimed, and started to stomp out of the room, "You're wrong, and I'll prove it to you!" He finished with a glare, before slamming the door shut.

Roman huffed, and started heading to the kitchen, thoughts running wild.

He wasn't a stupid lapdog! He was a valiant prince, and a brave knight! He could make his own decisions, and he could certainly stand up to anyone, including-

"Patton!" Roman yelped, turning around quick to see Patton standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.

"Kiddo, what are you doing?" He asked, eyeing Roman in a way that made him feel tiny and vulnerable.

"I was just going to make myself a snack-"

"Kiddo, you know it's almost dinner time. And you shouldn't be eating anything before dinner, it'll ruin your appetite." Patton reprimanded.

Roman found himself starting to apologize, before remembering the conversation with Logan.

"Well.. It'll be fine. Dinner is still a half hour away, and it's just half a sandwich, I'll still eat-"

"Roman." That shut him up in an instant, "Put the food back. You know the rules."

Roman did indeed put the food back, and left with an apology, followed by a cheery goodbye from Patton.

As Roman made his way back to his room, he replayed what had happened over and over.

He.. he wasn't a lapdog! He was just.. just.. taking Patton's advice! Yeah! Patton just didn't want him to not eat, and was looking out for him! Yep!

Once he had convinced himself of this, he sat down at his desk, and started to draw, trying to think about something else.

From then on, he was hyperanalyazing every interaction he had with Patton, and he always came up with new excuses as to why he gave in to Patton so easily. And he refused to speak with Logan again until he had enough proof to show him that he was not Patton's little lapdog.

And it happened that way for a while, at least until.. the wedding.

Roman rose up into his room, tears forming in his eyes immediately. He sank to the floor, and let out a sob, curling up into himself as he cried. Oh god- Logan was right- he was right- he really was just Patton's little toy! Just something to play with and maneuver around until he was no longer relevant.

And it seems like his warranty has expired.

Roman sniffed and wiped his face as best he could, biting back any noises that might slip out as he rose up in front of Logan's door, and knocked.

He was right. He was right, and Roman yelled at him for it. He needed to-

"Ah, so all of a sudden you want my input? How convenient." Logan's voice came from inside.

..oh god. Logan was upset too, holy shit how could he overlook that?! He was ignored most of the time, and then Patton fucking skipped him, followed immediately by Janus taking his place- of course he would be angry. Why would he want to see Roman after he contributed to ignoring him?!

There were footsteps coming towards the door, and Roman panicked, sinking out just before Logan could open the door.

And when he rose up, guess which puppeteer was standing in the middle of his room.

"Roman, kiddo! Oh my gosh, you look terrible!" Patton exclaimed, rushing forward to try and cup his face.

Roman squeaked and ducked out of the way, staring at Patton with wide, untrusting eyes.

"Kiddo..?"

"Don't call me that. Get out." Roman glared, trying to force down tears.

Patton frowned, giving Roman puppy eyes, "Ro.. cmon, forgive me? I just wanna help you."

Roman almost did. Almost.

He glared harshly, baring his teeth. "You don't wanna help me! You just want me to smile and force myself to be happy, so you don't feel guilty!"

"Now that isn't tru-"

"Yes it is! Every time you comfort me it's always, 'Oh kiddo, I hate it when you're like this' and 'Gosh, it just hurts so much to see you like this.' Not once have you ever actually tried to comfort me! You're just getting me to force my feelings down so that I look happy, just like a pretty little decorational peice should!"

Patton was stunned silent.

"So why don't you just go and hang out with your new bestest friend! And fuck off!" And Roman forcefully sunk him out.

And then he collapsed, once again devolving into sobs.

He didn't know how long he sat there, sobbing loudly, before his door opened and there was another person sitting down next to him.

"May I hold you?" Logan asked softly, and Roman immediately unfurled and practically jumped on Logan, burying his face in his chest and crying even harder.

Logan wrapped his arms around the smaller side, holding him close and resting his chin on his head.

Roman sobbed, and mumbled over and over, "I'm sorry- you were right- You're always right- I'm so stupid- you're right- I'm sorry-"

Logan gently shushed Roman, planting kisses on the top of his head. "It's okay, it's okay, shh."

It took a long while, but eventually Roman was calm, tiredly laying in Logan's arms.

"Are you alright darling?" Logan asked softly.

"No." Roman answered immediately. "..I'm sorry, for ignoring you during the video." Roman continued before Logan could intervene. "A..and you were right, I.. I really am just Patton's little play thing."

Logan shook his head, "No, no, shh. I appreciate the apology, but you are far from just play thing. I never said that was all you were, because that would be a major falsehood. You mean so much to me, and it is not your fault that Patton is a manipulator."

Roman was silent as tears started to come up again. And Logan sat there with him as they did so, holding him and being there for him, when his so called "Padre" hadn't.

They had each other, and didn't need anyone else.

But maybe.. maybe a friend wouldn't be so bad..

#unsympathetic patton #patton hate #victim roman #logan sanders #roman angst #patton sanders #roman sanders #minor logan angst #long post #logince

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

A Wound to Heal pt 2

Sorry, guys, but there’s a good amount of Whump happening.

I do love comments...

tw: blood mention, wound mention

---

Geralt had insisted on riding with him to Oxenfurt. The bleeding was slow and steady and, with the poultice that Yennefer had portaled to them, it was completely possible to keep wrapped with relatively clean bandages for hours at a time before needing to change them again. Still, the Witcher grew concerned about the amount of blood his traveling companion (and friend) lost with every passing day.

“Do you...want to talk about it?” he asked. They were already a week into their journey and the bard’s cut hadn’t shown any sign of healing closed.

“Hmm?” Jaskier hummed, glancing down from Roach’s saddle. Geralt had been allowing him to ride the gentle mare more often, worried that the exercise of walking might agitate his open wound.

The wound he’d incurred saving Geralt’s life.

“Do you want to talk about why your wound isn’t closing? About...who broke your heart?”

Jaskier could only snort in response. Geralt’s brows crinkled.

“You usually love to talk.”

“Not about this, Geralt. No point.”

The bard was staring straight ahead, his gaze cold and his scent tinged with anger and disappointment. Fear clung to the edges, along with...love?

“I’m always here, you know. If you do...want to talk. I’ll, uhm, I’ll listen.”

“Thank you, Geralt. I appreciate it.”

Usually Jaskier referred to him as dear heart or darling or my sweet Witcher at least once in a given sentence; he’d been called only ‘Geralt’ so far on this trip and it was starting to bother him. When he went to ask about it, though, he saw the dejected, tired expression written on his bard’s face and kept his mouth shut.

---

“You know that having him around isn’t going to make it heal any faster right, bard? Maybe you should tell him how you feel.”

“I’m not about to bare my heart to him, Yennefer,” the bard snapped. They were tucked into the corner of a shitty tavern in Oxenfurt while Geralt was off looking for contracts. “I can’t...I can’t lose him. Don’t you understand what it’s like to be so in love, so incredibly happy protecting someone, that you’d rather die than leave them alone? I’d be content to live at his side and bleed forever.”

“You can’t bleed forever, Jask,” the sorceress explained, exasperated. “You’ll die. You’re already growing short of breath when you walk more than five steps. You’re already far paler and weaker than you were when we spoke just a few days ago outside the city gates. How much longer do you think you can go on like this before your mighty Witcher notices and asks you something?”

“Right…”

“Either tell him how you feel about his stupid ass or part ways with him, Jaskier. I fear for your life if you keep on traveling together like this.”

“I can’t get rid of him. Maybe you could…”

“He doesn’t want me like that anymore, bard. Nor would I do that to you. If Geralt and I were to be together romantically again I fear you’d bleed out on the floor of my parlor on your way to confront him.”

“You’re probably right,” Jaskier sighed, laying his head against his folded arms. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry it had to happen this way, darling.”

“Ah well. I knew he’d be taken from me eventually. He was too beautiful and wonderful to last.”

---

The way Jaskier’s heart would sometimes stutter in his chest when he slept too soundly had Geralt worried. That shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t healthy or normal. It was that damned cut. If only the bard wasn’t so heroic. If only he hadn’t been following Geralt...

He ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair and murmured the lyrics of an old, old lullaby into his ear as he snored and snuffled into his pillow. The brunette head turned into his touch, seeking out the rough passes of Geralt’s fingers through the strands.

He stayed like that for hours, touching his bard and reveling in his soft warmth.

For a moment the salt-and-copper smell lessened. For a moment it seemed as if Jaskier’s bleeding had slowed.

In the morning, though, it was back. Worse, perhaps, than it had been the day before. Geralt didn’t understand why.

Jaskier spent the morning bemoaning his good dream; Geralt would never touch him so softly. Not like he had the night before when the bard imagined him, petting his hair as if he were worthy of the touch, deserving even. He wanted it more than anything and knew he could never have it.

His heart cracked open a little bit more.

The bandages darkened a little faster than they had the day previous.

Jaskier grew weaker and shakier, unable to walk down the stairs at the inn.

Geralt began to panic.

---

“Jaskier!”

The bard swayed violently atop Roach’s saddle and swooned shortly thereafter, tumbling down towards the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Geralt caught him in his arms and pressed his friend closer to his chest to better observe his face. It was deathly pale and damp with sweat; his hair was sticking flat against his forehead. His arm was bleeding more heavily now and his breathing was ragged. His heartbeat was fading, fluttering and faltering in his chest.

Jaskier was dying.

#geraskier #ficlet #witcher fic #caring geralt #sad geralt #whump #jaskier whump #injured jaskier #hurt jaskier #protective geralt #cursed jaskier #pining #mutual pining #pining geralt #pining jaskier #yennefer #a wound to heal #bouncey's endless au collection #sol's stories

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years

Text

The Idiot ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

In which the reader is the last Russian princess from our contemporary times and Fyodor is there to watch, observe, analyse and write a novel while being the reader’s sort of guardian/mentor, all while reader finds herself in an impossible, almost-Anna Karenina-like situation that drives her to desperate decisions.

And yes, I’m very much basing this story Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” novel, Tolstyi’s “Anna Karenina” and Katyusha, both the Russian song, and the “Resurrection” novel from Tolstoy that has Katyusha as an unfortunate, yet important character.

Also, a little nod to our dear Ana Lesko for her song “Anicyka Maya”, which will serve as a cute little nickname for our dear reader, although the song is Romanian, and it’s about a seductive woman.

Other nicknames will include: Kiska ( kitten ), Zaika ( bunny ), Kroshka ( little one ), Krasotka ( gorgeous ).

I’m not Russian, I don’t know about Russia’s culture, history and language as much as I know about my own, obviously, but as ex-commie & ex-USSR, we still have a shit ton of similarities. Nevertheless, I will try not to get into too many details that will compromise authenticity.

Luxury, glamour, wealth, gold, jewellery, diamonds, class, facades, masks, masquerades, social gatherings, lies, marriages, politics, horses, deals, gambling... These represent some of the few words people from everywhere around would describe the royal family.

Why do some still exist, anyway? Shouldn’t they have just completely disappeared at the same time with the Romanov family? ...Stupid cartoon movies and their resurrection of Anastasia...

Nobody truly cares about these rich rats who worked naught for their wealth, and would never understand the struggle and poverty of the normal citizens of Russia...They just live in their abnormally huge palace, having more servants than the population of Moscow and eat at one meal more than normal people do in one week altogether.

How utterly ridiculous.

Their lives are all perfect, they marry themselves to keep that ridiculous purity and their infinite wealth in the family...How atrocious! What about charity? Kindness? Altruism? Helping out the common folk?

All these thoughts, and you’d think a very bitter and vindictive, very poor and malicious person came up with, and yet, the reality was rather distorted.

From the top stair of the palace, in a dark room, sitting on the windowpane, a gorgeous young woman cast her dull eyes over the snowy city and the people hurrying down the roads, hoping to go home before it got too late and cold.

Maybe they were poor and hateful, and rightfully so, she’d say, but perhaps they can also be deemed happier, if they can take into account their freedom...As much as the government provides them, at least - Yet even so, even the poorest person held more freedom than this caged bird, forever trapped and shackled by fate from the second she was born...As if she had any choice, that is.

Perhaps she deserves this treatment, this hatred, this...Manipulation from her own family, who only see her as a political and financial pawn, planning her marriage from the second she first cried into this world... Like a martyr, she will accept all torture and live on, never knowing what ‘living’ truly means, only imagining it by reading all day and all night long, or when she plays the piano one of the many songs she learnt.

As the grandfather clock rang to 7 times to announce dinner time, Y/N dressed in a simple, yet elegant dress, put on a pair of classy black stiletto shoes, and went down to the luxurious dining room, sitting in her usual seat, only for a brunet stranger dressed in white to grace the sight with his unexpected presence.

She didn’t dare speak to him, yet her eyes couldn’t leave his form, no matter how her meek demeanour made her hung her head to avoid showing anything other than her demure expression.

Thankfully, her parents arrived, along with the waiters that served the food, so it saved some of the awkwardness of the unknown.

“Y/N, darling, this man here is Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is here as a writer, wanting to learn more about us and about people in general. As a compromise, he agreed to be your personal guard...Considering the other one was a sacrilege to our dear daughter...What a lecherous man, making advances on you...But, anyway, let us toast to the success of this young man’s writing career!” the mother raised her champagne, and the four of them clinked glasses. “I thank you for the unique opportunity to learn and understand society and people better. May you live a long and prosperous life.” this new stranger held a charming smile on his face, trying to impress and buy everyone’s trust. “Do you have yet any idea about the theme of your novel? Or, perhaps an idea for a title?” the father asked, making the brunet shake his head softly. “No, not yet, unfortunately. I prefer to study hard, and only then, when I am educated enough, to allow the flow of creation to take over me.” this Fyodor nodded in acknowledgement, while the girl kept completely silent for the duration of the dinner, waiting for everything to be over so she could escape back to the little faux haven she created and called ‘safe’. “Y/N, show Mr. Fyodor to your room, he will be sleeping there for now on. The butlers already brought a spare bed there, so it’s alright.” the mother waved her hand dismissively, and the girl could only bow quickly and go back to her room, making sure to point out what each of the rooms represent, before reluctantly inviting him to her bedroom. “Please, make yourself at home, Mr. Dostoevsky. I hope it will be comfortable and to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to tell me so we can make your stay as great as possible.” she spoke to him in a soft, meek voice, not daring to make eye contact in any way. “Call me Fyodor, no need for formalities. We are going to room together, might as well become friendly. What don’t you tell me about yourself? Your hobbies, your interests, your dreams, your aspirations.” the brunet paced around the room, observing all of her personal objects, which, turned out, except for jewellery, books, a small, pink Gloxinia, and a pickup with 1920s British vinyls, there was nothing to represent her...Which was, in its own way, an intriguing peculiarity. “I...Like reading, flowers, music...And I wish I could get a dog and learn how to play the violin too. There aren’t many interesting things about me...I’m not special or anything out of the ordinary. I am not allowed to put myself out there in any way, so this is the little I could do to express who I am.” so tried to be as vague as possible, fidgeting on her feet uncomfortably, knowing that the punishment for embarrassing the family would be grave, should it be known. “Hmmm...I see, I see...Ah, you’re a Tolstoy reader, I see. Anna Karenina...Very interesting, yet tragic, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking up a book that was supposed to be hidden. “N-No! Don’t take that out of there...Nobody can know I have it. I was strictly forbidden from reading it...Please don’t tell anyone I have this book.” the princess snatched the book from his hands, hiding it further back in the bookshelf. “Ohh~? Why would you not be allowed to read a Russian book? You’d think the Russian princess would be urged to read Russian literature.” he stepped in front of her, picking her chin and raising her head slightly to allow him to look deep into her fawn-like eyes. “Because of the ending...And the controversial decisions Anna made, some of them even contradictory to her own beliefs, and yet, she made her own decisions, at some point in her life. When your fate is decided from before you are born, having opinions is the worst enemy of a puppeteer...Wouldn’t you agree?” she muttered, walking away from him, taking her nightgown and walking towards her bathroom.

This made the man think more about how dysfunctional this supposed perfect royal family actually was. The illusion of a flawless individual, living together, forming a flawless family, a flawless life, in a flawless palace.

Perhaps facades aren’t as obvious to see through, or understand, for while the parents are completely bland...This girl...So much potential locked away in a timid chest of massive oak wood, embellished with overly expensive jewellery, clearly unwanted. She could be a genius, shining in her happiness, glowing like her dazzling smile, and yet, there she is, eclipsed by chaff, when she could be burning brighter than the morning Sun.

Those parents of hers think he wants to be here and get dazzled by the infinite stream of diamonds that keep flowing around the whole place - And yet, perhaps they are the ones living in mental poverty, considering they believe financial wealth and fame is the sole reason for being alive - To uphold a certain kind of status that they worked naught for, but received hereditary, from one lazy deadbeat to yet another generation of useless people for this society.

They truly are like the plague, incredibly rare nowadays, but completely fatal once you fall grasp to their dark claws that drag you to hell to succumb to their completely fictional utopian world that they create only amongst themselves, as if whatever lives beyond these golden walls is putrid and deserves to rot to pieces.

As his mind wandered farther and farther away down the country, snowy roads he created with his own imagination of thoughts, he heard the bathroom door softly open, and the angelic creature garbed in a thin - Possibly silk, snow white nightgown - Stepped back into their now shared room, and just as before, her demeanour resembled that of a small, frightened fawn, or a bunny.

When you have to deal with such a pure being that could completely shatter, it’s difficult not to impulsively break down all walls around and snatch her away - It’s close to impossible not to attempt to test all existing boundaries and see the limits where she would break...Or, almost, at least.

However, abstinence makes for a great suspense and greed...You want more...And more...And the more you wait, the harder it is to resist, but the satisfaction you get when the frail creature trusts you enough to eat from your own palm, and you finally claim it as yours...

It’s Heavenly.

“Sweet Dreams, Fyodor.” she spoke softly, putting on a Tchaikovsky vinyl and picking up a book, getting in bed and reading it, the only light still open being a dim lantern on her nightstand. “How would you like to show me around the city tomorrow?” the brunet asked so casually that it shocked the girl enough to drop her book on her lap. “O-Oh...U-Uhmm...I’m not exactly to go out of this place unless it’s for Christmas shopping...I’m sorry I can’t properly do as you wish...” she quickly took her book back, hiding her face to hide her embarrassment and disappointment. “Well, then, what a gorgeous coincidence, isn’t it? In barely two months, Christmas shall come, and then, you can properly show me around, correct?” the man mused, the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. “..You’re right! My, you’ll get to see the beautiful fairy light and Christmas decorations all around the city! I can’t believe it, you truly chose the perfect time to come here. Oh, and, the ballet, the opera and the national orchestra are going to perform...I believe The Nutcracker is going to play this year...And Traviata. It should be beautiful, don’t you agree?” Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, sparks gleaming in her eyes, and for the first time since he’s met her, it felt like she was finally alive. “Yes, yes, I would have to agree. And if you are there with me, the experience will be even better.” he hummed, teasing the poor girl who had no idea what else to say to such bold affirmations. “O-Oh...W-Well...Th-Thank you...I-I think...Your presence there will also make the going out more interesting...And nice.” she offered a comeback that pleased the man well enough. “Good night to you as well, Printsessa.”

What a lovely young woman, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his mind fly at different aspects of life and of humanity, trying to decipher each and every person he met that day and wondering if his assumptions were correct, as they always are.

Morning came by faster than expected as a shy ray of of Sun creeped inside the room through the window, but Fyodor was already awake, writing at the desk rather rapidly - Most likely, he had some inspiration hitting him, so he proceeded to pour out his conflicting thoughts on the paper, all while stealing a peek from time to time at the girl sleeping peacefully, almost as if she was a Disney Princess.

The way the soft light caressed her face had him take the stray streak of h/c hair and pull it back so it won’t tickle her awake, while also being allowed to watch her peacefully inhale and exhale, a small smile on her face...Perhaps she was having a beautiful dream? Was that why she told him to have sweet dreams? Were her dreams her only lovely escape from this horrible reality she was forced to live in?

There were so many mysteries yet to be unveiled, but all in due time, as Fyodor noticed the gentle flutter of her lashes, and with a grace only reserved to a Swan Princess, she raised and stretched with a sweet hum, and the brunet man watched as his eyes felt absolutely blessed seeing such a beauty...

If people complained that Disney Princesses weren’t relatable, since they have messy hair when they wake up, just like Anna, they clearly haven’t seen how perfect Y/N looks, even as she blinks her sleepiness away.

“I see you slept well, Printsessa. Good morning.” she heard him speak, and she noticed it wasn’t as en garde and...It almost seemed...Pleased to see her. “Fyodor...You woke up before me. You should have woke me up. Please wake me up next time, I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely or upset. This place is like a piranha tank...Thread carefully, otherwise, you’re like a little animal who fell in.” she quickly got up, rushing through her daily routine so she could be by his side, not only because her parents assigned her to that, but also because this Dostoevsky man is the only little thing that could rip her out of her completely dull routine and show her a little bit of insight into what could be something out of her imagination entirely. “Aww, the little songbird wishes to spend time with me, how adorable. Very well, Printsessa, what is it that you want to do today? My job here is to observe and write, after all.” he asked, crossing one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist, watching her with intense interest. “Oh, well, I have to practice the piano today, but other than that, I have nothing in my schedule.” she explained, guiding him to the music room that very much resembled a whole orchestra surrounding a place - Not too small, yet not too big either - Meant for ballroom dancing. “I bet the national orchestra isn’t as fancy as this place is.” he mused, walking up to the cello and tracing his fingertips across the chords. “...Do you know how to play it?” she asked, walking up to him, having the curiosity of a baby fawn exploring the world. “Would you like to hear?” he asked, sitting on the chair and expertly hugging the cello, he grabbed the bow and teased the girl with a mischievous look in his gleaming purple eyes. “Oh, yes, please, if it’s not too much to ask! It would be absolutely splendid.” Y/N clasped her hands together, grinning widely as she stepped a few feet away to give him enough space so he could start playing. “It would be my pleasure, Printsessa.” and with the nod of his head, he started playing the famous Sugar plum fairy song, making the girl gasp in surprise at how gorgeous it sounded.

She crouched to reach the perfect eye view of the bow gliding along the chords, her mouth slightly agape and she gazed with absolute wonder, not even realising when the song was over, for she was much too mesmerised.

“Well, Printsessa, how did you like it?” he rested his arms on the curves of the cello, leaning forwards for a better look at her. “That was better than even our national cello player! It was absolutely stunning, woaw...Just...You left me speechless! You’re...You’re...You are...Perfectly splendid!” she clapped for him rapidly and incredibly enthusiastic, making him chuckle in amusement at her cuteness. “Why, thank you, Printsessa. How about you entertain me now, little Anicyka Maya?” he carefully put the Cello in its place, stepping in front of her and caressing her porcelain skin, quenching his thirst for discovery by seeing her rosy cheeks. “Well...I can’t say I’m anywhere as great as you are...But, sure. I hope you will like it.” she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she hurried timidly to the piano, and taking a deep breath, cracking her fingers, she liter her fingers skillfully dance over the keys, as her voice followed every word of the song called “Katyusha”. However, she wasn’t expecting him to applaud and whistle to her, congratulating her for being such a beautiful nightingale. “You clearly underestimate your hard work and talent. Perhaps we should play together one day. I’m sure it would put a smile on your parents’ faces.” Fyodor bowed to kiss Y/N’s hand, only to hear the door opening. “Yes, Mr. Fyodor, we would quite like to hear the two of you dueting together. Since Y/N will have to perform both dance and a song at the piano, as a Christmas tradition, it will show how much she’s improved...If at all. I have to tell you the truth, Mr. Fyodor, over the past few years, she has been exceptionally disappointing...Well, perhaps you coming here will prove to give her a jolt in the right direction.” Y/N’s mother came out of nowhere in the music room, almost as if she was stalking the pair, and Fyodor could see how the Princess’ behaviour changed 180 degrees, and from the excitable and lively young girl, she went back to hide in her guarded shell, trying to protect herself from the numerous blows everyone throws her way.

And just as he expected, once they started playing, despite throwing in one or two intentional mistakes, while she had none of her own, the mother reprimanded her daughter, while praising him. He thought, at first, this was going to be some kind of tough love encouragement and determination she was trying to give the girl, but truly, it was nothing more than unrealistic dreams of an already flawless performance.

This family was nowhere close to being the perfect, or the most loving one, that was without a doubt. But being so horrible to your own daughter, humiliating her in front of a complete stranger, making her tremble softly while trying her best to keep herself from bursting into sobbing fits, was a whole different kind of cruel and unnecessary malice.

For some reason, Fyodor felt a certain kind of warmth in his chest...But not the same kind of warmth he feels when he is around Y/N, but something...Similar to fury. To rage. He was sure he never felt such a personal sort of offense, despite not being him that was belittled.

A terrifying sort of justice bubbled inside him, and he smirked, thinking about just one sole thing.

Crime and Punishment.

Fyodor hoped dearly that it would be only the maternal figure that was the problem, yet it seemed to be much worse, and the toxicity levels that kept vibing all over the place seemed to be equivalent to that of Chernobyl at the time of the explosion.

All throughout the week, he noticed the dirty looks all the staff was giving the Princess, possibly because she was being a shy and quiet pushover...But it went completely beyond his understanding how these servants would even dare be so rude to her, considering she is always so sweet to them, always forgives their mistakes and shares her whole allowance with them in equal parts...

But they complain it’s not enough. They complain others get more, or less, but clearly, they don’t care about that, they just want more and more money...They are greedy jackals who don’t care about the life or soul of a poor little lady who just wants to be happy...

But perhaps happiness isn’t meant for royalty.

A week until Christmas, and Fyodor was ready with the quick draft, and he left it on the desk for Y/N to read, and he couldn’t help but admire and drink in each and every emotion she would express on her lovely face with every word she read, every action, every chapter that stirred more and more conflicting feelings and thoughts battling together - Conflicts that she was trying so hard to hide, no doubt feeling his burning, hawk-like stare on her, analysing her as if she was a new specimen under a microscope.

She was great at hiding what she truly felt, yet her eyes betrayed her inner self, the sparkling of nostalgia and sadness crawling out, shrieking at the top of her lungs to be discovered and taken out of this well of darkness she was drowning in - She wanted to be saved, she was at her breaking point, and clearly, she was afraid.

Afraid of life. Afraid of people. Afraid of her family. Afraid of this society. Afraid her own self. Afraid of her actions.

And most of all.

She was afraid of spiritual, mental and emotional imprisonment.

As Christmas approached with rapid footsteps, Fyodor could notice how Y/N stiffer, more silent, flinching more, keeping herself in check, alone, barely speaking to anyone...Clearly, she was being stressed out and afraid of the consequences of screwing up anything.

Perhaps, the problem here was the fatalist and completely out of her control destiny she was thrown in, and she knew from the very beginning that, no matter how flawless her performance was, she would still be reprimanded and punished, so she resigned herself to this kind of treatment...The same as every year.

“It’s so beautiful outside...And it’s snowing...! So soft and cold...It’s almost numbing you entirely, but the beauty of Christmas still melts down even the most frozen of hearts.” she spoke with such sadness dripping from her tongue, that Fyodor felt the need to take his fur hat and put it on her head before taking a hold of both of her hands, rubbing them together and kissing her knuckles. “It’s not the day or the decorations that are supposed to move a person, but the kindness and altruism of people. From what I’ve seen in the past weeks, the only consistency in this place is the beauty of your heart and the cruelty of everyone else that keep eclipsing you. You deserve better than this, kroshka.” the man spoke simply, waiting to see the way she’d react. “...I didn’t choose this life, nor did it choose me, yet here I am, trying to keep my head above the water in a whirlpool. I have all my life planned and written ahead of me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From the very beginning, since before I was even born, they knew they will sell me out to some old, rich man, just so they could benefit, but they cared naught about my well-being, as long as I could keep him entertained in any way possible. The least I can do is try to enjoy the little things...Even if they are nothing more than just that...Little things.” she admits to him, taking away her hands and holding them to her chest, too afraid to trust her own heart. “You let the servants make a mockery out of your kindness. You let your family humiliate you in front of everyone. You let common folk bash you, even if you tip them greatly...Tell me, krasotka, have you read the draft to my book yet?” they continued to stroll down the cobbled streets, looking up at the snowflakes gently dancing in the light of the lamposts, as Fyodor carried most of her shopping bags that held Christmas gifts for everyone but herself. “Yes...I did...But I did not finish it. I was much too afraid to read the ending of it.” she nodded to him, biting her lip nervously. “Afraid? Why ever would you be afraid of reading some words made of ink on a piece of paper?” the man frowned in confusion and interest, hearing such a peculiarity of an answer. “Because...Because I know that Prince Myshkin actually represents me...And how life treats me...So I’m afraid the ending will hint to Anna Karenina’s ending...And I don’t want that. I don’t...That’s why I’m afraid...I’m scared that...I’m scared that I won’t be able to endure this madness anymore, and sooner, rather than later, I will shatter into an unrecognisable version of myself that not even I will decipher...And I will do scary things that I would otherwise be afraid of even thinking about. You know I read the book, I wouldn’t put it past you to tease me like that.” she smiled ironically, shaking her head to stop herself from shuddering at such a dreadful thought. “Congratulations, Printsessa, you are surely insightful. However, I must advise you to read it, and keep in mind that you are not entirely wrong in your thinking. While the ending isn’t identical to Tolstoy’s novel, it isn’t on the complete opposite spectrum either. What you read is one of the possible outcomes of your life, should you choose to remain a passive onlooker and let everyone control you, like a little, pretty doll. Should you, however, choose to take fate into your own hands and finally make your first choice of your life...I can promise you, you are going to be much happier.” Fyodor kissed her forehead before leading her back to the palace so she could take the day off...For tomorrow, she must perform.

But the author wasn’t lying, Y/N realised as she spent the last hours past curfew to finish the book, and she realised that while Myshkin didn’t kill himself, he was still dead inside, and just like the catatonic state he was stuck into, she has been living a life of complete comatose herself. Fyodor was right all along - A life without choices is not a life, nor is it one without freedom and happiness - And maybe, for the first time in her life, she would make the most difficult decision the universe threw at her, and that was to choose between Duty and Happiness, something every royal member, especially women all over the world, who were seen as nothing more than political and decorative objects meant to create heirs and nothing more, had to pick, and dutifully chose to sacrifice themselves to keep the family and the nobility going.

But not anymore....

“You look beautiful today, my little zaika. This velvet colour of your dress, the way it highlights you stunning silhouette...And this jewellery...And your hair and make up...You are above and beyond the most beautiful person to ever grace this life. How are you going to enchant us today?” Fyodor pat down his white suit so he would look completely impeccable...Or, perfectly splendid, as Y/N would say. “Does it truly matter, in the end? Nobody but you will pay attention, and at the end of the day, I will only hear critiques. It’s the same every year, so there is no point in bothering to stand out, have any particularity or give a name. It just...Is. So...Let me get this over with so I can go to my room and pretend this day never happened...Again.” she muttered, hooking her arm to his, entering the big ballroom together.

A ton of people were there, not only family, but enough family ‘friends’, all of them incredibly rich, with a combined fortune great enough to buy the whole Russia somehow...And all eyes were on her. She didn’t mind. She was used to the nervousness and the either critical or lustful stares she received - But only during these kinds of events, and because she was a Princess, otherwise nobody would have cared about her existence or her feelings...

Nobody...Except for Fyodor.

Until the time of his arrival, nobody cared about her, nor did they bother trying to understand or talk to her, and yet, here he was, always by her side, and frankly, she fell in love with him. She, for the first time in her life, cared naught about everything surrounding her, and she thought solely about him and their time spent together. That is all that mattered to her.

So, with that in mind, and a warm heart, she performed the Waltz of Flowers flawlessly at the piano, along with a few other songs, adding some festive ones. Fyodor was absolutely captivated by the spells she put on people whenever she radiated with such pure gentleness, just like Christmas’ true angel.

Her fingers glided so gracefully over the keys, as she hummed along the music, not even bothering to look at the sheet, for she new everything by heart - But somehow, it all sounded even more magical than before, and nobody could tell why.

But Fyodor knew, and he smiled, figuring out her trick. And he was going to call her out for that when this whole charade was over. But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy bathing in her radiating warmth, for she was shining brighter than the Sun itself.

By the time she finished her little repertoire, she did a pretty courtesy and walked to the man in the white suit, taking a glass of red wine and sipping from it, that gentle smile never leaving her face.

They exchanged no words, but there was no need for that, as the look in their eyes spoke more than anything else, and they danced the night away, together, in graceful and intimate waltzes, or swaying together, keeping their hearts glued together, beating in sync and feeling each other’s heat.

She might not have wanted to end up like Karenina, but she wasn’t too far away from her situation, and she knew very well, should she leave with this man, she was going to break down every rule, and find an identity for herself, after all these years.

But happiness is emphemeral in the life of a Princess, and just before the Christmas Ball ended, her parents dragged her to the table of this old man, so they would share gifts. This old man, who so happened to be the man chosen to be her future husband, and had fewer hairs on his head and teeth in his mouth than her age.

Most of the gifts were pretty basic - Jewellery for women, cigars, fedoras, watches for men...But for her...She received some of he oddest gifts so far - And yet, she thought life couldn’t surprise her anymore.

Several little outfits, fit for babies, were neatly folded in all boxes, sans one - The sole box being a small, velvet box, which revealed a sapphire ring that expressed the definite bond of marriage that must be officiated very soon, through papers and a church ceremony.

Frozen was the clock, frozen was the time, and frozen was life itself, for the shock was great - Being put on the spot is scarier than the anticipation and fear of venturing into the unknown - Yet here she was, with her supposed fossil of a husband, with several babies promised to be born, and a very angry author, watching the disgusting exchange of pleasantries between the elder people.

He noticed Y/N doing a little courtesy, excusing herself with a nervous smile, and rushing out of the ballroom, the clicks of her elegant heels giving away her location at all time. Following her, he saw her on the edge of the rood, barefoot, her back to the empty space, as she hummed, looking up at the clouds pouring snow, and swaying to her tippy toes occasionally.

“You sure like the feeling of being alive, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be staying there after being faced with such a disgusting situation.” he pointed out, clasping his hands behind his back and carefully stepped towards her. “Life is full of surprises. But it is not called life, unless you have a say in the paths that you go down by. Today, I realised what I have to do in order to achieve true bliss and happiness...Something ethereal, although utopian in its quintessence. I have to make a choice. And right now, I’m making it.” she smiled, extending her arms to the side, resembling a Goddess, as a few stray tears streamed down her face - But they were tears of relief, not of fear, anxiety of depression. She was happy. “You said you didn’t want to choose the path of Karenina, nor of Myshkin, and yet, there you are, on the brink of death, as the way to show that you are no longer a caged bird. Is it truly worth it, in the end?” Fyodor asked, frowning at the delusional words she was spewing. “Death is but the beginning of a new adventure, and with me falling, I will find out what freedom is, unlike all the other Princesses before me. It is not death I’m choosing, nor will I regret it as soon as I step into this free fall hazard, like Karenina, and, as you can see, I chose to wake up from my catatonic state, unlike Myshkin. I know what awaits me as soon as I reach the ground...But do you?” Y/N hummed in amusement, watching the conflict painted all over his face - And it was for the first time that Fyodor showed such confusion and inner turmoil, that much was obvious to her. “Stop this, Y/N, I don’t understand your reasoning, but don’t kill yourse- “ but he couldn’t finish his sentence, for the girl uttered just a few words - Words that changed even the rotation of the Earth around the Sun - And as she pushed herself on the tips of her toes, she embraced the cold wind of Winter being her guide down to the ground, as she watched the snowflakes following her down.

And she smiled.

Because love won, and life won, and she knew she chose correct - These weren’t the times to choose everyone else over herself anymore, and nor is she a saint, a martyr, an angel, or some perfect Christian role model. She was just a woman thirsting for happiness and for the tangible sensation of life and of flying, and with this jump, she got completely wasted.

The secure embrace of a white angel made sure she lived for another day, but not quite, for her guardian angel jumped to save her, yet had no idea himself that he wasn’t the only special one, after all, and just as they were going to reach the ground, time seemed to stop, and they reached the ground gracefully and softly, like two linked feathers.

She lay down on the crystal blanket of snow, laughing mirthfully, almost with a childlike charm, as her long hair was sprawled all over her, and Fyodor’s arms were fiercely holding her, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide in understanding.

“I didn’t choose death. I chose life. I chose love...I chose you, and I chose me. I knew you had an ability too, and that you were confident in it, so I was sure that, should you choose to, you could jump from the roof of the palace to save me - Which you did. I never really have the opportunity to use my ability, but it’s rather useful in some situations, if I can say so myself. So, by the way you’d respond to my feelings and actions, I’d know whether I chose right or not...I think we both know the answer now, don’t we?” she grinned mischievously, extending a hand to his face to caress it gently. “That’s the most idiotic, most reckless thing anyone has ever one...And yet, you strategised everything, as if we were pieces in a game of chess. How did you get the courage to reach such a conclusion?” his voice was low, like a murmur, trying to understand her impossible, labyrinthine mind. “Life offered me a Christmas gift today, and that was serendipity, so, I used it. Everything else was a perfect strategy of a game of chess I played myself - The White King versus the Black King - And, was far as my luck and the universe brought about, I believe I won. But you must still answer back, otherwise, the magic will vanish.” Fyodor noticed a smirk growing on her face - One that somehow resembled his, and he almost felt conflicted seeing her mimicking him in his demeanour, in a way...But he also felt incredibly proud. “I cannot take you with me, Y/N. The part I walk is dangerous, it could even be fatal, and I would rather you not walk down a boulevard of broken dreams. You just now achieved happiness, don’t throw it out of the window. It a world full of crimes, I choose to be both the justiciar and the executioner of the unworthy. In a world of crime, I shall inflict punishment upon the evil-doers and paint this world red with the blood of the guilty.” he wanted her, he truly didn’t want to leave without her, nor did he want to leave her alone, here, with these hyenas, but could he really have it in his heart to endanger her so? “Fyodor, my darling, it matters naught for me whether I live or die, as long as the journey is by your side, and I’m not shackled anymore. I want to see, I want to hear, I want to touch, I want to taste, I want to smell, I want to learn. Everything. Without exception. There is a whole world out there, open, waiting to be explored and unveiled, and I shall be its explorer. As long as I have you by my side, I will surely be fearless. Being a hero, being a villain, or anything in between is of no concern for me...However, I cannot deny that I would be rather...Interested in seeing you deliver the sentence down to...Some specific people.” she giggled, winking at him, as she obviously hinted towards her kin and the unlimited amount of gossips she has heard about so many people, over the years.

With a wide smirk on his face, Fyodor Dostoevsky helped Princess Y/N on her feet and gave her a passionate, fire-like kiss, before picking her up bridal style and making their way to her room, so she would start packing and leave at the earliest convenience.

There may still be a bit of official work to do at the palace, and as his ability is called, there is no crime without punishment, he was going to make sure of that. Until then, there was one thing certain, and one alone, that was going to guide the both of them to a path of exciting uncertainty and thrill.

“I love you, my dear Y/N.”

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