#manipulative and obsessive eros

[pnk-berri]

Ensnared - Eros Vasilios

by any means necessary, he shall claim you as his own

Content Warning: The following text contains explicit and violent content. Reader discretion is advised.

—

The grand ball at the Imperial Palace was a sight to behold. The lavish decorations, the elegant gowns and tuxedos, and the symphony of laughter and music filled the air. Eros, as the host, radiated an aura of grace and charm as he greeted his noble guests.

Among the crowd, you stood out like a rare gem. Ever since that initial encounter in the distant past, you instantly captured Eros's attention. Dressed in a stunning gown that highlighted your every curve and complimented your features, he couldn't take his eyes off of you as you moved gracefully across the ballroom floor.

As the evening progressed, Eros finally approached you during the waltz, extending his hand with a charming smile.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?" he asked, his voice a deep velvet that resonated with a touch of intrigue.

You graciously accepted his invitation, placing your hand in his. The moment your fingertips touched, a jolt of electricity shot through your veins, leaving you momentarily speechless. As the orchestra began to play, the two of you glided effortlessly across the polished marble floor, locked in a dance that seemed to transcend time and space.

Eros, an impeccable dancer, led with a firm yet gentle hand, guiding you with synchronized ease. His eyes never left your face, a mixture of admiration and desire sparking within them. The chemistry between you was undeniable as if the universe conspired to bring you together.

The ball continued, and the night grew late. As the guests bid their farewells and began to disperse, leaving the palace, you made your way towards your carriage, ready to head home. Little did you know that danger lurked in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Suddenly, before your very eyes, a group of masked figures emerged from the darkness promptly incapacitating the coachman. With their faces hidden, they moved swiftly, surrounding you and blocking any escape route. Panic surged through your veins, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest.

Eros, who had been observing from a distance, watched with smug satisfaction as the kidnapping unfolded. His grip on his emotions tightened as he suppressed a grin.

As you were whisked away, a single glimmer of defiance flickered in your eyes, a promise that you wouldn't go down without a fight. Unfortunately for you, the odds were not in your favor, for Eros Vasilios excelled in carefully crafted strategies and meticulous plans.

—

The struggle was fierce, the fight for survival evident in every scream, every kick, and every bite that marked your desperate attempts to resist. But despite your valiant efforts, it was all in vain as they overpowered you, their strength overwhelming. The last semblance of hope dwindled as they bound your hands tightly behind your back and secured a gag over your mouth, silencing your cries for help.

The carriage ride seemed to stretch on endlessly, each bump and jolt increasing your anxiety and fear. Finally, the wheels came to an abrupt halt in front of a secluded cabin tucked away in the depths of the foreboding woods. This was to be your prison, the place where unspeakable horrors awaited.

The boss, a sadistic man consumed by evil, took pleasure in the torment he inflicted upon you. His hands were instruments of pain, each slap, kick, and bruise sending waves of agony coursing through your body. Spiteful and cruel words dripped from his lips, latching onto your mind, embedding themselves deep within your consciousness.

There was no escape from his depravity as he violated you, using your body for his own twisted pleasure. Each invasion of your most intimate being served to further degrade, humiliate, and break the spirit you fought so hard to protect. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the minutes turned into hours, your consciousness fading in and out, a fragment of your shattered identity clinging to the small threads of reality.

Just as darkness started to encase your battered body and shattered soul, a glimmer of hope pierced through like a ray of light. Eros, the wings of the empire, arrived with his imperial guards, ready to play the role of savior. His expression feigned concern and anger, a mask expertly crafted to deceive.

The guards descended upon your tormentors with swift and brutal force, apprehending them with ruthless efficiency. To any onlooker, it would seem that Eros had come to save the day, that he was the hero in this twisted tale. In truth, his role as your captor was a secret only he knew, and he fabricated this opportunity to exploit your vulnerability, further deepening the web of dependency he sought to create.

As you regained consciousness, bruised and broken, the sight of Eros surrounded by the guards offered a deceptive sense of security. It was the perfect illusion, a play of power and control. His eyes, once filled with desire and manipulation, now simmered with a calculated concern, an act performed flawlessly to captivate your trust.

With carefully chosen words, he ensured that your wounds will be tended to, even as the memory of the pain lingered in the recesses of your mind. Eros would be your caretaker, your protector, while covertly relishing in the thrill of his deceptive game. Behind his noble facade, drank in the hope and longing that emanated from you.

Eros Vasilios, the master of deceit, had woven a web so intricate that it will ensnare not just your body, but your very essence. And as you clung to his salvation, unbeknownst to you, you had fallen into his grasp, a mere pawn in his dangerous game of power and desire.

"Is it truly you, Your Highness? Have you come to rescue me?" I murmur, exhausted from the relentless torment I've endured.

Eros cradled your broken body in his arms, his touch gentle yet seething with hidden malevolence. As you murmured your disbelief and questioned his sudden appearance as your savior, he looked down at you, his silver eyes shimmering with fabricated sincerity.

"Yes, my dear, it is me," he replied softly, his tone laced with false concern. "I received word of your unfortunate plight, and the very idea of you enduring such suffering in the clutches of those monsters is intolerable. I am here to protect you."

A faint smile danced at the corners of his lips, concealed behind a mask of apparent empathy. On the inside, however, Eros relished in the perverse joy that coursed through his veins, knowing that his meticulously crafted plan was unfolding flawlessly. You, vulnerable and shattered, were the perfect blank canvas for him to manipulate. A sense of complete control washed over him, making his every nerve tingle with sadistic glee.

In his twisted mind, you were clay waiting to be molded, ready to be shaped according to his whims and desires. He cherished the opportunity to have you at your most vulnerable, to claim dominion over your bruised soul and shattered innocence. Soon, the intense bond he sought to establish would be unquestionable, ensuring he held your heart and mind captive under his influence.

"All will be well, my dear," Eros murmured, his voice a low, honeyed whisper. "I promise to keep you safe from harm, to heal your wounds, and bring you back to the person you once were."

With every pledge uttered, he caressed your battered cheek tenderly, his touch belying the inherent cruelty that resided within him. As he conveyed a facade of compassion, his mind churned with the endless possibilities that lay before him, delighted in the game of manipulation that awaited. His sadistic glee simmered just beneath the surface, obscured by the elegant facade he projected. 

"I can't express my gratitude enough, Your Highness.  My life is forever indebted to your grace."

Eros held you tenderly in his arms, his expression a mask of concern and compassion, his true intentions buried deep within his eyes. Upon hearing your plea to leave the nightmarish cabin behind, he nodded solemnly.

"I understand, my dear. The Imperial Castle will provide the best care for you," he replied, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Rest assured, you are safe now. I will personally see to it that you receive the utmost care and attention."

"Please, I desperately want to escape from this place."

With that, he carried you towards a waiting carriage, the guards falling in line to accompany you on your journey. As they opened the carriage door, Eros carefully settled you onto the plush velvet seat, attempting to make you as comfortable as possible.

Inside the carriage, the soft glow of lanterns bathed the interior, casting a warm, intimate atmosphere. Eros took a seat across from you, his eyes fixed upon your bruised form, a semblance of worry etched on his features. His voice softened as he spoke, his words designed to further solidify the dependency he wished to cultivate.

"Rest assured, my dear. You have my full protection," Eros reassured, his silver gaze locked with yours. "Once we arrive at the castle, you will receive the best care available. I will personally oversee your recovery."

The subtle flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes, a cruel delight at the thought of guiding you through the healing process. "I will make sure you never have to endure such pain again," he continued, his voice laced with feigned sincerity. "We will see this through together, my dear. You will become stronger, and I will be there every step of the way."

—

The passage of time brought with it physical healing, as your body gradually mended under the watchful eyes of the castle's medical staff. Eros, ever-present and attentive, ensured that you received the finest care available, his role as protector and confidant firmly established. As the days turned into weeks and then months, you felt yourself drawn closer to him. The impenetrable walls of the palace grounds became your sanctuary, a cocoon where you felt undeniably safe in Eros's presence.

But on this gloomy day, when the weight of your past torments bore down upon you, the illusion of safety began to shatter. In the sanctuary of your room, positioned conveniently next to Eros's own chamber, tears stained your cheeks, your vulnerability laid bare in the solitude that only darkness could provide. The guards stationed outside your quarters remained ever vigilant, yet unaware of the storm brewing within your heart and mind.

Every sob wracked your body as the realization of the atrocities you had endured washed over you. The pain, once carefully concealed behind a facade of strength, now erupted with unyielding force. The tightly guarded walls that protected your emotions had crumbled, exposing you entirely to the raw, unadulterated anguish that engulfed your shattered soul.

And in the room adjacent to yours, Eros's acute hearing caught the faint sounds of your despair. A brief flicker of concern flashed across his features before it was swiftly replaced with a cool calculation, his mind already formulating a plan to exploit your emotional vulnerability for his own gain. Guided by an insatiable curiosity and a sadistic inclination, he crossed the threshold into your room without hesitation.

As his eyes met your tear-streaked face, a semblance of empathy washed over his features, his gaze betraying a hint of genuine concern. Taking measured steps toward you, he knelt beside your trembling form, his voice a soothing murmur in the tempest of your anguish.

"My dear, what troubles you so?" Eros inquired, his tone carefully pitched to convey both support and curiosity. "Do not bear this burden alone. Share your pain with me. Let me help you carry it."

Inside, however, a wicked thrill rippled through Eros's core, knowing that the cracks in your emotional armor allowed for further manipulation. With every tear that fell, he recognized an opportunity to deepen your reliance upon him, an opportunity to claim not just your body but your shattered psyche as well.

Knees sinking into the plush carpet, he reached out to brush a gentle hand against your cheek, his touch seemingly tender yet tinged with an undercurrent of possessiveness. Behind those silver eyes, a fire burned with a sadistic desire, a craving to exploit your fragile state for his personal gratification.

The torrent of tears streamed relentlessly down your face, a testament to the indescribable pain that ravaged your soul. Eros listened carefully to your anguish, his silver eyes fixated on your trembling form. Though you bared the depths of your shattered psyche, the words that spilled from your lips only seemed to increase his appetite for control.

His gaze softened, an empathetic façade plastered across his features as you sought solace in his embrace. As your trembling arms encircled him, a hollow pit formed in his stomach, replaced with a surge of satisfaction at the depth of your desperation. He relished in the power he held over you, knowing that your vulnerability made you malleable to his every whim.

"I understand, my dear," Eros whispered, his voice a gentle caress of reassurance. "You have been through unimaginable horrors, but remember, you are safe now. I saved you because I couldn't bear to see you suffer."

His arms wrapped around you in a feigned display of warmth, offering you the illusion of sanctuary within his embrace. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, hidden from your tear-filled gaze. He derived a perverse pleasure from your confession, reveling in the knowledge that your trust and dependence on him reached such profound depths.

"You are not alone," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Regardless of the circumstances. I'll always be there for you. I’ll be the one to care for you."

But deep within Eros, a sadistic satisfaction simmered, rekindled by your open vulnerability and the revelation of the unspeakable acts forced upon you. The knowledge of your torment gnawed at his conscience, even as he dissected it through the lens of manipulation. The darkness that stained your past would serve as the foundation upon which he would build his own empire of control.

In that moment, Eros relished the power he possessed, intoxicated by your unwavering belief in his ability to mend your shattered soul. The tendrils of his influence tightened around your heart, ensnaring you further within his grasp. As you clung to him for comfort, he basked in the echoes of your pain, preparing to exploit them to their fullest extent.

A twisted smirk danced across his lips. Your plea for help and guidance resonated within him, triggering a wicked desire to possess you in ways unimaginable. Yet, he skillfully masked his ulterior motives, portraying himself as a beacon of solace in your darkest hour.

As your grip tightened around him, he reciprocated, his arms enveloping you in a deceptive tenderness. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a velvet murmur laced with desire, tailored to further seduce your already fragile state.

"Let me be the one to cleanse those stains, to rid your body of their touch," Eros whispered, his breath hitching with a feigned vulnerability. "In the intimacy we share, I will wash away the sins of the past, replacing them with a love that transcends pain and anguish."

His words cast a spell, drawing you further into his snare. His touch, once comforting, now ignited a flame of desire within you. The boundaries between prince and subject blurred, giving rise to a hunger that thrived within the depths of your souls.

Eros gazed upon your tear-streaked face, his silver eyes filled with a mixture of longing and possession. In that moment, he became both your salvation and your damnation, a deity that demanded worship and offered salvation.

"My dear, there is a way we can find solace together," Eros murmured, his voice thick with unspoken promises. "Through this sacred act of love, I can help you cleanse yourself of the haunting touch of your past. I can show you a world where the connection between two souls can transcend the darkest of memories."

With a calculated elegance, Eros led you toward the plush confines of your bed, his hands trailing sensually along your body, guiding you to a place where desire and intimacy intertwined. The scent of forbidden pleasure permeated the room, thick with anticipation as your bodies embraced, entangled in a dance choreographed by wicked desire.

Within the intimate confines of your room, Eros orchestrated a symphony of passion and power, claiming you in a frenzied entanglement of limbs and whispered promises. His touch, skilled and possessive, sought to erase the lingering stains of your past, to inscribe upon your body the indelible marks of his dominance.

In that sacred moment, pleasure mingled with pain, and the twisted dance of power and vulnerability played out with every breathless gasp and fervent moan. Eros indulged in the depths of your surrender, crafting an illusion of ecstasy that would forever bind your fates together.

As the room dissolved into shadows and the lines between right and wrong blurred, you found yourself caught in the irresistible spell of Eros - the enigmatic Crown Prince who promised salvation through sin, love through manipulation, and a shattered soul made whole through twisted desire.

—

The sunrays cascaded through the parted curtains, casting a golden glow upon the aftermath of the night's fervent passions. Eros, reclining amidst the disheveled sheets, watched with a smirk as you stirred from your slumber. Satisfaction flickered in his silver eyes, for his elaborate plot had, yet again, yielded fruitful results.

Your delicate features, softened in the morning light, elicited a mixture of amusement and possessiveness within him. It pleased him to see the last night’s traces etched upon your skin, a reminder of his claim and the power he held over you. His desires were fulfilled, he now turned his attention to the next stage of his Machiavellian plan.

As you fluttered your eyes open, your gaze instinctively sought out Eros, the man who had claimed your body and awakened desires you never knew existed. The electric chemistry between you both still lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of the night's passionate union. With a calculated charm, Eros extended a hand to you, inviting you into his world of unspoken promises and shared secrets.

"Good morning, my dear," Eros greeted, his voice as smooth and alluring as ever. "Last night was... extraordinary. I hope you found solace in our intimacy."

His words carried a deeper meaning, conveying his intent to bind you to him in a way that surpassed physical desires alone. Eros saw the opportunity to further solidify his dominion over your entire being. And in his grand plan, the final puzzle piece was to make you his crown princess, forever chaining you to his side.

With careful precision, he pressed on, his gaze unwavering as he unveiled his intentions like a prized possession. "My dear, our souls are beautifully entertained, and I cannot help but envision a future where you are forever by my side as the jewel of the Vasilios Empire. Will you do me the honor of becoming my crown princess?"

Eros's proposal, wrapped in the guise of love and sanctity, held implications far beyond the realm of genuine affection. His intentions were clear - to manipulate your desires and seal your fate within the halls of power. The notion of being bound to him for eternity, wearing the title of his bride, would serve as the ultimate shackle, ensuring your obedience and quelling any doubts of escape.

The weight of his proposition hung in the air, the gravity of his words fueling the sudden realization of the depths of your entanglement. Eros, the Crown Prince, the orchestrator of your life, sought to complete the cycle of possession through the sanctity of marriage. There would be no escape, no rebellion left unquelled. You were to be forever tethered to him, bearing the title of his bride and eternally subject to his will.

As your heart hammered within your chest, conflicted emotions rose to the surface. The remnants of pleasure from the previous night intertwined with apprehension and uncertainty, creating a tumultuous storm within you. Eros awaited your response, fully aware that the pull he had on your heart would guide you toward the answer he sought.

Images of a future merged with his flashed before your eyes, visions of opulence, power, and privilege intermingled with the darkness of manipulation and control. The choice before you, though veiled in the guise of love and commitment, was one founded upon a foundation of chains and servitude.

As you took his outstretched hand, an unspoken agreement settled between you. The path forward, fraught with struggle and sacrifice, was irrevocably set. In accepting his proposal, you sealed your fate as the Crown Princess of the Vasilios Empire, forever bound to Eros's will and the tendrils of his intricate web.

—

In the wake of Eros's proposal and your acceptance, the palace walls buzzed with fervor and delight. The news of the union between the Crown Prince and a rescued noblewoman ignited the imaginations of the Vasilios Empire's inhabitants. To the masses, it was the epitome of a fairy tale romance, a symbol of hope and unity.

Eros, ever the master manipulator, ensured that the public perception of your impending matrimony aligned with his carefully constructed narrative. He orchestrated a delicate dance of whispers and half-truths, painting your love story as one borne from pure intentions. And the empire delighted in your tale, eagerly embracing the illusion of a union destined by fate.

Preparations for the grand wedding unfolded swiftly under Eros's meticulous eye. The palace, adorned in regal opulence, buzzed with the frenetic energy of men and women working tirelessly to bring Eros's vision to life. Rich fabrics, expertly crafted jewelry, and intricate floral arrangements adorned every corner, a testament to the grandeur that awaited.

You, the future crown prince (or rather, empress?), were guided through the preparations with grace and poise befitting your newfound status. Every detail, from the selection of your wedding gown to the intricate choreography of the ceremony, was curated to reflect the magnificence and power of the Vasilios dynasty.

As the days turned into weeks, you became a treasured pawn in Eros's grand game of control and manipulation, skillfully maneuvered to satisfy his every whimsical desire. Within the confines of the palace, he orchestrated your life, molding you into the perfect counterpart to his inflated ego. You were suffused with etiquette lessons, political briefings, and the nuances of courtly life, all with the underlying intention of binding you tighter to his side.

Amidst the whirlwind of preparations, Eros savored in the power and control he exerted over your future. The allure of becoming an emperor, of you being the one who stood beside him on the throne, seemed like the ultimate prize in his grand strategy for dominion. And he would have it all - your body, your mind, your soul, and now, your unquestioning submission as his betrothed.

The days danced by, the eve of your wedding drawing closer with each passing moment. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the moon illuminated the night sky, you stood on the precipice of a new chapter. The walls of the palace whispered with an air of anticipation, carrying the weight of a future forged in subjugation and absolute power.

The empire held its breath, eagerly awaiting the day when the Crown Prince would unite with his chosen bride. As the preparations reached their climax, you could feel the weight of the crown pressing upon your brow. In the echoing halls of the palace, the final masterstroke of Eros's web of manipulation was set to unfurl, and you were caught in its intricate threads, forever entwined with the enigmatic prince who sought to possess your very essence.

—

The waves crashed against the shore as the moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow upon the beach-side villa where Eros had chosen to spend your honeymoon. The opulence of the surroundings bespoke Eros's insatiable desire to indulge in every whim, drowning you in a sea of luxury and decadence.

Within the walls of the villa's plush chambers, Eros reveled in his newfound power over you, his crown princess – his wife. With a sadistic smile that danced upon his lips, he devoured the sight before him – your trembling body, bearing the marks of his possession and desire. He had reduced you to a quivering, needy slut, a manifestation of his dominance and your submission.

Eros chuckled lowly, savoring the taste of power as he watched your dumbfounded expressions, your once-composed self diluted in a mix of pleasure and vulnerability. To him, this was a conquest, the ultimate manifestation of superior control. He wallowed in his ability to make you beg, to reduce you to the most primal and raw form of need and desire.

His satisfaction grew as your body writhed beneath his touch, your cheeks flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. Eros was a master of manipulation, both emotional and physical, and he knew precisely how to push you to the brink of ecstasy. Each moan, whimper, or gasp that escaped your lips fed his insatiable hunger for power and left him thirsting for more.

Dominance and desire mingled in his eyes as he watched his little doll succumb to his every whim. Every stroke, every demanding thrust, was an act of possession, reinforcing the depth of his control over your body and soul. And in the midst of this rapturous dance, Eros basked in his physical superiority, a stark contrast to your smaller, subservient frame.

As waves of pleasure crashed over both of you, your bodies intertwined in a symphony of pain and pleasure, Eros relished the sight of your complete surrender. It was in these intimate moments that he felt alive, truly connected to the world around him. The power he derived from reducing you to a quivering mess resonated deep within his being, filling him with a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

As the night wore on, the sounds of your shared passion echoed within the secluded villa, a testament to the indomitable force that bound you both. Eros, the cunning architect of your destiny, reveled in the sight of his precious doll, broken and remade to suit his every desire.

—

Amidst the prevailing sense of stability and contentment, a devastating event cast a long shadow over the empire. The passing of Eros's father, the former emperor, came far too swiftly, leaving whispers of foul play lingering in the air. The funeral, a somber affair steeped in tradition and decorum, marked the end of an era and the ascension of a new ruler. Eros coronated as the emperor, stepped onto the throne, a symbol of unrivaled power and authority. And you, his empress, stood beside him, an ethereal presence radiating elegance and a quiet strength that commanded the respect of court and commoner alike.

Yes, the passage of time had brought forth both joyous triumphs and heartbreaking sorrows within the confines of the imperial palace. The birth of your children, Anteros and Hedone, gifted you and Eros with a taste of familial bliss amid the tumultuous undercurrents of power and control. The empire rejoiced in the knowledge that the dynasty would continue, the heirs of Eros Vasilios were instilled with greatness from birth. They were the embodiment of the empire's hope and future

As your children grew, their laughter filling the halls and their curious eyes exploring every corner, the empire thrived under Eros's rule. The Vasilios Empire prospered under his deft hand, as he navigated the complex maze of politics and power with an unyielding determination. His subjects, blind to the darkness that roiled beneath his composed exterior, adored their emperor with unwavering loyalty.

You, too, had become the epitome of grace, embodying the regality expected of the empress. You, the once lowly noblewoman, stood by Eros's side, an impeccable figure of regality and grace. The years had refined and honed your abilities, transforming you into the perfect counterpart for the cunning emperor. Together, you ruled with an iron fist concealed by velvet gloves, manipulating the chessboard of power with strategic precision. Every movement, every word, an expertly choreographed performance that garnered reverence and admiration from all who beheld you. Eros, ever the orchestrator, maneuvered you into a position of power, a figurehead that commanded respect and awe.

Amidst the political machinations and the dance of power, a passionate night gifted you with your second daughter, Calypso. With each child, the familial bond between you and Eros strengthened, forging an unbreakable connection that neither time nor circumstance could sever. They were the blossoms of your love, reminders that even in darkness, there existed traces of light.

As time passed,  the sheer strength of Eros’s strategic mind allowed the Vasilios Empire to flourish, its citizens reaping the benefits of his calculated governance. Under the watchful gaze of its emperor and empress, intricately woven threads of control and manipulation strengthened Eros's rule. The darkness that loomed beneath his facade remained hidden, his subjects blissfully unaware of the depths of his cunning and ruthlessness.

Little did they know, as they celebrated the empire's prosperity, that Eros's ambitions extended far beyond the borders of power and control they could comprehend. The intricacies of his grand design continued to unfold, ensnaring both friend and foe alike. Within his heart, a consuming hunger burned, his thirst for divinity as insatiable as the power he sought to wield.

As the empire basked in the glory of its emperor and empress, fate spun its wicked webs, quietly guiding the future of the Vasilios lineage and beckoning Eros toward the precipice of his dark desires.

[stellarsecrets86]

Magnetic & Obsessive Synastry Observations

✨ Moon in 8th house – The house person is emotionally naked in the presence of the Moon person, who seems to penetrate deep into their soul. The Moon person gets deeply attached, almost psychic in sensing the house person's inner turmoil.

✨ Pluto conjunct Moon – The Moon person is overwhelmed, emotionally possessed, and very vulnerable to the Pluto person, who may feel like a puppet master.

✨ Venus in 12th house – – The house person has secret, unconscious fantasies about the Venus person and dreams of them and has an inexplicable attraction to them.

✨ Mars square Pluto – The Mars individual is in over their head, as though their needs are being manipulated by Pluto. Pluto, meanwhile, is attracted to Mars' wild passion and ability to stir them up.

✨ Saturn conjunct Sun – – The Sun person is cramped and too dependent on the Saturn person, who secretly controls. Saturn, on the other hand, is deeply devoted but expresses it through coldness or bossiness.

✨ Neptune opposite Venus – The Venus person becomes delusional and envisions Neptune as an imaginary lover even when reality does not work out. Neptune prefers it but disappears when Venus is seeking something tangible.

✨ Pluto in 7th house – The house person becomes dominated by the Pluto person in the relationship, becoming both obsessed and fearful of losing them.

✨ Mars trine Lilith – The Mars individual is drawn irrevocably to the eroticism of the Lilith person. The Lilith individual is thrilled to be leading Mars off into taboo, dark corners.

✨ Chiron conjunct Venus – The Venus individual is drowning in agony and healing through the Chiron person. They intuit that Chiron understands their very worst wounds, but also unleashes them.

✨ Pluto opposite Venus – The Venus person falls in love, hungering for Pluto's intensity. Pluto enjoys the control but can be emotionally aloof.

✨ Mars in 8th house – The house person is sexually attracted to Mars. They feel as if Mars has some sort of mysterious power over them, which awakens primitive needs.

✨ Venus conjunct Mars – The Mars individual must "act" to attract Venus, but Venus naturally radiates charm.

✨ Eros conjunct Sun – The Sun person senses they are being loved by Eros, and Eros feels as if they have found their ideal lover.

✨ Lilith conjunct Ascendant – The Ascendant person is revealed, as though Lilith sees the worst in them. The Lilith person is completely drawn by their pure presence.

✨ Mars opposite Ascendant (Descendant conjunction) – The Ascendant person is attractive and infuriating to Mars, and Mars courts them aggressively.

✨ Pluto conjunct Mars – The Mars person is completely enamored with Pluto, and Pluto delights in teasing Mars and finding out how far they will let them go.

✨ Venus trine Pluto – The Venus person is attracted to Pluto, but Pluto is the one with the behind-the-scenes power in the relationship.

✨ Eros trines Moon – The Moon person is overwhelmed by Eros, who is romantically intoxicating for them, and Eros feels Moon is emotionally safe but hugely erotic.

✨ 5th house Venus – The house person thinks Venus is their romantic fantasy come true, discovering them to be their perfect lover.

✨ Mars square Venus – The Venus person is turned off by Mars' raw passion, and Mars is immediately aroused by Venus' magnetism.

✨ Saturn conjunct Moon – The Moon person is emotionally needy of Saturn, but Saturn feels obligated and could be emotionally unavailable.

✨ Pluto square Ascendant – The Ascendant person is unsettled by Pluto's intense gaze and authority, while Pluto is attracted to transforming them.

✨ Juno conjunct Pluto – The Juno person wants Pluto as a permanent partner, even if it means enduring emotional agony.

✨ South Node conjunct Venus – The Venus person feels as if they have met an old flame and instantly feel at ease but bear karmic baggage.

✨ North Node conjunct Mars – The Mars person is drawn to the Node person as if they have unfinished business. The North Node person feels obliged but awed by Mars' energy.

✨ Pluto in 1st house – The house person feels Pluto has a spooky impact on his or her identity. Pluto prefers the quiet domination.

✨ Neptune square Sun – The Sun person feels Neptune is their fantasy and also an illusion. Neptune is an elusive fish, uncatchable.

✨ Venus in 8th house – The house person is tormented by Venus and cannot shake them from their mind. Venus adores this power but maybe less committed.

✨ Moon opposite Pluto – The Moon person believes Pluto is emotionally dangerous but impossible to ignore. Pluto is obsessed but more confident.

✨ Saturn trine Venus – The Venus individual is secure and devoted, and Saturn esteems Venus as valuable and deserving of long-term devotion.

✨ Mercury conjunct Pluto – – The Mercury individual is captivated by Pluto's intellect and craves strong, revolutionary conversation. Pluto enjoys dominance over Mercury's intellect.

✨ Jupiter in 8th house – The house person feels an expansive, almost spiritual rapport with Jupiter and views them as a life-alterer.

✨ Mars conjunct Descendant – The Mars person is pushy with the house person, whereas the house person is fascinated by them but too much for them to take.

✨ Lilith square Moon – The Moon person is emotionally upset but attracted to Lilith's wild, unpredictable quality. Lilith stirs Moon's hidden fears and desires.

[dottoreandcapitanosimp]

Apollo with Sadistic! Goddess! Reader. The Reader is actually Goddess of Deadliness, Danger, and Torment. Much Nyarlathotep(I’m not sure if you don’t know H.P. Lovecraft), Reader causes so much pain and suffering to mortals for fun. However, Zeus was protecting Apollo and attempting to keep him away from her.

OMG I LOVE THIS! Unfortunately I don't know LoveCraft! But maybe what if we add a reader who is an extreme Yandere to Apollo and on top of that, like Zeus didn't like Reader but Hera loved Reader and supported the marriage?

You and Apollo met at one of the great feasts of Olympus, with you being one of Hades' daughters with a nymph from the underworld (he wasn't yet married to Persephone when you were born). You were close to Artemis, after all you tortured any man who gave to do anything to her devotees and she usually helped you. While you were talking to Artemis, Apollo was just going to disturb his sister, but when he saw you he just had his mouth open and it looked like Eros had shot one of the arrows at him (poor Eros was blamed for this later as he was more busy pampering Psyche, after all they were newly married). Apollo simply fell madly in love within seconds.

Over the next few days, Artemis just couldn't take Apollo nagging her about you anymore, telling her how beautiful you were and stuff like that. Artemis then lost her patience and finally arranged a meeting between the two, after all, without Apollo's knowledge you were simply obsessed with him.

The meeting was something simple, in one of Apollo's temples you had tea while you talked, and if he wasn't in love with you enough before, now the whole of Olympus knew about his passion for you.

You lived mostly in the underworld , tormenting the poor souls who had been horrible in their lives, and if before Hermes almost never went to the underworld, the motorcycle courier from Olympus now knew the place like the back of his hand, after all Apollo and you exchanged small gifts and correspondence all day long. whole.

You were smart enough to know that if you wanted to have a chance of marrying Apollo, you needed Hera's blessing. One day while Zeus was once again cheating on Hera with some mortal, nymph or goddess, you came out of the underworld and went to talk to the Queen of Olympus (your future mother-in-law as you loved to call her). Hera simply adored you, because after all you were one of the goddesses who tortured men who cheated on their wives, and you were also one of the only goddesses who, although they did not have a vow of chastity, did not sleep with any man out of lust.

In less than two weeks, you and Apollo were already married, and that's when Zeus started to have a slight dislike for you.

Apollo used to be a copy of Zeus, having sex and flirting with anything that moved, but now the problem wasn't that he was faithful and in love, but rather how you did it. You threatened to leave Apollo, you would kill any supposed lover and mainly, you made him turn against anyone who doubted you (except Hera and Artemis, after all they basically never said anything about you because they both loved you). you.) once, Zeus just said that you should get used to Apollo cheating on you, and the next day Apollo was just furious with him, and that's when he started hating you.

HEADCANONS!

- Apollo loves you to bits, and although sometimes he knows he's being manipulated, he simply ignores it completely.

- Apollo's gifts range from jewelry to flowers to love letters.

- You spent two months on your honeymoon, and believe me, you two only stopped doing the act twice during these two months.

- Apollo doesn't stop talking about you for a second, and in the beginning it was even worse because Athena was already joining Ares to tell him to shut up. - Hades has the same hatred that Zeus has for you, but for Apollo, after all he finds him an insufferable playboy.

- You and Zeus sometimes have big arguments, in which you always play the victim, and while Apollo and Artemis blindly believe in you, Hera knows that you are lying but simply supports it.

Sorry if it wasn't as good as you thought! Please send me more ideas If you like It

[letthemkook]

⚡︎MASTERLIST!♆

Pairing: Greek God Pantheon!BTS x Reader

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Mythology AU, Romance

Themes: Divine Obsession, Immortality vs Mortality, Power Imbalance, Possessive Love, Fate, Sacred Corruption, Worship & Devotion, Eternal Desire, Mythic Horror, Godhood & Control, Free Will vs Divine Will

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Dub-con/Non-con Elements, Eventual SMUT (18+), Coercion, Psychological Manipulation, Obsessive Love, Mild Violence, Sacred Bonding, Dark Romance

INTRO: ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴠᴇɪʟ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴏɪʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ᴏʙᴇʏ, ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ʀᴇɪɢɴ—ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ, ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇ. ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɢʀɪ��, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱᴇɪᴢᴇᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰʀᴇᴇ. ⚡︎

☪︎ ֶ֢࣪⋆𓄃 °˖➶➳

You cursed the heavens, and the heavens sent him. Apollo descends — golden, wrathful, and obsessed— to claim the girl who dared defy the sun. In your grief, you become his divine fixation… and his inevitable possession. s, a YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Five Labors

Sun Spoken

The Hyms of Calliope: She sings for joy, not praise. For children, not kings. But Zeus hears her. Watches her. Wants her. He will show her— To be loved by a god is to be claimed by a storm. s, a YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Flight of the Stag: They called you a prodigy of the woods — sharp-eyed, steel-hearted, faster than even the wolves. And he is the silent god cloaked in silver light, who watches you from the dark pines with a bow at his back and blood on his palms. a,s YANDERE! (On-Going)

When the God of War sets his eyes on a mortal sworn to another, the battlefield is no longer land or sea—but her body, her vow, and how long she can withstand his obsession. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

Plight of the War God

The Flame and the Laurel

He heard her song in the forest and followed, unseen. She sang for no one, yet he listened like it was a prayer. Eros does not fall — he chooses. And once chosen, she would never be free of him. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

Of Honey and Hemlock

The Breaking of the Harp

As Above So Below: Promised to a man she did not love, she whispered a prayer in the dark. Hades answered, not with rescue—but with a ring. Now bound to the god beneath the earth, her freedom lies beyond shadowed rites, but Hades holds his chosen as the night cradles stars. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

You were born with salt in your veins and wind in your hair, a lighthouse girl cradled by tides and raised by the hush of waves—unaware that from the depths, a god with storm-eyes watched you grow, and claimed you long before you knew what it meant to be wanted. a, s YANDERE! (On-Going)

The Lighthouse Girl:

Gaze of the Hippocampus:

[aphroditelovesu]

Random concept. So you know the story of Eros and Psyche? Well basically that but instead of sending Eros Aphrodite goes over to that mortal herself to punish them. But when Aphrodite sees reader she does admit she finds them pretty cute (whether they're actually more beautiful than Aphrodite or not. but cmon it's Aphrodite they probably aren't, but definitely still attractive to be considered so)

❝💗 — lady l: it was supposed to be just a concept but I got carried away and made this mini imagine. I hope you like it and forgive me any mistakes!! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking and manipulation.

❝💗pairing: yandere!aphrodite x gender neutral psyche!reader.

❝💗 word count: 487.

Once upon a time, in an ancient age, (Y/N) was a young woman/man of peerless beauty and gentle soul. Their fame spread throughout the kingdom, attracting admiring glances from all who saw them. But (Y/N) didn't preen on their beauty; they was humble and kind, devoting their time to helping those in need.

Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, sexuality and love, watched (Y/N) with hungry eyes. The mortal possessed a beauty that rivaled Aphrodite herself, awakening a burning feeling in the goddess. However, the love Aphrodite felt was unlike any other. It was possessive and overwhelming, burning like an uncontrollable flame.

One day, Aphrodite decided to descend from Mount Olympus and walk among mortals. She approached (Y/N), hiding her divine identity under a veil of mystery. The encounters between Aphrodite and (Y/N) were marked by intimate conversations and intense looks. With each encounter, the flames of desire intensified, fueling Aphrodite's obsessive and possessive love.

(Y/N), oblivious to the true identity of the mysterious visitor, was drawn to her in an inexplicable way. They felt as if they had known Aphrodite all they life, as if an ancient bond held them together. But the closer they got to Aphrodite, the more they emotions turned into turmoil.

Aphrodite could no longer contain her overwhelming love for the beautiful mortal she had once wanted to destroy. She revealed her true identity to (Y/N), hoping the mortal would take her back. However, instead of accepting it, (Y/N) was stunned and scared. They didn't understand the overwhelming feelings Aphrodite had for them.

They tried to gently refuse the goddess, but Aphrodite wouldn't listen to reason. At that moment, the goddess realized that it wasn't love she felt for (Y/N) but a strong obsession. She didn't care, however.

As time passed, Aphrodite became more and more possessive, trying to wrap (Y/N) in a love that was more overwhelming than liberating. She made promises of wealth and power, offering (Y/N) everything they heart could desire. However, (Y/N) realized that they didn't want to be trapped by this intense and suffocating love.

They wanted their freedom, their old life and not to be desperately and obsessively loved by the most beautiful goddess.

Too bad that never happened. Aphrodite, angry and full of hurt, did not accept the rejection and decided to take revenge on her beloved. She had her son shoot lead arrows at people dear to (Y/N), causing them to reject the beautiful mortal. Soon they found themselves alone and abandoned.

Finding themself weeping and lonely, Aphrodite visited her beloved and enveloped them in her possessive embrace. The goddess whispers promises that they would never be alone while she was around.

(Y/N) finally accepted the goddess's affections after being abandoned by the people they loved so dearly. Such cruel punishment for a crime that hadn't even been willingly committed.

[bl4ckdevl]

Emotions / Feelings

hyper-attentive. observes human behavior with eerie precision, but emotionally represses his own to ensure his survival.

self-deprecating underneath the mask of narcissism—his vanity is armor, not pride.

suffers from survivor’s guilt and unprocessed bereavement—especially due to his mother's abandonment.

emotionally fragmented. romanticizes loyalty, casts shields of delusion that see him absolved of blame, but fears true intimacy.

passionate but broken up into puzzle pieces. flashes of tenderness drowned in compulsive detachment.

shackled to a cyclical identity loop: soldier, tool, monster, man.

fatalist. Believes some people were made to be ruined. sometimes he thinks he is one of them.

finds comfort in control, and even deeper comfort in relinquishing it—but only to those he trusts he can take it back from at his leisure.

COLORS

Pale Gold (#ac7c59): glamour, vanity, artificial warmth. a manufactured charm he weaponizes.

Rusted Crimson (#4b2428): Internalized violence. blood he can’t wash off. the past that pulses beneath his skin.

White Silver (#7c7d72): mirror-like reflectiveness. cold intellect. clinical detachment.

Gunmetal (#404040): the steel discipline of his military conditioning. a soldier’s heartbeat.

Black (#000000): identity lost and found again in the refuge of the shadows. blank spaces. endless devastation.

Scents

burberry hero. smoky cedarwood, warm spices, pine. masculine, but not aggressive, for it's like a crisp autumn coat worn by someone who loves presenting a good mystery. it exudes a stormy mystique from his tailored clothing.

versace eros: green apple, tonka bean, vanilla, mint. a seductive, explosive power. divine danger all around. it's like a scent of a woman whose kiss you don't trust. and that's exactly why you keep chasing it.

the lip balm that tastes like beeswax and nicotine on a partner's mouth.

dried blood beneath fingernails, metallic tang he never quite forgets. charred meat, but it's wrong—it's too sweet, too pungent. like pork left in the sun too long, leaving it to bloat and become s ticky. it sours fast, you practically taste its sweet rot. you know its human.

hospital antiseptic and cold steel tables.

cordite smoke and burned ozone—gunfire aftermath. the acidic singe that cuts through the nostrils like a heated razor, followed by a cough full of fresh human ash and gut-wrenching fermentation, a foul ordeal that lays parasitic eggs in your memory. you'll never be able to escape it.

military-issued soap. strips everything down to skin and scars.

aftershave that doesn’t belong to him anymore, bought during better years.

cracked leather, gun oil, and scorched concrete.

CLOTHING

always tailored, always high-end name brands. even casual looks are calculated armor with big names attached to the fashion.

expensive coats with warmth he doesn’t feel. fancy leather dress shoes that never get scuffed.

military dog tags tucked away, never removed. mever fully worn either. military boots when he's training personnel.

scarves in winter. not for style—he hates how people stare at his face.

a different assortment of masks, never being able to guess the mood of the menace it hides.

hidden kevlar under civilian fabrics. he doesn’t trust peace to be permanent.

OBJECTS

a straight razor and hidden blade. not for shaving or cutting tomatoes for a caesar salad.

a small collection of sculpting knives. the kind that can shape or destroy.

medals that make him a decorated soldier, unsentimental but never discarded.

porcelain mask shards. he doesn’t keep them intentionally. they stay.

Vices / Bad Habits

weaponized charm.emotional manipulation dressed as intimacy.

hypervigilance. sees threats even in compliments. especially in kindness.

obsessive about symmetry. disfigurement fuels a compulsion to “correct” things.

keeps secrets like loaded guns.

tendency to romanticize violence in others when he recognizes his own shadow in them.

capable of brutal honesty, but prefers psychological implication.

shame-stained sexuality. sex and pain were introduced to him in the same breath.

idealizes suffering. finds meaning in trauma, even when it erases him.

Body Language

posture like a soldier at rest—never truly at ease.

smile like a blade tucked beneath a napkin.

tilts his head when amused or disarmed—often to disarm others.

touch-averse, unless he’s in control of the context.

if he allows proximity, he’s watching for your pulse before you know you’re bleeding.

neck and jaw tension telegraph emotional restraint.

the absence of blinking is intentional.

Aesthetics

rooftop vistas of manhattan at midnight. blood of family and foes still drying under moonlight.

burned-out orphanage windows. the ghosts don’t look like ghosts—they look like him.

surveillance tape grain over a therapist’s office. her voice. his paranoia captured and laid bare.

a memory of soft knuckles brushing a jaw once perfect. now marred beyond his own recognition.

3AM subway platforms. eyes darting. Dogs barking in the distance.

leather stretched over bone. velvet that feels like a wound. the taste of a confession unsaid.

tagged by: no one. old meme stolen from myself.

tagging: @sangiusd3vil @owestwind @citizenstarlight @castlevowed @contritioned @waruins @mythdoomed @metroeden @jur1sdr @personaei @injestigate @tornp4ge @dye127 @anarkissm @fightfected @all5horizons @wid0wd

[cherubnthechaoschoir]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

[ddivilove]

─────── I WANT YOU AND YOU ALONE.

Regret.

The first feeling you feel after all you and that monster had been through. There is no doubt about it, regret shall always stay.

A foolish decision it was to befriend the crowned prince as a child as if it would spare you from his manipulative attacks... But proven otherwise here you are playing victim to his puppetry once more.

Eros had been nice enough to give you a place to stay and food and drink to live off of, but his intentions shriek at your face like a war cry. The man is a monstrous being that had now found attachment to you and you alone.

Infatuation.

Obsessive behavior had been cleared but not at the right time. You had never noticed, no. Not a single peep until your things suddenly went missing... Little. By. Little.

At first you did not think much of it until the undergarments started going missing. Suspecting that the maids stole them, you spoke with Eros who deliberately inquired the maids himself.

It doesn't take long before you found the one true culprit though. That being said, you had simply rummaged through Eros' things when you found your undergarments stained with...y'know. Horrified by your discovery you didn't dare waste a second in this place any longer.

With intention to leave, you plot a departure one cool night. All went rather well...until you blacked out that is.

Imprisonment.

Being a prisoner was far worse than being his adorable doll. You were chained to a bed in a room you cannot escape from and the only times he ever came to you was when he needed your loving touch and affection.

Imprisoned here drove you mad, but you'd rather stay than be his little doll again. His intention of you sitting still and looking pretty was a rather humiliating and pride hurting task. One you didn't have a care for.

It takes a long long while but eventually...you give in to him.

Acceptance.

You sit here on his lap being the good obedient pet you are. Eros showered you with kisses as his hands roam high and low in a gentle caress.

His lips lock with yours as you two kiss passionately.

Accepting that he is your master is everything to him. His possessiveness drove him half as mad.

His lips nibble on your earlobe as he whispered sweet nothings.

You are his and he is yours. No one will take you away from him now.

─────── TAGLIST

@yevene HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY SORRY THIS IS SO LATE

[blessed-curse]

The Sins Of Desire - Profiles

1. Lust - Seraphina ("Sera") Vale

• Former Hero Name:Eros • Age: 34 • Personality: Seductive, intelligent, calculating, but emotionally distant. She hides her pain behind a flirtatious and confident exterior. • Rank: SSS • Type: Descendant • Category: Deviant, Attribute • Former Allegiance: Ex-Hero (Member of G.R.O.W.) • Ability: Aphrodite’s Kiss • Seraphina emits a potent, supernatural allure that allows her to dominate the emotions and desires of others. Her pheromones, voice, and gaze can induce obsession, love, or utter submission, making her a master manipulator. • In combat, she can control an opponent’s nervous system, causing paralysis or pleasure-induced delirium. • If she kisses someone directly, she can temporarily absorb their abilities or drain their life force. • Mini-Sum: Once a beloved hero known as Eros, she defected after a traumatic betrayal by the G.R.O.W., who manipulated her into seducing and eliminating targets under the guise of peacekeeping. Seeing herself as a weapon rather than a person, she abandoned heroism, finding solace in The Sins of Desire. • Background: • Seraphina was born with an otherworldly beauty and an unnatural influence over people. Raised in an ultra-conservative household, her powers were seen as a curse, with her own family fearing and isolating her. She learned early that affection was something to be earned—or taken. • Recruited into the G.R.O.W (Global Regulation of the Overpowered and Warborn) at 18, she was placed in situations where her abilities were weaponized. She became an infiltrator, seducing and eliminating high-profile threats. • Over time, she realized the G.R.O.W. was using her as a pawn, forcing her into morally gray operations that eroded her soul. When she refused an order to assassinate a fellow hero who knew too much, she was branded a traitor and left for dead. • Gluttony found her years later, offering a home where she wouldn’t have to fake love or loyalty. Now, she embraces her Sin fully—no longer a tool, but a queen in her own right.

2. Wrath - Darius Kaine "The Red Reaper"

• Former Allegiance: Underground Fighting Pits • Age: 39 • Personality: Hot-blooded, fearless, and fiercely protective of his chosen family. He has a warrior's code but revels in destruction. • Rank: SSS • Type: Descendant • Category: Deviant • Ability: Unchained Rage • Every injury he suffers fuels his power, granting him enhanced speed, strength, and durability. The angrier he gets, the stronger he becomes, making him nearly unstoppable in prolonged battles. • Can trigger Berserker Mode, a state where pain becomes fuel, his body regenerates, and he moves with primal fury. • If enraged enough, he enters Doom Frenzy, an uncontrollable bloodlust where he ignores morality and consequences. • Weapon:Infernal Gauntlets—massive, hell-forged knuckles that amplify his strength and absorb kinetic force. • Mini-Sum: A former underground gladiator, Darius was once a caged beast, forced to fight for survival. After killing his captors, he sought out Gluttony and The Sins of Desire, craving a life where he could unleash his wrath without restraint. He’s fiercely loyal to the group, especially Claire. • Background: • Darius was born a warrior in a lawless part of the world, where life was ruled by strength. His father was a brutal enforcer, training him from childhood to fight or die trying. • Sold into an underground fighting ring at 16, he spent over a decade surviving in the pits, where Empowered and Descendants were forced to battle in blood-soaked arenas for entertainment. • He became infamous as The Red Reaper, a fighter who could never be broken. But as his rage grew, so did his power—until, one night, he slaughtered every last person in the arena, freeing every prisoner inside. • He wandered as a mercenary before meeting Gluttony, who saw him for what he was: a force of nature waiting to be unleashed. Now, he fights for The Sins of Desire, not as a slave, but as a warrior with purpose.

3. Envy - Cassian ("Cass") Locke

• Former Allegiance: None • Age: 29 • Personality: Cynical, cunning, and deeply insecure. He despises those born with power yet craves their abilities. • Rank: S • Type: Empowered • Category: Deviant • Ability: Covetous Consumption • Can copy and use the abilities of others temporarily. Unlike traditional mimicry, he steals a portion of the victim’s potential, weakening them while empowering himself. • The more he steals, the more unstable and dangerous he becomes, risking permanent mutations. • Mini-Sum: Once a powerless man in a world of superhumans, Cassian was driven by jealousy until he was granted Deviant powers through an illegal experiment. Now, he takes from others what he was once denied. Envy makes him a wildcard—both a threat and an asset to The Sins of Desire. • Background: • Cassian grew up powerless in a world ruled by the strong. His childhood was a constant struggle, watching others receive gifts he could never have. • At 21, he underwent illegal Deviant experimentation, awakening his Covetous Consumption ability. But the process left him unstable—his DNA constantly shifts, making him physically weak when not feeding on others. • He despises those born gifted, believing they never had to earn their strength. • He joined The Sins of Desire because they offered him access—access to the strongest individuals, the most unique powers, and the greatest ambitions. • Deep down, he knows his power is never truly his own, and that fear haunts him.

4. Sloth - Lilith ("Lily") Moreau

• Former Allegiance: Researcher at the Arcane Sleep Institute • Age: 32 (Appears ageless) • Personality: Detached, ethereal, and eerily serene. She speaks slowly, as if always on the edge of a dream. • Rank: S+ • Type: Empowered • Category: Deviant • Ability: Dreamweaver • Can manipulate sleep, inducing hallucinations, lucid dreams, or eternal slumber in her victims. • In her Oneiroi State, she exists between the dream and real world, allowing her to phase through attacks or pull people into her personal dreamscape. • Her Nightmare Mode lets her trap victims in horrifying illusions that feel like eternity. • Mini-Sum: Once a researcher studying sleep-based superhumans, an accident left her permanently bound to the dream realm. She was recruited by Gluttony, who saw potential in her detached, eerie nature. Now, she exists in a constant state of lethargy, speaking in whispers and moving like a living shadow. • Background: • Lilith was once a renowned neurologist studying the sleep-based abilities of Empowered individuals. She believed the mind could be altered through lucid dreaming, unlocking hidden potential. • During an experiment, she accidentally triggered an event known as The Great Slumber, where she and an entire research team were pulled into a shared dreamscape for seven years. • When she awoke, she was changed—her body was no longer entirely physical, existing between reality and dream. The world felt too fast, too loud. She had no desire to live in it anymore. • She disappeared for years until Gluttony found her, offering a place where she didn’t have to pretend to be fully awake.

5. Greed - Viktor Vaschenko "The Hollow King"

• Former Allegiance: Billionaire Crime Syndicate Leader • Age: 48 • Personality: Charismatic but unnerving. He is a man who has had everything, yet it is never enough. • Rank: SS • Type: Empowered • Category: Deviant • Ability: Infinite Hunger • Can consume energy, matter, and even concepts (like luck or knowledge). • Anything he consumes strengthens him, making him a walking black hole of desire. • If unchecked, his power turns him into a mindless devourer. • Weapon:The Devourer’s Claws—gloves forged from an ancient material that allows him to refine his consumption, targeting only what he chooses. • Mini-Sum: Once a billionaire crime lord, Viktor sought power beyond wealth. After being cursed with Infinite Hunger, he abandoned material greed for something greater—power over reality itself. He follows The Sins of Desire because they offer him the closest thing to satisfaction. • Background: • Born into wealth and power, Viktor inherited a multi-billion-dollar empire from his father but soon became bored of the material. • He turned to the underworld, using his vast resources to hunt for artifacts, superhuman DNA, and anything that could grant him more power. • After acquiring a cursed relic, he was infected with Infinite Hunger, a power that allowed him to consume anything—wealth, knowledge, even luck. But the curse was insatiable. • Every time he consumes, he loses a piece of himself. His emotions dulled. His memories faded. Now, he wonders if there’s anything left of the real him. • He joined The Sins of Desire not just for conquest, but in search of something he couldn’t devour.

6. Pride - Isabella ("Isa") Devereaux

• Former Hero Name:Titania (Leader of the Elite Hero Team Olympus) • Age: 37 • Personality: Regal, commanding, and unwavering. She never doubts her own supremacy. • Rank: SSS • Type: Descendant • Category: Deviant • Former Allegiance: Ex-Hero (Leader of an Elite Hero Team with NSO) • Ability: Apex Manifestation • Can forcefully assert dominance over any power, rewriting reality so that she is always superior. • No matter how strong her opponent is, her ability evolves her beyond them, ensuring she always remains on top. • If she declares herself immune to an attack, her power makes it so. If she claims victory, reality aligns with her will. • Mini-Sum: Once a hero worshipped for her unmatched strength, she was betrayed by those who feared her. Framed and exiled, she abandoned the hero world and sought revenge—not through destruction, but by proving she was above it all. With The Sins of Desire, she remains untouchable, her pride unbroken. • Background: • Born with the ability to always be superior, Isabella was destined for greatness. She rose to become one of the strongest heroes alive, leading Olympus, a legendary hero team. • However, her power made her untouchable, and the government feared her. • When a fabricated scandal led to her exile, she learned a cruel truth—people only love a god until they fear them. • Abandoning heroism, she sought out The Sins of Desire, embracing the idea that if the world feared her, then it would kneel before her instead. • Now, she rules in her own way, proving time and time again that she is, and always will be, above all others.

Author Final Notes: • The Sins of Desire are not just a villain group; they are individuals wronged by society, each embodying their respective Sin in their own way. • Some still cling to humanity, like Seraphina and Darius, while others, like Viktor and Isabella, have embraced their monstrous nature. • Gluttony (Claire) is the center of this group, holding them together like a dark family.

[bah-circus]

Hello! We would like to request a brainmade young boy headmate that is a Yandere! You may do this at any level you desire. We understand if you not :) thank you for your time!

Of course dear audience! We have heard your request and have found a suitable performer for you! We hope this performance suits your needs, but you are free to make any adjustments you wish.

❣︎For Our Next Act, Please Welcome,,,❣︎

Yandere Boy!!!

°·⊱ Name: Ruri, Yui, Amane, Ollie, Kylan

°·⊱ Age: 12

°·⊱ Race/Species: Human

°·⊱ Source: Brainmade / Bahtroject

°·⊱ Role: Obsession Keeper, Obsessor

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Sex: Male

°·⊱ Gender: Yanderecatgender, Woundedpatheticboy, Patheticboy, Yanderecoric, Yanderechild, Loverboymurderer

°·⊱ Pronouns: Lo/Love; He/Him; Ero/Eros; Gur/Guro; Am/Amor; 🔪/🔪s, 💕/💕s, Hx/Hxm, it/its

°·⊱ Sexuality:  Bisexual (Female preference)

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Nicknames/Titles: Ruru, (prn) With An Obsession, (prn) Who Craves Love

°·⊱ Personality: Hx is actually quite clumsy, despite being willing to do anything for loves obsession/partner. Lo is also totally devoted to whoever he’s dating/obsessed with, wanting to be a perfect househusband for them. At times gur is ditsy and forgetful, but it’s hard to tell whether it’s an act or not. It will manipulate situations by lying to garner pity, acting like 💕 is pathetic and harmless to get out of problems or lower someone's guard.

°·⊱ Likes: Colorful Bandages, Valentine’s Day, Snow Leopards / Cats, loves partner/obsession, pretty knives, candy (chocolate especially), baking, cooking

°·⊱ Dislikes: Guns, not knowing where his partner is, hxs parents,

°·⊱ Emoji Sign-Off: 🩹🔪🩸🫀💌🌷

°·⊱ Typing Quirk: Surrounds whatever lo types with ❤️‍🩹🔪 on either side, and types fully in italics. (ex. ❤️‍🩹🔪 Like this! 🔪❤️‍🩹 )

°·⊱ Faceclaim: 1 | 2

[rockybloo]

What's each of the Beloved's specialties / powers (I vaguely remember you saying that Dear is the strongest & Baby is the fastest). Also, what about the Flavor Four's?

I am keeping the Beloved's abilities surprises for when I draw them later (or when they show up in comic) as I have an easier time showing than telling when it comes to abilities and powers.

But the basics is that Sweetheart has the best aim, though many falsely claim "she is the smartest", Baby is the fastest, Dear is the strongest, and Honey is the sturdiest.

I can def say Sweetheart is the only one with an overpowered powered up form (aka Lovestruck where her hair is glowing bright pink and she is very obsessed with Bitterbat).

Eros is one hell of a love, lemme just say.

As for the Flavor Four, I am keeping them vague as well.

Red-Hot controls fire, Halite can use music to manipulate and control people as well as use water, and Sourpuss...

We don't...

We don't talk about Sourpuss.

In general, none of them have a kaiju form like Bitterbat. Only Alpha Monstrum have those big alt forms and Bitterbat is the only alpha on the team.

[bai-rouran]

I’ve been contacted multiple times by people asking for copies of my old Pantalone/Dottore/Baizhu posts since Natlan was released. I sincerely appreciate folks interest, but I will not be reposting those works. They were high-effort, I had a ton of fun writing them and educating folks on history, but the attention they received resulted in monetized content theft, and set off unstable people. Including an obsessive Pantalone fan who spent 6 months using numerous alts to harass me and anyone else who posted about the character, until I finally gave up and deleted. I wish I was joking.

That said… I won’t deprive you of the raw info and feel bad seeing how many people actually liked and missed the posts. Here’s a list of every inspiration Hoyo’s used for Pantalone, Baizhu, and Dottore’s roles/designs so far.

*DON’T READ THIS if you’re concerned with the possibility of spoilers.*

1. Pantalone/Magnifico, greedy/ lecherous villain archetype of the Commedia dell’arte

2. Il Dottore/Gratiano/Balanzone Lombardi, self-important/lecherous archetype of the Commedia dell’arte

3. The Mule/Magnifico from the “Foundation” series by Isaac Asimov (hint-hint, have you met him in Natlan yet? coughSimulankacough)

4. The demon Pan from “The Golden Compass” (shape shifting, hint-hint-hint)

5. Saint Pantaleon/Pantaleimon of Nicomedia (“All Things Like a Lion”, “All-Compassionate”)

6. Saint Pantaleon/Pantaleimon Sudzhaksky the Immortal

7. Puppet/Phantom/Beast/“True” form of Sorcerer King Ganondorf from “The Legend of Zelda” series

8. Raven & Trigon from “Teen Titans”

9. Zhu Bajie (patron saint of masseuses, hostesses, & prostitutes that inspired Ganondorf’s design) and Sun Wuking from 16th century “Journey to the West” by Wu Cheng’en

10. Emperor Wang Mang of China via Zhi Yi’s in-game Classical Chinese reference (Xiao Quan Zhi Yi)

11. Pantaleon Pantoja from “Pantaleon y las Visitadoras” comedic novel/movie about allegedly true military prostitution operation, by Mario Vargas Llosa (coughpearlgalleycough)

12. The Rouran Khaganate and Yujiulu Shelun (hint-hint, you’ve been on Pants’ boats already)

13. Pappus of Alexandria (Pappus Line, projective planes)

14. Pappus of the Attelan Farce (Harbinger to Commedia Pantalone)

15. Kavad I / Sheroe, meaning“The Lion”

16. Kavad II, King of Kings

17. “Siroe” Opera by Handel

18. Khosrow I / Anushirvan, the Immortal Soul

19. Khosrow II, last King of Kings

20. Babak Khorramdin (Zoroastrianism as with “Zandik”)

21. Polonius from Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”

22. Lotus-Eaters from Homer’s “Odyssey” (coughpearlgalleyagaincough, in-game achievement referencing lotus-eaters)

23. Apollonius of Tyana/Balinus, Master of the Talismans (corresponding to certain Sumeru works about a Jinn in a bottle: knock-off Jesus according to Philostratus’ embellishments)

24. Apollonius of Perga (A massive impact crater on the moon is named after him)

25. Mani the Manichaeist Prophet (also knock-off Jesus, commemorated on Baizhu’s birthday)

26. Richard Kuisel & Jean Coutrout, referencing human tendency towards conspiratorial gullibility

27. M.C. Escher, block-art-illusionist. Emphasis on his illusionist dualist works.

28. Xu Xian from “Legend of the White Snake”

29. “Lazzo of the Mirror” (Baizhu/Tartaglia interaction)

30. “Lazzo of Pantalone’s Story” (giant spoiler)

31. Eros (“Love”)

32. Erikepaios, “Power” as Ganondorf’s fragment of the Triforce represents

33. Mithraic lion, Zoroastrian lion deity wrapped in snake

34. Yaldabaoth, false Gnostic god characterized as lion-headed snake (see: Persona 5’s interpretation)

35. Aesclepius/“Surapio” via Enkanomiya

In-Game Hints: Enjou’s manipulations, Natlan’s abyssal enemies, solar themes, “segments,” and the Iniquitous Baptist. Research these characters/stories/histories/topics carefully, then look at how they relate to game lore. Happy hunting!

[lusyscilly]

My favorite headcanons about the Di Angelo family. I have a genuine interest in them, so please bear with me!

Maria di Angelo was born in 1909 and met Hades and Persephone in 1932, during a party at the Italian embassy in the US. She had Bianca in 1933, and Nico in 1935 (I refuse in any way Rick's idea that the two were born at the end of the 20s, it doesn’t make with the timeline, but when does it make sense?)

She had an older brother, Michele, who was born in 1907, a younger sister, Elisabetta, born in 1919, and an older cousin, Giulio, born in 1908

Giulio went to live with them after the death of his father during WW1 because he was already an orphan of his mother, who died during childbirth. They grew up all together

These four kids didn't have many friends, except for the Adriani siblings, Alessandro (1906) and Vittoria (1909, but younger than Maria)

The Adriani are from both Naples and Rome (because of an arranged marriage), while the Di Angelo are from around Venice

The two families became friends because the two fathers met during the war and continued to see each other after the end of it because they both went into politics. The Di Angelo's became an ambassador, while the Adriani's a senator

During her adolescence, Maria had a little crush on Alessandro, but he always saw her as a little sister

Maria had a relationship with both Hades and Persephone but decided to cut it after Nico's birth, not because she wanted to but to protect her children from her father and older brother

She and Alessandro got married, to help her, but also to hide the relationship between Alessandro and Giulio (it was her idea, and she knows everything). They got married in 1937

Vittoria is Maria's best friend and always supported her

Ironically, I think Di Angelo's flower symbol is a white chrysanthemum, and Maria gave one to Michele before he went to Russia

All the family died during the war, while the Adriani siblings survived and are the only ones who remember them as people and not as symbols

The two parents died a few months before Italy's entrance into the war, Giulio and Elisabetta both died of pneumonia in 1942 (early year), while Michele died of hypothermia in Russia during the retreat (1943). Maria died because of Zeus, obv (in 1944)

Nobody in Italy knows what happened to Maria and her kids, even though Alessandro and Vittoria tried to find them. They became some sort of urban legend

Alessandro was sent to Africa during the war, hoping to see them again once he returned, but that never happened

Plus, I think Hades amplified Maria's sight. You know, when mortals can see over the Mist? Yeah, Maria could manipulate also her dreams, but this led her to make some sort of contact with Naomi Solace. The two of them started to see each other every night, and both of them started to develop some feelings for each other, a mix of eros and agape, something like that

Some of Naomi's songs are about her, like "Girl of the Forest" or "Fallen Angel" (I know, they are cringe titles, I'm very sorry!)

Naomi still dedicates some songs to Maria, even though she knows she's not here anymore

Plus, during HoO, when Argo II is in Venice, Nico, Hazel, and Frank meet a group of friends who are wandering in the city. They are very similar physically to Nico's relatives and one girl in particular reminds him of Maria. They aren't their reincarnations, but they are similar to them. This girl is also obsessed with Naomi's music and Di Angelo's story

And those are my main headcanons about them, right now I cannot think of others, but if I have others, I will share!

[letthemkook]

♡THE PANTHEON SERIES: AMORENT P.JM♡

Pairing: Eros!Jimin x Maiden OC (You as Evadne)

Theme: Divine obsession, reluctant romance, immortality vs mortality, possession disguised as affection

Genre: Dark fantasy, mythological romance, psychological drama

Warnings: Yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, divine coercion, obsession, non-graphic dubcon implications, power imbalance, eventual SMUT

Intro: He heard her song in the forest and followed, unseen. She sang for no one, yet he listened like it was a prayer. Eros does not fall — he chooses. And once chosen, she would never be free of him

*·˚ ༘ ➳ ♡

Part 1: Of Honey and Hemlock

The forest knew her name.

It wasn’t something Evadne ever questioned—how the leaves rustled gentler when she passed, how birds would draw near instead of flee, or how the stream’s current softened whenever her bare feet touched its edge. She had grown up in these woods, tucked just beyond the olive grove that separated her tiny village from the wilder realm. And every morning, she came here to sing.

She sang as the sun kissed the branches. Songs passed down from her mother, songs in praise of Demeter and Artemis, and songs she wove herself from dreams and longing. Her voice was clear and warm, edged with a melancholy softness that made the wind forget to blow and the deer stop mid-step.

On this particular morning, Evadne’s voice lifted with a lullaby her mother used to hum when her father still carried strength in his bones.

“Mighty gods of earth and sky,

hear the cry of mortal breath,

give us peace before we die,

shield us from the arms of death…”

Her voice broke at the final note, just slightly. She clutched the fold of her dress and blinked hard. She hadn’t meant to sing that one. Not today. Not after the night her father coughed so violently the oil lamp flickered and spat its flame in fear.

Behind a column of trees, cloaked in shadow and divine silence, the god of love stood watching.

Eros had not meant to enter the mortal plane that day. He had been drifting, half-bored and petulant after a quarrel with his mother, Aphrodite. Olympus reeked of indulgence and cruelty, and he wanted none of it. He had meant to fly over the mortal world, to toy with the hearts of kings or seduce a priestess out of curiosity.

But then he had heard it.

A song, laced with ache and grace, floating across the veil between realms. It pierced him—not with one of his own arrows, but something deeper. Something older. By the time he found the source, he had shed his wings and taken on the form of a mortal man, just to approach without alarming her.

She was unlike anything he had seen. Her beauty, yes—mortals would call her breathtaking, radiant, touched by divinity. But what struck him most was her soul. It bled into her music, colored her every movement. Her sorrow wasn’t bitter. It was soft, devotional. And it made him want her in a way that felt more dangerous than any conquest.

He watched her tuck her shawl around her shoulders and make her way back toward the village, the basket on her arm empty save for a single plucked daisy. Eros followed, unseen.

Evadne didn’t know she had caught the attention of a god. She had other things to worry about.

Her father, Lysandros, lay pale and weak in the corner of their clay home. She knelt beside him, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead.

“You must stop singing in the mist,” he rasped, voice raw. “The forest will catch your voice and never give it back.”

She smiled softly. “Then at least something would remember me.”

He grunted, coughing. Evadne gently lifted his head to sip water and adjusted his blanket.

In the village, Evadne was known as the most beautiful maiden—though she hated the title. It made her a magnet for men she had no interest in. Suitors spoke her name like it was a prize, never a person. And yet none of them visited when her father fell ill. None of them stayed when she wept at the healer’s door and received only bitter herbs.

After washing the cloth, Evadne made her way to the market to purchase fruit. Her fingers brushed apricots and figs, her eyes calculating every coin. But she couldn’t move far without being stopped.

“Evadne,” crooned Theros, a butcher’s son. “You must try the honey I made.”

“No, thank you.”

“You wound me.”

Another voice—Pelios, the stonemason. “My father says you need a man to help you with your father. I am offering myself. Generously.”

“I decline. Generously.”

Their smiles twisted. Their voices sharpened.

“Think you’re too good for us?”

“She wants a prince, not a real man.”

Evadne turned her back on them. Her throat felt tight.

From a distance, leaning against a whitewashed column, Eros watched.

He saw the tilt of her chin, the stubborn grace with which she walked, the tremor in her fingertips. He wanted to scorch every man who dared speak to her that way. But she didn’t need fire yet.

She needed gentleness.

The next morning, Evadne opened her door to find a delicate silver comb resting on the threshold. It was shaped like a swan, the feathers carved so finely they caught the light like real plumage. A note, unsigned, read: For your hair, which puts the stars to shame.

She furrowed her brow and tucked the comb into a drawer without a second thought.

The next gift was a string of pearls, each one more luminous than anything found in the village market. Again, she refused it.

And again. And again.

A bracelet of sunstone. A cloak of woven crimson silk. Perfume in a glass vial that smelled like night-blooming jasmine. Each time, she returned the gift or left it untouched, confused but resolute. She did not want to owe any man anything. Not even kindness.

Eros began to ache. Not from rejection—he had never been refused anything in his immortal life—but from how carefully she guarded her heart. It made him furious at mortals. It made him ravenous.

He watched her from behind temple pillars, from treetops, from the shadows of her own home. And one day, he heard her singing again—but softer, cracked.

“If you see me, O gods above,

don’t send a prince or foolish love…

send me a cure, a drop of grace,

to keep my father in this place…”

She stopped. Her shoulders shook. And then she fell to her knees and prayed.

Eros swallowed something sharp in his throat. He had brought the wrong gifts. She didn’t want beauty or wealth. She wanted healing.

That night, he left behind a wrapped bundle of rare, enchanted root from the slopes of Mount Ida—mixed with ambrosia and fennel, known to ease fevers and slow the spread of illness. He placed it by her window with no note.

He returned, cloaked again as a mortal, to watch her reaction. But before he could see her reach the window, he heard shouting.

A man—one of the suitors from before—had cornered her behind the well.

“Stop pushing me!” she cried.

“You’ve had too many chances to be grateful!” the man snarled.

Eros saw red.

He did not draw his bow. He did not need it.

The air thickened. The earth quaked, subtly at first, then harder. The suitor’s hands flew from her arms as he stumbled back, mouth gaping in confusion. His eyes rolled back as invisible pressure crushed his chest—not enough to kill, but enough to paralyze.

“Touch her again,” Eros said, stepping forward with eyes glowing gold, “and I will reduce your name to dust.”

The man collapsed.

Evadne stared at the stranger with wide, trembling eyes. The golden shimmer in his gaze faded, replaced by something soft—concern, maybe. Or hunger disguised as affection.

She turned and ran.

He did not chase her.

But he appeared again that evening, standing at the edge of the grove with the bundle of medicine in his outstretched hand.

“You prayed,” he said, gently. “They listened.”

⸻

Evadne stared at the man in the grove.

The sun had begun to fall behind the hills, casting golden light over the olives and setting fire to the edges of his silhouette. He looked otherworldly like that—unreal, even. His dark hair caught the light like polished bronze, and his eyes, though now gentled, still flickered with something she didn’t understand.

And in his hand, the bundle of herbs.

She recognized the scent at once. Fennel, thyme, wrapped in linen with something far rarer beneath it—something resinous and sweet, like nectar and crushed laurel. She stepped closer, cautious.

“Where did you find this?” she asked, her voice low.

He smiled, but not in a way she trusted. “A place beyond your maps.”

She didn’t know whether to call him a liar or a miracle.

“You were there this morning,” she said instead, the tremble still in her voice. “You hurt that man.”

“I protected you,” he replied.

“No one asked you to.”

His expression faltered—only for a moment. “No,” he said. “But I heard you ask for help. And I answered.”

Evadne didn’t know how to respond. Her hands itched to take the medicine. She had no reason to believe it would work—but her heart told her it might. Still, this man… he made her feel like she was standing at the edge of a storm.

“Who are you?” she asked.

His smile returned, slower this time. “A friend.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Yet,” he said. Then held the bundle forward again. “Take it. For your father. No strings.”

That was a lie.

But Evadne didn’t know that yet.

She took the gift, hesitantly, her fingers brushing his. A strange warmth coiled through her wrist at the touch, like her blood had heated under her skin. She shivered and stepped back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, not in menace but in desire. She didn’t see it—how his gaze lingered on her lips, how tightly he held his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching out and tucking a curl behind her ear.

“You’re welcome, Evadne.”

Her breath caught. “I never told you my name.”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t you?”

And then he was gone.

⸻

The next morning, her father’s fever broke.

Evadne wept into his blanket when he opened his eyes with clarity for the first time in days. He sipped broth. He smiled. And he even joked about how she must have threatened the gods to make them listen.

She hadn’t told him where the herbs came from. Part of her didn’t want to. Part of her didn’t know how to explain.

The man—whoever he was—had vanished as mysteriously as he arrived. But she could still feel the echo of his presence in her house, like a scent that lingered too long. She hoped, selfishly, that he wouldn’t return.

He did.

That evening, she found a small box by her door. Inside, a carved figurine of Artemis in a hunting stance, flawless in detail, sculpted from ivory and set with eyes of lapis lazuli. It was beautiful. It was excessive.

And it terrified her.

She brought it back to the woods and left it where he had first appeared.

That night, she sang again—alone, or so she thought.

Behind her, Eros crouched on a branch, watching with parted lips. Her voice was softer now, less sorrowful. Still lovely. Still aching. He wanted her to sing for him alone.

He wanted—

The feeling struck him hard.

Possession.

Not the playful flirtation he felt for queens or priestesses. Not the amusement he gained from watching mortals fall in love. This was something ancient. This was claiming.

He thought of binding her wrists in silk and making her recite his name until her voice trembled. He thought of dressing her in nothing but starlight and keeping her in a temple carved from rose quartz. He thought of building a world where no man could look at her without dying for it.

He closed his eyes and exhaled.

He would wait.

For now.

⸻

Days passed.

She thought maybe he was gone for good. Life resumed its fragile rhythm. Her father healed slowly. She returned to the market, but she watched every shadow.

Eros did not appear.

He left no gifts.

But he watched.

She never saw the hawk that perched on the roof. Or the white rose that bloomed in winter behind her window. She didn’t notice how every man who spoke of her with lust fell sick for three days without explanation. She didn’t hear the whisperings of the gods growing uneasy.

Because Eros had never acted like this before.

On Olympus, Aphrodite leaned back on her throne and sipped pomegranate wine.

“You’re obsessed,” she said.

“She is mine,” Eros replied.

“Then why haven’t you taken her?”

“I want her to want me.”

Aphrodite laughed, too loudly. “Foolish boy. Love isn’t about patience. You make them want you. That’s the whole point.”

“She’s different.”

“She’s mortal.”

“She’s mine.”

Aphrodite shrugged. “Then claim her. Before someone else does.”

⸻

One night, Evadne returned home late. The market had been busy, and her father had insisted she take her time. As she climbed the steps to their home, she felt it again—that flicker of warmth, like eyes on her skin.

She turned.

He was there.

Sitting beside her door, barehanded, no gift this time. Just him. Mortal-looking. Gentle.

“You’re following me,” she said flatly.

“I never left.”

Evadne’s spine stiffened. “Then leave now.”

He didn’t.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Not even thanks for healing your father?”

“That wasn’t you. That was the gods.”

He smiled faintly. “I am the gods.”

She froze.

Something in his voice changed. No longer playful. No longer soft. Just truth.

“Eros,” he said.

The name tasted like honey and fire in the air. Her lips parted, disbelief flickering across her face.

“You’re lying.”

“Would you rather I said I was a man, just to comfort you?”

She took a step back.

“You can’t be—”

“Why do you think your heart races when I come near?”

“It doesn’t—”

“You think I didn’t hear you sing to me?” he asked softly, stepping closer. “You called, Evadne. I listened. I always do.”

She stared at him, terrified.

“I want nothing from you,” she said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t.”

“I think,” he whispered, “you want someone to choose you. Not because you’re beautiful. But because they see you.”

He stepped closer.

“I see you.”

She bolted.

⸻

She didn’t remember how far she ran—only that her lungs burned, her sandals slipped in the dirt, and her heart thundered in her ears like war drums. Branches clawed at her arms. The forest that once knew her name now loomed like a stranger.

She stumbled over a root, fell, scraped her hands.

When she tried to rise, a hand caught hers.

“Don’t,” she gasped, struggling.

“It’s me,” came his voice, low and careful. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You already have.”

Eros knelt before her. His form blurred in the moonlight—not quite man, not quite god. There was a shimmer around his shoulders, a tension in the air like the moment before lightning.

“I told you,” he murmured. “I answered your prayer. That’s all.”

“You lied to me.”

“No,” he said. “I disguised myself. That’s not the same.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

He touched her cheek. She flinched. His brow furrowed.

“You don’t trust me yet,” he whispered. “That’s all right. You will.”

“You think you can follow me, spy on me, control my life and I’ll fall into your arms because you healed my father?”

He said nothing.

“You’re a god,” she said, voice shaking. “You could have anyone.”

“I don’t want anyone,” he said, softly, fervently. “I want you.”

“Why?”

“Because you sing like you’ve never known love,” he said. “Because you care for your father as if your own body were breaking in his place. Because you rebuff men who speak to you like you’re a trophy. Because your sadness makes even the stars grieve. I watched you, Evadne, and I felt.”

He leaned closer, his lips inches from hers.

“For the first time in centuries, I felt something I couldn’t name.”

Her voice trembled. “That’s not love.”

His eyes flickered gold again. “I am love itself. If that is not love I will rearrange the cosmos until it so.”

He reached for something behind him. A small clay pot, sealed and marked with divine script. He placed it before her on the mossy ground.

“Medicine,” he said. “Real medicine. Enough to ensure your father survives the winter.”

She stared at it.

“Take it,” he added. “There’s no catch.”

“There’s always a catch with gods.”

“Not with me,” he said. “Not with you.”

She hesitated.

He studied her expression. “You think I’m cruel.”

“I think you’re dangerous.”

“I am,” he admitted, his voice silk. “But not to you.”

She reached out with shaking hands and took the jar.

The moment her fingers brushed the cool clay, something shifted.

A tether snapped into place between them—unseen but binding. Eros felt it coil around his ribs like a ribbon. She had accepted something from him freely now. That was all the permission he needed.

He stood slowly.

“I won’t touch you again without your consent,” he said.

Evadne looked up at him warily. “Do I have your word?”

“You have more than that,” he said. “You have my oath. My vow. My obsession.”

Her blood turned cold.

He smiled, but it wasn’t warm. It was worshipful. Possessive.

“You don’t have to love me yet,” he said. “But you will.”

He stepped back, then disappeared—not walked, not turned, but simply vanished into air, his form dissolving into mist and petals of gold.

Evadne sat frozen for a long while, her hands around the medicine, her heart beating out a rhythm she didn’t understand

[clairehadenough]

Hello people, I come bearing hilarious news

I found the article the crazies have copied from to “write” their latest shitty article. Sorry I meant Elijah Eros’ article😉

I don’t know if it’s the only one they copied ideas from or if there were others, but I’m not devoting my evening on researching this lol.

Let’s dive in some of the copied ideas, shall we? (Note how some of the ideas are adapted to fit PERFECTLY with their narrative😂)

First we have the kind of relationships that can be toxic. Red is delulus, Blue is article:

Then it’s all about reflecting on past relationships and remembering that we shouldn’t beat ourselves up because it’s not solely our fault. Again, Red is delulus, Blue is article

And just one more because it’s my absolute favorite😂 Check how the article talks about red flags like constant criticism and such, but our dear delulus listed in their red flags EVERYTHING they’ve been accusing Alba of since the beginning of their obsession with her.

I mean, racism, manipulation, tantrums, partner uses the other for personal gain…you name it😂😂😂 Also, they adapted a bit of it to Chris too because they said we need to remove ourselves from relationships that contradict our “core value” and “what we desire in a partner”. Because as we know, they always tell us that they know what Chris’ values are and what he wants in the deepest part of himself lmao

To be honest they gave themselves away at the very beginning of the article with their “non legally binding wedding” shit😂 But it was so fun finding this article and seeing everything they copied. It was so easy too because I googled part of their ‘work’ and that article just popped up first thing😂

They saw we caught them on AI so they tried something else this time but there’s only so much you can do with half a brain cell I guess…

Here’s the link to the article

[ellierosescribbles]

Amy Darling: complex character or yandere stereotype?

As a part of my Ethical Writing investigation, I want more perspectives on an OC of mine. She is manipulative, obsessive, and strong-willed. I like to think she is similar to Azula from ALTA.

Amy was born with pin straight jet black hair. Just like her mother’s now graying tresses. At the age of six her teeth started to grow back in crookedly. When she was eleven her parents threw money at the best dentists and orthodontists for braces. At the age of thirteen Amy’s first period arrived. Followed by severe cystic acne and dramatic breast growth not long after. Her parents paid top dollar for acne treatments. The dermatologist never checked in for her pain levels. Her skin was cut open and squeezed over and over. The medications left her skin dry and flaking. The one thing she could not change was her height. Amy started getting taller and taller. By 8th grade she was as tall or taller than every boy her age. Everyone had an opinion about Amy’s appearance: teachers, peers, strangers, even her parents. Thinking it was for the best, Amy decided to curate her appearance. She started wearing makeup. She waxed her legs and underarms. She bleached her hair from an inky black to a glowing platinum blonde. The coquette clothes she wore hugged snuggly against her body. She regimented every part of her life. Every meal and every workout got scheduled and calculated.

Separated from her appearance her family name and legacy required an impossibly high standard to be met. Academic success. Specialized talents. Athletic integrity. Diplomatic tact. Appearances and public opinion are all that matter and the ends justify the means. Wealth is just another word for power. Amy excelled at surpassing expectations naturally. From a very young age she understood how to persuade people for her own benefit. Notably, in third grade, Amy was able to steal [something, maybe a toy or trinket?] and talk her way out of being punished. All while keeping her spoils. Amy lived for competitions and challenges because she knew she could win by deciding it was so. She learned how to cook, clean, and drive. Not because she had to, Amy enjoyed letting others attend to her every whim, but to prove to herself that she could. With the skills she learned through self regulation financing and accounting -- budgets, investing, taxes -- became just another math problem.

The only challenge Amy struggled making headway on was amorous in nature. Starting her venture late middle school, early high school. Her parents tried by introducing the sons of family friends to Amy. Almost every time she went out at least one boy would hit on her and ask for her number. A few of these suitors caught Amy’s interest and she would have one or two dates before breaking it off. She just knew it was not right.  Amy from a young age adored fairytales. Coveted the concept of her one true love. Her soulmate fated as her other half. She was Psyche waiting for her Eros. A princess without a hero. Incomplete.

If you read the text in the images, Emery is a BIPOC woman (but that is a whole other can of worms). I know that fictional criminals with personality disorders do no favors to real people. Have I gone too far? What could/should I change?

Companion Posts: