#I WANT HER TORTURE IN THE ABYSS OF HELL

[pink-artz]

I WANT THIS WHITE B*TCH CRUCIFIED UPSIDE DOWN AND BURN ALIVE!!!!!

[nymphea0]

Monster And His Love

Yan! Leon winston x reader

Oneshot Story (Special Side story)

(Warning : Some Death threat, Some Mature Scene in the end!)

(Minor are prohidited to read this story🚫 )

Main story of : Monster And His Love

Manhwa : Try Begging

: Adult Manhwa (19+)

Author: Libenia | 리베냐

Artist: ABYSS

Word Count ; 1k word

So because many of you asked about Leon's story, so this is a special chapter that I made. This is shows how rough and significant your future with leons is. so use a lot of your imagination my dear, every ending is yours to determine whether it is a happy ending or not. For my one of dear, i promise to update on New years eve, but guess not, but dont worry, in New years Eve i will update some special oneshot story, my dears.. do you all like Older Chara? Like for example Nanami or like peter killer? Some older man? (^3^) anyways.. much of love- Neva🦋

Might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story, much love.- Neva🦋

.

.

.

Leon Winston, Who doesn't know that man? Brilliant achievements, famous among the soldiers and also the noble faction.

A handsome man who no one knows how much of a devil he is. Maybe there is only 1 person... his wife. That person is none other than you.

It has been more than 6 years that you have lived with a man, whom you call a devil, a crazy and cruel devil. 6 years you have faced hell by getting pregnant with his child. You have tried everything to escape from Leon, with the child you are carrying, but like a hunted deer, you are trapped. Can't run or even escape.

No.. this story is different from what you think, this is your story, your story in trying to tame the devil, for 6 years.. the effort was not in vain, maybe you could say.. you regret even doing that. Because Leon... is increasingly captivated.. and obsessed with you.

Fareadith Sophia Winston.. your first child with Leon, unfortunately she has Leon's hair color but with your amethyst eyes. You feel like crying every time you see her, you will remember Leon.

What surprised you .. Leon really loves Sophia, the reason is enough to make your soul tremble .. with burning intensity Leon said right in front of your face at that time.

"You ask, why do I like Sophia so much?"

Leon approached you slowly, pulling your chin, making you look directly into his eyes.

"Sophia reminds me of you my dear, she has the same eyes as you my wife .. my love, if she didn't look like you, I would definitely ... kill that child"

You really want to scream, curse and torture the man who is grinning like a devil in front of you.

.

'31 - xx - 1xxx'

At a beautiful glamorous party, attended by many rich families, a gathering of aristocrats.

One of them is, you and Leon. Even when you and Leon have changed identities in this country, Leon still insists on being a person with unlimited money.

Standing beside Leon who was busy talking to the coal entrepreneur. His right hand was holding a wine glass, while his left hand was hugging your waist affectionately. Maybe that's what people think, too bad, Leon did embrace you.. but also kept you in place so you don't wander off.

Being a good and obedient wife. Do you regret knowing Leon? Of course, you curse your father who took you to Count Winston's residence, maybe if you refused, this misfortune would not be directed at you, but at someone else, Riddle Grace for example, the girl at the summer resort that you accidentally met playing with Leon

The girl with Turquoise eyes, who Leon always called Daisy. Well, but the rice has become porridge, your fate may be more terrible than Riddle Grace.

.

.

.

After the party, Leon forced you into his car, you sat quietly, very different from your husband who was busy focusing on the road.

His grip on the steering wheel was so tight, you? Sighing softly, damn, your hell will come soon. You really hoped the cooling ointment you bought at the local doctor would at least help heal the abrasions.

"How many men have you seduced tonight?!"

Leon may have his eyes on the road ahead, but his hands? His hands were tightly gripping your thighs, squeezing them with a mixture of emotion and possessiveness.

"Seducing you say? I've been standing beside you for over 2 hours Leon? How could I even seduce them when you're holding my waist tightly?!"

Damn, your story is over, you accidentally raised your voice, the car Leon was driving, made a sharp turn, and stopped right in front of the forest, a deserted area!.

"So it turns out, my love has now become a rebellious woman"

Leon got out of the car, turned around and forced open the side car door right where you were sitting.

"Look at me doll"

With his tight grip on the nape of your face with eyes filled with jealousy and arousal.

"Kneel"

You want to refuse but what can you do when you are side by side with Leon who could ask you to do more and more strange things.

You get out of the car, inevitably kneeling on the ground and grass that touches your knees.

"Open it with your own hands"

Leon looks at you kneeling right in front of him, so beautiful and erotic, how lucky he is to have a wife like you.

"Suck it faster doll, don't hit your teeth"

With a tight grip on your hair, Leon guides you to suck it and move your head back and forth, he penetrates your mouth, as if your mouth is another part that he really wants to damage and claim.

You can only pray that when you get home, Leon will at least be gentle with you.

.

.

.

Let's say you are the saddest woman in the world, your daughter Shopia has above average intelligence that makes your head dizzy, while leon? The man was just busy laughing at the report from Sophia's guard who reported that the child had deliberately burned down the inauguration building of the international bank, on the grounds that the bank's funds used corrupted people's money.

With a revolutionary spirit along with the other people, sophia burned down the bank right on the day the bank was to be inaugurated.

"See the doll? I told you, it would be better if we put it in the military academy"

.

At night, maybe it's the time when your world really becomes a hell of torture.

Lying in bed, both your hands and feet are tied to each bedpost, making you in the 'X' position.

Eyes covered with black silk cloth, in a naked position.

Yes, that's right, naked, your hell will come soon, and you are not sure whether in 1 week you will be able to walk or not.

"Sophia is already 6 years old my dear, it would be nice if we gave her a sibling, a little brother for example? Hopefully the second one will be similar to you"

You can hear the sound of Leon's shoes, and the sound of flowing water and the sound of an object being placed somewhere, you are not sure.

Until you feel Leon's tongue forcing its way into your mouth, you can feel the wine flowing in every corner of your mouth, you can even feel the wine falling in vain to both your left and right sides.

"Tonight you are very naughty, teasing men at the party, raising your voice, even, trying to argue back to me"

Leon's hands skillfully squeeze your chest, his lips that very expertly sip, and bite your neck, leaving marks on every inch of your neck, claiming as if there is no tomorrow.

"I will enjoy you so much, my love"

For Leon, no one can take you away from him, if necessary making you pregnant with his child for the second time, maybe it's not a bad idea, even if the world ends.. Leon will find any way to be able to continue to be with you, no matter how much the price is needed.

Because you are there for him, and he is there for you, His, his alone, no one else.

His mine

.

.

.

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @rai-xxx @thehopingfairy @ryusooze @yaoduriaa @merveeeeesworld @darkuni63

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story, Project Drak Manhwa Character story.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊���; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

[echantedtoon]

Sweet Sorrows

When the shadowed light turns to a full eclipse that blocks out even the stars, the monster comes out to claim the maiden. The wound Cupid's arrow caused by piercing the dark heart bleeds out for her, so the heart would seek what it's body needed to heal. The waning desire pangs them so.

(Or alternate title: Ried Gets All The Attention Whether She Wants It Or Not. If you're wondering by what's happening in this, essentially three boys being obsessive over you ain't always a good thing.

This is inspired by @wolveria's Cursed Polycule Au, and who was nice enough to give me permission to write something loosely based off it and using Kenneth in this. Please forgive me it's the first and second time writing for these characters so any ooc writing is probably there. The dynamic of the polycule is based off/on the fanart linked down below by @e-g-g-w-i-n . Please check out both content creators and support they're works.

WARNINGS: Some toxic relationship stuff mentioned, death, possible blood mentioned, possession with the mask, implied kidnapping maybe, yandereish tendencies, possibly some innuendos, and Dyo IS his own warning.)

Alarm, alarm.

The breach has begun. 

A prison break is a daring and often perilous act where a prisoner, utilizing stealth, cunning, and sometimes violence, manages to evade security measures and escape from a correctional facility. Typically involving breaching cell walls, scaling fences, or digging tunnels, while evading watchful guards to reach freedom outside the prison perimeter. 

It often requires careful planning, smuggled tools, and coordinated efforts with accomplices, putting both the escapee and those aiding them at significant risk of capture and further legal repercussions. However would it still be considered a prison if it was more akin to hell?

Like the flashes of hellfire red lights flashed upon the freed and bloodthirsty creatures that reigned supreme of the mesh of concrete and steel that once made up their confined cells of torture. The whirring of alarms sounded overhead instead of warning the innocent of humans seemed more of a praised laugh to announce the arrival of the manic chaos that was to befall all. 

Blood. As red as the lights and as copper as the metal was the main decoration for the parade of monsters descending through the halls and disemboweling the humans and in some cases each other. No one cares. Certainly not the beasts that now ran ramped with adrenaline and bloodlust in their minds.

An inhuman screech went off into the night as a stronger forced ripped away arms from torso. Eyes turned and stared into the bloodlust abyss of bloodshot eyes. A mix of shrieks echoed out into the darkened night above. So much blood spilt in that night that it might've even spilt into the moon illuminating red down on everything. 

R E D

That was the war paint splattered proudly across his body and coating his skin like a devil from the very flames that he walked through. Blood. Vengeance. C A R N A G E.

R E D

The color clouded vision beyond reasoning. Inhuman yells of pain and murder carved way by him. One by one. Body by body. Life by life. Flesh torn from bone. Blood cleaved from muscles. Arms from torso. Limb from limb. He was a beast tonight. The thirst for blood was not just a want but a need. For tonight he was not a man. Not a demon. Nor anything else comprehendible by human thought.

F O R  T O N I G H T   H E  W A S  D E A T H  A N D  H E  W A S   B R I N G I N G  H E L L  W I T H  H I M.

The darkness both swallowed him up and closed off the ways both in front and behind him making each end of the pathay difficult to see with the already limited vision he had. Heightened senses were one thing he had been thankful to have retained from years of familiarity to his body and mind. Closing off all senses to be more enlightened to one's world in a different light. Each echo of his footfalls ringing in his mind as the airways of his body forced himself to absorb more oxygen out of the air and each heart beat thudding against his ribcage. Throbbing sensation reaching from his head to his feet with every passing second he was surrounded by the buzzing swarm of danger. Enlightened by the stings of fear. Danger. Dread. Doom. Like many wasps penetrating his most basic human emotions and swelling them up to the point of combusting dangerously all over the peeping, teasing darkness. The soft silk touch of his host's clothes met his hand. It was hard to move...Hard to will it to move running along the soft fabric to something more smooth and hard. Both basic instinct wasps forcing him to do something so familiar to combat the combustible feelings. To grab at which to protect him and cut it away like a sickeningly sweet cake of misery and despair. Instincts wailing to protect himself from dangers he had yet to see. Had yet to reveal themselves to him. Hopefully to be chased away by the sounds of the bullets of the gun and held out into the darkness to cut it's tainting self down a notch. That his willpower will always prevail over it. Each burning room slowly passing a tainting gateway. Each with a promise of safety behind it and perhaps even it had occupants inside using it. taking up it's offering of safety from the darkness now dead to the world highly unaware of the masked host just roaming outside arm outstretched and staring down the one that dared teased him the most with it's fake promise of protection. 

"Ried?" The sounds of the next door smashing open by beyond human strength echoed out. "C'mon, Doc. Now's a bad time for hide and seek.~"

And that promise he would soon come to learn was broken and not even promise to one individual soon enough. As sweat formed on his host's skin in an attempt to cool it from the harsh tainting from the moment he was face to face with the door that broke it's sacred promise. At first glance to one in the dark it was as taunting as all the others he had just passed, but if one took time to see it's true mockery and failure hidden by the teasing darkness they would've seen it. The remnants of a beast. Looking as though it had clawed and kicked it's way at the door's sacred locks to be allowed entry inside the room beyond it. In it's wake leaving the door in misery and ruins. A slight opening between itself and the wall where one could look into the room beyond it and see nothing but more darkness laughing back at you.

It begged for him to open it further, to peek further into the darkness beyond the door that should have protected the occupant inside. The surprising untouched room was still, quite, far too quite for his liking. The broken splintered door only left so little to memory, and with cautious pushed aside he shoved the door open to reveal the horror to his eyes. His eyes widened. There where obvious signs of ransacking, evident by the turned over coffee table and the furniture pieces that lay toppled on their side as though someone had carelessly kicked it over in its rampage. The host body treaded carefully inside the ruined room, his shoe crunching on the remains of a picture frame that had been knocked over, its broken shiny cover a perfect match of the doorway half hanging from its hinges - the cover to what lay beyond broken to bits

What once was undoubtedly a very nice-to-stay-in staff break room inviting for visitors was now reduced to what might've been a break in sight following the discovery of a murder. Which made the situation even more worse. A small gasp noise left his host's throat as his foot caught onto something. And the something that dared to trip him up happened to be a piece of fabric. MANY pieces of fabric in the form of clothing strew about in the darkness of the floor he hadn't seen at first among the shattered frame glass. Heart throbbing sensation still hammering his entire body as he turned and twisted his body around the room.

CCCRRREEEAAA-

In just one second his body reacted on it's own. Twisting his body and holding his arm out to defend against the intruder...Only to let his nerves relax when discovering it was just the poor broken door slowly closing back to it's original poor position he had found it in. Internally cursing to himself at the overreaction it had caused him. At least...That was until he saw what was on the other side of the door he had missed upon initial entry. The gleam of a familiar metallic silver caught his eyes in the limited darkness he was able to make out and the shock at seeing it at first melted his sight and his mind raced. The door being the only thing to answer his shocked mind as it finally creaked back into place.

The host approached slowly, one hand still gripped at his gum, fingers strumming against the metal handle as if his nerves where itching to use it. Yet he remained stoic despite the clouds that where casting gathering to add to the storm inside his head. Upon closer inspection the scalpel  in the door was too purposeful for this to be an improvised job, this job - this attack, this entire get away had been just a waste of his time so far. His eyes narrowed, other hand ripping the surgical knife free from the grip that held it in place against the doorframe. The shining metal reflected the red staining his body and the frustrated frown of the porcelain face-

A inhuman scream tore through the area drowning out the other terrible screams and blaring alarm. An already broken door kicked off it's hinges as the demon walked back into the night seeking answers.

"This isn't the right way to go about this. You should stop now." 

"You are either on my side, by my side, or in my fucking way." The hands puppeteered gripped the gun tighter. "Choose wisely." 

Not an answer was given back from the host mind 

"That's what I thought. Now be a good boy for me.~ Tell me exactly where you think little miss immunity would hide during a situation like this.~" 

The blaring alarms hid well the sounds of his footsteps and the chaos of murder around him covered the intention of the desire and want which was the driving force of the shared minds that combined with one another to become one. 

The screams rang into the air as his pathway was made, him walking through its wake of cadavers long since dead.

Terror. Fear. Danger. Get away. Get away! All the pathetic ones scream. Like a car accident, terrible yet one couldn't look away from the incoming storm of tragedy. He was so used to such actions as he came with the reputation. The woman who continued to shriek in his way meant nothing to him. She was merely just an obstacle. An annoying hindrance to what he wanted-..No.

What he N E E D E D.

And he always dealt away with obstacles. The old body was easily chuckled to the side, he not caring about where it landed or how the other ended up. Screaming. A true testimony to his being. Power. Force behind it and he knew that as screams filled out his eardrums and killed him into the comfortable lullaby of chaos incarnate. Arms rising and head tilted back in display for the passionate dance of bodies scattering blurred to his vision footfalls thundering like a rain dance of nature. A true place a demon would find peace. Eyelids fluttered shut as the sounds blurred out around him until he heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing. But-

P E A C E

Until the panging desire returned from the other side deep down replacing the peace with a frustrated annoyance the farther into the hell hole he went. The reluctant annoyance only being halted by the passage of a familiar voice or two coming from a room. Little Miss Immunity's little office. How cute.~

"Rest a little longer. Your leg wound is deep but nothing serious."

"You could've gotten away you know. I'm dead weight with my limited movement."

"You know that I wouldn't do such a thing. I love you too much for that."

"Love makes you do stupid thing then."

"On the contrary. I only ever thought there were two kinds of loves. The kind you'd kill for and the kind you'd die for but you, Reid... You're the kind of love I'd live for."

The chaos had not left the couple unscathed. Blood pooling to a stop from her body thanks to a series of highly tightened bandages wrapped around her upper thigh courtesy of the concerned doctor knelt beside her. Hands caressing her pale face and wiping at the cold sweat poured from above her brows, fingertips leaving red smears behind from the hands that prepped the wounds. No doubt she had suffered blood loss. Both a curse to her..

And a blessing to him.

"Nice speech, Doc.~" Immediately the temperature in the room dipped. The man in the black robes freezing and the f/c of the woman dipping into the size of pins as the host body stepped within eyesight finally. A bubble of happiness panging throughout his being. "Unfortunately words aren't much good at healing wounds. Wouldn't you say?~"

"Oh my God..." Her bottom lip twitched as horrific realization of what stood before her settled in. "Ke- Kenneth?"

"AAAHNT! Wrong. But you are half right, he's still here and conscious of everything.~" A hand reached out to tap the side of the porcelain mask smiling wickedly. "He's a rather good boy.~ Doesn't complain, does as he's told, and- OH! He loves you, Darling.~ We have more things in common than one thinks." 

Her quivering, lips looked so cute on her horrified face. But he was more giddy when a face of white and narrowed silver eyes of hatred turned to greet him in disdain. "Dyo."

"Hiii, Doc." The gun was shifted to rest against his shoulder as his other hands wagged fingers at him. Happy black ooze seeping from the mouth of his face and dripping onto his body. "Did you miss me?~ I certainly missed you.~"

"Why is it that I can never seem to wash my hands of you?"

"Magnetism, Honey. I can't help it if I'm irresistible.~ And here I thought you liked my charming personality.~"

"Spare me your worthless babblings." His form shifted over. Protectively blocking the girl all three of the men in that room wanted from sight. Doesn't change the fact she was still there.~ "What do you want? Shouldn't you be fleeing like the rat you are akin too?"

"Aw.~ Flattery will get you everywhere with me if you just bothered to try.~ But since we're running on limited time here, I'll spare the chit chat and get straight to the point." The rifle in his hands clicked as it resumed it's place back sideways held in front of his chest. "I think we all have a common interest here."

"Escaping you mean?"

"Actually I was talking about little Miss Immunity over there but that too! Actually I'm here to collect the both of you to my little toy box.~"

As expected, a roaring wave of rage ignited in his body as shocked rocked the bird like face and his body tensed. "Do you mean to tell me that you're here with the intention of collecting her like a doll?!"

"Actually I think the normal person calls it a harem. I've been around enough to see the appeal of having one." The gun was nudged to point out the woman looking paler by the second staring at the both of them. "But we can play house later once Doll face is situated somewhere else don't you agree?" His head tilted as he hummed. "You'd have to carry her with that leg wound and you'd be needing help with getting out.~ I'd say that you'll be needing a partner, Doc."

"I'd sooner shatter you into a million pieces than accept your twisted hand of help!"

"It's not like you have a choice. There's three of us here that want the same thing...Well technically I want you too, but we all agree with wanting to keep her alive and within our grasp. I'm afraid you're both a little bit out of luck here. So now why don't you pick up the weight, and we can all be on our merry way?"

"You're a villain. A sick twisted villain and I should've tied you to a rock and threw you into the ocean instead of leaving you in that crypt!" 

There was silence other than the alarm still shrieking out and the feint sounds of chaos and screams still coming from the halls around them all. The host's body tending under the scalding of words thrown to his face. Before the frame of the gun creaked under his crushing grasp and a bear growl escaped his disembodied throat.

"Hm. Well it's a good thing for you both I am the villain instead of a saint."

"And just what might be the good of that?!" 

"A hero would sacrifice you to save the world, but a villain would sacrifice the world to save you. And it's lucky for everyone involved that I like playing the part of the bad guy.~" 

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

He soars above the roofs, moving swiftly with every forceful downbeat of his veiny, membranous wings. The moon shines bright and full tonight, the sky encrusted with stars glinting like polished gems against the pitch black.

Elowyn and the revolting Drow kept him far too late tonight, requesting additional samples of his blood, trying to justify their incompetent failures. If those two whelps make him miss his chance at seeing her tonight, he will punish them. Severely. The thought fills him with sadistic glee, and the lips of his snout pull back to reveal rows of sharp, needle-pointed teeth, as close as a smile as he can manage in this form.

A hoarse voice pierces through his morbid contemplation like hot steel, “Where is he, spawn?”

For a fleeting moment, he looks around, thinking someone is talking to him. He will torture whoever dares call him a spawn. He will make their death drag on for days, weeks, months, perhaps. He is a pathetic spawn no longer. He is the Vampire Ascendent, and he will not be belittled.

“Did I stutter? I said I don’t fucking know!” Her voice, usually sweet like wind-chimes in a gentle summer breeze, is bristling and teeming with bitterness that nips his ears.

He angles his wings, drawing them close to his body and dives, rapid and sure. He swerves between obstacles, beady black eyes darting around. That overly sweet scent of powdered iron vine stirs unwelcome memories as it hits his nostrils and makes his eyes water.

Shit.

He pumps his wings hard, heading straight toward that sickly sweet scent. He can feel himself start sinking into the mire that has muddled his mind and held him hostage, but he cannot allow it to swallow him in its gaping maw this night. She needs him.

Astarion, he must remind himself of his name. He is not just the Vampire Ascendent; he is Astarion.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

No. No. No.

His newly beating heart arrests in his chest, immobilized all over again, as he sees the hunter and watches them draw the stake from their hip. She... Gods, she doesn’t do anything. She closes her beautiful eyes and accepts her fate without a fight.

What in the bloody Hells is she thinking?

Fight! He wants to scream but cannot as he shifts forms in a fraction of a second, hauling one of the Gur holding her steadfast into the treeline while drawing his dagger, twirling it into his grip with a flick of his wrist and plunging it into their chest. Pivoting with bared teeth, he does not even bother waiting to revel in their dying shudder.

He is liquid lightning made flesh, and he takes the next hunter in a flash, slashing his dagger across their jugular with a satisfying spray of blood that splashes against his ivory skin and glazes his silver hair with a rust-coloured tint. He discards them just as quickly.

He does not waste a second and spins on his heel, lunging forward, every muscle and tendon in his body buzzing with the energy of 7000 souls. He rips the last Gur away from her, slinging them into the air with no more effort than it would take him to lift a speck of dust.

He regards the flailing human through narrow eyes with brows pulled down in a scowl that darkens his face. He’s going to snap their neck like a matchstick for thinking they can kill his beloved dark consort.

No, he corrects himself - his spawn, his toy, his possession.

“Please, don’t,” she pleads.

Her voice snaps him out of his grisly ruminations, and his eyes meet hers. Those round moon eyes that used to burn vividly with the glow of her blazing spirit now appear almost matte, and his heart clinches in his chest. Where is the fire he’s used to seeing in those eyes?

The scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of battle, and the gurgling sputters of approaching death stroke his ears, enchanting him.

Does she truly expect him to spare this feeble sack of shit? He does not spare lives simply because she requests it.

Yet, he is considering it. Why?

He cocks his head, straining against the insurgence of the other presence that threatens to gain control of his body. Ripping himself from the savage chomping jaws of this monster within is painful.

Agony, worse than any torture Cazador ever inflicted upon him, flares through every sinew of his body as he thrusts the hunter against the wall.

His breaths come in ragged, quick succession, but he is back, he is present, he is Astarion.

She stares at him with shock and winces. Her brows furrow with confusion as her eyes cast down and his follow their path.

He had not been fast enough.

Her body trembles as panic channels through her. She grips the stake and rips it out. The sound makes him nauseous and sends bile rising into his throat.

“... Astarion?”

His ears twitch at his name. Her eyes flutter closed as her consciousness begins to slip. Reflexively, he dives forward, arms outstretched, and for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, her name tastes like honey on his tongue as he cries it.

He catches her before her limp body can hit the ground. Gods, she’s far too light and bony with gaunt, hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. His mouth drops open, horrified. Squeezing his eyes closed, he grimaces and shakes his head slightly. He does not have time to dwell on this right now. He must get her help.

The Cleric.

He does not want to, but he can do nothing for her. He moves quickly toward that little house he has watched her return to time and time again.

He considers breaking the door down, but if he does that, the Cleric is likely to attack first and ask questions later. He slams the heel of his boot on the door with a loud thud.

“Astarion?” Shadowheart blinks the sleep from her eyes rapidly, bristles and lunges for her mace, “You should not have-”

“Shut up,” he spits harshly, pushing past her, “Put your distaste for me aside. She needs your help. If you wish to try and kill me after, I will gladly do away with you.”

The golden glow of Shadowheart’s magic recedes from her fingertips as she looks at her in his arms, mouth agape. Her eyes harden as they meet his, “Did you do this!?”

“Me?” He’s astonished at the accusation. Why would he do this? He would never, nay could never. How dare she accuse him of such barbarity!

“Yes, darling,” he drawls sarcastically through clenched teeth, “I thought it was a lovely little icebreaker. I stake my dearest spawn and then show up on your doorstep requesting your help.” He scoffs indignantly, clicking his tongue at her, “Do not be so stupid. I care not what you think of me, but this is not my doing. If I had wanted her dead, she would be dead, and I would not be here.”

“She is dead,” Shadowheart snarls, gripping the hilt of her mace so hard her knuckles strain white, “You already fucking killed her.”

“I-” He did, didn’t he? She is dead, and it was him that drained her of life. No. He pushes the thought away. He had given her the choice. She chose this, and he could not be blamed for her choices.

“Semantics,” he recovers quickly with a shrug, “I could argue them with you all bloody night. Will you assist, or would you prefer to continue glaring at me? I do love the attention, after all.”

Shadowheart scoffs, nose rising with a grimace, “Put her down and step away from her.”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. He will not lose her again. He cannot. “You have a choice, my dear. Help her as she is, in my arms, or do not. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Gods, you’re still as insufferable as you ever were!” Shadowheart stomps her foot, balling her fist up at her sides and levelling the mace at him before discarding it.

“Thank you,” he grins victoriously.

Magic encompasses Shadowheart’s hand. She steps close but warily as if he might pounce on her, and he rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff. Shadowheart recites an incantation, lays a splayed hand on her, and the spell flows over her body. The bleeding slows but does not stop. Shadowheart tries again, stronger this time, the magic suffusing the dim living area with a light blue luminescence.

“Take her to her room and show yourself out, Astarion,” Shadowheart instructs and points toward a darkened staircase, “It’s at the top of the stairs, second door in the hall.”

He chuckles at the silly notion he would leave her in this condition. He’s finally got his hands on her again, and there is no way he is letting her go, “No. She’s coming to the palace with me tonight.”

Shadowheart shakes, trembling with rage, “No. I will not allow you to take her.”

“Try and stop me,” he sneers, his brows knitting together, “She needs more healing, of course. You are most welcome to join us at the Crimson Palace if you wish.”

She will heal, although he’s not sure how fast in the emaciated state she is in. He will take her home where he can watch over her.  He will take her back where she belongs, with him, forever.

He shoves Shadowheart with his shoulder and heads for the door. He hears the crackle of her magic as it leaves her fingers and braces himself to absorb the attack. It hits his back, warming and prickling his skin.

He feels it again, the tug in his mind, demons creeping closer, trying to pull him into oblivion. He takes a deep breath, and his hands squeeze her more firmly, grounding himself.

Turning, he chuckles at Shadowheart as she stares at him, eyes wide in confusion but keen with determination, “That tickled, darling.” He taunts, “I will overlook this little altercation. After all, what’s a little quarrel between old friends? Now, I really must be getting home. You know where to find us should you come to your senses."

He wonders if Shadowheart will try again. She was a determined little spitfire, after all. He quickly slips out the door into the night and laughs when he hears Shadowheart’s livid scream.

“Fuck!”

It’s not long before Shadowheart jogs to his side, “What the Hells happened, Astarion?”

He’s surprised she did not come fully clad in her armour with every weapon she has. Surprised and rather disappointed. He thought she was more intelligent than to walk into the devil’s den defenceless.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he says mirthlessly and shrugs, “She was attacked.”

“Yes, Astarion, I can see that.” Shadowheart scoffs at him, frowning and crossing her arms with a snort, but her expression softens when she looks at her, “Can she die from this? For good, I mean.”

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, “I will not allow it.”

He walks quickly with long, ground-devouring strides. Shadowheart has to trot alongside him to keep pace.

She stirs in his arms now and then, trembles rippling through her muscles, fingers twitching, and he pulls her into him as close as he can get her. He wants to tell her it’s okay, to whisper that he’s got her and she is safe, but he bites his tongue.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is silent from there on out, and he’s thankful for it.

He lays her down on his bed as Shadowheart yanks scrolls and potions from her bag. He runs his fingers over her cheek when Shadowheart isn’t looking to let her know she’s not alone. He’s here. It’s been so long since he felt her skin. His heart feels like it palpates, skipping beats and is uncomfortably heavy in his chest. He cannot remember feeling anything similar in all his 200 years.

Shadowheart expends every scroll and every ounce of energy she has. Sweat rolls down her temples, and her magic dims and fizzles out on her fingers.

She pants, bracing herself against his bed, “I can do no more until I rest.” Shadowheart nudges him with an elbow to the ribs, “Get out. I need to clean and wrap her wounds.”

He narrows his eyes and quickly snatches the roll of bandages from Shadowheart’s hands, “Allow me.”

Shadowheart stares at him, teeming with hatred, “You will not. I need to undress her. Get out.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snickers, “Many times, might I add.”

Shadowheart snarls and digs her finger rigidly into his chest, “You would violate her like that for your sick pleasure?”

Violate her? He would never do such a thing. How sick does Shadowheart think he is?

“Pleasure? There is absolutely nothing pleasurable about this!” He howls, affronted at the accusation that he would somehow get satisfaction from such an act. He runs his fingers through his blood-stained hair, “If she wakes while you are at it, she will drain you dry. She will have no control and will not be able to stop herself.”

Truth but not the reason he is being so insistent. He could not care less if she drained the Cleric drier than the desert at noon. He would watch it happen with glee. The truth he is reluctant to admit even to himself is that he wants to be close to her.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow at him, and she crosses her arms with a huff, “Fine, but I am not leaving you alone with her.”

“Fine by me,” he smiles amicably, with a shallow bow, “May I?”

Shadowheart watches him with the same intensity and mistrust she used to watch the Gith with, and he rolls his eyes at her.

His fingers nimbly undo the clasps and laces that hold her robe closed and peels it from her body, sticky with drying blood. He’s careful, keeping his movements slow and measured.

Good Gods, there is so much blood. It coats his hands, up his forearms, muddying his skin and getting under his fingernails.

“Fetch that, will you?” he points to the glass basin filled with clean water, “Cloths are below. Bring them all."

Shadowheart grumbles under her breath but obediently does as he asks. He cleans her with gentle strokes, discarding the rags as they become blood-soaked and spoiled.

Hells, she is thin beyond his wildest imagination. Her collar bones, hip bones, and ribs jut out from her sunken stomach. He could count every vertebra in her spine. She looks frail and sickly. It takes considerable effort for him to keep his facial expression impassive as if he doesn’t care, but her condition makes his bones ache. It reminds him of the time he spent the year sealed away, starving and alone in that old, dusty tome. Is he no better than Cazador? He buries the thought.

“I should have brought her a change of clothes,” Shadowheart cringes while discarding the robe, fabric soaked and heavy with blood.

“I have her clothing. I will fetch her something when we finish,” he concludes almost absentmindedly, his mind focused on wrapping her with the roll of bandages.

“You have her clothes?” Shadowheart gawks at him, eyes rounded with surprise, “Still?”

“Yes.”

He does not explain further. He still can’t recall why her bedroom was separate from his. Worse yet, it was down in the spawn quarters. Did he put her down there? Why?

“We can do no more for her tonight,” he murmurs as the backs of his fingers graze down her arm. He doesn’t even bother to look at Shadowheart. He points toward the door, “Guest bedrooms are in the west wing. Take your pick.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms and sniffs, “I will not be leaving her half-naked with the likes of you.”

He tires of this and these accusations that he will act indecently. Maybe he is a monster, but he is not as twisted as they all seem to believe he is. He does not have the energy or the restraint to participate in petulant arguments. If Shadowheart pushes him too far, which is an utter certainty, he will be Astarion no longer.

Astarion, he reminds himself again. I am Astarion.

He catches Shadowheart’s eyes and compels her, “You will go to the first guest bedroom you find, and you will sleep until dawn."

Shadowheart’s pupils dilate wide, and red tendrils trail around her as his compulsion roots into her mind.

“I will sleep until dawn,” Shadowheart repeats, absent and emotionless, getting up and leaving him alone.

He sighs with relief and drags a chair to the side of the bed. Dawn is an hour or two away, at best, but it is enough. He leans back, resting his elbow on the armrest and his forehead in his hand. This was his fault. He dragged her into this mess with the Gur. He knew they had been trying to track him, but he did not know they knew about her.

He will find where they are hiding and slaughter the lot of them for this. Why stop there? He will hunt every tribe of Gur to the ends of Faerûn and eradicate them from existence entirely. They will all pay in blood for what has occurred tonight.

She coughs and mutters indiscernibly. A voice inside his head wails that he should destroy her because she makes him feel, and that makes him weak. She makes him weak. He thrusts the thought down, frowning in disgust at himself for ever having it in the first place.

Gods below, what has he become? He’s spent months watching her from a distance. At first, he told himself he kept being dragged back to that terrible little hovel because he felt a foul sort of gratification in watching her suffer as she withered away to skin and bones or cried on the ground.

It made him feel good, powerful, but above all, needed. For a time, he savoured her misery as if he were sipping it like a fine wine.

He can’t remember exactly when it stopped being enjoyable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a shaky breath, kissing her palm and interlocking his fingers with hers, “I’m so sorry. I will not fail you again.” 

“It’s the wizard.”

He can hear emotion siphon from his voice, a sheet of ice crystallizing it. Her beautiful eyes are wide and round with fear, her mouth dropping open slightly. The tips of her fangs peek out of her full lips, disorienting him for a moment. Those fangs do not look like they belong in her mouth. Yet, he had put them there, didn’t he? She pulls the bedsheet up, grasping the silken linen in her fist and bringing it to her chest, shielding her body from him. He loathes the way she is looking at him. She is frightened of him. There was a time not too long ago when she trusted him beyond measure. He longs to see her look at him like that again.

But right now, the wizard is here to take her from him. He cannot lose her again. Gale cannot have her. She is his.

He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He can feel that unholy abomination within him start rampaging against its shackles. It pulls at the borders of his mind and whispers corruption in his thoughts, begging to be released.

“No. No, it can’t be. Gale doesn’t know where I am,” she stutters, panic taking flight and soaring into her voice, “You’re mistaken.”

If only he were.

He cocks his head, eyeing her warily and waves dismissively, “Shall we answer the door and find out?”

He tries to sit up. She relinquishes her linen shield and scrambles into his lap, squeezing him tightly between her thighs and straddling his waist. She plants her splayed hands on his chest and thrusts him down, grinding him into the bed with all the strength of her vampiric form.

She looks to the door, brows upturned, portraying her unease, and then looks back at him, “Ignore it.”

He lets her push him back and narrows his eyes in a challenging glower. Even with all her strength and weight behind her, he sits upright effortlessly in a slow advance. She forgets herself sometimes, forgets what he is, the power he possesses. He can feel her body trembling, her fingers digging into his chest, and he revels in the fear illustrated in the intricate details of her features.

He blinks hard and rids himself of that thought. It’s his ire forcing impulsive whispers through his head. If he wanted that, he could simply let himself slip away, and he would not even have to remember the savagery he dealt.

“Now, why ever would I ignore my old friend Gale?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s another well-practiced veneer, just another mask, one of his many.

“Please, Astarion,” she takes his hand and begs, “Ignore it.”

“No,” he retorts, easing her off him gradually and sliding off the bed. He grabs his trousers and throws them on.

She clambers ungracefully, grabbing her clothes, “Astarion, listen to me. Please. At least stay in here while I talk to him.”

He whirls on her with a snarl before he even knows what he is doing, “I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He shouts at her cruelly, “I take orders from no one!”

His eyes start their restless shifting. He marshals his resolve and the muscles in his arms strain. His fingers twitch as unseen talons claw rifts into his consciousness, and he reels to keep himself tethered to reality.

He must not give in.

Her arresting eyes bore into him. She speaks to him softly, using that silver tongue in her most zephyr intonation, “Stay you, please.”

She watches, observing his every movement. Shooting pains cleave through him. It feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside out, and Gods, it hurts. If she were not looking at him like that, he might let himself be dragged away.

Astarion, he prompts himself; I am Astarion.

He jerks his eyes away from her while buttoning his chemise, “I’m trying,” he growls low, “Do not challenge me right now.”

A warning. He can feel himself sinking. All grace and fluidity have been depleted, and he moves stiff and rigidly. She picks up her shirt and stares at the tattered rag he tore from her body. He can still taste her pleasure sweet on his tongue, feel her dissolving around him, while his name rang like a prayer through these halls.

He told her he was going to make love to her, didn’t he? Why did he say that? He does not make love. A lapse in judgment in a moment of passion, surely. He does not dig deeper. He dares not follow the trail because he’s afraid of what he will disentomb.

He shifts his form and reappears by the door. Her footsteps descend the staircase so quickly he’s surprised she hasn’t sent herself tumbling. Perhaps he has managed to teach her something, after all.

He knows what awaits when he opens this door. Gale will try to take her from him again as he did before with his trivial illusions, sincere confessions and genuine love, but she belongs to him.

Astarion, Astarion, Astarion, he chants to himself as he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Gale’s voice clamours through the halls as he pushes in, “Where is she, Astarion? What have you done to her!”

“That’s Lord Astarion to you, Gale.” His voice is tight, soaked in cordial falsity, “How lovely to see you. Welcome to our home.”

Gale scoffs at him, brows furrowed, “Lord Astarion? You cannot be serious?”

“Oh, I am dead serious.” He seethes through clenched teeth, brows pulled down in a menacing scowl, “In my home, you will show me the proper respect I am due.”

“Respect?” Gale shouts at him in a rage, arms gesturing wildly, “You lost any hope of respect as soon as you forced undeath on her.”

Forced undeath on her? Forced?! He did no such thing! He requested, and she accepted. Her undying loyalty for an eternity with him.

A simple transaction.

... Right?

The edges of his vision are starting to ripple and blacken, a sure sign he is losing.

She runs around the corner, almost tripping over her feet, and her words blunder out of her mouth briskly, “Gale, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re putting us all in danger.”

“Yes, Gale,” he chimes cooly, “I am very dangerous.”

His memory flashes with images of himself standing, blood dripping from his hair, off his fingertips and chin. Mangled bodies are strewn haphazardly around him, open mouths lamenting silent screams as their milky eyes cast judgment on him. He does not recall dealing these deaths, only waking up in the aftermath of his primal sadism.

Gale ignores him and reaches toward her. He doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s twisted Gale’s arm behind his back. He fumes, “Do not touch her. She is mine.”

He considers breaking the wizard’s arm with a gleeful, ghoulish smile, tugging his lips up. He applies a little more force, and Gale cries out. The pained bawl is music to his ears, and he almost floats away on the bewitching hymn.

“Astarion, stop it.” Her cold hands clutch his heated cheeks, “Look at me. I’ve got you, but I need you to hold on.”

He focuses on those fascinating multicoloured doe-eyes through the storm clouding his vision. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to release Gale with a grunt. His limbs feel numb - like they are not his and should not be attached to his body. He shudders and leans back against the wall, with such pressure that cracks begin extending across the wood panelling. Agony explodes behind his eyes. He’s sweating, perspiration rolling down his forehead and temples and the delicate black fabric of his chemise clings to his damp body.

She drags Gale out of the manor into the sunbathed street, trying to put as much distance between him and Gale as possible. She squeezes her eyes closed and grits her teeth as the radiant light spreads over her snowy skin.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. He wants to tell her, but he is no liar. She is safe with him, Astarion, but he cannot be sure of his actions if he is overtaken and subdued.

“What in the Hells is going on here?” Gale yells at her, “What are you thinking going back to him? He killed you and then left you to rot in the sewers! Do you remember how Shadowheart and I found you? You were out of your mind with hunger!”

Rot in the sewers? What the fuck was Gale talking about? He never left her in the sewers. Did he? His memories are fragmented and unreliable. He remembers defeating the Netherbrain, the searing pain in his head, standing on the docks, and little else. The first vivid thing he can recall is watching her walk out the palace door, tears gliding down her face, her eyes shimmering wet in the moonlight, and her voice trembling as she said goodbye.

He does not know what is happening to him, but he knows there is more to the Rite than the devil let on, and whatever ails him is slowly eating away at whatever is left of him.

“Yes,” she mewls, a hand coming to her forehead in an exasperated gesture, “I remember. It doesn’t matter now. You shouldn’t be here, Gale. Go home. I will come when night falls, and we can discuss this then.”

“Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way again, for him of all people.” Gale scolds her and makes those voices in his thoughts croon louder, promising the wizard’s death, telling him he won’t have to blame himself, “Is this some sort of compulsion? Has Astarion forced you to do this? You’ve always had a big heart, but you have never been stupid.”

Did he call her stupid? He will rip out Gale's fucking tongue for speaking to her in such a manner.

“Astarion hasn’t compelled me,” she retaliates in a cutting inflection, but he hears the unmistakable notes of uncertainty, “I am here of my own volition.”

“No, I do not believe that.” Gale decrees, sure and confident, “I think Astarion knows how to manipulate you, and he continues to do so, as he always has done.”

“Perhaps he is,” she sighs, “But perhaps he isn’t. It matters not. The choice is mine to make, and the consequences are mine to bear, whatever they may be.”

Gale’s voice loses its keen edge and drops low, “You fled from Astarion, from this life. Why return to it? Help me understand, my friend.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and she growls, frustrated with the inquisition. “Isn’t it obvious? I love him,” she shouts, squaring off with Gale, “I love him, and I will not, cannot, give up on him!”

He stares at her back, mouth dropping open and eyes rounded. He did not expect this. She is doing this because he promised her freedom, is she not? Another transaction.

“That man,” Gale spits, “No, that monster cannot love you. Not anymore. You’re coming home with me.”

Bitterness rises hot in his throat and coats the back of his tongue. He’s spent lifetimes having someone dictate what he can and cannot do, and he will stand for it no longer.

He does love-

He cuts the thought off abruptly as if it were a stray stitch unravelling from a grand tapestry. His blood solidifies, icy in his veins.

If he admits this, it becomes real, and she alone has the power to destroy him, wreck him beyond all hope of repair.

Yet, despite his best efforts, whatever he retains of his soul weakly whispers on, ruing against his restraint.

I love you too.

He groans and leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to keep himself upright. His brain feels like it’s twisting in his skull. Oblivion is edging closer, vines made of shadow reaching out to him and twisting around his limbs.

“No, Gale. Stop,” she screams, her feet dragging across the paved stone street, “You are going to get us both killed!”

“I am not afraid of Astarion,” Gale says, resolute.

He’s heard enough, “You should be, Gale.” he hisses as he emerges from the doorway, “Leave. Now. She has made her choice.”

The sun is bright in his eyes, much too bright and hot on his already feverish skin. He forces himself to stand straight, though he wants to double over.

Gale scowls at him, brows pulled down, “You did this, didn’t you? You compelled her, exerted your will over her and forced her into this servitude!”

Gale would want to believe that, wouldn’t he? Blame him for being the puppet master, because then Gale would not have to face the truth.

Despite it being the objectively stupid thing to do, she loves him.

“Gale, go home,” she screams, anger thrusting into her voice, “I will explain everything, but you must go before it’s too late. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

His body does not feel like it’s under his control, and movement feels wrong. Gripping her arm, his fingers dig into her flesh, and he hauls her backward toward the manor with so much force that he wrenches her off her feet and into the air. An anguished cry chokes from her throat. It breaks him from the daze. He did not mean to hurt her.

“I didn’t mean to-”

He doesn’t get to finish before he’s pushed back and off balance by a sudden, strong gust of wind, far too powerful to be anything natural.

He rights himself quickly, whirls, and watches in horror as a radiant beam of pure sunlight careens toward her. It washes over her before he can move, and a shrill, soul-shattering scream wrests from her throat.

The demon bursts from its prison with pain so torturous it fractures his psyche, liquefying his brain matter.

He’s dragged down, down, down, where everything is quiet and dark.  

Sunbeam spills over you in an upsurge. Your skin sears, your eyes sizzle in their sockets, and white-hot pain swarms your vision. Falling to your hands and knees, a cry so shrill tearing from your throat, it feels like it rips your vocal cords to tatters.

“Are you pleased, wizard?” Astarion drawls, “Look what you’ve done to my most precious treasure.”

Astarion’s voice is distant and emotionless, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s lost the fight with himself. If you do not do something quickly, Gale’s blood will soak these streets, and it will be on your hands. Astarion told you those who provoke him rarely survive. Gale will be no exception.

Gritting your teeth, you push through the pain, making your nerves sing and blink to clear your vision. Astarion stalks toward Gale, laughing as if deranged while he nimbly dodges every one of Gale’s attacks, a predator playing with their prey like a cat with a mouse.

From the ground, you cast Hold Person, halting Astarion. He wars against his restraints. You will not be able to hold him long.

“Gale,” you sputter as you feel your concentration breaking, splintering at the seams like an overstuffed doll, “I cannot hold him long. Run to the waypoint and get home.”

Gale shakes his head, “I won’t leave-”

You trample over him, “If you don’t, we are both dead. Go! Now!”

Seconds that feel like hours pass before Gale turns and disappears down the street. You hold Astarion for as long as possible, vying to give Gale enough time to get to the waypoint. You can only hope Astarion does not decide you’re too broken and no longer fun to toy with.

Astarion rallies against your impediment and Hold Person breaks and shatters as your concentration is pushed beyond its limits.

Trembling, you try to push yourself to your feet, but you can’t get your limbs and muscles to obey orders. You don’t hear Astarion’s footsteps as they approach, but his proximity is betrayed by his beating heart.

Astarion’s hand curls into your hair, pulling you to your feet with an unforgiving yank, “You should not have intervened in my fun.”

“Astarion-”

His hand slams into the bottom of your chin, making your teeth clash with so much force you’re sure they will buckle and disintegrate in your mouth.

“Don’t “Astarion” me. It will not work this time,” he growls with a taunting edge, “Astarion is gone. I am the Vampire Ascendant! I am a God, and I will not be caged! Do you hear me? You are nothing, and you cannot save him.”

He talks about himself as if they’re two different people.

Astarion looks around, and a menacing smile slinks across his lips, “Perhaps I should simply let you burn and put an end to this once and for all.”

Panic forces your hand. Whoever this person is, he is not Astarion, and he may very well let you burn. You press your palm against his chest and let liquid fire, hot as the fires in Phlegethos, explode against him. The instant you feel his clutch release, you throw yourself back into the safety of the manor.

Crawling further inside, you push yourself up with the aid of a wall as your knees quake under your weight. You look up just in time to see Astarion’s hand as it slams into your throat, and he lifts you off your feet. His grip is stringent and unforgiving, and bruises instantly varnish your pallid skin, narrating abuse with dark hues of blue, purple and red. You kick against the air hopelessly, feet trying to find purchase.

You pull at his wrist and hand, digging your nails into him, blemishing his ashen skin with bloodied, jagged lacerations. You try to speak, but he increases the pressure on your throat, and nothing can make it out of your compressed esophagus.

You keep your eyes away from Astarion’s; you cannot look into those ruby-red eyes and see him look at you like you are nothing. Not after he has been looking at you like you’re everything.

Astarion’s head rears back, and his fangs plunge like icepicks into your neck. He shakes his head side to side like an animal trying to tear your throat out. You try to cry out, and your fingernails claw at his arms and face. He draws blood in erratic, unrestrained gulps and swallows it greedily. It spills from his mouth, running down your neck in a tributary, soaking into your shirt.

You oppose his hold on you, but it’s no use. Astarion is too strong, and you’re far too depleted. Astarion is going to drain you dry once again, and you stop fighting it. He cannot kill you like this, but what he does with your unconscious body afterwards is another story entirely. You dare not think about it.

Your limbs are the first to start feeling the effects of blood loss with tingles spreading to your fingertips. Even though it’s not possible, you still feel the sensation of paling further and growing colder as you begin to feel faint. Your body goes limp in his clutch as it numbs to the point where not even your fingers have the energy to twitch. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes spurn your effort to keep them open. A quiet, pathetic whimper escapes your parted lips.

Suddenly, Astarion rips his fangs from your neck, rough and painful. The agony snaps you back into your body. You fall to the ground in a shuddering heap. Blood continues to flow freely from your neck and spreads sanguine streams in the cracks between the wooden plank flooring, overflowing and pooling around your face and shoulders.

You watch Astarion stagger backward. Violent spasms wrack his body, and he falls to his hands and knees. He convulses, body writhing and twisting, and his fingernails make deep, long gouges into the floor, bloodying his fingertips.

You’ve seen him fight himself before, but it’s never looked like this. Good Gods, this is pure, undiluted suffering, and tears well up in your eyes.

I did this to him. This is my fault.

You try to speak, but the pain in your throat is unbearable. Your fingers splash in bloody puddles as you flex them. It takes every ounce of energy you have left, but you reach out and place your hand over Astarion’s as it claws the ground. His surprised eyes dart to you at the contact.

You keep your eyes focused on the beautiful red of his, in case it’s the last time you see them, as your world fades to black.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

So we did backtrack quite a bit in this chapter, but I thought it was important to learn why Astarion was even around for the Gur attack, and also to get a good look into what's going on in his head.

Trying something new with Astarion's POV. Let me know if it works or not, and I might keep switching perspectives.

Also, the new patches additional kisses - be still my beating heart.

[idlebeks]

Fresh SVSSS Fic Recs

Lotus Seeds by Anonymous

Upon transmigrating into the body of a xianxia antagonist destined to die after being gruesomely tortured, Shen Yuan decides he won't give in to the demands of the System to meekly accept his fate. Instead, he runs away. (WIP)

High Mountain, How I Long by Minimalistless

Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

Tarnished Gold by Prim_the_Amazing

Becoming emperor of the cultivation world will start with a first step as small and basic as becoming Head Disciple of Huan Hua Palace. For that, he must steal the position away from the current Head Disciple. Luo Binghe will sabotage, upstage, and completely and utterly best him.

The road to destroying everything and everyone who has ever wronged him, to becoming the highest ruler so that no one will ever have the right to control him ever again - it will start as simply as ruining Gongyi Xiao’s life.

Compared to everything else he’s already done, this should be easy.

-

Luo Binghe brings all his skills of cunning and brutality to bear on Gongyi Xiao, Head Disciple of Huan Hua Palace Sect. It… doesn’t go too well for him.

prophets on hold by nex_et_nox

Luo Binghe led the charge in the trial against Shen Qingqiu in < Proud Immortal Demon Way >. By all rights, the concept of a trial shouldn’t even be a glimmer in anyone’s eye until Shen Qingqiu’s blackened lotus has crawled his way out of the hell Shen Qingqiu tossed him in.

So why is Shen Qingqiu wrapped in immortal binding cables and locked away in the Huan Hua Water Prison?! 

[or: Luo Binghe is precisely one (1) year late getting out of the Abyss. This does not put a halt on anyone else's plans.]

Starstruck by Camorra

His phone buzzes again and Shen Yuan scoops it up irritably. It’s another message from DemonHeart. DemonHeart: you seem to be a Luo Binghe fan DemonHeart: we can get you access to him Shen Yuan scowls. PeerlessCucumber: do I look like I was born yesterday? The response is instantaneous. A picture pops up on screen. Shen Yuan vaguely recognizes the woman that plays the drums, still in full stage makeup. Next to her, arm slung around her waist, is a face Shen Yuan would know anywhere. Luo Binghe, giving a wry smile to the camera. DemonHeart: he’s a fan, you know PeerlessCucumber: where exactly would we be meeting

Immortal Lamb Crusader Way by Mikkeneko Shen Yuan finds himself transmigrated into the last video game he played before his death -- the dungeon-delving, cult-building anthro hit game of the year, Immortal Lamb Crusader Way. Much to his dismay he finds himself in the role of the BBEG, the God of Death, He Who Waits -- Shen Qingqiu! Is there any way he can guide the protagonist, Luo Binghe, to level-up and victory without falling victim himself to the Lamb Crusader's blade? And why does he want to pet the Lamb's fleecy head so badly? He's not a furry, okay! He's not!

The Scum Villain's Second Save File by the-night-gods-moon (HelloMyNameIsAlias)

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua's shroom scheme falls through in a big way, and Shen Yuan is forced to re-transmigrate into another world that revolves around half-demons and messy, convoluted romances. Good thing he's an expert!

Can't we just skip to the end? by chaoticgoodlawyer When it was all said and done, Shen Qingqiu comforted himself that the end of the plot meant that, surely, all major events were out of the way. They were firmly in HEA territory and he could relax a little. Right? Right. A year and a half into his marriage to the protagonist, he cursed himself for a fool when he woke next to a Luo Binghe from ten years in the past. Meanwhile, a recently transmigrated Shen Yuan struggled to retain what little face he had when confronted with an overgrown, disturbingly gorgeous demon lord claiming to be his husband. Which is impossible, because he’s straight, the most hetero heterosexual to exist. System? A little help here?? Series

Celestial Afterglow by elanor_pamShang Qinghua, also known as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, stared flatly at what had once been a field boasting near sect-level Feng Shui alignment, and the drowned, bloated remains of the Sun and Moon Dew Flower cuttings that had sprouted within it. Their plan was now quite literally a wash. If only he could consult Cucumber Bro on how to save Cucumber Bro! But in the absence of Cucumber Bro, he could but rely on the one plot coupon the infamous Peerless Cucumber had ever applauded.

Tongfang by The Feels Whale (miscellea)

Shen Yuan is reincarnated as a cannon fodder character and eventual murder victim in one of the whodunnit arcs in Proud Immortal Demon Way. Things escalate quickly. Or: that one where young Luo Binghe’s career goal is ‘Bride’. --- Shen Yuan shut his eyes as a young man waiting to die in a hospital and opened them again as a wrinkly infant covered in substances best left unimagined. [Welcome to the System! The System is based on the concept ‘YOU CAN YOU UP. NO CAN NO BB.’ We hope to provide you with a rewarding experience. It is our sincere hope that during the course of your adventure, you can achieve your desire to transform a ‘Stupid Novel’ into a high-end and impressive classic. We pray for your happiness,] a mechanical and inflectionless voice announced over the general hubbub of the group of women handling him. Then it added, somewhat more worryingly, [Error.]

In Service by x_los

Emperor Luo Binghe goes looking for a Shen Yuan of his own. The one he finds has yet to fully ripen, but Luo Binghe is used to turning adversity into advantage.

[romanoffsbish]

A Twisted Web of Lies

Natasha Romanoff x R

Warnings: Cheating(Kinda Sorta), Violence, Injured R, No Happy Ending

Request | Prompts

“This was never real, was it?” / “I was just a warm body for those cold winter nights…”

“Please, don’t leave me, we can fix this.” /“You left me first, I’m just finishing the job.”

Natasha pulled away from Wanda's lips with a start as the door hit the wall. You looked amiss. Her heart beat in worried stutters. Something went wrong, and she's only making it worse.

The sting on her cheek was instant, feeling like pins and needles. Her face became neutral. A heart wrenching sob at the back of her throat being restricted with precision. It'll be okay Natalia, she'll understand one day, the mantra echoing in her mind as she keeps it together.

——

Wanda sobs loudly on the bed, this was never something she had a good feeling about. Nat was just too damn convincing that there was no other way to do this. You had to hate her for this to work, for her enemies to believe you useless. Wanda loved you enough to break you.

It's twisted, but in some part of you that's not hurting, you might even agree with the plan.

For a matter of minutes the room stood still, soft sniffles reverberated off the wall as the ones who betrayed you stayed still on the bed. Then you finally turned to face the woman you entrusted with your heart, you kept a stoic expression, but she saw the pain in your eyes.

"This was never real, was it?" Natasha flinched at your unusually cold tone. Her composure immediately faltering. You sighed defeatedly, "I was just a warm body for those cold winter nights..." Your head shook in disgust. "I hope it was all worth it."

Your stoney glare as you left the room made the redhead gulp, the fear still remaining in her throat, and for the first time she thinks this might've been a bad idea. But it was too late.

Her plan was for nothing. Something she found out while en route to the last person on the list.

The list of enemies that resurfaced out of nowhere, who threatened to ruin her in a way that would bring irreversible damage. Which is why she untethered herself from you, but someone was too smart and called her bluff.

Antonia Dreykov. The woman who chose revenge in the name of freedom. It was gifted back to her by Natasha, but her repentance didn't soothe the maimed woman at all. It was a grudge too thick to wade through, the two bonded, tortured souls were now unraveling.

Natasha took her childhood. A chance at joy. The same way her wretched father took hers, and countless others. Natasha imprisoned Antonia as she broke free from her chains.

So, the Taskmaster herself collected you to even the playing field. An eye for an eye.

Just as Natasha made it to the spot she'd tracked the woman to she heard a scream that made her blood run cold. Her heart having sank into the abyss of her very own personal hell. It couldn't be you, even if she knew in her heart that it was. Every sound you've ever made is embedded in the grooves of her soul.

You were supposed to be on a "mission" with Bucky in Canada. Not in Budapest, the ending point that brings it all back to the beginning.

You had to be over four thousand miles away for her to agree to this. Because whenever she doesn't have you under the eye of a super soldier, or metallic man she has you under hers. Distance never a thing as she ensured a way onto your missions every time, her rank allowing her to torture you with her proximity.

Fury knew what was going on. So he allowed it even when his gut told him it's wrong. It was.

Fury had told you living on your own wasn't an option due to an enemy from your past still being on the loose. Another lie told, the woman was detained, and locked up tight on the raft.

There was no fight left in you, plus, you didn't want the backstabbing whores thinking they had enough power over you to make you leave. No way were you going to help them have more leeway to continue their torrid love affair.

Natasha's feet had never moved so fast, she entered the humid, abandoned warehouse. It didn't take her long to find you, tied to a chair with your body in rough shape, your head lulled

"Not again," you whined before you looked up and saw a blur of familiar features. The red hair stood out to like a sore thumb, and you grimaced as the realization washed over you. "Why are you here?" You were clearly delirious.

"Me?" She scoffed, "What are you doing here?"

"An enemy of my enemy caught me while I was getting a dirty dog!" Natasha could see tears in your eyes, and if the moment wasn't so tense she would make fun of you for your emotional distress over a subpar New York hot dog. But she hadn't the time as she was working hastily to remove your arms intricate restraints.

"You're supposed to be safe with Bucky!"

"Bucky got called away on a real mission," you spat. "He let it slip that the other was bogus."

Natasha felt her blood boiling, an entire six months operation meant to keep you safe was down the drain because of Barnes loose lips.

"I appreciated the honesty," you admitted.

"Y/N," Natasha shakily whispered your name, but before she could go on a shield whooshed between your faces, nearly knocking you out.

"Perfect fucking timing," Natasha huffs, hands dropping the ropes around your legs so she could stand to greet a smug looking Antonia.

"Natalia, so nice of you to join your lover for a proper beat down." Natasha glared at her, a smart quip fresh on her tongue but you spoke first, and left her speechless and heartbroken.

"I'm not her lover," you spat with so much venom Natasha felt all the hope she had die.

"Oh yeah," Antonia gasped in feigned shock. "Natalia here cheated on you in the name of protection and left you even more vulnerable.

Natasha frowned. "Tracking an Avenger should be impossible, but with her reckless new lease on life it was as if she didn't even care to hide."

The redhead looked to you for an answer, you rolled your eyes and tilted your throbbing head to avoid the light shining down. "I wanted Dory to catch me, so I could put her behind bars and be able to leave the compound for good."

Natasha's eyes flashed with something you saw clearly, another layer of secrets kept to protect you, but all it did was leave you more exposed.

Before you could start a fight over the obvious detainment of your own enemy, Natasha was blindsided by a barbaric assault that took her across the room in a matter of seconds. While the destined enemies fought you worked as best you could to untie your legs with your good arm as the other dangled awkwardly.

The fight was anticlimactic, and quick. Without her deceased fathers mind control mod, she was virtually useless against the trained widow.

Natasha slammed her to the ground after the initial shock of being catapulted, then she took a knife from her thigh holster and drove it into the woman's chest. Nicking vital organs, and leaving her for dead. "You're a pathetic excuse for an enemy. I've fought actual children, as a child myself with more stamina than you."

"It doesn't matter," Antonia cackled, blood splattered from her mouth onto Natasha's face. "Can't you see? I won. You've lost your joy."

Natasha looked up to see you upright, you'd removed the rest of your restraints, and were now taking a slow stroll towards the exit. Using the wall to hold up the body you couldn't.

"She'll never forgive you," she weakly spoke while grinning devilishly. Natasha twisted the knife, and the woman beneath her choked out a final breath. The redhead glared down at her for a final time before sprinting to cut you off.

"Y/N please," she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around your legs in desperation. "Wanda and I only kissed, I swear she was fully dressed under that blanket. I-I just had to make you believe it, I needed to keep you safe."

"I don't give a fuck about your intentions." You tried, but were too weak to shrug her off. "They might've been good natured in your very own twisted way, but they led to my heartbreak."

"How do I fix this, please detka. There has to be a way," she pleaded brokenly. A part of you wanted to hold her, to let it all go, but you can't forget all the nights you spent crying over the betrayal that had only ever been a facade.

It caused irreparable devastation, leaving your relationship in ruins. "There's nothing to do Nat. You've had six months to come clean."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, tears soaking through the tattered fabric of your sweats, you weren't sure if she was talking to you, or herself. "I should've been upfront with you, I know that now, but I needed the enemy to believe it."

"Yeah, how'd that work out for you, huh?"

Natasha's lip trembled as she looked up to see just how badly you'd been beaten. "If I'd have known, then this never would've happened. I would've been prepared for an attack, I'm a fucking Avenger for Christ's sakes Nat, not a defenseless civilian. I would've fought by your side, but you treated me like a fragile child."

"It was a mistake, I'm sorry..." Natasha pressed her forehead to your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your exposed skin for what she believed to be the final time. The look in your eyes enough to nix her hope. "I love you Y/N."

"Let go Nat," you demanded, voice now gruff from the building frustration coupled along with lack of water you'd had being held captive.

"No! Please..." This couldn't be the end.

"Now!" You growled, something you'd never done to her before, but it's proving to be a year of firsts for you two. Just all the wrong ones.

"Please, don't leave me, we can fix this." Natasha pleads over a sob, the desperation innate, her lungs feeling as if they'd collapse any second now as her heart breaks in two.

"There's nothing to fix. I can't forgive this."

Never in her days did she expect you to ignore her truths, and walk away from her. It was to protect you, your future together, but you said you can't forgive her. Maybe Wanda, but her?

Abso-fucking-lutely not. She made a choice that left you permanently scarred. She could've dumped you in a way that wasn't so brutal, and didn't make you lose your sense of self worth.

"I trusted you Natalia," you grimaced, shaking your head side to side just to clarify to her how disgusted you were with your decisions. You chuckled darkly before pulling her up into an intense kiss as a distraction from your hands.

Natasha grunts as she hears the click of metal, feeling as your teeth drew blood from her lips while also feeling a coolness around her wrists.

"After all," you taunted, looking at her with a frown and faux sympathy in your eyes as you prepared yourself to hobble away. "You left me first, I'm just finishing the job."

——

1,899 Words

🥹 Kaitlyn 😔

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Control | William “Case” Calderon

Summary: Case’s nightmares have started getting worse. Marshall grows concerned while Adler warns him.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Panic attacks, nightmares, zombies??, graphic descriptions of violence, rotting, torture, implied brainwashing, disassociation, Bo6 spoilers under the cut

A/N: this is just an expansion of how it’s mentioned that Case screams during the night in the Rook requested by a lovely anon, also yes, I might’ve taken advantage of the opportunity to make Adler shirtless, shhh, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

He didn’t know why he was here again.

Harsh lights flooded his eyesight, the sterile smell of plastic gloves and white tiled flooring filling his nose. He was walking somewhere.

These halls were familiar. Red paint lined them, a phone sitting on a round table, and ahead of him—there it was.

The bathysphere.

Case tried digging his heels into the ground, the scratchy texture of the strange hospital-like gown they had him in. He couldn’t do this again. Not after the first trials, the first experiments, they had ruined him.

“Behave, Case-One.”

The men at his sides, soldiers, Pantheon, dragged him along regardless of his protests, right into the center.

An overwhelming sense of dread overcame him. He knew what happened here, what would happen. They’d let the water surround him, he’d be trapped, and they would—

He wouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t.

Case, or William, wrapped his hand around one of the guard’s arms, yanking forward and slamming his fist into the man’s head. He’d been carrying an AK-74. He lifted the gun, pulling the trigger, only for the man—soldier—thing in front of him to shatter into pieces like a poorly constructed doll.

He took a step back, turned, and tried to run only for the floor to melt beneath him. He was sinking, falling into some sort of abyss, and then she was there.

Harrow.

Everything was solid again, and now he was in a room. Bulletproof glass separated him and Jane Harrow as she looked through with cold precision.

She was a liar.

A traitor.

She’d taken everything from him and given him what he owed his life to all in one fell sweep.

“Good to see you again, Case.”

She smiled, but there was nothing warm behind her expression. He knew it was just a mask, like a plaster covering for the rotten thing that lay underneath. Case had seen what she wanted for the future of her little project.

A side door opened, and they dragged a small bearded man in, the gas surrounding him, the guard having a gas mask on to protect himself.

Just a few minutes of exposure, and Case knew what would happen. His pulse would start hammering, every fight or flight instinct kicking in as his body tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, searching through his past experiences to find a way to fix this, to fix him.

Except there wasn’t a cure.

His vision would start blurring at the edges, turning different shades of television static as the man in front of him turned into a creature of rotting flesh and peeling skin, ripped clothes, and undead eyes that knew nothing but hunger.

He would be terrified. Again. And he’d attack the thing. Again.

It had happened over and over, this gradual decline into madness and being completely out of control, watching his body act from the outside.

He tried resisting it, and he always failed. Still, he tried this time, even as his blood boiled beneath his skin, a creature trapped in his ribcage begging, demanding to be let out as he tried keeping the lock together.

But one more glance over at her, her sadistic smile, the knowing glint in her eyes, her poisonous lips, and her tongue that was made of a noose, and something in him shattered.

The lock.

He had lost control.

There was no resisting now, he knew that as the resounding screams of the man bounced around the inside of his head, his eyes pressing into his eyes, gouging, hands and nails shoving and ripping, maiming the poor man like the animal that they’d made Case into.

The creature he was.

Blood was everywhere, under his hands, his fingernails, in his eyes and staining the floors and his body, things he couldn’t scrub away, burning brands onto his skin and mind that not even the brainwashing, the torture, could make go away.

He opened his mouth, maybe to bite, maybe to yell, maybe to scream at the hand that fed him a poisoned apple, and absolutely nothing came out.

His body thrashed, clawing at itself as if his very bones were outgrowing his skin, tears of anger and sadness and confusion at himself and someone else—he couldn’t remember it now, who’d done this to him, but he wanted to hurt them.

William wanted to hurt them. Case didn’t know what he wanted.

“Stop him—“

Hands were on him, gloved, rough, trying to pull him around, restrain him, but he wouldn’t let them. He pulled, punched, anything he could, he couldn’t let them do this to him again.

Then their dark, near-void black helmets fell off, and he was greeted with bloodied pale skin, peeling and revealing the stringy, bloody muscular system underneath, the near glowing eyes with something otherworldly in them, something beyond hate and agony.

They growled and slammed their teeth together instead of speaking, and it was then that he was able to scream, and he knew it because he heard it echo around the room as they held him down, and began clawing into them with their blood-caked nails.

Who had they been before?

What were they now?

Would he turn into this?

Desperation turned to pure terror as he tried battering them away, feeling his skin rip and shred beneath them, every bite, every hit, going deeper and deeper, infecting him.

His vision blurred around the edges again, this time he assumed solely from tears, as he imagined—hoped, he was blacking out.

“Hold him down—“

A blurry voice faded in and out, hands still holding him down. But this wasn’t the rough, scratchy feeling of elastic gloves or excessive force on his battered body.

“Jesus, Case, snap the fuck out of it!”

He opened his eyes.

He was in his bed, Adler was on his right, Marshall on his left. Both held down an arm, maybe a leg if they could reach it. Sevati walked through the doorway of his room, rubbing her eyes.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Her accent rolled thickly off her tongue as she analyzed the situation, their Case laying on a bed, forehead covered in sweat, pupils dilated and panting for breath, with Adler and Marshall holding him down.

“Case here is clearly experiencing some…issues.”

Adler said, a cigarette tucked neatly between his lips, a hint of smoke rolling off the end. He was wearing nothing but some tan cargo pants and the hint of boxers peeking out from there. He tried not to look too closely at the tiny hint of stomach chub followed by muscles with a thin layer of fat over them.

Marshall had been up late, wearing his work clothes, but missing the glasses he usually let himself wear when not on a mission. He had some turtleneck on that had to be itchy, and a pair of random military-grade pants.

They both eyed Case warily, clearly not knowing when the next complete breakdown might be.

Sev stood in the doorway, leaning against it, clad in only some shorts and a t-shirt, probably having just woken up.

“Let him go back to sleep. We have things to do tomorrow, and this can wait until morning.”

Her word seemed to be final, with Adler giving a noncommittal grunt and taking his cigarette between his fingers. There was a knowing look in his eye as if he recognized whatever he’d seen. The cigarette smelled like the expensive kind from where Case was.

His body slowly loosened and relaxed as whatever the hell had been in his dreams faded, as did the memory of it. He didn’t even know what had scared him that badly, into attacking his allies while in a safe location.

As the others walked out of the room, he just hoped he might remember the next one. Maybe write it down, to make sense of it.

Next time. He hoped there wasn’t a next time.

Some things were better left unknown.

~

“You can’t deny it now.”

Marshall watched as Adler flicked his cigarette, taking it out of his mouth, the scar on one side flexing as he let out a deep breath of smoke, eyes almost closing.

“Sure, something’s wrong with him. We’ve all got something wrong with us, his problem is just more…noticeable.”

He tried reasoning. Case was a good man, he was useful, did what he told, and did it very damn well, at that. They couldn’t afford to lose someone as valuable as him, which made the issue of his…problems even more troubling.

The screaming at night had been normal, or normal for someone in the military. But then it had turned to screaming about Harrow, her betrayal, about Pantheon, too specific to be nothing.

Now this, the fighting? He’d heard the floors creaking at night but assumed it was nothing, maybe someone going to get water, but knowing Case was this unstable wasn’t very reassuring. Hell, he nearly took Marshall out while not even conscious, what might he do if he caught one of them off guard at night?

Marshall had seen the man perform silent takedowns. He had a freakish amount of strength, and you didn’t hear a thing until the body hit the ground. Sometimes not even that.

“Look, I’ve seen something like this before.”

Adler’s raspy voice interrupted his thoughts, as the older man shifted to lean against the desk in the room they were now in. He took his cigarette between his fingers once again, hands waving in the usual expressive motions he had when talking.

It was a Russell Adler Trademark at this point.

“It was an old experiment, nothing you need to know too much about, but the kid’s showing symptoms. Not good ones.”

Another puff of smoke. The old snake probably knew more than he was telling Marshall, in fact, he almost guaranteed it.

“He hardly has any records, all blacked out or mysteriously ‘missing’.”

Adler took another puff of smoke at that information, rose from leaning, and moved to walk out.

“Find them.”

Simple words, a nearly impossible task.

Marshall didn’t know how Woods had put up with Adler so long, his attitude, his personality, hell, everything about him was just infuriating.

But he’d figure it out. He had to.

For Case.

[razorblade180]

Feast of Pursuit pt2

[Day 5]

It was a massacre. There had been abyss domains throughout the adventures of Aether and his friends that had brought them all to their knees outside the portal. This however, might be the first time an event brought such hopeless.

Countless pyro, hell, numerous support and multiple captains of teams laid along the ground utterly battered and bruised. Even Aether himself got a glimpse of what terror was on day 5.

Aether:That turtle has to fucking die.

Tighnari:HOW!? We can have the power but lack the defense! We can gain the defense but lack the power!

Yanfei:Can anyone explain to me how hydro is completely ineffective against an electric shield, but not the other way around!? It’s limiting so much options!

Klee:I don’t wanna play anymore…

Emilie:It struck me from across the field.

Dehya:It tore through my defenses.

Kokomi:It tore through my health! My health! I don’t want to brag but I’m pretty sturdy.

Zhongli:It broke my shield in seconds. Aether, I don’t think this one is possible.

Yoimiya:I can’t feel my fingers. Hehe, training with the Raiden Shogun doesn’t feel this electrifying.

Lyney:I don’t want to be that person, but I can think of one person who probably would’ve made this a little easier.

Hu Tao:*sits up*….Aether, I have permission to go ask anyone for help, right?

Aether:Yep. If it’s possible.

Hu Tao:Time to go back to older days.

xxxxx

Hu Tao:*opens door* Hello my old partner in crime. I require your assistance!

Jean:…*closes book* You must be desperate. Is it an Electro Lector?

Hu Tao:It’s much worse. You have to keep everyone alive this time. It might take multiple attempts and you might even want to give up halfway through but-

Jean:Let’s go. You never ask for a healer, so I know this means a lot to you. *walks off* How out of the box is the plan?

Hu Tao:You’re familiar with the setup.

xxxxx

As a funeral director with sacred rites passed down, the essence of death was more familiar to Hu Tao than most people. Even so, rarely was it ever pushed to the limit for too long.

What attempt was this? Five? Fifteen? She lost track. In fact, she wasn’t really keeping track of anything anymore. Movements had become second nature, a torturous yet necessary muscle memory. Lightning called for her demise, but wind pushed away from the brink. Flames ate her vitality while granting her strength and renewing vigor to be eaten away yet again for the sake of power. Again and again, her body was guided by butterflies through the numbing chaos until…

Jean:HU TAO!

A strong shake jolted her out of the flow state she found. The funeral director looked over her shoulder to see Jean gripping Homa to prevent another swing. She was utterly exhausted to the point her hair was undone. The arms of Bennet and Furina held her body tightly in place; both of them were drenched in sweat and elemental energy just like she was from the attacks. Hu Tao finally looked ahead to see the turtle completely limp.

Hu Tao:Oh…it’s dead.*drops to knees* Thank goodness.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds.

xxxxxx

Hu Tao:*face down* Lyney? My humble magician?

Lyney:Yes?

Hu Tao:I say this with respect; you never need to wish your Father was around when you can rely on me.

Lyney:You did this to prove a point!?

Hu Tao: I tend not to take these things too seriously, but Aether and so many others put their time into making me feel strong and dependable. I’m never going to betray those acts of kindness. Crowns aren’t just for show.

Chongyun:And every day you earn yours. *pats head* Good hustle.

Hu Tao:It was a team effort. When in doubt, Sunfire it out. Not to mention a very dedicated actress who knows how to fill a role.

Furina:I want a vacation!! I could sleep forever!

[Day 6]

Aether:Hey. How’s-

Ei:I can kill it.

Aether:….

Ei:We’ve had our ups and downs in the past, but Aether, I can kill this fungal beast. The Terrashroom barely hangs on but I know my strikes will find its mark. My chosen companions have no flaws that I can’t cover; all we need is a bit more power. I am not one to beg or plead, but I am asking you to put your faith in my blade. Let me strike down our enemies.

Aether:…It’s been a long time coming. I believe you. *pulls out crown* Give them hell.

xxxxx

Perfection is impossible, yet if there’s anyone who could get close, it’s the Raiden Shogun. Before fanfare could die, luck could run out, or music could end, Ei’s blade called for another seamless rotation to prolong the battles’s perfomance until it was the enemy that could no longer go on. Ei, feeling the mental fatigue, sighed as she put away her blade.

Time- 2 minutes and 28 seconds

Ei:Well done everyone. A flawless show of our abilities.

Yelan:I think I might hate this event.

Furina:*on her hands and knees* You and I both. There’s such thing as being too popular!

Xilonen:The three of us make a pretty decent core apparently. *sits down* Can’t say I don’t like it, but yeah, this attention sure is demanding.

Ei:I apologize. This formation was easily the most efficient to deal with this enemy.

Xilonen:Oh don’t apologize. Happy to help. *lays down* Ugh, I need a nap.

xxxxx

Aether:Good job everyone. The Teapot has freshly prepared food and the hot springs are in full effect. You should all feel proud. May we continue to get stronger as a team and individuals! *pumps fist*

Everyone:*pumps fist* To progress!

[Day 4, revisited]

Time- 2 minutes and 29 seconds

Xilonen:How did I let you talk me back into this?

Furina:Navia was really bummed out. I can’t say no to her requests. Even if she herself isn’t quite up for the challenge, she at least wanted to see it was achievable. Isn’t helping friends part of the job?

Yelan:Just admit you have a crush. It’s more admirable. It’s settled, I’m requesting time off. I don’t our ambitious leader has a problem with that.

Hu Tao:Zzzzz

Xilonen:This girl is kinda nuts. Not the strongest person I’ve met, but she comes out swinging faster and harder than most.

Yelan:Yep. Raw power is kinda her thing. It’s consistent and consistently reckless. You get used to it.

Xilonen:…So who’s Arlecchino.

Hu Tao:*sits up* Don’t worry about it. *lays back down* Zzzzz

Yelan:She woke up just for that!?

Furina:I respect it deeply.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Seven

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,8k

Warnings | +18, torture, beating, violence and threats, slight mention of past abuse, Jimin has much suppressed anger

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Dark Moon is a story destined to get darker and darker, be careful ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

She had gotten out of the Dark Moon business, at night she no longer heard shady footsteps of clients coming and going from the rooms of her former colleagues, nor any alcohol-induced shuffling murmurs from the hallway, the thing still seemed impossible for her to believe.

Over the course of those three days Jimin had not approached her in the slightest, in fact she had not even seen him, there were only the objects he used to testify to his presence in the house. Perhaps she also had to "blame" her time spent in her bedroom, her new refuge.

She hid under the covers wearing the softest and most delicate clothes she had ever had, even as a child she had never been able to afford such things, her childhood consisted of hunger and nightmares.

She knew that Jimin had not given her everything for free, and that soon he would present her with a hefty bill.

But what she did not know was that Jimin had avoided any contact with her to keep his beast at bay.

The idea of having her in his house, the house he had recently bought for her, drove him crazy with desire. He wanted to bang her at every angle of the house, make her his, sadistically thinking that it would be like a baptism for the new home.

Just before he made the decision to accept Seokjin's offer, Jimin was living in a smaller apartment, suitable for a man who lived alone but, more importantly, spent most of his time outside.

He wanted to give her all the amenities necessary and suitable for a young woman like her: a nice, airy room, expensive clothes, a private bathroom, and even jewelry.

Things that Y/N had barely touched except out of strict necessity, but it didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that she was there with him, ready to fulfill his every order when he decided the time was right.

"Earth to Park Jimin, hey... Hyung... Yah, Jimin-ssi!" he roused himself from his thoughts by bringing his gaze to Jungkook; the young man was staring at him with large, doubtful eyes.

It was not only Jungkook who squared him strangely, the others also had one question stamped on their foreheads, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

Jimin sighed, "Sorry, go ahead-were we talking about the Just Bloods?" he rubbed his hands over his face, he hadn't slept a wink that night.

"They took out four of our people, in return we are holding one of theirs hostage," Hoseok said, Jimin raised an eyebrow.

"Only one? At the very least I would have expected carnage from you, Hoseok" Hoseok glowered at him.

"While you were having fun picking out the furnishings of your new apartment, I was attacked without warning, lost men, and it's already so much that I only captured one of them," darted the redhead, causing Jimin's amusement.

"Don't feel bad, hyung, you did a great job capturing the strategist," said Taehyung trying to improve Hoseok's tension.

"The strategist?"

"Choi Kyungi," replied Jungkook, "He is the right-hand man of the Just Blood leader, I'm sure they will be furious now."

"Furious and vengeful, what do we do Seokjin?" Namjoon turned to their leader for an answer; Jin did not even think about it.

"I want him to confess what his gang's plans are exactly, if they attacked us it's because they plan to take control of our territory, but I want to hear it from his putrid mouth," he hissed, "Torture him if it seems appropriate, I want him to confess by hook or crook, these bastards have already dared to do too much."

It did not take a genius to understand that Seokjin was livid with anger. The men they had lost had received a strict military education to be the perfect killers, Jin had invested in them and hated losing money, Jin just hated losing.

The man's grim look was sublime, his feline eyes showed no mercy, much less did the eyes of the remaining Bangtans.

Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook saw each other again in the afternoon at one of their establishments, Choi Kyungi stood there, tied with chains to a wooden chair, the room mostly empty except for some "work" tools they usually used when they had to gouge information out of someone's mouth.

"Hoseok?" asked Jungkook.

"Jin doesn't want him here, he's afraid it might kill him," said Namjoon as he looked sideways at the man with the sack over his head; they had sedated him to keep him quiet for a while and now it was their turn to wake him up.

"I wouldn't even blame him," spat Jimin, tossing aside the black sack covering their captive's face, the bruised face showed a boy who could not have been more than twenty-six years old, Jimin growled in anger before unleashing a punch on the man's well-delineated jaw, knuckles collided painfully on the already abused face, and instantly Kyungi opened his spirited eyes, gasping breathlessly, "Lice striking from behind would piss off anyone."

Namjoon approached the boy, lowering himself to his height, "Choi Kyungi, may we know what the fuck you're planning to do?" he asked trying to be reasonable in tone, he wanted to save himself the trouble of another beating at least that day, but in response the prisoner spat a stream of vermilion blood into his face.

"Fuck you, Bangtan boy," laughed Kyungi with contempt.

For a few moments frost fell in the room, no one daring to move in the face of that deliberate disrespect, Namjoon wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, which he later observed disgruntled.

"That was my favorite," he hissed, the kick that shot straight to Kyungi's stomach was swift and powerful, the man coughed up more blood as Namjoon adjusted the collar of the sweatshirt in question, his tense gaze betraying his apparent calm. That dog had unnerved him, "I wanted to be charitable and save you a lot of beating, but you leave us no choice," he made a sign toward Jungkook, who nodded with a grin, his dark eyes glittered with sadism, and walking confidently and cadencedly on on his amphibians, black as his soul, he went to pick up an interesting object.

It was a spiked bat, which he clutched in the palm of one hand with confidence, his swollen muscles flexing from beneath the light mesh, foretasting the little job that would soon set them in motion.

"You're not going to walk out of here on your own legs, Choi," he laughed softly, showing the bat to Kyungi, who swallowed slightly without blurting out a single word, "You're such a jerk, like those little friends of yours who tried to play with us, not knowing that for Bangtans there is no such thing as forgiveness," he pulled back his mighty arm with speed, bringing the bat down against one of the unfortunate man's legs, who held back no longer and screamed breathlessly, his eyes out of their sockets testifying to the lacerating pain that the bat equipped with dangerous ferrous spines had been able to inflict on him.

He trembled agonizingly with his bruised jaw clenched; he would not speak.

Jimin studied the whole scene over and over again, he had lost count of how many times Jungkook had hit him; with the bat, with his own kicks and punches, nothing, Kyungi was barely breathing. He was only capable of spitting his own blood, soiling even more of the already long gone floor; he was a tough cookie and this Jimin had to admit.

"Stop, Jungkook," Jimin put an end to that torture, Jungkook gasped with his forehead and upper lip drenched in sweat, his dark, brooding eyes seemed unwilling to lose sight of their prey, with his chest swollen with irritation he threw his weapon to the floor, backing away.

Namjoon stepped forward to take his place, but Jimin shook his head.

He had something far more useful than torture or a beating; he could be said to have let Jungkook continue just for the sake of revenge.

He approached the now unrecognizable man, put a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a postcard.

Kyungi widened his good eye, a choked breath caught in his throat.

Jimin smiled serpentinely.

"She's very pretty, Choi," he said softly, "Those chubby little cheeks make my heart melt, I have to admit," he chuckled, waving the postcard, which turned out to be a picture of a baby girl just nine months old.

"How...how" Kyungi stammered without being able to finish the sentence; he didn't have the strength.

"How did I get this picture? Bangtans have their own connections, Choi...as a result I know about your little girl that you left with her grandparents so they would take care of her, you went off to keep her safe and that's admirable, believe me," he said sympathetically, "But I probably wouldn't do the same in your place, who knows how many wolves might kidnap and eat the hunter's family when he leaves the hut to look for more food."

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME, PARK?!" he suddenly ranted, throwing himself at Jimin just enough that the chains could allow him, the idea that his little girl might end up in the hands of those bastards drove him crazy, and Park Jimin looked like the biggest bastard there.

"That should be me asking you, what the fuck do you want from us?" he asked in a low, quiet voice, "You'd better tell us if you don't want anything to happen to Mada."

Kyungi remained silent, frozen. He even knew his daughter's name, how far had he gone?

"Namjoon, take this picture, tonight we are going on a visit to Daegu province, Yoongi and Taehyung know where to go," the boy stretched out the picture of the little girl to his friend, followed by their prisoner's shout.

"I will talk! Fuck!" he whined, "Don't touch my daughter, I'll talk!"

"You'd better start doing that now, because I really don't know what might happen to her if you don't cooperate: our boss might sell her to a rich family that can't have children, as well as he might raise her in our brothel, making her a respectable Bangtan whore in the future," joked Namjoon, "Or he might just kill her, what do you say Jungkook? One way or another, you will never see her grow up."

"He could indeed, once a decision is made Kim Seokjin doesn't give up, not for anything in the world," shrugged the younger man, holding up the game to his friend.

Now in tears Kyungi spilled the beans, "The Just Bloods would never attack the Bangtans for no reason! Shit..." he exclaimed.

"Bangtan never had any contact with Just Blood, what the fuck are you talking about," chafed Namjoon, already fed up with that play.

"Not with us... but with Choi Minho yes," he said, sending a shiver down Jimin's spine, "He provides us with drugs and prevents the cops from giving us unwanted attention, in return we fulfill his favors," he swallowed, "And..." he cast a glance at Jimin, "He asked us to eliminate one person, a Bangtan."

Jimin snickered openly; it was obvious who Kyungi was referring to.

Minho must have really tied his finger the night he had spent at the Dark Moon under Jimin's threats, and he wanted to retaliate with in other ways so as not to get his hands dirty, the idea pissed Jimin off, it was as if Minho was openly declaring that Jimin wasn’t even worth it to be eliminated with his own hands.

That cowardly behavior was intolerable.

"Listen to me carefully, Kyungi," he leaned slightly toward him, "I want to know every thing you have said to each other, the plan you have devised, and most importantly the place where you are meeting," at those words the man tried to shake his head, but Jimin grabbed him hard by the hair, nailing him with one lethal glance, "Maybe we have not understood each other, you will do it or I will personally visit your daughter and feed her to the worms, screwing anything else, understood?!" he blurted lethally, Kyungi trembled from head to toe bowing his head, he had no choice.

Namjoon and Jungkook accompanied Jimin to his apartment first, they had just discussed about giving a bodyguard to the direct concerned.

"No way, I am Kim Seokjin's bodyguard, and a bodyguard with a bodyguard is even ridiculous to imagine," he growled.

"Hyung, a bodyguard is not embarrassing if your life is involved," the younger man tried to reason with him, failing.

"It's embarrassing if I've been trained to defend and stand up for myself, okay? I don't want someone to protect me," he made adamant, causing the other two to snort.

He got out of the car stymied, but Namjoon called him back, turned listlessly, "What?"

"Would you really have hurt that child, Jimin?" he asked, there was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity. In their world they had seen anything and everything, but they had never gone that far.

Jimin remained impassive, before shaking off an uncomfortable feeling.

"It's just the way we live, hyung, no hard feelings," he said in a colorless voice, before turning and leaving.

When he returned to his new apartment waiting for him was a small figure, she held a plate in her hands and on it lay a soft slice of chocolate cake, the girl's eyes widened.

They had not seen each other for days and she did not expect to see him at just such a time, she cast a glance at the wall clock that read two o'clock in the morning. She believed he would not be back by that evening....

She made to set her plate down on the low coffee table, but Jimin beat her to it, slipping away into his own bedroom.

She was petrified, was this the same intimidating man she had come to know?

She asked no more questions, grabbed her cake and ran to her room, to her shelter, before the boy changed his mind and came back to her with the intention of tormenting her.

But Jimin would not return to her that night, he was struggling with the blood that soaked his skin, after Kyungi's confession had made sure the man fully understood his situation, Jimin rubbed his skin under the shower water, bruised with rage.

Minho was not going to get away with this, the son of a bitch had finally moved, now not even Jin would find excuses to stop him from carrying out his revenge.

He thought back with disgust to his captive days spent in the dungeon of the Choi mansion.

His nerves tensed and he narrowly restrained himself from hitting the pale tiles of his bathroom with his fist.

That and more would be reserved for Minho.

He stepped out of the shower with a small towel tied around his hips, his shiny, flawless skin showcasing the man's beautifully fit figure.

He went to bed that way, not bothering to get boxers to sleep in.

He was tired and mentally exhausted, the last thing he wanted was to take one more step.

He closed his thin, magnetic eyes, trying to fall asleep, but in vain. Chaos reigned in his head, a woman's shadow stretched across his memories, and hours passed, hours where he tried to escape her hands, turned over and tossed and turned in bed in a sweat slick. The woman's laughter scratched his ears, while the Choi forefather's smile never stopped taunting him.

He jerked his eyes open staring at the ceiling in the dark, he breathed heavily for air, frustration made him kick between the clean sheets, he lifted himself up holding his head in his hands, a sickening rage that was hard to let go took over his body.

His beast.

He had to let it out.

He abandoned his bed in search of his vice, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placed it between his fleshy lips inhaling its bitter substance once lit, after three or four puffs he realized it would do no good.

Frustrated and with damp hair in front of his eyes he pressed it down on the ashtray, putting it out in an unnerved manner.

He had developed an addiction to smoking to escape from his problems, but a bad feeling made him sense that even that habit would no longer be of any use, his crisis was not passing and he was going crazy after it.

With one last glimmer of lucidity he remembered her. Y/N.

He widened his eyes, pupils dilated. With his body trembling, invaded by negative emotions too painful to keep to himself, he prepared to reach out to the only life form in the house besides himself.

[danmeiconfession]

No. I think Shen Yuan never really see these people as people even at the ends of the book. My dude really condemned Shen Jiu a modern man really gave no shit or felt any sorrow towards his enslavement and abuse. I read a fully grown man with modern sensibilities and values watch a child being horrifically abused. A child that was ENSLAVED, restrained, beaten, TORTURED by another man, an OWNER. And I read SY's thoughts on the matter. Read him condemning the child and feeling no horror or disgust at the act of child abuse. He felt nothing regarding the immorality and cruelty of slavery. Hell, When ZZL murdered GYX who was only ever just, kind, and helpful in all his interactions and to SY himself, I was upset SY seemed to feel nothing and felt no censure towards ZZL or sadness or guilt towards GYX who was trying to save him. But I excused it as him having other things to do because maybe for SY, it's easier for him to just push aside feelings over someone's death to focus on other things (though I was unnerved that he never seemed to think of it again or care).

SY intentionally condoned the murder of dozens of individuals to save his own skin, and never wrestled with his conscience over it. While SJ's self-hatred is detrimental to himself and those around him, at least he struggles emotionally and morally with his decisions. He still does them, but at least he doesn't excuse them or not even feel guilt or shame. SY however is completely shameless in doing whatever it takes to live. I honestly find characters like this interesting, but I found SY's character to be lacking because the author wanted him to be a self-centered survivalist while also a sweet, holy mother/mentor figure to LBH. That's a BL trope I usually find tedious and boring, especially because authors never have said overly kind, overly forgiving characters be kind to anyone accept a handful of characters who are plot relevant (sometimes even only the ML or villain) while they treat every other character as air or cardboard.

I was so convinced of SY's point of view on the original characters and novel, that I kept making excuses as SVSS unfolded. When he recounted the scheming and murdering of Sha Hauling in PIDW while fanboying over how excited he was to see her, I excused it as him not realizing the gravity of her crimes when they're committed against living people. And once he decided she wasn't that great and LBH deserved better, I was assured, even though he seemed to only do so because she was rude to himself. When he celebrated O!LBH's torture and mutilation of SJ for bullying him in his teen years and even called for SJ's castration, I excused it because who doesn't want to see an evil pedophile get what they deserve, and fans can get overly enthusiastic sometimes, even if calling for slow, multi-year mutilation and torture is a bit extreme even if LBH is your favorite characte

It seems a lot SJ haters like to excuse LBH's behavior the way they claim SJ fans excuse SJ's. LBH was the poor kid and bullied by kids in the neighborhood, then singled out and bullied at his school, before being treated to the abyss where he utilized the training he received at CQ and his innate demon heritage to establish himself. In PIDW, he proceeds to commit large scale mass murder, borderline genocide, destroy the human realms sects and defenses against spiritual and demonic threats, all why gruesomely maiming, torturing, dismembering, disemboweling, and feeding alive anyone he disliked. Uhhhh... disproportionate, much. Bitch slap and shame people if you want, but O!LBH is a monstrous, self-centered, sadistic freak show. He goes far beyond a victim of abuse reacting with anger and defensiveness. He controls the lives and wellbeing of all the people in the realms, and repeatedly makes time to find enjoyment in the torture, pain, and suffering of others on a scale he had never experienced himself. Meanwhile, SVSS!LBH still decided to start widespread violent capture of cultivators to date Xin Mo while SY was out of the picture only sparing CQ because he knew once SY was brought back, SY would be upset with him if he did. He shows no care for anyone else, human or demon, in the world of SVSS besides SY. His only regards for others are as useful allies and subordinates, enemies, and people he knows SY would lightly scold and admonish him for killing. LBH is fucked up in every universe, whether he gets bullied at school, or his teacher turns him into a live in homemaker.

At best, I could excuse this as SY not seeing other people as actual people. Maybe because he read about them as fictional characters first, he can't fully perceive them as humans, just characters, not as real people like him and SQH. Maybe he made an exception for LBH because LBH is his favorite character. But that care and regard clearly don't extend to anyone else.

I have no idea where people get the idea he sees them as real he doesn't. I couldn't care about a protagonist who didn't react with shock or horror or even just resigned sadness to child slavery. I couldn't give a shit about his romance anymore. I stopped reading. To be clear, I don't hate SY, or even his type of character. I'm just disappointed because I went into SVSS thinking I'd be getting a cute, sweet, slightly stupid, modern nerd flailing though a comedic romance full of ridiculous misunderstandings and pitfalls. It turned out, I got a self-centered, apathetic fanboy simultaneously stalking while trying to avoid and stay on the good side of his mentally unstable, over powered idol. Which I've actually read before too, but at least the author wasn't forcing every other character to remark on how sweet, kind, and good the fanboy who cared about nothing but his favorite character was.

Clearly, his anti-abuse philosophy only extended to LBH and no other child. He felt nothing regarding the immorality and cruelty of slavery." The hypocrisy displayed by SY is astonishing. It's fascinating how SY condemns child abuse, expressing concern for Binghe's mistreatment, yet dismisses Binghe's daily killings over five years to control Xin Mo as a consequence of past abuse. There's an apparent double standard. Moreover, in the same breath, witnessing SJ's appalling abuse, SY downplays its impact, suggesting that SJ's mistreatment doesn't excuse his transformation into a reprehensible individual. SY seems to overlook the scumbag-like behavior, focusing instead on SJ's skills, status, beauty, hard work, and wealth.

Why do people like this character lol?

.

[demonicbaby666]

Falling, So That We Rise

One shot | Marvel Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Genre: Angst and Comfort

Words: 1.4k+ 

Warnings: trauma alluded, maybe a sprinkle of an unhealthy attachment style

A/n: she's monologue heavy...

Everyone has shadows in their past that haunt them. No matter how hard you try to run from them, they catch up to you and swallow you whole until you’re submerged in an abyss of repressed memories. In the time spent locked away, they have mutated and learned how best to swat away feeble attacks that come in the form of denial and distraction. 

There is no easy way to win the war other than succumbing to the lulls of familiar pain and anguish while laying in bed and staring blankly at the ceiling fan, wishing that the infernal flashbacks that stole your childhood would cut you a break now you’d reached a point in your life where things seemed calmer. That is, however, not how things work. 

Similarly, other people share these mind-boggling complexities. Shutting them out and assuming they’d take it on the chin without question was not as straightforward as it seemed. Which is what you were coming to learn with each repetitive knock that echoed through the hallway. 

Five knocks seem excessive. Why five? Why not three or even two hard booming knocks? But five? 

“Let me in, or so help me,” Nat called from the other side of the door. Her voice was calm, “We both know this door can’t stop me.” 

Your loud groan ebbed from your bedroom, through the apartment, and eventually reached attentive ears. 

“Ya, ya. Now open up,” she beckoned. 

Had you believed a less-than-welcoming ‘fuck off’ would have motivated her to leave, you’d have done so. But you knew her well enough to know the two words would incentivise her more than deter her from the constant knocking that was, quite frankly, fuelling the cluster headache forming along your temples. 

The only option left was the worst one imaginable. How loathsome confrontation truly is, especially when one already knows what the outcome will intel. It was a simple solution. Cut the cord. And it was simple for one reason - surviving alone is more manageable. You never risk becoming reliant on someone that could end up breaking you. 

It made sense in your head and seemed a solid plan, that was until your fingers curled around the door handle, and you pulled it open, revealing auburn hair, emerald eyes, and a smile so fucking genuine it had you melting on the spot. 

“Good to see you’re still alive,” Nat smirked, eyes peering over your shoulder, “you going to invite me in?” 

“No,” Straight to the point. Bold? Yes. Dare it to be said, perhaps a little too bold because instantly the smile - that seems to work its way into your heart effortlessly - faded, crumpling under the wrath of your harsh and hostile tone, “I think you should go.” 

You kept a straight face, hoping that by pretending your heart was as cold as it seemed, she won’t notice how it was shattering. 

If it were anyone else, they’d have taken their leave, sensing their company wasn’t desired, and you wouldn’t have blamed them for doing so - despite the small voice in your head that repeats the same mantra, ‘If they cared, they’d fight.’ So you didn’t know what to make of her decision to keep her feet planted in the doorway. 

In truth, your puffy eyes, the bags under them, and the weight you carried on your shoulder kept her from walking away. How you still kept going, despite your tortured soul having lost so many battles against demons, she didn’t know. What she knew was it was admirable that you were still standing. It made her want to hold you tighter, kiss you harder, and love you with every morsel of her soul. She wanted to help you in every way she could, not to change you, but to surround you with everything she saw so clearly you were never given. 

“Not a chance in hell I’m leaving you like this.” she asserted. 

It was a rash move. You knew that as you tried to shut the door on her, it was the barrier you needed when it seemed like she’d sooner murder than abandon getting through to you. What you hoped would be a cut-off to the painful interaction you were enduring was anything but. Nat’s palm made firm contact with the door, halting it so swiftly it caused you to jolt. 

Being that a healthy diet wasn’t something you’d cared about made it incredibly difficult to overpower her hold on the door. It would be one sight to behold had anyone walked by and witnessed. The first thought would most likely be, ‘She’s being attacked,’ before they proceeded to excuse themselves from having to participate in any way. 

After a solid minute of battling over the door position, it stood open again, Nat staring right at you with a raised eyebrow and an accompanying smirk. God, she could be cocky when she wanted, despite the victory being magnanimously handed to her. 

In one swift action, she moved, pushing forward into the apartment and flinging you over her shoulder. The kicking and screaming that ensued was flimsy and rather pathetic; whether it was done intentionally was still debatable. 

“Nat! Put me down!” You protested, trying to hide the childlike smile - that rejected being suppressed - from your tone. 

Gently setting you down on the sofa, she crouched between your legs and placed a hand on your thigh, “You want to do this alone. I get it. But I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled softly and chuckled, “Even if you can handle all this without anyone, and believe me, I know you can. You don’t need to.” 

And maybe it’s the small details that shift the tide; the way she took such care when she reached out to tuck strands of hair behind your ear, or how she touched you like no one ever had - each caress of her fingers saying, ‘I will not harm you,’ or the way she kissed you; like it was the first and last time. Every. Single. Time. In truth, everything she’d ever done for you oozed with a kind of teeth-rotting compassion that could drive a person mad. 

And it did. Not for any other reason except that you couldn’t understand why and what she was doing with someone like you. There were no prospects, no life plan; hell, you barely knew what to expect two days from now, let alone two years. That didn’t stop her, though. She continued to look at you with so much love in her eyes the world may as well have toppled off its axis, and the astonishing thing was, plummeting into your inevitable demise had never felt better. 

The harsh truth is you are not the type of person people fall in love with. You have never been. People are intrigued, inspired, and some find themselves gripping onto you as though you were their new addiction. That’s all it ever was. The love, or what resembled it, that you’d received was always fleeting, momentary, and, dare it be said, conditional. Smile, laugh, make jokes; that sort of stuff keeps them around, but the moment emotions start to peek through the cracks, it’s always safer for them to run, and they do. 

So to be loved so fiercely and so often, even on days where you’d shut the world out, on days where the world shut you out, it was foreign. It seemed like a dream, a cruel joke the universe was playing, bidding time and waiting to deliver the final blow of opening your eyes and discovering you were right all along, that it was too good to be true. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

“You, me, sofa, and a movie.” And that was that. No fuss, no ulterior motive, “The cure for everything.” 

She leaned forward, her face drawing closer, and despite the intimacy shared repeatedly, it still caused your heart to race faster and your palms to sweat. “You’re not allowed to push me away,” she said, staring down at you at your lips, “I hope you know that.” 

“It’s becoming painfully obvious,” you mutter, rolling your eyes - you and Nat very much aware that you weren’t annoyed in the slightest. 

“You’re stuck with me for a long time. Plus, you’re the best arm candy around.” her warm breath tickled your lips before she leaned in to place a smiled kiss on your lips. 

Unfortunately, relying on someone didn’t seem so bad anymore, and you’d be kidding yourself if you didn’t admit that it was nice to have them fight for you. You took the win. Nat wanted you, even if it was just because you made good arm candy. 

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @red1culous @7thavenger @five-bi-five-mind @auggiewritess @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon | Click here to be added to my tag list

[korn-official]

The Kerrang! Challenge starring Jonathan Davis & Munky!

This weeks contestants are:

Name: Jonathan Davis and James 'Munky' Shaffer

Occupation: Tortured singer and guitar-mangler & Kerrang! stage headliners, KORN!

Specialist Subject: Clowns, blindness, and obscenities.

**

1. What is BSE most commonly known as?

James: "is it a European thing? Oh great."

Jonathan: "Mad Cow's Disease?"

James: "Yessss!!!! Good guess, man!”

Jonathan: "I'm a vegetarian now, and BSE was one of the reasons I stopped eating meat. It freaks me out. I don't want my fucking brains running out my nose."

2.On entering the EEC, how many cigarrettes can you bring with you?

Jonathan: "Oh, man, What the fuck is it? Three?"

James: "Remember being on the boat at Dover, and there were all these guys with cartons? I'm gonna say 30 cartons."

Jonathan: "We'll say five cartons."

Kerrang!: "It's 'chokey' for you, then."

3.How many installments of "Childern of the Corn" have there been?

Jonathan: "Three. The first one's the dopest, the second one was kind of cheesy, and the third one I didn't see. Bet it sucks."

4. Who won the Euro 96 competition?

James: "Nobody in the band's into sports"

Jonathan: "What is Euro 96?"

James: "Just pick one."

Jonathan: "Norway."

5.name Slayer's second album.

James: "There was Reign in Blood, then ...."

Jonathan: "Seasons in the Abyss, maybe.."

James: "We'll say South of Heaven"

Kerrang!: "It was Hell Awaits.”

(The duo scream with the embarrassment of it all.)

Jonathan: "Fuck, I knew that song. Play it backwards and it goes, "Join Us", I liked it."

James: "Sicko.”

6. Name Keanu Reeve's rock band.

James: "I saw them on The David Letterman Show.”

Jonathan: "Er, we’re gonna suck…”

Kerrang!: "not as badly as Dogstar."

7. Who plays Quentin Tarantino's brother in From Dusk Till Dawn?

Jonathan: "Haven't seen it. Bruce Willis?"

James: "Boris Karloff."

8. What was the first single from Bon Jovi's keep the faith album?

James: "Keep the faith, that was it. Oh fuckk, I should have got that wrong. Oh no..."

Jonathan: "You fucking rocker!”

9. What is maize more commonly known as?

Jonathan: "Corn, we use Maize as a dummy name when we do warm-up shows."

10. As a result of losing her royal title, how much money has princess Diana been given?

Jonathan: "Was it 43 million pounds?"

Kerrang!: "No, she's not that important."

Jonathan: "I heard a story that when Diana and Prince Charles went anywhere, people had to build a toilet. Then the toilet seat got sent back to the Royal Family, so no one could ever sit on it. The whole monarchy's fucked."

11. Who directed the Italian horror film "tenebrae"?

Jonathan: "Oh, Fellini?

Kerrang!: "No."

Jonathan: "Fellini is the only italian director we know."

12. What is 15 percent of 400?

James: "Oh, man, mathematics."

Jonathan: "Okay, 10 percent will be 40 bucks, is it 45?"

13. What colour is London's Central tube line?

James: "Lime green.“

Jonathan: "I wasn't down there. so I can't tell you. We suck. How many have we got - two?"

14. Which band's second album is named "Ignition"?

James: "Ah, Offspring."

Jonathan: "They're from Huntington Beach, where we started the band. They're cool, but I'm not into that music at all. Noodles is a really nice guy, although he seems to be full of himself."

15. Who played the photo-journalist in "Apocalypse Now"?

Jonathan: "Dennis Hopper. He is in my favourite movie, 'Blue Velvet'. I wish I could live 'Blue Velvet'."

16. Whereabouts would you find the human tragus?

Jonathan: "That's a hard one…I'd say the face. Fuck, it's the head. Is it a bone? The ear. Morturary College comes in handy again."

17. Which rap band sampled a riff from Slayer's Angel of Death?

James: "Public Enemy, 'She Watch Channel Zero?!'. When we were 18, we used to play that in the recording studio."

18. Name the four horeseman of the apocalypse.

James: "Martin Sheen, Marlon Brando, Dennis Hopper"

Jonathan: "There's the white horse, the brown one..."

19. Which comedian recorded a live album and vidoe called 'no cure for cancer'?

James: "Denis Leary. He's raw, man. He's hosting a new comedy over here, called 'London Underground' or something.”

20. What are the ingredients of a good bloody mary?

James: “Vodka, tomato juice, celery, tabasco, and a dash of pepper."

Jonathan: "Worcester sauce and maybe some long green beans. They're great for a hangover, and on a plane too. I don't know why, but God they're good."

21. What do the opposite sides of a dice total?

Jonathan: "Seven, I know that from shootin craps."

Kerrang!: "Isn't that a tad messy? Boom ching, I thank you."

22. Spell the word enema.

Jonathan: "E-N...There's a 'Y' in it. fuck it. E-N-Y-M-A."

23. if a Londoner said that they were going to "up the apples and pears", what would they mean they are doing?

Jonathan: "Fucking— drinking? We have no clue.“

Kerrang!: "Up the stairs."

Jonathan: "Okay, I've gotta remember that. 'I'm going up the apples and pears, man.'"

24. How many centimeters are there in a foot?

James: "A hundred?"

25. Which is the correct saying: the yolk of an egg is white, or the yolk of an egg are white?

Jonathan: "The yolk of an egg is white, no?"

Kerrang!: "It's yellow.”

James: "Oh, man. that's like 'which is heavier, a pound of rocks or a pound of feathers?'. That is cool."

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 24. Footsteps

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Some Act 4-5 game spoilers especially for Woljif. Riffing on the game dialogue in this scene and giving some key comebacks to Woljif because Sia's the charm but he's the brains.

Also on AO3

Despite the power of Elysium sublimating out of him like scintillating steam, Siavash couldn’t hide his trepidation as he raised his eyes up, and up further, to the massive iron gates of the Ineluctable Prison.

While in principle Woljif was always in favor of busting people out of the joint, that principle mostly only applied to himself, and not this joint: a fabled prison constructed by the Prince of Hell to contain a demon lord, a prison famous for being—well, ineluctable. He had a very bad feeling that if they set foot in this place they would become permanent fixtures. Like ol’ Torf. Every time they let the old orc out he’d walk right up to the Watch and commit a crime in their faces so they’d toss him back in. Not so bad in there, Torf would say. Free food. Friends. He never said which category the lice and rats belonged to.

But he digressed.

He wanted to say – “This guy dropped you like a sack a’ fire mephits just when you needed him the most. Just leave him. Besides, he’s an angel. He can handle it. Let Iomedae get him outta there.”

But he couldn’t forget the sound of the chief’s voice trying to rally the troops the night of the gargoyles—the voice he, Woljif, could hardly hear over the singing of the wind in his ears as he ran. Later he learned Siavash had received a near-fatal claw to the gut that night, and then he’d led the charge to the Lost Chapel without a wink of sleep, and Ember claimed he was so distraught he hardly laid a hand on his guitar for weeks after that.

Siavash had forgiven him and taken him back. And here Siavash stood at the massive gates of a prison where a friend who’d also betrayed him was being tortured, and he was not going to walk away.

That’s the chief for you. Woljif sighed.

“Please tell me we’re not standing here having a conversation with Baphomet.” Seelah set her shield on its edge and leaned on it. Radiance blazed at her hip, impatient for more demon blood.

They had arrived at the base of the stairs, rows of barred cells stretching out into the gloom on either side. A chandelier of skulls shed dim, blood-red light from overhead but the Merry Band glowed with wild Elysian power. Even as they stood facing the demon lord, tiny vines and flowers pushed up between the prison flagstones and wound themselves around the bars, gradually eroding the metal.

Keeping a wary distance from the possessed minotaur, Siavash shrugged and his wings shimmered. “I’m curious what he has to say.”

“You know he’ll only twist his lies around in your head until you can’t find your way out,” she protested, twirling her finger at her temple.

 “That’s just it.” Siavash knit his brows in thought. “He claims he freed himself from Asmodeus’ prison by destroying the very notion of imprisonment. I want to understand that.”

“I made the whole multiverse believe my lie,” came the deep, insinuating voice from the minotaur.

“But it’s still a lie,” said Siavash. “You’re not really free. You took Asmodeus’ prison with you to the Abyss and there you’re chained.”

“Yeah,” said Woljif, half-hiding behind Siavash but growing bolder. “I don't think you know what freedom means.”

“You who know so much about freedom,” sneered Baphomet, “tell me, how will you escape? How will you find your way through the tangled corridors of my labyrinth?”

Woljif gave him a smug smirk. “I been payin’ attention. You don’t find your way, you make it.”

This earned him a snort from the minotaur’s flared nostrils and a warm smile from the chief.

“Clever,” said Baphomet. “I may consider reeducating you, my spawn.”

“Ugh.”

“It is not I who is chained. It is my minions. My seed and spawn, chained by my will. We are one and the same, and as they roam freely, so do I.”

Behind him Woljif made a gagging noise, but Siavash wasn’t done. “You can’t hide behind your minions forever. We turned Minagho against you. Defeated Hepzamirah and Horzalah. Stamped out what was left of Ygefeles.”

“Yeah, about that,” Woljif piped up. “All your sp—ugh. Your minions ever do is stab each other in the back. I don’t reckon that’s workin’ out for you.”

“Only the strongest survive, you will see. Soon Golarion will be ruled by my mighty brood. I shall watch from my throne as your world drowns in blood.”

“I’m just trying to understand,” said Siavash. “What is it with domination and destruction? I don’t see the point.”

“Power,” said the minotaur. “You understand more than you claim. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You were given immense power, and what have you done with it? Spread its tendrils across the Worldwound and Mendev and beyond, worming its roots into Golarion and growing like mold. You have felt the exhilaration. Don’t deny it. How power begets power.”

“But power to do what? To rule over a wasteland and a prison? A bunch of spaw—minions trying to overthrow you? You freed yourself from Asmodeus’ ineluctable prison. With your wisdom, think what you could do.”

The minotaur let out a bellow of a laugh. “Attempting to beat me at my own game?”

“You really are trapped. From your prison cell all you can see is bleakness. Power for its own sake. Deception and destruction.”

“That’s right,” said Arueshalae. “Areshkagal’s riddles only led you deeper into a pit of lies and evil. Desna’s riddle led me out into the light of truth and goodness.”

“Yeah, you hear that, you old goat?” yelled Seelah triumphantly. “She escaped the Abyss and you bound yourself to it for eternity.”

“The only prison is the one between your stupid horns,” said Woljif.

The minotaur turned its bloodshot glare on him. “You are so like Ygefeles,” the demon lord chuckled. “I valued his shrewd mind and uncanny ability to lie, but though he was crafty and able, he lacked zeal and ardor. Alas Hepzamirah proved the stronger. If you had accepted his power you might have followed in my footsteps.”

“Yeah, right back into jail,” Woljif muttered.

Flames spilling from its eyes like tears, for a moment the minotaur silently surveyed him. “I don’t think you know how alike we are, mortal. A shame another of my promising spawn must die.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Hiyaa, I just found your blog recently and already love the messed-up characters lmao. Especially all of the messed up morbid shit they do in the Clergy. But I wanna go ramble about my sudden scenario idea, feel free to entertain the idea of my brain, mx Pinnie!

(CW: Mentions of Suicide)

Imagine the scenario where all of the TCE boys S/O's have known and were close to Admin in the past before Krulu fucked up everything.

Though in context (I'm basing this off of from Lobotomy Corporation & Library of Ruina story between Angela and the Sephiroths) of Admin and her relationship with the TCE obsession's:

Video of Angela's lore in case you're curious (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxbsSPjBWCA&t=1357s)

Admin was the others personal indirect torturer due to the circumstances of one selfish bastard, who was Admin's father and former boss of the other darlings, that forced Admin to follow the script that he left behind in order to complete the project he and his coworkers wanted to achieve. If Admin didn't follow the script, then everything will reset to the beginning with only Admin aware and remember these loops that repeated thousands of times. To make matters worse, Admin HAD to push the TCE's obsessions till the brink of breakdown to follow the script and hope that the loop will end - it doesn't help that Admin directly had a lot of conversations with the other darlings because they were all in the higher positions and maintained order within the facility.

Admittedly, Admin WANTED to alleviate the sufferings of the others , including the employees (that were seen as expendables), from working in what can only be described as Hell on Earth itself because Admin genuinely cared for the Darlings. But she can't because if she deviates from the script then everything will reset and would further continuing everyone's torture. The Admin's role in this monotonous play was to be the stage's gear that pulls the levers. Watching everyone getting slaughtered, losing their sanities or committing suicide.

When the curtains came to a close, the Darlings were (understandably) not happy with Admin for not only mentally torturing them, but also responsible for undermining all their pain and suffering by fucking up the Script at the very end. Yet despite the anger the Darlings had, they can't entirely blame Admin for it because they were all victims of their Boss' abuse. So they tried to lead her to a better path so Admin doesn't become like her father and further her pain.

Boy. It will be very angst worthy for Admin when she meets the others again in the Clergy and becoming the source of the TCE's obsessions.

Now the fun part, Admin and the TCE's obsessions dynamics!

-) With Morell's, Gallon, and Grimbly's Obsession: The three held very little grudge against Admin in the present and were the more sympathetic of her unfortunate situation (Especially after finding out what happened with Krulu and Ludwig). They're mainly the ones to let her vent and listen when Admin needed to let out all her frustrations and emotions. However, Gallon's S/O would be the one to give insights (albeit Philosophical) because she can gouge out what Admin is thinking.

-) With Nebul's & Patches' Obsession: The two could emphasize with Admin's guilt, because the two (despite having different personality with Patches' S/O being the more dominant and responsible while Nebul's S/O is the more quiet and submissive) knew what it was like to be helpless with the circumstances against you and you can't save everyone. That very guilt could swallow you whole and trapped one into a cold suffocating abyss, so the two would often make sure Admin doesn't force herself and wallow in self punishment for too long because despite everything that Admin did and done both in the past and present, the two still genuinely care for her wellbeing.

-) With Belo and Santi's obsession: Ironically, those two were the most upset/disappointed with Admin in the past and present and had no hesitation to express it. Yet, it's what made Admin relaxed around them because the two will be transparent, critical and not sugar-coat what they feel and their beliefs towards the situation to the Admin's face. And Admin knows that the two did it because they don't want to coddle her like the others.

-) Sybastian, Vinnel and Fank-e's Obsession: These three are there to distract Admin from the toxic self-guilt mindset with doing normal stuff like shopping, watching a movie night etc, and had told her: "What's done is done. There's nothing that we can do to make the situation less traumatic and immoral for all of us, but most of us don't blame you for our current life with these monster people. Who's to say we can't be happy here in the future? It's not like it'll be any worse than our last job"

-) Ludwig's Obsession: As if it wasn't bad enough that Admin was Ludwig's crush and best friend, but his S/O is Admin's closest companion out of everyone before the Repetitive Loop. Ludwig's Obsession was the only one who understands Admin the most and how she functions even post-Krulu's vessel. So naturally, Admin would go to her first to have a heart-to-heart with despite the awkward tension in the air with Ludwig into the picture.

Sorry for the long post, but I want to get this idea out of my head and possibly share it to you

[Thenk you! I'm a woman, you can use typically feminine ways to adress me, but I'm not a stickler about it.]

I'm going to confess I don't understand most of what is happening here, probably because I'm not deep into the lore of those two franchises you mentioned, but I do find it interesting.

I suppose it can work as a separate AU wherein Admin retains her memories? And her father somehow orchestrates things to a surprising degree. But it does beg the question, where does Krulu fit in this? Because Krulu is extremely controlling, and I don't see him giving an ounce of control or power to someone in Admin's family. If Krulu is absent from the picture, this can work pretty well!

Overall, I'm genuinely interested, because I love the concept of looping and "restarting" as well as characters that are aware of it to some degree (yeah sure I had an Undertale phase, but it's not like this fondness stemmed solely from there), so I really enjoy the possibilities you can explore here. You've made an interesting narrative, congrats! 🤔

[keter-kannot]

MINORS DNI

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE, FREAKS 🎄🎅

So I did this absolutely insane art trade with anon who has the best lesbian torture porn prompts that anyone could ever come up with so here's a lil treat 😌 this one ended up being just over 10k words lmao, so I'll be breaking it up into thirds to post. Enjoy!

Summary: "I want this one." Orin keeps Minthara as her pet, breaking her and taking pleasure in it.

Word count: ~3.4k

THIS IS A DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT PIECE

tw: NONCON/DUBCON, KNIFE PLAY, BLOOD, spit, degradation, restrains, mentions of death/dead bodies, resistance, r*pe, Orin is literally keeping Minthara as her torture sex slave, dead dove

Pt. 1 below the cut

“I want this one.”

The way she danced across the guilded table tore a hole straight through the idea of comradery that was expected. Candle flames danced in the freezing breeze as her arms and legs contorted with each forward stretch, bones grinding against their sinews as her blade slit throats. Each stroke of her arm called more flames into silence, the welcoming warmth of the room falling victim to her grasp. 

Blood painted the tablecloth shades of glorious red, mouths hanging agape as their heads flew back, hanging on by a thread as the deep cuts severed almost everything that held them there. The smell of heavy iron permeated around the madwoman as she continued her dance of death, smiling wider with each life she ended before her cold hands had cupped Minthara’s cheeks. 

The paralytic agent coursing through her veins was bitter and crisp, fighting against the rage broiling within her. She could do nothing but watch as Orin slayed every assassin she’d taken with her, playing in their blood and innards before her attention was fully focused on her. 

Sharp bits of broken glass scattered across the lake of gore forming on the table, all attendants but that of Ketheric at the opposite end murdered at Orin’s hand. Z’rell stood behind the general, emotionless just as he was as they watched her onslaught. 

The blood of Minthara’s assassin's–the best the house of Menzoberranzan has ever raised–started congealing as it made its way through her elaborate dining plate, off the side of the table, and dripped ever so slowly into her lap. It was thick, warm, and would’ve been comforting had it been someone else's. 

Minthara’s grip on the arms of her chair was frozen in time, her clasp on the edge beginning to dig into the skin of her palm with a sharp pain. Her eyes were the only part of her she still held control over, trying her best not to let them shake as she bore into Orin’s own while she held her cheeks. She could only imagine the shape of her face, the way it must have looked as she swallowed her first sip of wine before refusing to move all together. 

She looked upon the dead who had been sworn to protect her, damning their souls to a bitter hell as she understood the bait she had taken, the game she’d played into just as they’d wanted her to. She looked to Ketheric, hearing his praise of her house and her stature and title with a new mind now. 

She was a fool.

“It doesn’t become you to play with our prey,” Ketheric grumbled from his seat, his platemail clinking as it rubbed against itself while he crossed his legs, tapping an impatient finger on the table. 

“Oh, grandfather spoiling our fun,” she hissed, her breath hot and acidic as it hit Minthara’s face, the smell of decay overwhelming. Orin dropped her hold on her cheeks, crouching on the table like a lioness, her hands covered in the blood of Minthara’s men, making swirls in the lake of it she’d  created. 

“Z’rell, take our prisoner down to–”

“No,” Orin snapped, her neck bending back to glare at Ketheric, “this one is mine. I’m taking her myself.” 

—

Minthara was comfortable, but cold. For a while, she kept her eyes shut, willing every thought out of her head in hopes of being able to once again lose herself in the abyss of nothingness she’d come from. She held that emptiness for just a moment, the peace barely finding her before her sick voice cut through the abating silence. 

“Sweet, sweet lamb,” she sang to her disciple, the stench of death beneath her words. “Primed for precious slaughter, born to be brought to me, born to be butchered, but–”

She felt herself to come to her body beside Orin’s words, the blood working its way through her veins never having felt so sweet. As she struggled to force her body to move, she felt the soft, wet flesh beneath her rubbing against her naked skin.  

Fear invaded her mind then, warm rot worming its way between her skin, inside her very pores, the bed of dead meat she laid upon masking any other thought–any other senses–as she continued to struggle against restraints she couldn’t see. Time seemed to slow as Orin watched her struggle with attentive eyes, drinking in the sight before her. 

The walls dripped with terror as Orin’s cold hands graced Minthara’s body, tentatively getting to know each and every nook and cranny. letting her movements wander the more Minthata seemed to resist. 

“There is so much I’d like to do to you,” Orin whispered, crawling atop the flesh bed Minthara was strapped to, “if only She didn’t have a vision; a plan.”

Each touch sent a jolt through her body, her convulsions against her restraints only forming small bruises the more she pulled. Her mind raced through all of her worst possible fears, the worst torture she’d ever committed on another, the way Orin’s deep red blade looked as it flickered in the dim light, how it’d look while flaying her open…

But she wasn’t trained to give in; she wasn’t taught to let them see her weakness win. 

Fire burnt through her as she realized the mistakes she’d made, those she’d walked straight to their deaths. She could feel the very weight of her house crumbling beneath her, her own life meaning nothing when it finally hung here in the balance. It didn’t matter how afraid she was to die; she wished now it’d come swiftly, knowing the horrors that would await. 

“She calls to me to make you a True Soul,” she said, her sick smile growing wider. She leaned over Minthara, sitting atop her waist, finally daring to meet her gaze, “and so I shall comply.” 

The weight of her cold body descended upon Minthara’s chest like cement pouring through its mould, perfectly meant to sit there yet heavy and nothing but dead weight holding her down. She breathed once, then twice, forcing the air into her lungs as the pressure of Orin seemed to slam into her at all once. 

“She gives me leave to take you,” she giggled, leaning close to Minthara’s ear as she pressed a freezing lip to its shell before nibbling it with the tenderness of a forsaken lover. “Chosen’s favorite True Soul,” she sang, her lilt grating, “butcher’s favorite lamb.”

The pressure on her body shifted, Orin sitting up once again to let her hands gingerly grace across Minthara’s chest, tits, waist. Across her shoulders, collarbones, rubbing against her cheeks. They wouldn’t stop moving, discovering her, testing her, pushing her. The cold feel of her hard knuckle gracing across her exposed clit while it trailed up and down her thighs… 

Minthara’s eyes went wide at the touch, sucking in a deep breath as she understood the extent of her tortue. The fire in her veins began to run cold, fear replacing the furrow in her brow with the thought of being forced to submit to her. She said nothing, but pulled against her restraints. 

Orin’s sick smile only grew, her hands finally ceasing in their wandering as danger flashed in that glint in her eyes, crawling back off of Minthara and finally giving her a moment to catch her breath amongst all the tension. 

She heard the ringing of metal dragging on rock as Orin’s feet made their way around the room, her laugh following each step as she stalked her prey. 

“I’ll make you sing,” she said, stopping her pacing at Minthara’s feet, letting her hands climb their way up her legs but, this time, with intent. “And all will know of the ruin I’ll make of you.”

One dead hand gripped at her plush thigh, the other splayed its fingers through her folds, the hunger in her eyes showing how eager she was to rip her apart from the center. A sharp nail pulled her apart from herself, a yelp finally emerging from Minthara’s core as she shrieked against the sharp pain. 

“Ah, and her voice finds itself,” Orin cooed, sliding two fingers inside before letting her nails sink deep into the thigh she was gripping, holding her leg to the side as she began her rampant assault, letting the soft trickle of blood from the puncture wounds flow over her palm as she plunged her fingers deeper and deeper with each flick of her wrist. 

Minthara’s hips buckled as she winced against the pain, rage finding its way through her again as she resisted the assault. But the more she writhed, the more she moved, the harder Orin would grip, the deeper her fingers would find themselves in not just her cunt, but the flesh of her thigh. 

“I have fun when you fight,” she giggled, leaning down to bite a chunk from her leg and humming to herself as she swallowed the bit, letting the blood drip from her chin as she smiled once again down at her victim. 

Minthara gritted her teeth, clenched her eyes shut tight, and held her breath as she tugged again and again against the chains holding her down, willing for their release and losing herself in the pulsing of the forming bruises; anything was better than the onslaught of her own blood in her cunt, worked over and over by Orin’s unrelenting fingers. 

She held herself in her mind, going over all the potential revenge she would one day inflict before the sharp drag of the blade caught her attention yet again. She stilled herself, shaking her head with what little movement her restraints allowed, the feel of her pussy clenching tight around Orin’s fingers sending a shiver up her spine and a hiss through her lips. 

Orin let out a sickly moan, the feel of her rotting breath swirling through the room around her. The sight of Minthara’s blood as she let her blade glide through the soft purple skin of her thigh seemed to set her off into a spiral nothing could control. 

Her breath became ragged. Her lungs heaved, growing heavy as they filled with the scent of iron. It was a sight to behold just how drunk she became from the pain she could inflict, from the blood staining her hands. Her giggles became resounding laughs, bouncing from each crevice of the stone walls surrounding them. The harder she gripped, the further she dragged her blade, the more lost she seemed to become in her art. 

The more Orin flayed the skin of her legs, the harder she pushed with her fingers, digging one after another inside of Minthara’s cunt. Her steady breaths grew rigid the harder Orin pushed, only fueling her desire to further break her. 

“Who would you have me be?” she asked between her sickening laughs, the feel of her cold hand between Minthara’s folds seeming to change as she heard a low and guttural groan accompanying the stretch and twisting of skin. 

“One of the men you’ve killed, perhaps?” someone else’s voice said, anger and guilt tainting its words as it flicked its fingers inside of her before becoming someone else. 

“Or a sister you’ve fought beside?” she said, the sick power of a dead warrior Minthara once knew causing her breath to falter. 

“Maybe mummy dearest?” The voice was cold and unforgiving, one she knew all too well. Tears started to brim at her eyes as she closed them shut tight, pushing away the fake sound of her fake voice. 

“Your false bitch goddess?” she laughed, her fingers in Minthara’s cunt becoming a sharp claw as it pulled against her insides, her hips bucking forward as the pain seared through her core while she screamed through her tears, only for Orin to change back to the beautifully sick visage of a woman that Minthara knew her to be. 

“Or, perhaps,” she sang, twisting her hand through her mangled folds as she pushed it completely inside, enjoying the way Minthara continued to fight against her while her blood spilled from between her legs, “it’s simply me who you’re most afraid of.” 

Minthara had the briefest of respites as Minthara withdrew her hand to climb atop her once again, the shine of her white skin making her sickly veins more prominent as she straddled her. With her blade in one hand and Minthara’s blood covering the other, she hummed a soft tune as she started rutting her hard length against the blood leaking from her folds. 

She was eager, but patient. Orin took her blade and drew it upon Minthara’s waist, the jagged lines only being deep enough to sting as she worked her way over them once, then twice, then again, the searing tip of her cock pushing at Minthara’s entrance. She writhed there, humming with pleasure as she refused to push herself fully in, getting distracted by the beautiful scarlet lines. Minthara was her canvas, the blade her brush, and each stroke of it brought forth another cry of pain. 

Minthara swore under her breath with each further drag, each soft push, whining as Orin’s cock slowly began pushing itself inside as she took her artist’s weapon and drew a line from her navel to her sternum, pushing harder the further she went. 

“Maybe I’ll claim you for Bhaal,” she said, her other bloody hand grabbing Minthara’s chin, forcing her to look up at her, “making you a vessel for another murderous spawn,” she giggled. “How pleased He’d be to have such… noble lineage intertwined with his own,” she continued her ceaseless laughing. 

The longer she rode her, the hotter the room seemed to become. The smell of the rotting pile of flesh beneath her only grew with each fowl movement made atop it, her own blood seeping between the skin of the already damned. She writhed against the pain of her cunt wrapped around Orin’s seemingly ever growing cock, her blood liberally coating each and flowing amonst the bed of rot they lay upon.

 With each tug of her restraints, each whimper and growl of pain and noncompliance, it only lifted her further and further from herself. Orin’s relentless butchering continued through the layers of flayed skin, over cuts already made and against skin that was barely holding itself together. With each thrust inside of her, her pace quickened, fueled by her desire to wreak havoc upon her. 

Minthara’s legs quivered in the restraints that held them apart, the pounding in her head matching the pressure in her chest; each strained gasp for breath only had her body shaking more, her cries and tears brewing a sweet song when mixed with her strained moans of pleasure. 

Each sound had Orin’s knife making another mark, pulling away more skin. She treated the torture as a reward for her pleasure, of which she couldn’t help but hate herself for not being able to control. As her thighs fought against the restraints to snap shut and failed, Orin’s dagger-sharp grin only growing to see her fight against such a good fuck. 

It was as Orin had taken her chin in her hands yet again, tilting her face forward ever so slightly to watch as the tears dripped from her eyes, that she seemed to slowly come undone. Her breathing–already hitched–folded in on itself, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull as her salty tears stained her cut-ridden chest, stinging as it washed over Orin’s creation. She gritted her teeth the higher she seemed to be thrown, her body convulsing in its chains as Orin rode her through her high. She cried out against her will, Orin’s laugh puncuating her cries. 

While Minthara came hard beneath her, Orin widthdrew her blade. Her eyes glistened as they looked upon the blood dripping from it, her tongue flicking against it quickly at first, then with intent to savor the taste. She smiled down at Minthara, bringing the tip of the blade to her mouth and pressing it against her lip. 

She rolled her hips into hers harder, the throbbing tip of her cock hitting the entrance of her cervix as her walls continued to pulse against it. She swore to herself, cried with how deeply she hated the pleasure she was taking, and the pleasure she was giving. Orin’s quickening pace faltered as she pushed the tip of her blade against Minthara’s lips harder, forcing her to open her mouth. 

“Open,” she commanded behind her angry, crazed smile. Minthara choked through another sob as she convulsed yet again. The bit of blood dripped down her chin as her tongue met the blade. She swalllwed hard against the warm metal, shuddering at the taste of her own acidic blood in her mouth. 

As it was pushed against her tongue, Orin leaned down against her chest, her free hand playing violently in the mess of skin and muscle and blood she’d created, the sting of the feeling driving Minthara to scream out yet again, cursing the woman as she pressed her harder against her bed of flesh beneath them. 

“Sweet pet, sweet…” Orin muttered, her hot breath burning against Minthara’s neck. Her teeth graced her collarbone before gently clamping down, a deep moan falling between Orin’s lips and against Minthara’s bruising skin. 

She let her fingers dig into the cuts she’d made, causing more hot blood to spill across her fingers as Minthara arched her back against the pain. As her tears mixed with more fresh blood, Orin let herself get lost in the taste as her tongue ran rampant over Minthara’s shaking body, another orgasm tearing through her as Orin pushed herself deeper inside  still, finally, finally bottoming out. 

She growled with assurance, the bloood painting her lips and tongue a horrid shade of dark, dark umber as she slammed them into Minthara’s own. forcing her to taste herself again but, this time, from Orin’s tongue. She bit down hard as she explored Minthara’s mouth, gripping her tight as the throbbing of her cock became quicker, harder to fight through. 

“This’ll be the first of many times,” she huffed against the shell of Minthara’s ear, “that I get to spill Bhaal’s seed in you, little lamb,” she groaned, biting down on whatever flesh was closest to her mouth as she came deep inside her, smiling down at the tears she’d drawn out of her.