#bloody violence tw

[hiding-under-the-willow]

So. I decided to doodle ghosts au etho to get his design down and I. uh. thought a little too hard about him

[sn0w-o]

my biggest flex is that Mary 1 of England killed my ancestors

lets turn this into a like game What is your biggest flex and then tag five people

tags; @t1redofyourbs @bvnnyl0v3r @starzzify @sci2946 @thereals1llybean

[nowimjustastranger]

do many fords fail the ‘prioritise stan when there’s danger’ test?? what does stcmo!ford do if they do? (like where do the stans go bc i’d imagine the majority of them would probably want to stay with their ford even if it wouldn’t end well for them)

Not very many fail, no.

But the ones that do fail have their brother whisked away via teleportation. Ford will keep Stan in his care for a few days, making sure to coddle Stan and make sure he's healthy. Ford will also introduce himself to Stan without the helmet on, of course, since that stops a vast majority of the Stans from dipping out at the first opportunity.

Ford will then proceed to teach his counterpart a lesson starting with some article of clothing from Stan after Ford gets him a new outfit (as well as some extra outfits). Ford dirties them with some cloned Stan blood and leave them in the Ford's shack/college dorm/etc and proceed to lurk to see what the Ford's reaction is.

Not a single Ford has held their shit together and most break by the third article of clothing, trashing the area around them and sobbing as they realize what they have done in not choosing Stan. Once the Ford realizes what they did wrong and is thoroughly regretful, Ford 419"3 will leave a note offering a trade.

Destroy whatever it was that they chose over Stan at a location of 419"3 Ford's choosing and they can have their brother back.

Ford 419"3 will erase Stan's memories of his face but keep the interactions, the Stans just won't be able to remember what he looks like but they'll know that they weren't in danger. This is important because Ford doesn't want the Stan traumatized by the experience.

And, when the Ford gets to the location and destroys the item, Ford 419"3 will have them wait out of sight until the Ford cracks, begging for his brother back and apologizing for not realizing how important Stan was to him sooner. Usually the Stan is frozen in place as his brother cries, so Ford 419"3 will give him a little nudge so he goes to comfort his brother.

Ford 419"3 lingers to make sure the Ford is reacting accordingly before he will leave them to their reconciliation.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIX)

The difference between Abuse and Power

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

Sorry it took so long!!! But I made this chapter extra long to make up for it guys!!! I hope you enjoy💛

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!!! I hope you all have a great time and mind yourselves. Thank you all for your words of encouragement during the rough time and making me smile and laugh while I was stuck in the dreaded prison of writer's block, but we are back babyyyyyy.... enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit heard Ambrose walking behind him. He tried his best to ignore him, but it didn’t really work because Ambrose’s stupid socked feet padded close behind as Kit walked the length of the first floor, away from Nathan and Jude. Away from the stairs Jude threw him down. Away from the abomination of healing and power that Nathan possessed.

“Kit,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit continued walking. He went through the next door on his left which opened up into a nice cozy looking library or study, or something, and walked over to the soft, navy plush couch in the far corner. He dropped into it, deflating like a balloon or a marionette with its strings cut. That’s all he was really, wasn’t it? A puppet.

Black eyes appeared in front of him, pleading, dark brows falling over them like a pitiful, sad puppy. “Kit, listen to me, everything I said and did before… I—”

“Don’t want to hear it?” Kit suggested, his shoulders bunched up around his ears. He felt his eyes water as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from quivering like a child. He raised his blue, bloodshot eyes to meet Ambrose’s stupid fucking demonic black ones.

“I don’t—” Kit said, scoffed, shrugged and ran his hands through his hair until his fingers tightened on the strands and started tugging on them just to show the kind of storm that was roaring in his mind outwardly. Not that Ambrose had to see a physical representation of his desperation. His blue eyes burned and red flashed across them like the glint of moonlight off a blade. Ambrose shrunk away from his crouch. His eyes widened slightly. “I don’t want to fucking hear it! Any of it. Your apologies, your guilt, your fucking excuses!”

Ambrose sat back onto his heels, even his stupid chocolate curls bounced perfectly, and Kit scoffed exasperated, ran a hand down his face, and wiped furiously at his tears with his thumb and index finger.

“I don’t give a fuck if you feel some kind of fucked up bond to me or whatever, Oskar!” Ambrose flinched. Good, Kit thought bitterly. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to fucking affect this bastard somehow. “I don’t care if you feel bad now, because trust me, we both know you didn’t give two shits when you thought I was just some random hero to terrorise!”

“Kit—” Kit lurched forward, getting his face close to Ambrose’s, his nose curled up in disgust.

“What happened to puppet, huh? What happened to a dog that only exists to obey? I would rather you looked at me like… like I was some fucking plaything for you to break and discard, instead of whatever fucking way you’re looking at me now. You’re—” Kit sucked in a breath, struggling not to hyperventilate. “You’re fucking sick, Rosey. You disgust me. And now I’m on house arrest from your crazy ex-boyfriend, who you seem to hate, but let’s face it, Rosey…”

Kit said. He licked his lips as if he had to prepare them for what he was about to say as he leaned in ever so slightly closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as he got close to Ambrose’s curls covered ear. “What kind of sane person would love you anyways?”

The door to the room swung open. Kit slunk back from Ambrose, his eyes dead and lifeless, expecting to be hurt for daring to insult Nathan’s precious toy but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see Ambrose flinch… to see him crestfallen for once.

But then why didn’t it feel good?

Why did he feel worse than before?!

Why has he become this cruel, hard thing? Was he always this way? Did Ambrose just hold up a mirror and reveal that to—

A flash of hands. Kit didn’t flinch, but his gaze snapped up to cold, furious silver eyes and eyes as cool as a lump of coal. “No,” Ambrose said, his voice soft.

“But—”

“No.” Kit’s eyes flickered back to Ambrose because that wasn’t sad, pathetic guilt-ridden Oskar speaking, that was Omen; commanding, controlled, even. A smirk slid its way onto Ambrose’s face, his black eyes turned even darker, glinting like light off a shard of onyx or jet, filled with humour and sardonic knowing and cruelty. A shiver ran down Kit’s spine as Ambrose used his leverage on Nathan’s hand to raise himself to his feet.

He didn’t break eye contact with Kit as he stood to his full height, which Kit only remembered was a good head taller than him, and then there were two sadistic giants looming over him. Kit fought the urge to shrink back and swallow. He wasn’t going to show them he was afraid. What would they do? Kill him? That would give him his first peaceful night’s sleep in weeks. Months?

“Oskar…” Omen tightened his fingers around Nathan’s wrist and brought his hand to his lips. Nathan stilled as Ambrose wrapped a second hand around Nathan’s long fingers, curling them as he lifted and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s knuckles.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, darling,” Ambrose said, his voice roiling like smooth velvet. Black eyes slunk towards Kit’s. “Especially not with the likes of washed-up heroes before their prime.”

Nathan stepped closer to Ambrose, his back to Kit. “I could kill him for you. Make you a scarf out of his entrails.”

Omen chuckled. Kit’s blood ran cold at the sound. He forgot how silently terrifying Omen could be; how terrifying Ambrose could be.

“You’re sweet,” is all Ambrose replied. He leaned up on his toes to kiss Nathan. Soft, sweet, short, before he pulled away. “But no. He’s used up already. I thought he would be fun to play with, but you can see as well as I can…”

Kit swallowed audibly, his fingers tightened into fists on his thighs as he looked away from the statue staring him down, making him feel two inches tall. “He’s got nothing inside worth taking anymore. He’s given up. He’s not worth the effort.”

Kit stared furiously at the bookshelf to his left, eyes skimming colourful titles trying to ignore the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest. Isn’t that what he wanted? For Ambrose to stop pretending? Isn’t that why he poked and prodded him until—

“Kit,” Kit’s eyes widened as he felt Omen’s ability ghost through his mind like brain freeze. He shot up off the couch, and grabbed Ambrose’s arm, tightened, pleading.

“Rosey, don’t, pl—”

Ambrose grabbed Kit’s cheeks in one hand and squeezed tightly until Kit’s lips were forced to form a small ring. Kit’s hand shot up and grabbed Ambrose’s wrist, about to beg and plead again. Weren’t they past this? Was this all his fault? Was Ambrose really—

“I think you need a nice, long nap, Kit, don’t you?”

“No!” Kit protested.

“Mmmm, your eyes are feeling so heavy though, aren’t they? And your limbs are exhausted, and you need a really good rest to recover and fight again when you wake don’t you?”

Kit let out a small whine in the back of his throat… because yes, he was feeling tired, and a blissful sleep sounded so fucking good right now. At least then he could turn off the blaring voice in his head screaming danger, danger, danger at him.

“What danger, Kit?” Ambrose asked, his voice so soft and so, so far… away, as if it was a distant melody floating through the air in the other side of the house. Kit swayed on his feet and fell into Ambrose’s open arms. What danger was right, what was he thinking about? His thoughts were liquifying quickly in his mind and sliding slowly away from consciousness. “There we go,” Ambrose cooed, putting his fingers through Kit’s hair. “That’s it, just relax. You want to sleep, don’t you, Kit?”

“Yeah,” Kit mumbled. He went boneless against the villain as Ambrose sat the two of them on the couch again. Ambrose sat down where Kit was before and dragged Kit down with him who was too tired to resist. Kit curled up on the couch as Ambrose gently put Kit’s head on his lap which was as comfortable as a luxurious pillow. Maybe shutting his eyes for a few minutes would be okay, wouldn’t it? He needed his strength after all and… he yawned as Ambrose brushed a hand through his wild, uncut hair.

“That’s right, just a few minutes sleep, and you’ll feel amazing when you wake up.” Ambrose said. Kit didn’t really hear him, but he hummed in reply as his eyes shuttered closed, blissfully unaware of the scorching silver eyes glaring down at him.

***

Ambrose continued to stroke Kit’s hair as the hero’s breath evened out. Ambrose felt his weight droop heavier against him, drifting deeper into sleep in a matter of moments. He could feel Nate’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bother to look up at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy’s sleeping head and soft breaths. It was easier to ignore the questions in Nathan’s head and eyes and just focus on the sleeping Hero on him.

God, if only Kit would stay this way forever.

Not that Ambrose would want that, but it would be easier. Why did he have to fight him on everything? Even things that were good for him! It was… exhausting. If this is what having children felt like, Ambrose was almost certain he didn’t want any of the vile things… especially not if Kit remained in his life after all this was over.

He was enough of a handful as it was.

“Why Oskar?” Nate asked, his voice suddenly, terribly vulnerable.

Ambrose didn’t look at him. “I don’t know, Nate. I guess… I told you already. I took too much from him already.”

“That’s a cop out. We both know it.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Think what you want.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ambrose knew it the moment it left his lips in a tired, defeated sigh. He could feel Nathan’s demeanour shift from confused to defensive in a second, his stance tensing, the air changing around them, becoming thick in Ambrose’s throat.

“Well, if you won’t give me any straight answers, how about I wake him, and ask—” Ambrose’s head snapped up, black eyes catching silver in their void stare.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Nathan scoffed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re impossible when you’re protective. This is like the Catherine situation all over again.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Don’t talk about her.”

Nathan smirked. He crossed his long arms over his torso, silver eyes gleaming. “It’s true,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder. An attempt to be casual that was anything but. “You always liked to collect strays, Oskar, it’s like a passion project of yours.”

Nathan’s eyes went to Kit in Ambrose’s lap, his fingers wound through the boy’s hair. “Though,” he continued, his voice dipping as his eyes caught Ambrose’s again. “This one you and your father have to share.”

Ambrose’s nostrils flared. “You’re just being cruel for the sake of it now, Nate.”

“So, what if I am?”

“Well, what about you, then?”

Nathan blinked.

“You and all your posturing and grandstanding, how you can absorb so many people’s abilities— mine, Jude’s, my father’s, Kit’s…” Ambrose listed, shrewdness possessing his weighted gaze as he tilted his head at his ex. “How you pretend it doesn’t bother you to hold all that power inside and maintain it there.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

It was Ambrose’s turn to scoff. The edge of his lips quipped up. “You say that, but I saw how weak you were after healing his wounds. You went pale after, dearest. If you think I wouldn’t notice that then you don’t know me at all.”

Nathan stared down his nose at Ambrose and the sleeping Hero. His eyes softened. “No… maybe I don’t anymore.”

Ambrose swallowed as Nate unfolded his arms. He walked a step closer and leaned down. Ambrose barely suppressed the flinch, but it didn’t matter because Nate could feel Ambrose’s stiffness when he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He smiled against the skin and pulled back.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, one hand still lingering on Ambrose’s cheek. He froze midway, and his touch turned bruising as he tilted Ambrose’s head to the side and forced him to look into his swirling, silver eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, darling. You know how much I hate bruises on your pretty face.”

Ambrose stared as Nathan released him, watching as his psychotic ex walked away, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on the way out. Ambrose couldn’t suppress the flinch that time as he stared down at Kit. He didn’t stir. Still sound asleep. Unaware of Ambrose’s tremors of fear at Nathan’s farewell threat.

Oh, he knew how much Nathan hated bruises on his face alright… he knew all too well just how cruel he could truly be.

***

Six years ago…

Oskar and Max stumbled out of the University pub and down the streets back to their apartment in Old Town. God, what a night. What a glorious night, and how long had it been since Oskar could just let loose with Max like that? Get absolutely hammered. He laughed as he threw an arm around Max’s shoulder.

“I love you, Max.”

“That’s really gay,” Max replied, and the pair burst into snorting laughter. Oskar craned his neck down and pressed a wet kiss to Max’s hair as they walked towards Fagan’s lot. They didn’t notice the group of four guys approaching them until one of them shoulder checked Max.

“Woah!” Max said and Oskar turned, about to tell the dicks to watch it when one of them muttered something that chilled him to the core and froze him in place.

“Fucking fags.”

Max grabbed at Oskar’s arm, sensing the shift in his posture. “Oskar come on. They’re small minded—”

“Excuse me,” Oskar hissed. The men stopped and turned. Oskar shrugged Max’s hand off.

“Oskar, just leave it.” Max said.

“No, I won’t just leave it. What did these pricks mutter but not have any fucking balls to say to our faces, huh?”

Oskar went towards the tallest, broadest guy and shoved him back. “Huh? What the fuck did you say?”

“Oskar!”

“You better back off, lamppost and listen to your boyfriend or you’re gonna get hurt.” The tall— well, tallest of the group — broad man stank of beer and had a truly hideous beard. Both of which Oskar personally took offence to.

Oskar straightened to his full height, a good head and shoulders taller than this piece of shit and grinned sadistically down at him.

“You tell him Mitch.” One of the others said.

“Yeah,” another chimed in, “run back to your boyfriend, faggot.”

Oskar’s head snapped to the offender. He was the shortest of the group, blond – obviously he was fucking blond – with tiny pubic hairs tweezed onto his chin in the mock shadow of stubble. He was stick thin and looked like a fucking weasel with a sharp pointed nose and tiny squinting eyes.

“Number one,” Oskar said, holding a bony finger up. “Ew. I wouldn’t date this man if he was the last man on earth,” Oskar said.

Max blinked behind him. “Uh, ouch?!”

Oskar glanced back over his shoulder. “Hush. You know I love you.”

“Fucking queers, I swear to—”

Oskar turned back to glare at the men again. “Two, it’s fucking homophobic to use the words faggot and queer in a derogatory manner towards my friend and I, and I think you should fucking apologise. Right now.”

“Or what?” Mitch challenged stepping forward.

Oskar’s eyes darkened. “Or else. You only get one chance to do the decent thing.” He said, holding his index finger up, his dark eyes searched Mitch’s face, trying to convey how serious he was. “One.”

“Show this fucking princess what real men do.”

Oskar sighed, his head dipped, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I did warn you.”

Mitch went to throw a punch and Oskar stepped back. He caught Mitch���s arm and punched him in the face before shoving him back and kicking him away. Oskar brushed away the curls that fell into his eyes before throwing his arms up in defence of his face from another of the dick’s punches.

“For,” Max began, punctuating his sentence with punches, “fuck’s” punch and the guy went down, “sake, Oskar.”

Oskar grinned. “They’re little bitches, Max, what do—”

Oskar’s head whipped to the side suddenly. He didn’t see his attacker come upon him until he was already hit, fire raging in his cheekbone and someone was cursing as a fist drew back. Another blow came from below, knuckles cracking against his jaw. Oskar stumbled back. His head turned skyward as his bottom teeth snapped against his top and ricocheted through his skull.

He didn’t see the third blow come for his solar plexus. The fist landed and Oskar shot forward as he wheezed a startled sound. A hand caught his cheek and slammed a palm against his nose. Oskar cried out as blood gushed down his face, gasping as he stumbled back again, the world dizzy with tears as his eyes watered reflexively.

Then.

Heat in front of him.

Oranges and yellows licked against the air, standing between Oskar and the homophobes. Warm blood turned cold as it poured from Oskar’s nose and trickled down through his fingers and onto his clothes.

“Yeah, who’s the little bitch now?”

Max scoffed. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Should’ve known you were freaks too,” one of them said. Oskar’s eyes narrowed, tears spilling over his eyelids as he straightened. He could feel his eyes go the same red as his blood and he put a hand on Max’s shoulder, stepping past him.

“Oskar,” Max said. Caution coloured his voice as Oskar stepped around the human fire ball. “Don’t.”

“Fuck it, why not?”

“Oskar! You can’t—”

“Mitch,” Oskar said. The words sounded as sweet as a melody. Irresistible, and why would you want to resist? He knew the moment it hit Mitch’s ears because he paused as the honeyed words swam into his ears. “Kiss the best looking of your friends.”

Mitch obeyed without question.

He chose the second strongest of the four, grabbed his cheeks and slammed his lips against them. The other two, including the little weasel looked a little annoyed more than angered by the fact that Mitch didn’t find them attractive.

Oskar tilted his head to the side and grinned horribly at them. “Aww, feeling left out, uglies? It’s okay. The two of you kiss too.”

“Itch… off…” the good-looking one said, trying to shove Mitch off of him.

“Oskar! Stop it!”

“Why should I?” Oskar demanded, his little finger twitching as rage consumed him. “Maybe I should make them fuck each other in the street like dogs. Maybe then they’ll learn some fucking manners.”

Heat singed the edges of Oskar’s ear, burning away the stray baby curls. Oskar gasped, jumping to the left and cupping his ear with his hand. He looked over his shoulder to see Max glaring up at him.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

“What the fuck yourself! Tell them to stop! Tell them to forget!”

Oskar straightened. His pride getting the better of him. “Why should I?”

“You know right well why Mr Law major! You know how unethical this is?! I’m serious. Tell them to stop right now, or else.”

Oskar kept Max’s burning stare for a moment longer before the rage dissipated like smoke in the darkness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fine,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he turned back to the group of dickheads.

He walked over to the group and told them, “okay loverboys. Enough.”

The group pulled away from each other disgusted. The good looking one, the one that had gotten the punches in on Oskar’s face wiped furiously at his mouth. “What the fuck, Mitchell? Why did you do that? What about Diane?”

Mitch stared at his hands, his face a putrid shade of red. “I- I… I don’t know why I did it… I-” He looked up then at Oskar who stood smugly, hands in his tailored trouser pockets, reeking of expensive cologne and tangible satisfaction. All a farce, a fake, a falsehood, the Oskar that Oskar created after his departure from his legacy role as a hero. “You…” Mitch said, raising a shaking hand. “It was you! You told me… and I- I couldn’t…”

Oskar tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening, exposing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Couldn’t resist? Maybe you just really fancied him.”

A sharp slap to Oskar’s arm and he yelped as Max stepped up beside him, smog rising from his ears and Oskar felt his blood run cold. “Ow!”

“Tell them to forget. Now.”

“Forget?” The weasel one asked, looking just as terror struck as Mitch and the others. “Make us forget?!”

“You’re a monster!” The other one said.

Oskar bent low and said: “boo.”

The weasel actually flinched. Oskar would have laughed if Max wasn’t about to roast him over the grills of hell, so Oskar clapped his hands together. “Okay, idiots, listen up. You will forget you ever met me or Max tonight. You will forget our faces. You will forget you called us faggots. And…” Oskar glanced at Max sideways and grinned. “Whenever you think of calling someone queer or gay, or faggots, you will remember kissing your friends today. And you will also donate your life savings to a charity for LG–”

Oskar flinched when he felt a lick of heat against his face. “Okay. Not your life savings, but you will donate a small donation fee to any LGBT charity in the city and be general allies to the queer community from now on, capiche?”

The four men nodded dumbly. Oskar straightened with a clap. “Good. Wonderful. Later losers.”

Oskar walked off down Fagan’s lot whistling a happy tune. “Happy with yourself, are you?” Max asked behind him.

Oskar laughed. “Yup. Pretty damn satisfied.”

“That was fucked up, Oskar.” Oskar paused, his smile dimming. Max walked around to his front. “You know that was wrong.”

Oskar let out a huff of breath. “They were fucked up, Max! I’m sick of walking around like I don’t have this power! Something I can use to–”

“To ruin people’s lives?”

“You’re being dramatic.” Oskar said, waving away Max’s dramatics.

“No!” Max protested, gathering Oskar’s attention. “I’m not! Did you hear that guy? Mitch had a wife, or a girlfriend, what if he had kids?”

“Poor kids.” Oskar replied coldly.

Max grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Oskar’s black eyes widened with surprise at Max’s force. “Don’t you see how fucked up that could be? Telling him to donate his life savings to a charity? What about his wife? His bills? His kids?”

“Maybe being a shitty person means you deserve to have your life fall apart!”

“Is that why yours did?” Max demanded, eyes ablaze. Oskar stiffened under Max’s knuckles. Max may as well have slapped him for the reaction his words caused. Max’s grip loosened. “Oskar…” he said softly.

“No,” Oskar replied. He ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his eyes, casting them in shadow. God, he really needed a haircut. “No, you’re right. I… I was reckless and I was irresponsible and… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them. After a minute, Max let go of Oskar’s shirt and let him stand up properly. A grin cracked Max’s handsome face then. “But… it was satisfying to see how horrified they were after kissing each other.”

Oskar grinned and let out a little laugh. “Right?” And just like that they were back to normal and walking down to their apartment block, laughing up the stairs and into the dingy apartment, Max struggling to open the door, having to kick it once, twice, three times, but it stayed stubbornly closed.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Max cursed, and shouldered the door open. The door slammed in and Max stumbled and nearly hit the floor if it wasn’t for Oskar grabbing his arm at the last second, laughing as Max cursed.

“Fucking door!”

“About time you got home.”

The two boys straightened at the voice. Oskar helped to steady Max before he went looking for his boyfriend in the apartment. “Nate? What’re you doing here?” Oskar asked with a big smile on his face. When Nate turned his expression immediately darkened and he was in front of Oskar in a second, hands cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Oskar waved him away and went into give Nate a kiss, he missed him he realised. It had only been a few days since they had seen each other, but still. Oskar was drunk and his boyfriend was here, and he was happy.

Nate’s strong hands stopped Oskar from kissing him and Oskar let out a small whine. “What’re you–”

“What. The fuck. Happened to your face?” Nathan asked again and Oskar shrunk under the tightness in his tone. His fingers dug uncomfortably into Oskar’s cheeks and Oskar grabbed Nathan’s wrists and tried to pull them off, but he didn’t budge.

“Nate… Nate,” Oskar said, gasping, eyes pained and pleading. “Nathan, you’re hurting me!”

“What happened to your face?”

“Get off me, Nathan!”

Max appeared between the two and Nathan released Oskar. Oskar took a heavy step back; betrayal pinched his features tight on his face. Oskar shrunk under Nathan’s glare, horribly aware that he had done something wrong and now Nathan was mad, and he hated when Nate got mad.

“Just some douchebags, Nate,” Max said, cutting through the thick tension in the room. “It’s fine. We gave as good as we got.”

“Whoever laid a hand on you…” Nathan said, his voice small, but holding back the ferocity of a storm on the sea. His eyes bright with a cold fury. “Whoever dare hurt you…” he said, his expression softening as he stepped forward and cupped Oskar’s face in his hand again. Oskar flinched when Nathan put his hands on him and wanted to curl up at the look of hurt that passed across his boyfriend’s face. “Your poor face…”

“I’ll live,” Oskar whispered and stepped out of Nathan’s hold.

Max looked between the two. He threw his hands up. “Yeah. I’m also fine, Nate, thanks for asking.”

“Oh shush,” Nathan purred, waving Max away. “You’re like a cockroach, you’ll never die.”

“You could still show some concern. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Oskar excused him as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, his hands shaking violently as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He put his back against the door and gasped when he saw himself in the mirror above the sink. Fuck… fuck… fuck…

Fuck, tears welled up in his black eyes and Oskar felt sick suddenly. A warm feeling climbed his stomach, and he lurched towards the toilet and threw up into the bowl. Not a second later a knock at the door and Oskar froze.

“Osk? Babe, you okay?” Oskar had to tighten his fingers on the toilet to stop his hands from shaking.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s just a crash from the adrenaline of the fight. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“Oskar?” A rattle of the doorknob and Oskar flinched hard again.

Yeah… the fight, totally what he was afraid of…

The next day when Oskar was walking back to the University, he passed a bloody crime scene that made his skin prickle and crawl, and his blood run cold. “Do we have an ID of the bodies?”

“Good thing we had their IDs, or they’d all be John Doe’s.” One of the investigators said. “I don’t know what did this, but it looks too violent for an animal, too… vicious. Calculated.”

Oskar stopped walking. “Mitchell… Dawkins…” One of the lead detectives said and Oskar turned back, and half ran home and up the stairs to his apartment. He had to throw up again as he stumbled into his apartment, sick to his stomach as nausea climbed thick up his oesophagus. All he could think of was Nathan’s hands on his face, the fury in his eyes… the… oh god… no… there… Nathan couldn’t have done something like that… but somewhere, somewhere deep down, Oskar knew he was lying to himself and that thought made him hurl more than the crime.

***

Ambrose stared down at the sleeping Hero in his lap, his bony fingers gently running through his matted hair, combing out the knots of dirt and blood. “Don’t worry, Kit,” Ambrose whispered. “I won’t let him do that to you. I promise. We’ll get out of here. Together. I promise. Just give me time.”

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Tenderness

AU Reverse Therapy

Previous Part: Peaceful Sleep, Next Part: Feast

Summary: Red corsairs find it harder to keep their desires while the girl becomes attached to them.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism, stolkhom syndrome, somnophilia

Word count: 3056

Author's note: Suddenly I realized that if I had written Feast, it would have been a very choppy and quick ending to "Malina's assimilation". So that's how this part was born. And I must say, I'm glad I wrote it first.

Song: London After Midnight - The Bondage Song (Unchained Mix)

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21

“I saw Him bestow His blessing upon His servants. Shining like a slashing sword. Bright as the vivid sun. They were gifted with His love and will. And the faithful servants rose from their knees, they abandoned their fear. And turned their weapons against His enemies. The battle was not yet over. Humanity will live. And it will fight for its Emperor.”

“It’s… so beautiful.” - all Luka could whisper, unable to stop looking at his Malina.

How delicately she held the book, how tenderly she whispered the stupid sermons of a stupid old man. How her lips, enchanting lips, moved. How she had to pause and her pink tongue gently outlined the flesh. And her face almost glowed.

He wants her. He wants her so much. Always. All the time. All eternity.

“Yes, the sermons of Saint Ignatius are my favorite.” - the naive girl smiled happily, not understanding that the man was not talking about them at all. - “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a personal book at home, I had to listen to them in church. But thanks to you, Luka,  I finally have one. Thank you.”

“Y-your welcome.” - the man hesitated awkwardly, trying not to blush. If his dear love continued to praise him, then he would have to leave the quarters as soon as possible. He had few ways to calm down. Most often, he had to use his hand.

Well, and last time, due to an excess of emotions (she, with tears in her eyes, kissed him on the cheek with joy when he gave her this stupid book!), he had to go to the lower levels and eat a child. It was delicious, but Luka loved children and therefore cried for a long time after eating. But then he was able to pull himself together and go back. To find his beauty sitting on his bed and waiting for him.

She wanted to read to him. To him~

“There was no point in learning to read on the agri-world, but I had a very smart uncle.” - the girl whispered, involuntarily remembering the past. - “Apart from Ignatius’s sermons, I adored the romance novel about the Sister of Battle and the guardsman. To tell the truth, it was banned for obvious reasons, but my uncle managed to get a copy. Huh, only now do I realize that we behaved like heretics.”

Luka just laughed at this story. It’s even a pity that they almost mowed down half the population of her home world. Judging by the girl’s stories, they were not fanatics at all.

After all, maybe he lied to Malina that he served the Imperium. But the fact that he saved her was not a lie. She is a young girl dreaming of a beautiful and pure love (and she will get it with him). But the bastards from the Inquisition would have burned her alive even for this innocent desire.

They never listen. Never try to compromise, to forgive those who stumbled. To forgive those who did not even break the law. Who simply wanted to survive and used all the resources, even if they were still alive and begged him not to do it. But the Imperium itself says that everyone must carry out their duty. And Luka was the best in his squad, he should have survived.

His brothers ended up in his stomach for a reason. It was their duty.

"But in my defense, I skipped the raunchiest parts." - The girl giggled, clutching the book to her before jerking it away. - "Oh, I guess that's not something I should talk about while reading Saint Ignatius."

Naive, sweet, gentle Malina. Only his, his love, his salvation. His angel~

“Saint Ignatius?” Virgil suddenly entered the room, abruptly interrupting their wonderful solitude with a question. Confusion was written on his face.

“Yes, Saint Ignatius. His sermons were often held in my church. He valued peace more, but also participated in battles. They say he died an honorable death in one of the battles near Milestorm. Or rather, he disappeared, but our clergy are sure that if he is not fighting, then he is feasting near the God-Emperor.”

Vergil, who was listening attentively to the girl, stood for some time with a thoughtful expression on his face. Before bursting out laughing. Luka thought about shutting the freak up, but changed his mind as soon as the frightened Malina pressed herself against him. Yes, that’s better, closer…

“Good propaganda in the Imperium. Or rather, good training.” - the man smiled sarcastically before lying down on the bed. He was still laughing. - "Feasting near the God-Emperor."

It was really funny. And Luka wanted to laugh too and even go tell the crew about the noble fighter Ignatius. But the look of the upset girl stopped him. The lamenter slowly ran his hand through the girl's dark hair. She immediately looked at him.

He wanted to devour her.

"Do you want to pray?"

Malina prayed. Luka told her that he did it silently. Since he had something to say to the Corpse on Throne (for example, that chemotherapy of the Astartes was the most idiotic decision and his former brothers are pathetic). But he just watched the girl with her eyes closed, pressing her hands to her forehead.

"Sure," - a soft, trusting smile blossomed on her lips.

He loves her so much.

***

Baphomet was disappointed when Virgil asked him for a safe sleeping pill. Not the kind that makes the victim have nightmares and make their eyes pop out of their sockets. Not a drug that makes the flesh boil like meat on burning oil.

He had to explain for a very long time what he wanted. But the main thing is that the disappointed apothecary still gave him the remedy he needed, which the girl took along with the fruit drink. And looking at how soundly she was sleeping, the man understands that his suffering in the stuffy office was worth it.

Malina was quietly snoring, burying her face in her soft pillow. Her eyelashes were gently trembling. Saliva was almost ready to fall from her lips. Virgil wanted to get it out. Which he probably did when he stuck his black tongue into her pink mouth.

Luka insisted that they not touch Malina ahead of time. To give her time to assimilate, get used to the new home, get used to them. She is not a temporary pleasure, she will be with them forever. And if earlier Virgil reluctantly endured, now he himself was ready to wait. The girl is either a psyker or a saint of the Corpse on the Throne, she was able to awaken tender feelings in him.

But while she sleeps, the space marine could at least indulge himself a little. He did not penetrate her, did not even use her tights. He just looked. This was the first time he decided to use her mouth. Apparently, the leader's words excited him too much.

“The next target is the forge world of Hephaestus-VI. Huron Blackheart intends to get as many weapons as possible and is not averse to reining in the Imperials. Two in one. The battle will be hard, but that's part of the fun, isn't it?”

The laughter that followed throughout the war hall confirmed his words.

“And then we will have a feast.”

A feast. A feast. Rivers of blood and meat, moans and cries of supplication, excesses and temptations, a reward after no less delightful slaughter, genocide. All this was soon awaiting him. And Bacchus, pleased with a slightly calmer Virgil and finally controlled Luka, not only allowed him to take the second one with him (Luka was glad like a child). But also allowed him to take Malina.

“I would never have believed in my life that all you two need is a wet cunt.”

No. Virgil and Luka only needed Malina. Although he would never say this out loud while everyone was awake. Only when they were asleep, when they became vulnerable. Only then could Virgil give free rein to his hidden feelings.

The quiet moan that escaped the lips of the sleeping girl sent shivers down the man's spine. He was too carried away. The man stuck his mouth out, allowing the girl to gulp air before attacking her lips again.

Licking her teeth clean and sucking in the saliva that had collected in his mouth. Playing with the limp tongue that was not only unable to resist, but even able to keep up with him. He just wanted to devour her.

Virgil, restraining himself from pushing his tongue further down her throat, sucked on the girl's lips, swollen from kisses. Enjoying that she was in his hands. Enjoying control. Dominance. Her submission and quietness.

Malina doesn't even realize what kind of monster is sitting above her. What it's doing to her body. That it's ready to tear apart anyone who dares to offend her. That he needed nothing but her beating red heart under her ribs.

Delicious, tasty little mortal. And all his.

"And what are you doing with her?"

Almost all his.

“Are you blind or do you need an explanation of what grown men do with pretty girls?” the furious traitor hissed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take her, I’m not an idiot. But there was no talk of kissing.”

“Too much. She’ll find out.” Luka’s blue eyes glittered furiously. His pupils almost disappeared when he looked at her reddened lips. Virgil almost cringed. Crazy bastard.

“Just tell her it’s all about the fruit drink and she’ll believe it.” Virgil relaxed as he saw Luka calm down. “Hah, and I almost thought you were worried about me stealing her first kiss. Do you really not love her as much as you said?”

The silence that followed the question and the scarlet cheeks were the best answer.

“Well, well, and he's accusing me.” - the man scratched his bald head irritably, trying to hide his disappointment in everything concerning Malina. The first one would always be the lamenter. - “And when?”

“When we brought her to the ship. I pecked her.” - Luka shrugged his shoulders as if nothing had happened.

“But I had a tongue!” - boyish joy almost overwhelmed the former flesh tearer, but quickly dissipated.

“I didn’t want to rush things on the first day. With the tongue, it was on the seventh night.” - the boy’s pale, freckled face turned red like a tomato, and his eyes sparkled. - “It lasted two seconds, but it was magical.”

A cheeky, cunning, stupid puppy. He made up the rules himself, but still breaks them. And yet, Bacchus was right. Only with the appearance of Malina did Luka become more manageable. If before he was simply the best warrior, now he got the opportunity not only to be the first to board, but also to enter the main halls of the Feast. Taking the girl away from him would be simply blasphemy in the opinion of the entire crew.

“It doesn’t matter, the first kiss will only count when she’s conscious. Eurydice reported we’ll be arriving on Hephaestus VI soon. And then there’ll be a feast. Bacchus said to bring Malina. Perhaps it’s the perfect time to finally make her ours.”

“Yes… she’ll be mine soon.” Luka whispered almost blessedly, ignoring Virgil. Bastard. So be it. He was only going to touch the girl when she was asleep anyway. No great loss.

For now, they needed to prepare for the massacre.

***

Luka and Virgil had strictly forbidden Malina to leave the quarters. Even on the very first day. But they reminded her of the rules again when they left the ship. As Luka said, Hephaestus-VI was attacked by heretics and they, the faithful servants of the God-Emperor, came to the rescue.

As he says.

The battle promised to last a long time. Therefore, they prepared everything necessary for the girl. If for some reason the operation lasted longer than expected, then she only needed to press a button. And then they would bring her food. The main thing is to hide in the bath.

But as Virgil said, putting the device on the shelf, this would only happen if all the food ran out. And there was enough of it in the quarters to live well and healthy for a whole month. So the girl hoped not to meet other inhabitants of the ship.

Two weeks had already passed.

It was hard to admit, but Malina realized that she missed them. It didn't mean that she wasn't afraid of them. She still was and would be. But over the time she spent with them (a month or two?) she had gotten used to them. They protected her.

Virgil was a monster, but he never dared to hurt her. He hardly spoke to her. If he had dark desires for her, he kept them deep inside. In the darkest night, when she couldn't see him.

And Luka... he loved her. He loved her. He cared for her. And even if Malina knew that the smell of blood followed him. And even if she didn't know his worst side. But she saw his smile. Cute freckles and blue eyes. Blue as the sky of her home world.

They were a new home in every sense of the word.

A sudden crash pulled the girl out of her thoughts. Malina looked at the door with fear. She heard moans and sighs coming from the hallway. But it was not like before. Not those distant screams that haunted her in distant nightmares.

Someone was right behind the door.

She should stay inside. She should hide in the bathtub. Turn on the water and take a shower. Wait for the sounds to fade. Wait for it to go away. But Malina's legs wouldn't obey. She followed the words pouring out of the mouth of... a man? Yes, it was a man.

He sounded like a boy. But old enough to join the army. Old enough and educated enough to know and memorize not just a prayer. But a sermon of the saints. And Malina herself knew that sermon quite well for her status.

It was the sermon of Saint Ignatius.

“And, ah, I saw, I saw the Saint herself. Descended from heaven at His call. And her light f-f-filled me. My soul sang. And I understood that H-His w-will is still, s-still, ah, s-still…”

“Strong,” the girl finished, pressing herself against the door. Malina herself did not notice how she did it.

“Not strong. Hard. Wait. W-what? W-who is there? Y-you here?” - Hearing the girl moan, the man pressed himself harder against the door, judging by the sounds. Scarlet blood slowly seeps over the threshold, forming a tiny puddle. - “Y-you believe in the God-Emperor? They also captured you? Are you safe?”

“Y-yes.” - the captive felt her heart beat with anxiety. But Luke and Virgil continued to play the defenders of the Imperium with her. She had no need to lie, no need.

“Oh, I thought, I-, ah, oh,” the man on the other side of the door was gasping for breath. With every sound he made, he was becoming more and more afraid. Malina realized that the prisoner was looking around. As if he was being followed. - “P-please, open the door for me. I-I was tortured. I-I, d-don’t even know how I c-could get out.”

Malina stared at the huge iron door. At that moment, it looked gigantic. The girl had never felt so small as at that moment. So defenseless. But she was protected. They were taking care of her. She just had to stay inside.

“C-can you hear me? H-help me.” - the man’s voice trembled. He was crying.

“I-I can’t. I can’t.” - the girl whispered, moving away from the gates leading to hell, back to her bed. Maybe this was a test? They wanted to make sure Malina was behaving well? She's good. She's very good, she won't open the door. Mom said not to talk to strangers.

Luke and Virgil will be angry.

"P-please open the door, they're close. P-please." The man was openly crying, weakly knocking on the door.

Sitting down by the bed, the girl only pressed her head closer to her knees, covering her ears. If only not to hear his pleas. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed. But not to the God-Emperor. Not to the forces of Chaos. She just wanted Luka and Virgil to return to her quickly. The boy’s sobs and the girl's were almost in sync. Then the sound of feet was heard. And a nasty human laugh.

"No, no, no. Don't touch me, no. GOD-EMPEROR!"

But the God-Emperor did not answer his prayers. The boy continued to scream as people like him carried him away. All that was left was a pool of blood. And a girl crying in the dark. Who could not save him. Only delay the inevitable.

But she could save herself.

***

"Hey, hey, what happened?" - Luka gently stroked the back of the crying girl, who immediately threw herself into his arms. Not paying attention to his bloody armor from the battle.

Vergil, just like the lamenter, looked at Malina in surprise, clinging to the golden armor. He threw the bag with trophies and gifts for the girl on his bed before starting to take off his armor.

"There was a man here. He said that he served the God-Emperor. He said that he was being tortured by heretics." - The girl, with red eyes from tears, looked at Luka, not noticing his frightened expression. - "I didn't believe him! I didn't open the door. Angel, I was so scared."

The men looked at the poor girl, unable to utter a word. Was this the blessing of the Four Gods or the God-Emperor himself? No. But the red corsairs knew that they were incredibly lucky with Malina. No one would replace her.

"Everything is fine, everything is fine. The bastard has already been taken to prison. You did well not to let him in." - the blond tenderly grinned, stroking the girl's hair. At that moment, he could hardly be called an angel. - "We are proud of you."

"Yes." - Virgil exhaled. - "Good girl."

That day, they restrained themselves and allowed the girl to fall asleep quietly on her bed. The feast was approaching. They could wait a little longer.

[serickswrites]

Kneel

Warnings: capture, restraints, humiliation, future torture implied, cruel, sadistic whumper, physical violence, blood, broken bones, bloody nose, blood from the mouth

"Kneel," Whumper sneered at Whumpee. They had draped themself across Whumpee's throne.

The two knights dragged Whumpee forward. Whumpee's arms were bound behind their back, tightly, shoulders pulled painfully tight. Whumpee held their head high as they were dragged forward. Their crown was still high atop their head. They were still ruler of these lands.

Whumper and their band of minions had struck the castle in the dead of knight, taking everyone by surprise. There hadn't been time to launch a counter attack. There had only been time to get out as much of their court as they could. Whumpee, of course, had chosen to remain behind to buy as much time for the escaping court as they could.

Still, there were those that remained with them. And those few had been forced to gather in the throne room and watch as Whumper humiliated Whumpee.

Whumpee would not give Whumper the satisfaction of begging. It didn't matter if begging would save them. Their siblings had gotten out. The dynasty's line would live even if they died. They would not bow before Whumper. They would not break. They would not give in to the invaders.

"Whumper said kneel," one of Whumper's knights said as they kicked the back of Whumpee's knees.

Whumpee did not cry out as their knees hit the hard marble, though pain sang up their joints. They would not cry out. They would not beg. They looked off, ignoring the knights and Whumper. They would not engage.

Whumper jumped up and stalked towards Whumpee. "I'm going to enjoy flaying you alive, Whumpee. I'm going to enjoy dragging you through the streets so your subjects can see how far you can fall. And I'm going to enjoy leaving your body on display and letting the carrion pick your bones clean."

Whumpee did not say anything. They did not look at Whumper. They would not look at Whumper. They would not give in.

Without warning, Whumper kicked Whumpee in the face. Hard. Whumpee felt their nose crack and bleed. They listed sideways, the only thing keeping them up was the death grip on their shoulders by the two knights. Whumper kicked them again, this time catching Whumpee's mouth. Whumpee sputtered around the blood filling their mouth.

"You are going to be the most fun I have had in a long time, Whumpee. I am going to enjoy breaking you body, mind, and soul. And then I will have your crown."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[ronkeyroo]

❌ CARNAGE (Tw; blood/gore)

[nocturnalr4ven]

Bon appétit.

[vhvrs]

poorly set up gridded panels for the 100̶ years pv. in mostly when each panel shows up order ;P

[ontarom]

A bloodied Stephen Lang in "Gang In Blue" (1996)

[inuamaru]

You feel like you shouldn't be here... Commission for @ishmaelnotahab

i built a whole scene for this image its my first time going all out and i had a lot of fun!!

[wellthisissomething]

HuhGak(허각) _ Hello / I Can Only Say I Want to Die(죽고 싶단 말 밖에)

Whumpy Moments in Music Videos - 26/?

Previous / Next

[chaoticdesertdweller]

Silent Night, Bloody Night, 1972

Dir. Theodore Gershuny

[blo0d1er]

𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ There's Something Wrong with Shin Doa

 ๋࣭ ⭑ characters ; shin doa, mentions of song seoyi, sasha flores, and lalita suwannathat !  ๋࣭ ⭑ warnings ; violence, murder, brief mentions of csa and suicide !  ๋࣭ ⭑ word count ; 2k !

Doa’s mother’s only dream in life was to have a little girl. A perfect little girl she could dote on and dress in frills and bows, buy her dolls, and take videos at her dance recitals. She settled down with the first man who was willing to get her pregnant, but it took years of enduring a loveless relationship before she finally conceived. When she found out she was having a baby girl, she was absolutely overjoyed. Everything she had suffered through in life was finally worth it. She would have her baby girl and life would be perfect. 

But the universe has a knack for not giving you quite what you want in life. Doa’s mother, Seoyi, who had only ever wished and prayed for her, knew from very early on that there was something wrong with her little girl. Something off.

Doa spent the first few years of her life screaming and crying in what felt like a never-ending cycle. She’d lie and throw things and scribble all over the walls just to watch her mother scrub it off and do it all over again. She’d yell and thrash and bite when she didn’t get her way. As much as she wanted to slap that little girl around, Seoyi pretended, pretended, pretended. She had to pretend everything was perfect, but she was sure she was cursed. Her prayers were heard by a malevolent god who knew that everything came with a twisted price. They always say be careful what you wish for, right? Yet, she still dressed her up when she could, when Doa was calm enough to let her put those frills and bows on her. She still bought her dolls she would later break, ripping them limb from limb, and still signed her up for ballet lessons, attending every recital with video camera in hand.

She took well to dance lessons. Doa loved the attention she got when she performed, drinking in the awed stares and the look of her body contorting so beautifully in the mirror. Not to mention her mother was so relieved she had found somewhere to dump her for hours at a time, even if she had to find new studios for her every year or so. Every time another little girl would mysteriously get hurt or refuse to come to class out of fear.

Doa knew she was born wrong. Her mother told her as much in grade school when she pushed a girl in her dance class down the stairs in the hopes that she would get her role as a little snowflake in The Nutcracker. And again in high school when she got caught sleeping with a teacher. I mean, he was clearly the pervert there, right? She was just taking the advantage of getting better grades, what made her so bad for that? She knew there was something different about her when she laughed through a broken nose as her hands locked around the throat of the girl who snitched on them in the school stairwell. The metallic taste of blood flooding her mouth, staining her teeth red didn’t deter her. She didn’t feel anything besides exhilarated as the girl’s nails scratched at her arms and face, ripping into her flesh in her desperation. Doa was torn off her before the other girl had passed out, but she had wondered what it would have been like. What it would have been like to feel the fight leave her, the life strangled out of those loose fucking lips.

She was scouted by SM Entertainment when she 14. The man had chased her down an empty street to give her the card, breathlessly claiming her visuals were stunning. Any other girl being followed by a strange man would have been afraid. The way she clutched the pocket knife she stole in her jacket pocket may have given an outsider the impression that she was. But her heart didn’t hammer as his footsteps quickly caught up to hers in the dim lighting. She didn’t run, she didn’t change her pace of walking a single fraction. In fact, she was hoping he would lay his hands on her so she could have an excuse to ram that little blade right between his ribs. She wanted to see what that white button-up would look like as the vivid, sticky red soaked through.

She always knew how to hide it well enough. She knew how you were supposed to react in any given scenario. Laugh when a boy tells a joke he thinks is funny, even if it’s terrible. Smile when someone helps you with something, even if they’re just trying to get something out of you for it. Cry when the dog on the tv dies, that is not the time to laugh or judge the idiot main character. But that sadistic streak remained. She liked to get a rise out of the other girls in the practice rooms. Made snide, hidden comments about their appearances in the mirror. Snickered in the back of the room when they messed up. Flirted with the boys they liked. She liked to see their faces turn bright red as the tears welled up in their eyes. It made her feel powerful, not sorry. She liked the ones who would join in. Well, tolerated may be the better word. But those who laughed with her, who pinched soft flesh and stole boyfriends, they were safer from her torment. Doa liked being feared. But she liked being followed even more. She loved being loved, being revered like an uncaring god, a twisted Madonna. The feeling gave her a rush of power like nothing else, and she knew that it was all she wanted to pursue in life.

She received a warning from SM when the whole expulsion from school for physical fighting happened, but they finally kicked her out when she was 17 after another trainee attempted suicide and listed her name at the top of her letter. Even though Doa was on track to debut with aespa, the girl’s parents were threatening legal action against the company and they decided she was much more expendable than the legal fees and bad press. 

Doa seriously considered finishing the job the bitch failed so miserably at. Spent nights dreaming about the different ways she could snuff that idiot girl from the Earth for ruining her shot. But when a recruiter from Prismatic reached out to her, she decided that if she was going to one day become so widely loved and revered that she was utterly untouchable... she needed to clean her act up. Or at least put on a good show of doing so. 

The training rooms at Prismatic were much different than the ones at SM. Far fewer trainees crammed into one room, less competition but fewer victims. It was much harder to hide her proclivity under those circumstances. Sure, she was still snide, still cunning, but she learned to be much sneakier about it. The average instructor saw a hardworking and talented girl who had a serious ambition but a minor attitude problem from time to time. She still had her annoyances and her allies, but there was no one she hated more than Lalita. She was too nice, too humble, and far too talented. All the instructors and other trainees fawned over her, a prodigy at dance and song, and just so so sweet. She was their very own Madonna, a pure little virgin chosen by God to bear his fruit of raw talent.

It was obvious that she was supposed to be the star of their soon-to-be group. Before Doa even made the cut Sasha knew it, and she was not one to keep that kind of thing to herself. That bubbling, boiling hatred in her blood only got worse and worse over time, as Lali got special time in the recording studio, private lessons, and even her own room in the dorm as their debut date got nearer and nearer.

No one can prove that Doa placed her foot there on purpose. Lali should’ve landed better on that jump instead of right onto the arch of her sneaker. It hurt her too, you know. Just because she didn’t tear her ACL like Lali did doesn’t mean a stomped-on-foot wasn’t painful. But something Doa didn’t consider in the placement of her foot that fateful day at practice was just how much the company favored Lali. In any other group, a debilitating injury a week before debut just meant they were out of the lineup altogether. Can’t dance, can’t debut. Doa never possibly imagined that Prismatic would delay their debut entirely after pouring so much money into it for one girl. And then to dangle debut right in front of their faces after two years just to snatch it away again for a group of nobodies? If Doa wasn’t positive that Prismatic was her one shot to the top, she would’ve run for the hills. Sending them to America to distract them could only work for so long, but Doa saw a window of opportunity far away from the rest of the watchful eyes of the company.

They all blame her for what happened. Of course, she couldn’t give two shits what they thought of her. Her members, the ones she was stuck sharing the spotlight with for as long as it took. She didn’t care about a single one of them, even Sasha who was so sure that she was her closest confidant. They were just a means to an end. And so was that measly little shove. I mean, it really wasn’t that hard, but the prow of the boat hit a wave at just the right time and well… that debut was going to be theirs with or without her this time. She did them all a favor really, they should be thanking her. Without Lali in the way, they’d all shine even brighter. And it’s not at all her fault that the bitch couldn’t swim. 

These days Doa sometimes wakes up feeling like she’s drowning, like she’s choking on salty waves as a hand drags her into the darkness by her ankle. Sasha says it’s probably PTSD or something, but Sasha is an idiot. Her mother always told her growing up that actions have consequences. She never cared before, never heeded one word her mother said to her besides just how beautiful and perfect her miracle baby girl was. But now, she feared she was being haunted, chased down in her subconscious by the spirit of a girl she always knew was a waste of space under those sweet little smiles and perfectly executed combinations. The dreams were tormenting her, having to layer on more and more concealer under her eyes to hide those dark circles for each stage. At least she was on the stage, she told herself. She was on the stage, she had made her debut, and Lali didn’t. She won. Yet she doesn’t feel quite so victorious when she lays down to sleep every night. God, perfect little Lali just had to ruin everything. Doa wanted to scream into every measly puddle of water she laid eyes on to just leave her the fuck alone. 

You hear that, Lalita Suwannathat? Leave her alone! 

There's got to be something seriously wrong with her.

[baba-the-fool]

“Better luck next time” 😘

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

(Not) Salvation

AU Reverse Therapy

Next Part: New Home

Summary: One of the agriworlds is attacked by heretics and the young girl finds salvation in the arriving Space Marines. Not suspecting that it was they who brought death to her planet.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism

Word count: 2244

Author's note: In this part I wanted to focus more on the space marines and the atmosphere of horror. Hope you were interested in my OCs. In future there will be more interactions between this trio but here only meeting.

Song: Inkubus Sukkubus - Wild Hunt

It was scary. Screams were heard everywhere. The air smelled of blood and burnt flesh. From afar came cries and pleas for help, the hooting laughter of heretics. Someone was less fortunate than her. No one had found her yet.

And it is unlikely that they will.

“God-Emperor, do not abandon me, guide me to the light, I will not fear the darkness for I believe” - she repeated the prayer dryly, like a memorized text from school.

Because it was a lie. Of course she were afraid of the darkness. Afraid of death. And even more so of torture. The endless pain that the enemies of the Imperium promised to bring with them. Yes, the clergy would say that she was a heretic. But in the last hour, she did not want to lie, at least to herrself.

Soon her agri-world will drown in the blood of its inhabitants. And if the Imperium returns the planet to its bosom, resumes the delivery of food, then other people will do it. Your fate is to become meat in the hands and mouths of heretics.

She felt new tears running down her cheeks. They haven't found her yet, but soon, soon they will find her small and weak body. Soon they will tear her apart, eat the meat, throw away the bones, and put the skin on thier armor like a cloak. She already saw how the heretics did this to an elderly couple.

Sudden steps pulled her ark thoughts and returned to an equally dark present. Her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. These were too heavy steps for a human. Too metallic a sound. The smell of imminent death hit her nose and she held back from screaming in horror at the imminent meeting with the most terrible shame of the Imperium.

A Chaos Space Marine.

And at that moment, when the legionary appeared before her in full height, when she almost bit her lip until it bled, just to keep from screaming... only then did she notice the armor. Golden as the sun, with a distinctive sign in the form of a bloody heart. The Lamenter.

She burst into tears like a little girl.

“The G-God-Emperor h-heard m-my prayers.” - her world was under siege, she had already managed to lose loved ones, she had the right to tears, but she still tried to wipe them away. - “I-I am too weak to walk. Please save the others.”

The Space Marine did not say a word, listening to her sobs. He came closer until he knelt down on one knee next to her. Only then did she notice that his armor was covered in blood, and in some places there were signs drawn that were unfamiliar to her. If she had any doubts, they were dispelled as soon as the Astartes removed his helmet.

He was quite handsome. Pale-faced, with a snub nose, a scattering of freckles and bright cheeks. His wheat-colored hair barely reached his shoulders. His face was clear and bright, with only one scar crossing his left eyebrow. But what stood out most about the young man were his eyes. Blue as the sky of her planet until the heretics attacked it and it turned red.

“You really are an angel.” - she switch to a reverent whisper. For the first time, a happy, albeit tired, smile appears on her face. Her eyes are still shining from recently shed tears before she plunge into the saving darkness. She could no longer remain conscious after what she experienced. She were too tired.

For a second before she finally lose consciousness, it seems to her that the Astartes' ears are red. Like an ordinary young man who heard a compliment from a pretty girl.

Hah, what a heresy.

***

The mortal soldier of the Corpse on the Throne writhed helplessly in Virgil's arms, unable to resist him. In truth, Virgil would not have minded playing with his victim, but the thirst for blood was stronger. But it doesn't matter. The planet they had landed on promised rich loot.

Quite a long time had passed when he joined the Red Corsairs. And when he realized this delightful feeling. The ability to not pretend. The ability to kill as he pleased, torment as he wanted. Maybe the Black Thirst was a curse, but such an opinion was imposed on him. The veteran never thought so.

"Virgil!" - a completely joyful cry rang out across the battlefield.

But having a roommate like this one is a curse. And to his great dissatisfaction, quite scary and uncontrollable. Although a narrow-minded mortal would probably think that a flesh tearer covered in someone else's skin is more dangerous than a lamenter with an angelic face.

But to be fair, he thought so too.

The veteran sighed and threw the soldier's body away from himself. And judging by the convulsions, he was still alive despite the loss of blood. On another day Virgil would have liked to watch mortal’s suffer longer, but the plundering had only just begun, and man had to deal with the young pup before he did anything wrong.

“Vergil, look who I found. She mistook me for a loyalist.” - the young man, unusually softly holding the limp body of a mortal girl, looked at her face with almost love in his eyes. - “I saved her.”

Vergil rolled his eyes, scratching his poor bald head. Why, why, did he get Luka?

“Of course she thought so. Not only did you not change your armor, but she also apparently passed out before you spoke.” - the lamenter, to Vergil’s irritation, ignored the fair remark. - “Why did you even bring her here?”

“What do you mean, why? I saved her, now I have to marry her.” - the blond answered as if nothing had happened. Seeing how his pale partner’s eye began to twitch involuntarily, he raised his voice in displeasure. - “Don’t look at me like that! She will behave well.”

“Like the previous girls, huh?”

“First of all, I liked them, but I wasn’t going to marry them. Secondly, we met when they already knew which side I was on.” - Luka again gazed tenderly at the sleeping girl, burying his nose in her cheek. - “And she said that I looked like an angel.”

A little more and Virgil would throw up, he was sure of it. Of course, he was a sadist. He liked to torture and torment. He liked to hear screams. And yet, when it came to intimacy, it was unnecessary. The cultists screaming in strange ecstasy irritated. Some went completely wild, so after a couple of blows, he had to fucks their still warm corpses.

And the captured slaves... well. They cried. Of course, it was beautiful, but their constant attempts to escape and crawl away also irritated the man. Why couldn’t they just lie quietly and wait for him to finish his business? Why are they all so disrespectful?

It's annoying. Everything annoys him.

But the girl's calm, sleeping appearance was apparently one of the few exceptions. Virgil would even say that he liked the way her eyelashes twitched slightly, and her lips parted just a little. Serenity itself. Innocence itself.

Even as a loyalist, Virgil didn't care much about mortals. But still, even in such a callous person as he, there was a hidden desire to protect the innocent. Now he likes to torture them more (everyone, to be precise). But after his desire was returned, the need to possess lovely ladies settled in him. Alas, but he no longer serves the Emperor, and the girl expects exactly this from them. Luka, an idiot, does not understand this and dragged her to her death.

Although-

"Let's tell her that we are fighting for the Corpse on the Throne."

"What?"

“You just said that she took you for a loyalist. So why try to convince her otherwise?” - the veteran smiled with all his sharp teeth, enjoying his genius. - “She has had it tough enough as it is. Let’s lock her in the quarters. She will see and listen only to us.”

The boy stared at him blankly for a while until the whole plan dawned on him. Luka opened his mouth joyfully, causing the blood of the dead to slowly flow inside. Virgil involuntarily stuck out his black mutated tongue at the sight. Hmm, he would have to keep that abomination in his mouth if he didn't want to scare the girl ahead of time.

"Oh, that's a great idea. She'll be so thrilled to have ended up with the good sons of Sanguinius. But, Virgil, what if she finds out that we're fighting against the Imperium?" - Luka hugged the girl tighter, burying his nose in her hair. - "What should we do in that case? Will she cry? Hate us? What if she wants to run away??"

"By that time, she'll be used to us and her new home. She'll come to terms with it, you'll see." - the veteran growled with displeasure and slapped the blond on the back of the head. - "And stop squeezing her like that! You'll break all her bones."

"B-but she's so pretty!"

He was right. She really is pretty. By the Ruinous Powers, Virgil hated the False Emperor and the Imperium. But he had to admit that some of its citizens were better looking than the cultists.

"Don't. Squeeze. Control. Yourself. Or better yet, drag her on board before she wakes up."

The blond immediately went thin. The veteran involuntarily cringed as he saw tears gathering in his blue eyes. You wouldn't know from Luka that he was wreaking heretic.

"But we've only just begun the massacre! I've never even come across any children!"

You wouldn't say he was a pervert either.

"Then it would be in your best interest to quickly take her to the flagship and return to us. I don't know how you'll do that. But since you've picked up the girl, have the respect to take care of her."

“Fine! But then I’ll choose her name.” - the blond possessively hugged the limp body and headed towards the ship. Virgil only sighed heavily, raising his red eyes to the sky. How hard it was sometimes with the young man.

But on the other hand, he was still useful. The idea of ​​playing the role of the Emperor’s loyal servants was hilarious in itself. And an unhappy and lonely lady in distress was an extremely pleasant bonus after the massacre. Surely, such a good girl was followed by crowds of vile fanatics of the Corpse on the Throne. But never mind, now her saviors will take care of her.

“We are the Emperor’s Angels after all.” - Virgil muttered under his breath, pleased, turning his attention to the soldier who dared to shoot at him. It seemed he would finally change his cloak.

What a great hunt they made on this world.