#don’t get me wrong I love him regardless of his hair but there are certain styles that I simply adore and this is definitely one of them

[thinwhitedoc]

FARGO | Martin Freeman as Lester Nygaard

[etheries1015]

I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭

I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!

Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!

featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!

general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \

TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.

Leona

The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.

"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"

Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.

Ruggie

"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.

Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.

"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3

Jack

He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.

He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.

With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.

You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3

Azul

He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.

But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;

"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.

He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.

He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.

Jade

The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.

"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.

He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.

But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.

He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!

Floyd

Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.

You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.

"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.

Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.

The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.

"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...

He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.

Ya'll are so silly for each other <3

[thatweeboverthereisthirsty]

Can you please do a scenario on dorm leaders reacting to s/o having a nightmare? Like maybe they were having nightmares for some time and dorm leaders didn't realize until one night they find them tossing and turning and crying in their sleep?

Believe it or not I started this ask about 4-5 months ago XD anyways at least I completed it! I hope you enjoy! (Also I used headcanons bc I don't do request scenarios for all dorm leaders unless commissioned hope that's alright with you)

Warnings: minor angst, mostly fluff

Riddle is a light sleeper so it’s unlikely he won’t immediately notice your tossing and turning

After several minutes of sitting awake, waiting for you to settle down, he realizes something is wrong

He quickly gets up and turns on a light 

Your skin is pale and sweat drips from your brow

Murmurs about something unintelligible escape from your mouth

Riddle quickly comes to the conclusion that you are having a nightmare 

Gently but quickly he wakes you and you shoot up in bed, tangling yourself in the sheets

He eases you and untangles your legs before climbing in next to you

He holds you as you sob and shushes you quietly while pressing chaste kisses to your forehead

Soon you’ve calmed and he walks you to the kitchen so he can make you some tea

“Riddle? Aren’t there rules about being up after a certain time?”

He hands you your tea and sits next to you 

“Sometimes you just have to break the rules. And for you? I’d break them all.”

Leona sleeps right through all of your disruption and squirming

It isn’t until his own dreams turn to you crying quietly that he slowly wakes in anxiety

He rapidly realizes he wasn’t completely dreaming

Your soft sobs tell him that you have been awake and crying for awhile but didn’t want to wake him by being loud

He wants to punch himself for sleeping soundly when you were having a hard time

Quietly, he wraps his arms around you and his tail strokes your lower thigh in comfort

“Was it a nightmare?” 

You nod and he sighs, pressing a kiss into your hair

Leona mutters to you for the next half hour about how you are safe and loved

When silence finally falls he doesn’t try to go back to sleep until he’s sure you are ok

He won’t prompt you to tell him what it was about but if you wanted, he would listen all night if he had too

“I’m so sorry Herbivore. Next time promise me you will wake me. I want to be there to dry your tears.”

Azul sits up the instant he feels like something is wrong

He often cuddles you as strongly as an octopus usually does so he’s quick to notice you trying to pull out of his arms desperately

Are you too hot? Too cold? He can’t figure out what’s wrong and it bothers him a lot

Regardless he shakes you awake and holds your trembling form as you sob into his shoulders

He texts Jade briefly, knowing the eel-man would have his phone on, and requests some hot chocolate be brought up immediately 

When you are finally settled down, Azul wraps you in his softest blanket and places a warm mug in your hands, warning you that it’s hot

Your breathing softens a bit and even after the sugary drink you’ve just had, your eyes droop

Azul whispers reassurances into your skin as he coaxes you to lie down again, still swathed in the fluffy blanket

His kind words don’t stop until long after you fall asleep 

He runs his fingers through your hair, gentle not to wake you again

How could someone so sweet be plagued with dreams so painful? 

Kalim notices you are distressed before you even start tossing and turning

He’s a light sleeper so he hears your whimpers and small noises of distress and wakes up right away

For a moment he isn’t sure what do do

Have you been poisoned? Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?

Finally he calms down a bit after coming to the conclusion that you are in fact safe and just having a nightmare

Tentatively he wakes you and pulls you into a hug

With one hand he strokes your hair and whispers reassurance to you while he texts Jamil with the other hand to bring some sleepytime tea

“If you want to talk about it just let me know. If you need space or a bath or anything else…” 

You cut him off with a quick kiss and smile at him through your tears

“Just hold me Kalim.”

He’d rather do nothing else than keep you swathed in blankets for cuddles and kisses

Jamil leaves the tea outside the room and Kalim briefly detaches from you to grab it

After sipping at your tea for a while your eyelids droop and Kalim tucks you back in with a peck to the forehead.

“I’m always here, my love.”

Vil is a surprisingly deep sleeper and doesn’t notice you waking up and sliding gently out of bed

You pad out of the room and sit in the hallway for a moment to clear your head without disturbing your boyfriend

You know how much he needs his beauty sleep after a long day of being gorgeous and badass

Unfortunately that meant you were left to sit in the hall by yourself and cry quietly into your arms

What you didn’t plan on was how tired you would be after the crying stopped

You must have fallen asleep in the hallway because you woke to Vil rocking you gently

“Sweet potato? Are you alright? Did you decide the floor would be better than an airfoam mattress with egyptian silk sheets?” 

He quirked an eyebrow at you but frowned again when you didn’t smile back

“Why are you out here?” he asks

You hesitate before telling him about the nightmare and his eyes light up with concern

He gathers you into his arms and brings you back into the bedroom

“It’s a good thing I haven’t done my makeup yet or it would smudge on the pillowcase.”

He lies down next to you on the bed and kisses you gently on the lips

“Next time, Sweet Potato, wake me. I do not mind losing sleep over the one I love.”

You and Idia rarely sleep in the same bed together

Not because you don’t like it, you just both have very different sleep schedules

Idia is almost always up all night playing his games while you doze off under his covers

Tonight was no different

Except that when Idia pulled off his headset for a quick break, he noticed you were making some distressed noises

As a first class introvert, Idia has absolutely no idea what to do and immediately looks up online ‘how 2 comfort sleeping gf w/ nightmare?’

All of the results are pretty similar and all of them make him extremely nervous but it’s you and he loves you so he will suffer through

Not that comforting you is a suffer but the anxiety that he might mess up and do something wrong

Hesitantly he makes his way over to the bed and shakes you very gently

You don’t wake up at first so he whispers your name a few times and finally you wake up

You are very glad he has fire hair because the worst thing about waking up after a nightmare is waking up in total darkness

But here he is, your knight in flaming armor, lighting up the darkness, his hair like a halo around him as he gazes at you nervously with concern

You pull Idia into bed with you and sigh into his chest

Eventually he starts to relax and asks you if you’re ok

“I am now that you are here.”

Malleus has never felt so guilty in his entire long fae life

You are tossing fitfully and shivering beneath the sheets of his bed, making small panicked noises

He can hear your uneven breathing and rapid heartbeat as clear as if someone was playing the drums

He had been on a walk when it started and it was impossible for him to know how long it had been since the nightmare began

When he had returned, Malleus instantly panicked

What was happening to you? Were you hurt? Could he even heal your fragile human body? 

His magic quickly roamed your body and he learned there was no outer physical injury but he was only slightly relieved

Once he realized it was just a nightmare he finally calmed down a bit

Malleus decided not to wake you from your sleep since you had already lost so much of it

His hand rested over your forehead and he watched as the soft green glow eased your brain and nerves

Your body relaxed and your breathing evened out

He still waited until your heartbeat slowed to a steady, healthy pace before relaxing himself

Climbing into bed beside you he promised himself that he would never take a night walk and leave you alone again

[sleepyspudbrainrot]

Patience (Cody x OC x Jey)

Cody Rhodes x OC x Jey Uso | 18+, fluff, drug use | 1591 words

Had inspiration to write a bit of Cody Rhodes and Jey Uso fluff based on a prompt my friend had picked out for me ages ago. Hope y'all enjoy this little one shot !

“Everything looks so beautiful from up here…”

Calista sat on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling into the open air below.  Normally, she was not one for heights, however the need to get away from the crowded rooms beneath had overridden her fears.  She let herself focus on the horizon, the buildings that pierced the sky, the lights that shone from in between.  It was quiet, peaceful, and she was completely alone with her thoughts.  Which were much harder to get away from. She sighed softly, leaning back, hands scraping on the textured cement of the roof behind her.  Her gaze trailed up and up, following the lines of the buildings around her until all she could see was the starry sky.  Each star lead her to another.  Each star a smaller piece of a larger constellation.  She’d only seen two that she could name, the big dipper and orion’s belt.  However, she was certain there were more to find than that.

“Is this seat taken?”

A rough, male voice broke through the dull hum of the streets beneath them.  A voice that she didn’t quite recognize without a face.  “Depends on who you are?”  The only response she got from the unknown male behind her was a low chuckle, before he entered the periphery of her vision.  Shocking blonde hair, the garish tattoo on the side of his neck.  This unknown male was none other than Cody Rhodes. “How on earth did you sneak out of all of that?”  She turned her head, an eyebrow raised.  The party down below was for the man sitting to her left.  He’d just won tag team gold with Jey Uso and had every reason to celebrate.  And very few reason’s to hide away on the roof.

“Told them I was going for a smoke… or was it that I was looking for a bathroom… either way, I don’t think they’ll think too much of it?”

Calista smiled, shaking her head.  “You’re one half of the main reason they’re celebrating… also is it really a good idea to leave Jey down there? He was…” 

Cody interrupted her with a chuckle, “Already pretty far gone when we got here?” She nodded, turning to look at Cody as he spoke.  “He was flirting with one of your friends I think… they’d been asking if he’d seen her and he was quick to distract.  Almost like…”

“He knew that I’d needed some air?”  

It was Cody’s turn to nod in agreement.  “I might’ve passed him on the way out and let him know.  He knows how I feel about crowds.” She shrugged, turning to look at the horizon once more.  The buzz from beneath them had faded to a dull vibration that she could only really hear if she was listening for it.  And even then, noise from the party had a tendency to drown anything else out as it filtered upwards from the floors below.  “I don’t want you to miss out on the celebrations for me.”

Cody raised an eyebrow, shifting on the ledge, hip brushing against her own as he did so.  “You’re the one who suggested we team up… if anyone should be celebrating with us, it’s you.”  Her expression softened, cheeks glowing in the faint light of the moon.  “Am I wrong?”

She shrugged, “You would’ve won regardless.  Creative has been loving you lately.  Whether you’d been paired with Jey or Kevin or… hell even if they’d dragged me out as a “special guest”, not that they would…” The idea is ludicrous, given that she has zero experience in the ring.  She’s more of a glorified consultant for creative these days more than anything else.  “Your win was practically guaranteed.  Having Jey as your partner is just an added bonus.  Which…” She glances over her shoulder, almost wonder if Jey is listening behind the door.  “I really hope he’s not listening to this but… it’s a good look for you both.  Makes the crowds love y’all even more.”

She had to force herself not to look at Cody for a reaction, to not overthink the expression of appreciation and the hint of surprise that seemed to settle over him.  Silence claimed the space between them, punctuated with little more than the occasional cheer from the party beneath them or an occasional car horn that managed to make it’s way all the way up to them.  She could’ve spent all night like this.  In a comfortable silent understanding with the man beside her.  At some point, he’d reached behind her, hand curling around her shoulder to pull her close.  The gesture alone was enough to flood her cheeks with color that she could only pray that he didn’t see.

“Hope that’s alright…” Cody looked down at her, his freehand coming up to brush the hair from her face.  “You looked… a little cold?”  A flimsy excuse, that both of them could see right through.  However, while the gesture was unexpected, she couldn’t say that she wasn’t enjoying the closeness. 

“Jey told you to come find me didn’t he…”

The thought had been tugging at the back of her mind since he’d sat beside her.  The knowledge that Jey knew of her admiration for the “American Nightmare” that she’d been content to keep to herself.  At least, until he’d noticed it.  He’d been teasing her for weeks, so it made sense that he’d finally decided to give them both the push that he felt she needed.  

“He did, said something about making sure that girl doesn’t freeze to death, you feel me dawg.”

A loud thud from the rooftop door punctuated his statement as Jey Uso himself stumbled out from the stairwell.  “Come on Uces! You’re missing out on - -”  It was as if the closeness of the pair in front of him hadn’t registered, until it did.  “Ah shit dawg, why didn’t you tell me you found her.  I’m interrupting and everything…”  A laugh escaped Calista, her free hand flying up to cover her mouth as her shoulders shook against Cody’s chest.

“What’s so funny Uces? We’re here to celebrate our man over here and he’s wrapped up in you… You havin’ your own private celebration? Without me?”  It was as if the idea was so outlandish, Jey’s gaze flicking between the pair.  “Alright, make some room you two.  Can’t let y’all have all the fun… plus I grabbed some party favors!” He settled on the edge of the roof to Calista’s right, effectively wedging her between them both.  The party favor’s in question were fished from his pockets, two joints and a flask of some unidentified liquor.

“I’ll pass on the flask but… pass one of those over here?”

The joints were passed to Calista first, allowing her to light one and take the first satisfying hit.  The smoke filled her lungs with a comfortable burn that had her eyes fluttering closed.  She then blew it out into the night, letting the tendrils float away on a breeze.  The joint was passed to Cody now, leaving Calista to lean on Jey.  Jey who’d thrown an arm around her waist to compliment the arm around her shoulder from Cody.  

“I swear, you two…” She rested her head on Jey’s shoulder now.  “You’ve been planning this.  Getting me alone… keeping me all to yourselves…”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that ma.” 

Calista glanced up at Jey who was grinning down at her.  His grill glinting in the moonlight, as his gaze settled on hers.  “Not our fault you’ve been ignorin’ the signs for the last month.”  

She blinked at Jey, her gaze flitting between him and Cody as she sat up straight.  “Signs…?” 

It was Cody’s turn to grin at her now, smoke seeping from in between his teeth. “The compliments, the flirting, creative calling you in to work specifically with the two of us?”

“But I thought…?”  If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure what she thought.  She’d just thought her input was needed, given how close she was to the storylines, to Jey.  She’d begun to get close to Cody over the last week or so, but she’d thought that was normal.  There was a certain level of trust and closeness expected when you were choreographing matches and spending late nights tweaking the individual pieces to make sure everything flowed the way it needed to.

“Told you Uce, I knew she wasn’t pickin’ up what we were puttin’ down.”

Cody shook his head, “Hate to admit man… guess we’re doing a shit job of showing her how we’ve been feeling.” 

Once again Calista was speechless, blinking as she glanced at the men on either side of her.  “I’m.. sorry? What have I --”

Cody leaned forward, grabbing her left hand and threading their fingers together.  Jey was doing the same with her right hand.  Both hands were calloused and held strength that she could feel despite the tender gesture. The gesture was enough to put together the puzzle pieces they’d been dropping for her.  They had been flirting with her.  Had been complimenting her.  They’d asked her out to dinner and she’d invited others to join them thinking that they were friend dinners.  The gears in her mind were moving, working and finally she got it.

“How on earth have you been this patient for so long…”

Both men laughed, their amusement shaking their shoulders, even as they held Calista close. “Because there’s a certain amount of patience involved for things that are worth it… isn’t that something you’ve always said?” 

[judeable-brainrot]

HII anon req cause i’m… idk.. BUT would you.. maybee do patrick x a ftm reader.. like a tinder hookup and he doesn’t tell him till they meet up that he’s trans.. i dunno how else to explain this so if you like the idea please run with it!! (obvi he’s super accepting and such but the reader is super nervous about it)

HIIIII!! yes ofc, love this!!! it’s long because this was so good and my brain went haywire:3

patrick who does not gaf who he hooks up with, he just sees someone hot and swipes right instantly. that just so happens to be you. his profile is stereotypical of a guy just looking to fuck, cock size in his bio, mainly shirtless pics. it’s ridiculous but it makes you smile so you think, fuck it.

you both message back and forth and find a time during the weekend to meet up at a bar. but as the day creeps closer, you’re realizing that his not the sharpest tack in the drawer and didn’t read your profile fully, because he’s under the impression that you’re cis. not that you’ve corrected him because awkward! but regardless, it’s something that starts to worm a hole in the back of your mind.

eventually, the night arrives and you meet him at the bar. he’s hot, dressed casually in jeans and a polo. you’re dressed nearly the same, a funny jumping off point while your heart hammers at how to approach the subject of you being trans.

unfortunately, you don’t get that far because not even an hour into meeting, you’re both pushing your tongues into each other’s mouths and stumbling towards the family use restroom, locking the door. he’s rough and fast, wanting. you can feel it in the way he slides he tongue against yours, hands on your waist and lower back. but the minute they slide to your hips, you pull away.

“w-wait…wait..” you pant out, sink behind you, trying to get your bearings. he pulls back, looking at you curious and a little concerned. “what? what’s wrong?” you exhale deeply. “i just…—Patrick, i’m trans..” you say softly, embarrassment creeping across your cheeks. he’s probably gonna walk out now, block you. that’s fair, you dese—

but he doesn’t do any of that. he just stares for a few seconds and then shrugs. “alright.” you stare bewildered. “alright?” “yeah, i mean, i don’t have an issue with it. is it—do you not want me touching certain places or what?” you stare and stare and stare for a few minutes before finding your voice. “n-no just…thought it was important you knew so you weren’t..disappointed.” he quirks a brow gently. “i wouldn’t be. you’re still so fucking hot, i don’t care if you’re trans or not, i still want you.”

and god, you think you could combust on the spot because no one has ever been that kind to you before. he must have picked up on this because he gently leans in and gives you a soft kiss. “i’m really okay with it, i still wanna hook up if you do.” he says. you kiss him again. “yeah..i do.”

and just like that, he’s back to kissing you hard and fast, hands shifting down to your jeans. you help him get them off and he kneels in the floor, looking up at you. it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. he gently tugs at your boxers and you nod eagerly. Patrick slides them down and stares at the sight of your tdick. “fuck..” you squirm just a little. he takes your thighs in his hands and leans in, gently placing a kiss on your cock. you whine, a hand flying to his hair. he continues, mouthing and sucking and laving at your sensitive parts until you pull his hair hard, cumming on his skin until your thighs shake.

he pulls away, smiling devilishly and licking his lips. he stands again, leaning in to kiss you, pushing the taste of you into your mouth, making you moan. you hear his belt buckle chink as it comes undone. he slides his jeans to the floor, then his boxers. you break the kiss to look at him and G O D he’s huge. you stare and stare and stare until you hear him chuckle.

“like what you see?” he asks. you flush a little and nod. “yeah..i really do.” “i had an idea, if you’re down.” you nod eagerly. “i’m down.” he laughs because you don’t even know what it is but you’re just so eager.

he gently slots himself right below you and starts to thrust against you and your cock. you gasp and grip onto his shoulders, the friction bliss. he picks up the pace, a hand moving up under your shirt to trace over your chest, feeling the scars there. he moans. “fuck, you’re so wet. god, and you’re dick, you’re so hard for me, yeah?” you nod, start to fuck onto him. “mhm, just for you. jesus, so good…!”

you grip his hair, mouthing at him all sloppy and slick as you both frot. he return the messy kisses eagerly, gripping the back of your neck, pulling one of your legs up around his waist for a better position. it’s filthy and perfect. you whine into his mouth, close. “Patrick…gonna cum..” he nods, lips finding your neck, making you moan. you pick up the pace of your hips, chasing that high. “that’s it..god, you’re cock feels so good. it’s perfect..” you whimper, speeding up even more, and he follows suit. “yeah yeah yeah..!” and with a final cry, you cum for the second time over his cock, and he spills down your thighs a moment later.

you both pant into each other’s mouths as you come down before he grabs some paper towels and gently cleans you up, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he does. “can i see you again?” you give in instantly.

[abitofboth]

some more owen carvour hcs because I’m unwell about him

he's meticulous when it comes to cleaning his guns. almost every night on a mission he will sit within the twilight and carefully take them apart and clean every piece. the same goes for his knives, brass knuckles, and any other weapons he happens to use.

he’s pretty consistent with shaving and cutting his hair; keeps his usual length, and a clean shaven face. when he’s going through a rough patch his hair will grow a bit longer and he’ll turn up to work with stubble.

post fall, his hair is down to his shoulders and he has a permanent 5 o'clock shadow.

he doesn’t play games he knows he can’t win. he was so certain that he was going to be the one to kill curt, not the other way around.

he can do tricks with his switch blade and he DELIGHTS in showing off for curt.

big fat crush on brandon shaw from hitchcock’s film ‘rope’. fucked up spy obsessed with his very own fucked up blorbo.

takes the piss out of curt for having a thing for james bond (“the name’s carvour. owen carvour.” “shut UP.”)

connected to that, curt loves the bond novels but can’t concentrate long enough to actually get through them. owen reads them out to him and does voices for all the characters.

he tells curt that “that secret died the night you left me for dead”, but I don’t think that he stopped loving him as soon as he fell. he hated him, yes, but he still loved him. some small part of him was still desperately clinging onto the hope that curt would come back and 'rescue' him from chimera for at least a year or two.

somehow manages to be kinda toxic with his own masculinity but also (in the privacy of his and curt's relationship) fucks with gender a little. for example, he doesn't allow himself emotional relief because 'men don't cry', but on the other hand relishes in being called 'princess' and owns a few lipsticks. loves leaving lipstick kiss marks on curt.

curt is pretty big on cars. he likes tinkering with them, fixing them up, knows all you could need to know about them, and has strong opinions on which ones are good and which ones are shit. owen couldn't care less- as long as it moves and it's not an ugly colour, he's happy.

he has doubts about his job and the governments he serves. where some spies blindly follow, he reluctantly trails behind.

the black and red leather jacket used to be owen's, but curt borrowed it one day and conveniently 'forgot' to give it back. owen has no complaints- he likes curt wearing his clothes and he barely wore it himself anyway.

he stands by the notion that british words and phrases are gospel, and american words and phrases are stupid and wrong.

known for a bit of a resting bitch face. he always looks pissed off, but is probably only pissed off 50% of the time.

older than curt, but only by a year or two.

he is kind to those with less power, and directs his rage to those in charge instead.

has a tendency to pull at his hair when he's super freaked out.

he has panic attacks more often post-fall.

he knows he's hot shit. plays on the 'british charm' when he's flirting with marks and it works every single time.

he knows a decent amount of french. not quite fluent, but enough that he can easily navigate most conversations.

spicy, don't look too close

he likes to take charge most of the time because it's owen, he loves having power in all situations, but he has a submissive streak in him. he doesn't like to admit that it doesn't take much to get him whining and begging.

phone sex. it's risky, but he likes it. transatlantic jerk-offs are key when your partner is in another country.

tops more often than he bottoms, purely because he thinks curt prefers it that way.

pull his hair and watch him melt.

likes when curt manhandles him. he has muscles, and owen wants him to use them.

he'll whisper filthy things to curt on missions with the sole intention of riling him up at the worst possible time.

he enjoys bondage regardless of who is the one being tied up.

[agentnico]

Challengers (2024) review

That’s one way of engaging me in sport I guess.

Plot: Tashi, a tennis player turned coach, has transformed her husband from a mediocre player into a world-famous grand slam champion. To jolt him out of his recent losing streak, she makes him play a challenger event -- close to the lowest level of tournament on the pro tour. Tensions soon run high when he finds himself standing across the net from the once-promising, now burnt-out Patrick, his former best friend and Tashi's former boyfriend.

It’s safe to say this movie has blew up the internet. Zendaya with her major fan-base starring in a threesome tennis flick that’s brought to you by the director who revealed Timothee Chalamet to the world in that queer flick that featured the infamous peach scene? Now that’s quite the selling pitch. Naturally the result is a box office success and a movie that is already taking the top spot for the most memeable motion picture of the year. And I get it, this movie is definitely provocative enough and has enough sexual tension in it to excite any viewer. I’ll refer to my friend’s Letterboxd review for this movie with him saying the following: “I’ve found recently that hormones in films plays a factor in how much I like the film and this film is very horny”. Right, let’s not delve too deep into my friend’s evident sexual frustration, but he is not wrong that this movie reaches peak horny levels. Every scene is imbued with the steamy appetites of its central trio of characters. Like damn to these people want to f*ck hard big time! This should not come as a surprise though, as this follows a very similar formula to Luca Guadagnino’s other films, stoking the appetite of the youth to provide an open forum for unbridled desire to let loose. Call Me by Your Name, Suspiria, Bones and All, A Bigger Splash - every single one of these features tackles themes of sensuality and elegance. You know exactly what you’re getting into with a Guadagnino movie and Challengers is no exception.

That being said, with Challengers the actual narrative serves itself perfectly for a trashy B-movie experience, however it is thanks to Guadagnino’s directorial prowess that the film rises above that and becomes a truly cinematic experience. This thing looks great, and I don’t mean due to the lovely actors present, but the camerawork and the scene framework. The way the sweat drops off people’s faces in slow motion and the camera lingers on their stoic yet thoughtful facial expressions to the impressive tennis match scenes with a particular impressive sequence involving the scene being shown for, the perspective of the tennis ball which….I don’t know how the hell they managed it but that was awesome! Also need to mention the great techno score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross that creates an unlikely pairing in electronic dance music and classical, with the result really amping up the energy of every moment. Honestly from a technical standpoint this movie is a marvel.

In regards to the narrative that is where we start running into some trouble. For starters this movie did not need to be over 2 hours. The story was simple enough to shrink down to a 100 min max run-time, but instead the film opts to really dial in on extended pointless shots that linger way too long, so much so that I noted multiple audience members looking at their mobile phones to check the time. Secondly those excessive time jumps. Telling a story in a non-linear fashion can be a useful story-telling device, but here it was used way too much that it became distracting. Like there was a time jump back and forth every 5 minutes, with some jumps sprawling 13 years, which made it really difficult to get engaged in certain moments. Speaking of the 13 years, bless Zendaya’s heart but as much as they tried to age and de-age her through hair and make-up, she never looked older than 19 years regardless of the time era. For all of the film’s technical achievements you’d think they’d put more effort in the make-up department.

As for the actors, whilst I admire Zendaya for tackling such a meaty and, dare I say, challenging role, I feel like she’s too young in her acting career to be able to fully perform a weathered, jaded, cynical, ruthless and calculating character like Tashi. It seemed for the most part she relied on having a resting scowl face, but otherwise I found it actually hard to believe any of her chemistry with her male co-stars. As for the male co-stars, out of this love triangle it was in fact the queer relationship that really popped. Props to Mike Faist (who was a highlight for me in the recent West Side Story remake) and Josh O’Connor whose chemistry was through the roof! The way they looked at one another, to the churros to the way O’Connor smoothly moved Faist’s stool closer to his with his foot…… they can say they are best friends all they want but we just know they are both aching for those benefits! Again it’s how strong of performances these two give that hinders Zendaya who is nowhere close to their level.

Challengers overall is an entertaining enough youthful erotic crowd -pleaser that from a filmmaking standpoint looks fantastic, however due to the narrative structure and Zendaya’s arguable miscast this movie falters. That being said to Tom Holland, dude, I’ve seen your social media posts about being excited to support your girlfriend and going to see this movie, but dude, I bet your cried your eyes out after. Spider-Man - she ain’t coming home!

Overall score: 6/10

[kuroosdumbslut]

Can you write something that you want? Maybe something from Naruto ? Thank you ❤️

// Thank you so much for the request! I’ve been feeling a bit down lately, so I made a little hurt/comfort thing for this! I hope you enjoy it regardless :)  tw: mental health talk, smoking, hurt/comfort//

It wasn’t like you smoked regularly. If anything, it was a crutch for stressful days and traumatic events. That being said, today was an absolute bitch of a day to deal with. You and Shikamaru had previously made plans to just hang out for the evening with Ino and Choji, but as you sat outside on the deck, you realized you’d been out here for much longer than you expected to be. You still couldn’t bring yourself to care, though. Thoughts of exams and other…more personal problems still bounced around your head, and with a resigned sigh, you pulled another cigarette out of the pack and lit it, holding your suddenly heavy head with your free hand. The rain was pelting the metal roof about you, luckily not touching your cigarette, and reflected your general mood at the moment.

At that moment, the door slid open and Shikamaru silently sat beside you, pulling out a cigarette of his own. “Shit. I left my lighter inside…could I borrow yours?” Silently, you passed him your lighter and offered it to him, which he used before passing it back. For a few moments, it was silent. Just you and Shikamaru silently puffing at your cigarettes. Of course, you knew it would be broken soon enough. “So, what’s got you chain smoking out here instead of chilling inside?” You shrugged and looked around lazily, half trying to avoid his gaze and half to busy your mind a bit. “I guess it’s just…I feel out of place sometimes, y’know? Like…Like I know I have to and maybe should be here, but other times… I wonder what the fuck I’m doing here and if I’m actually helpful or not.”

Shikamaru looked at you in confusion. “Well, I can tell you for certain that you are absolutely helpful. And, if it means anything, you aren’t as bothersome as some of the other people around. Don’t get me wrong, love my team and all but holy shit it gets exhausting sometimes.” You chuckled a bit and leaned back on your free hand. “Well, thank you. I guess it’s just been a bit rough upstairs.” Shikamaru hummed, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I think we all get that sometimes. You have plenty of reason to, though, I know. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you had disappeared for nearly three weeks only to appear again with much paler skin and eye bags. No offence, of course.” You laughed and nodded along, taking a slow puff. “Alright, you got me there. Did you ever realize what had happened that time?” Shikamaru shook his head, looking at you and offering you an encouraging grin. “Not really. I had theories, but I didn’t want to assume anything.” You nodded and sighed a bit. “Well, to tell the truth, that was…I was in the hospital under observation for those three weeks. I was, uh… I couldn’t be fully alone, and I knew that, so I checked myself in for a bit.” Shikamaru’s grin fell a bit and he scooted closer.

“I was worried it would be something along those lines, but I’m glad you at least realized it before…you know.” You nodded and gave in to him proximity, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry anyone, so I just disappeared to make it easier for myself.” Shikamaru finished off his cigarette and put it out in the nearby ashtray, you doing the same a few moments later and settling back against him. “Thanks for hearing me out.” Shikamaru hummed and turned his head to press a gentle, lingering kiss into your hair. “I’m always here for you, you know? No matter what.” You smiled and closed your eyes. In that moment, your mind slowed down and let you breathe. The world felt much more calm and manageable, and for that moment, you were content.

[sadesluvr]

FNAF Movie officially announced for Oct.22 🎉 Predictions?

OP edited date to 27th! (Not that it matters :)

I fell asleep with my phone on, so this was the first thing I saw when I woke up so I was a bit like the Mr Krabs meme💀💀

Also, I haven’t seen every single leak or piece of information (I mentioned a while back that I get overstimulated) so these could very well be wrong!

1. My biggest one (walk with me on this!!) is that Vanessa and Michael are going to be related somehow. NOW, HEAR ME OUT!!

The first thing I noticed was that Mike, Abby and ‘Mike’s Mom’ all have dark hair, whereas William is *supposedly* either greying, or has light coloured hair (is it blonde??) Yes, genetics work like that, but I remember seeing one kid that had to dye his hair blonde (he seemed to be part of the missing kids). From what I saw of the photo, all of the kids had their canon appearance (Gabriel is being played by a black kid, a red head kid for Fritz etc)…

This could’ve just been changed based off of auditions (again, don’t take this seriously😭 [not OP but certain fans]) but the only blonde missing kid was Susie. IDK if they’ve casted a CC, but it could very well be that CC in the is blonde (Also note, Elizabeth was the only blonde kid in the family in the games👀) like his father (✨recessive genes✨). KEEP THAT IN MIND!!

Mike and Vanessa being the same age is strange, considering if this film had followed game canon, it’d be impossible for them to be the same age (Michael was likely born in late 60’s/Early 70’s, and Vanessa is like late 20’s/early 30’s in Security Breach). Considering William is an awful person, it’s not too unlikely that he could’ve cheated on his wife around the time Michael was born. Again, going back to the blonde hair, and the speculation of the ‘A’ in her name… (I hope I don’t sound like MatPat or something💀) (EDIT HALFWAY THROUGH ME TYPING: ‘Unnamed Female Villain’ is also blonde, and an older woman👀) /I’m just saying, IDK who she is so her role should be interesting considering there’s not many villains?!/

2. Moving on… I don’t think Abby is going to die in this. I remember seeing that there’s a three movie deal with Universal, and so the obvious choice is to drag it out 💰💸 (Scott Cawthorn is LAUGHING) but also, it seems like there’s far too much ground to cover.

3. Maybe there’s a reason for an ‘Abby Schmidt’ rather than ‘Elizabeth Afton’ (her only documented name), and I think that it’s just because they changed their name after everything went down. I think the Schmidt’s are going to have close contact with their mother, whilst she and William are estranged. Also, Mike is likely Abby’s sole provider.

4. We are going to be confused about something else in the timeline. No doubt. Questions may be answered but ATP it’s FNAF’s brand to confuse us and leave us hanging💀

5. Hank is Henry, no doubt!

6. I don’t think William is being spring-locked just yet.

7. Vanessa and Mike are going to meet at the mall as security guards, and they’re going to become close. (I’ve said this before)The betrayal (if you can call it that) will be when she’s pulled to the dark side after learning about what happened! I think therapy is going to be significant too, since they cast a DR. I think she’ll be more a part of Vanessa’s storyline (uncovering her past) than Michael’s (but she may convince him to go/get used to the idea)

8. Charlie/CC won’t get that much screen time. I think the focus will be on the MCI and everything after.

9. Mike will be a grey character/antihero and will do something veryy questionable💀(and I’ll love him regardless😌)

10. I don’t have one rn (I’m sure it’ll come to me) so I’m just going to make the numbers whole :)

EDIT: Here’s how I think the roll out will go: Teaser trailer in end of May/early June ➡️ Official trailer in the summer ➡️ Stills and PR strategy from then ➡️ Reviews and premiers in early October and then release :)

(PUT ME ON THE AD TEAM I HAVE IDEAS!! LET ME COOK!)

This is not a prediction, but just a statement (?) I get why it’s set in another timeline - its going to go global and if it’s very niche and low-key (only understood by fans), it’s not going to make sense to regular moviegoers! On the plus side, we’ll now have book, game and film canon to choose from when writing😳

To any non followers: DO NOT take me seriously. I am simply not going to argue over a post made before 10AM 🙏

[a-cacophony-of-silent-words]

Still Breathing Part One: Into The Tiger's Den

Chapter 1: Sacrifices

How could things go so bad so quickly?

Twenty-four hours ago everything was business as usual. Twenty-four hours ago, everyone was alive. Now? Now, Tim and Jason are the only ones left. The last of their family hiding out in a derelict building from a Joker who’s somehow become a nearly omnipotent monster. Everyone’s dead. All of them. A thought that’s bringing Tim closer and closer to a complete breakdown with every second that passes. He’s trying to fight it, he doesn’t want to do that to Jason, who’s already at his wits’ end, but…

Dammit, this can’t be happening. Why is this happening?

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he sits down on a crate and just breathes. Forcing down the hysterical sobs that want to rip apart his composure. God, he was just sitting on the couch in the manor with all of them two days ago. He can’t remember what the last thing he said to any of them was. Can’t remember if he gave them a hug before he left. When was the last time he’d told them he loved them? Fuck.

He curls in on himself pulling the jacket Jason had given him that morning closer around his shoulders. How can this be happening? How can they all be… How can he be losing another family like this? It’s all so fucking wrong. This is--

A rustle of fabric and the rattle of a gun makes Tim look up quick and he can only stare in surprise at the sight before him. Jason has one of his guns pointed directly at Klarion’s head. All things considered, Klarion doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by this situation. He just places a finger on the muzzle of the gun and turns it away from his face. “Honestly, I would appreciate you not attempting to shoot at me. After all, I didn’t come here to injure you with your own damned weaponry.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Jason snaps, irritable and tired. So tired. Still he does lower the gun without arguing.

Klarion smirks as Teekl jumps down from his shoulders and slinks over to Tim. “I didn’t come here for you at all. Teekl has something of a fondness for Tim, so we decided to come to the rescue. Think of me as your chaotic savior, here to do all I can to rid us of our mutual problem.”

“Great. Then why don’t you just zap the motherfucker into space and let him die, already?” Jason grumbles, holstering is gun and leaning, sullenly, against the nearest wall.

That only gets him a deeply unimpressed look from Klarion, who responds, “If I could have done that I would have already. You severely overestimate the capabilities of magic and underestimate the power of our foe. Not surprising honestly, he has been taking his sweet time. If anyone else had found that damned thing we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Tim finally finds his voice, hollow and strained as it sounds to his own ear. “Do you know what happened to to Joker?”

With a sharp laugh, Klarion nods. “Oh yes. You would too, but for the nature of the beast.”

“Just cut the cagey shit and fill us in already,” Jason growls, obviously growing short on patience. Tim can’t really blame him. Klarion can be a pain in the ass to deal with on the best of days.

Klarion raises an eyebrow slightly, but deigns to explain nonetheless. “It doesn’t have a name, but it is an immensely powerful and ancient, magic weapon. Supposedly it was created to destroy what it deems to be redundant universes by granting godlike powers to those who meet certain qualifications.”

“And Joker meets those qualifications?” Tim asks.

“Probably.” Klarion shrugs. “I never bothered to learn them for myself. A dead universe wouldn’t be much fun to play in after all. Regardless, thanks to its power, I can’t even begin to use my magic against Joker. That’s why I’m here. To offer my assistance to you.”

“Sounds like there’s not much you can do, blue boy.” Jason pauses, turns to look at Tim with a look on his face that Tim’s not real sure about. “Unless I’m missing something?”

Tim grimaces, allowing himself to absently scratch Teekl behind the ears, which feels a little weird knowing they’re not a real cat, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “There might be one way, but… it’s not exactly a good one.”

“Good isn’t what I do anyhow, so do tell.” The grin that spreads across Klarion’s face is more than a little unnerving.

“We need…” Tim hesitates, glancing at Jason. “We need to go back in time… and kill the Joker.”

“Delightful!” Klarion croons and Teekl lets out a purr that makes Tim’s stomach turn.

Jason is already shaking his head though. “Baby bird, you know I’m always down for killing Joker, but… messing with fucking time travel? That shit never goes the way you want it to.”

“I know.” Tim agrees. He’s well aware of the risks, having met two future versions of himself who were both murderous assholes despite his vows to change that future. “But as it stands I can’t think of any other way to stop this. If Klarion’s right--”

“I am.”

“-- then what are we supposed to do on our own, Jay? Even Clark couldn’t stand up to that monster! He’s just going to keep hunting us down like it’s some sick game until he gets bored and finishes us off. It’s hopeless right now, but… two months ago? When we know where Joker would be? Where we know what to do? We can stop all of this from ever happening.”

“And then what?” Jason gestures, angrily, with on hand. “Bam! Kill the Joker. Then what, kid?”

Tim stares back at Jason, levelly, because they both know what would need to happen after that, but neither of them really want to voice it.

“Besides—” Jason avoids Tim’s gaze. “—Isn’t the universe fucked anyway? Even if we kill Joker, some other fucker will just grab the artifact and that’s it for the universe. If we’re so determined to go back and bust something, why not the damn thing itself? I mean if it’s not even supposed to exist in the world it shouldn’t cause a problem, right? So why don’t we do that?”

That’s Jason for you always asking the exact right questions, but any hope Tim had that Jason could be right disappears when Klarion giggles. “Are you serious? Honestly, don’t make me laugh. It has the power to grant someone all the abilities of a god and you think you can destroy it? You’d never even find it. You already forgot it existed, even though you knew all about it two weeks ago. It doesn’t want you to stop it, as much as an object ‘wants’ anything. It’s a machine that will keep repeating this process until the universe is either destroyed or changed enough to sate it.”

That’s what Tim was afraid of. Klarion had said that the nature of the beast was that people who should know about it, didn’t. Something powerful enough to rewrite the memories of an entire universe wasn’t something easy to destroy or defeat.

“Jesus.” Jason hisses, low and with feeling. “Just how powerful is this thing?”

“Apparently its creation devoured an entire universe of magic users… but that might just be a legend.” Klarion hums as he studies his fingernails. “Sufficed to say, destroying the artifact is not an option. Killing Joker, though, that has distinct possibilities. If nothing else it might make this universe unique and not worth erasing.”

“How the fuck do you even know any of this?” Jason obviously isn’t liking being outnumbered here.

Klarion rolls his eyes. “I do read books after all. Now that that’s solved! Shall we put this plan in motion? Your universe destroyer might be taking his time playing his cat and mouse game, but I don’t fancy a battle with someone who makes my magic look like parlor tricks.”

A shudder runs through Tim’s body as he breathes in. “July twenty-fifth is the last time we knew where Joker was before all this. He was in--”

“You don’t need to tell me all that.” Klarion waves off Tim’s explanation as he walks by on his way to the other side of the room. Teekl leaps up, joining their witch. “Only whichever of you is going needs to know where. I just need to know when.”

Jason scowls. “You can only send one of us?”

“You’re lucky I can do that much.” Klarion kicks a few things out of the way and begins setting up his circle. “That choice is for the two of you to make, but it’s not as if it really matters. Once your mission is complete this instance will cease to be. Probably. Time isn’t really my forte. Chaos is.”

“We know,” Tim mutters, then turns to Jason. “Jay, you should go.”

“Why?” Jason gives him the most incredulous glare Tim has ever gotten in his life.

“Haven’t you always wanted to kill Joker? Here’s your chance. Besides you’re just the better person for the job.” Tim lies. Mostly lies. It’s true Jason, who’s killed before, is more prepared to deal with this job, but that’s not why Tim wants him to go. He’s being selfish. He’s… “It’s just better if it’s you.”

Jason narrows his eyes, like he’s seen straight through Tim’s bullshit and opens his mouth to probably say so, when there’s a loud crash from somewhere else in the building. An eerie giggle echoes through the hallway beyond the room they’re hiding in.

Klarion, now hunched over the circle with his eyes closed, lifts his head slightly and opens one eye. “No more time for chatter, birdies. Let’s go.”

Tim stands up, ignoring the incredibly disturbing sight of Teekl transforming into their more humanoid form. He fishes in the pocket of the jacket for his collapsed bo staff as he starts for the door. “Go, Jay, I’ll hold him off until--”

Jason grabs Tim before he can walk passed him and pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment Tim is half crushed against his brother’s chest and everything is still. Then Jason whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m sorry, Li’l Red.”

In that second, Tim feels his heart sink into his stomach, but he can’t even speak before the wall of the room comes crashing down, debris falling like a curtain to the floor revealing the figure of Joker grinning at them more wild-eyed than ever before. Jason shoves Tim away and immediately Tim feels something with fur and claws grab him by the arms from behind. Heedless of Teekl’s warning growl, Tim struggles against their grip. “Wait! Jason! Please! Please don’t!”

He doesn’t listen. He never listens. Please this can’t be happening!

Jason pulls his guns out and shots ring out. Bullets stop, seconds before hitting Joker’s head, falling harmlessly to the floor. Jason keeps shooting.

Joker laughs with hysterical glee as a crowbar appears in his hand. “Oh! I nearly forgot that I’d get to kill you all over again! This is going to be such a joy for me, you don't even know!”

“Jason!” Tim screeches as Teekl drags him backwards, their claws digging in deeper and deeper as he struggles to get free.

Vaguely he hears Klarion say something that might be, “Oh that does sound much more interesting!”

But he’s not paying attention, because at that moment Jason runs out of bullets and Joker’s grin widens impossibly. “All done now? Is it my turn already?”

“Fuck you!” Defiant to the end, Jason chucks both guns at Joker’s head. It only buys him a second more. Joker shrugs them off and lunges forward. He grabs Jason’s face and drives him down into the tiled floor. The crowbar falls towards Jason’s skull and Tim wails for his brother. He can’t save him. He can’t save anyone. Angry at the world, at Jason, at himself, Tim screams his throat raw as time slows down.

Abruptly Teekl’s gone. Nothing’s holding Tim in place any longer, but the world around him is rushing by in a blur of color and movement like a video rewinding. Then everything stops so suddenly that Tim’s caught off balance and falls against a crate. Bewildered, he looks around and realization sets in alongside a building dread. He’s nowhere near Gotham. There’s a steady beeping sound coming from a small device in the middle of a dirt floor. A woman sobbing as she fights with a padlock on a pair of iron doors. And a badly beaten teen in the old Robin suit laying on the floor by her feet.

Klarion severely overshot.

Tim breathes. He needs to get out of here right now. Break a window above him and crawl out. Just go. He can still accomplish his goal in this time period, he shouldn’t screw up the timeline any more than he absolutely has to. He can’t know what that will cause.

But… Jason’s right there. He couldn’t save his brother in the future. Couldn’t stop him from dying. Again. But here…

Shaking himself into action, Tim stands upright. He doesn’t have time for this. This building is going to go up in less than two minutes. He needs to act now. Without giving it anymore thought, Tim steps out from behind the stack of crates and heads for the doors.

Sheila jumps at his sudden appearance, looking at him with fear and hope in her eyes, pleading, “Please, help us. Please…”

Tim spares her a brief glance, but doesn’t speak. He ignores the bomb, he knows he can’t disarm it in time, it’s a Joker special. Too convoluted to solve. Instead he takes a lock pick set from his boot – Always, always be prepared – and goes to work on the padlock. It takes longer than he’d like and by the time he finishes the annoying beeping that’s counting down to their doom is getting louder. They don’t have much more time. He looks up at Sheila as he pulls the chain away from the doors. “Get them open, I’ve got Jason.”

Sheila nods, unquestioning, not even seeming to register that this complete stranger knows Robin’s identity. Well so much the better for him. As she pushes the doors open as wide as possible, Tim lifts Jason gently by his less damaged arm, hooking an arm around his back. Jason groans, weakly. “B?”

“No,” Tim answers, softly. “But I’ve got you, Jay. It’ll be okay.”

Sheila returns and supports Jason’s other side. Between the two of them, they manage to put some distance between them and the building. Tim pushes them down behind a rock seconds before the blast sends red hot shrapnel flying past their hiding spot. Holding Sheila’s head down, Tim silently laments that the rock is really too small of a shield, but it does it’s job well enough.

Slowly, the commotion dies down and Sheila, shaking like a leaf, her arms wrapped tight around Jason, looks up at Tim. “I-is it over? Are we really still alive?”

“Yeah.” For better or worse. Tim shakes off the wave of anxieties rising in his chest as he stands up. “Yeah, we’re alive.”

She turns her attention to Jason. “…He tried to save me. Even after…”

“… That’s what Robin does.” Tim coughs to try and hide the sadness in his voice.

There’s a silence between them as Sheila starts patching up Jason’s injuries. Then she glances at Tim again, stops, and stares at him. “Who-Who are you?”

“I’m…” He trails off, uncertain, and just then he hears the sound of a jeep growing closer. He sighs. “Nobody important. Stay here.”

She nods, hesitantly, and Tim steps away from the rock heading back towards the smoldering remains pile of rubble that was once a warehouse. He watches as the jeep slides to a halt and Batman jumps out and runs to the wreckage. Everything about this is a goddamn mess.

“Batman!” Tim yells as he gets close enough to be heard.

Bruce doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Over here! Hey!” Tim tries again, but that doesn’t work either. Dammit. “Bruce!”

That does it. Probably because no one in the area but Jason should know to call him that when he’s in the Batsuit. Bruce whips around and looks straight down at Tim panic turning to suspicion. Looks like he’s about to demand Tim’s identity immediately, Tim ignores it and jerks his head towards Jason and Sheila. The tension bleeds out of Bruce just a bit as he spots the pair. In the end he doesn’t speak to Tim, just rushes past him to where Sheila and Jason are.

Sheila looks up at Bruce as he approaches, saying, with some trepidation, “He needs some serious treatment, but… I-I think he’ll be okay. I hope he will. We can take back to the camp and I’ll treat him there.”

Without really responding, Bruce gathers Jason into his arms with intense care. Tim watches in silence as Sheila runs ahead to the jeep with Robin’s cape spreading it out in the back and climbing in, waiting for Bruce to lay Jason there. His job here is done. It’s time to leave. Jason will be okay. It will all--

“Come on.” Bruce’s voice rumbles beside him.

“I—” Tim starts to shy away, but Bruce, dexterous as ever, manages to grab him by the elbow while still holding Jason firmly.

“You need treatment too.” Bruce indicates Tim’s left arm with a tilt of his head.

Tim looks down and frowns at the blood soaking into his sleeve. Teekl had really dug their claws in it seems. “…Okay.”

Meekly, he follows Bruce back to the jeep, jumping into the passenger seat while Sheila and Bruce situate Jason in the back. Some part of Tim is screaming that he should run. Now. While they’re distracted. Leave. Don’t give Bruce anymore chances to figure him out.

He doesn’t.

He’s tired, drained beyond even his normal capacity, and, Bruce is right, he needs his injuries treated. So he just closes his eyes and leans back as the car starts and they speed away to save the boy who should have died.

.

Next Chapter

First Chapter (You Are Here)

[bioticlaw]

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

[padfootastic]

they claim they love sirius but it *always* turns out the one they really love is remus. it kinda makes me sad many people who love sirius and tell valid things about sirius and fight for him, like you, blindly stand by tall top sirius and get tortured with no reason. haven’t you noticed your friends don’t do like or reblog your posts about how the fandom demonizes sirius and makes remus an untouchable angel? because, that’s exactly what they want. small angel remus and his rich tank servant.

anon, i say this with all the fondness in my heart, why is this so dramatic 😭😭 i am ‘freely standing’ and am not oppressed or bothered in any way, promise. no one has to rb anything i say, especially if they don’t like it, and i won’t judge because i’m the pickiest person on tumblr, i assure u. there’s people who love sirius who’ve made points about him i don’t like and i’ve unfollowed/blocked for that—i’m unreasonable as fuck and i definitely don’t expect people who like remus to even interact with me, let alone my posts. i’m very pro-curating ur own positive space.

it’s funny u mention tall top sirius bc i haven’t even mentioned top/bottom positions so far because like, i’m usually more interested in his interpersonal dynamics and i get my smut needs fulfilled elsewhere lmao (also,,,,why would i form my opinions around r/s dynamics,,,that doesn’t make sense)

re ur other ask, i can’t publish it because you’ve mentioned a couple people (who, funnily, i don’t know. if that isn’t an indication of how choosy i am 🤷‍♀️) but u made points in it that i found interesting because i’ve had a completely different experience? i definitely think sirius’ character is butchered to make others’ look good (—i am not gonna rant about tags again, i am not gonna rant about tags—) but i haven’t seen it in the way u mentioned (which could be because i’ve stopped reading wolfstar unless it’s an author i *trust*).

in fact, one of the most annoying characterisations i’ve seen (and this is a problem i have with a lot of bottom harry in drarry too) is the stereotypical typecasting of short!bottom!sirius (and the tall!top!remus who becomes everything that his best friends are stripped of). the way sirius is written as a stupid damsel or a bratty princess who’ll shriek if his hair is out of place, or small and needing protection (either emotional or physical) bc he’s weak/incapable makes me wanna pull my hair out. it’s annoying bc sexual positions are not a personality indicator, but even more so bc sirius is butchered along the way too. nothing of his character remains until he’s just an OC or a caricature made to prop someone else. it was one of the biggest reasons i stopped reading the ship. the few r/s fics i read now don’t really have any smut in them.

anyway, all of that aside, we’re all playing in a fictional sandpit with actions figures, aren’t we? everyone’s gonna move and clash them differently, u just gotta decide which one u like 🙃

[adrianasunderworld]

I just had an idea for story- Riddles mom come for like a PTA Meeting or family day and despises Crowley and worries for her precious little boy’s future if continues to be headmaster and for the plot just has Crowley arrested or removed as headmaster and replaces him.

She’s like Umbrige level of bad. She is in every class that Riddles in. Riddle is internally praying that this is just a bad dream. Trey is getting grey hairs. Confiscated Caiter’s phone. Probably installs alarms that makes a noise only cats can hear in the botanical garden so Leon can’t nap in there.

Like I’m just picturing an alchemy class where Adeuce and Grimm mess up a potion or cause an accident and it’s just … Bad.

Drags deuces mother, saying she can’t wait to meet her so she see what a laizy and horrible parent she is if her son can’t do basic spells and potions. After all Riddle master this when he was still in elementary school. Deuce is trying not to get mad, but when asks what his father would thinks and he mentions it’s just them Mama rosehearts would make a snide remark about how his mother being loose would explain her sons many short comings.

Ace might fight back- bad idea. “Do you think the real world be any different ? Who would ever hire a slob like you? I wonder where your parents went wrong if your brother was a model student.”

Then she turns to us, “I understand the previous headmasters decision to enroll you. Even with out magic you do manage to keep up better then your moronic friends. “ but she smiles at Yuu as says “control the beast or I’ll make sure that it won’t be a problem. If you can’t take care of something then you don’t deserve to have it.” Basicly says keep Grim under control or she’s sending him to shelter.

Big show down between Mama Rosehearts and Lilia. Calls him a horrible father and down right neglectful because of silvers narcolepsy. Idk came to but I’m curious what you think?

I love this concept. But also fuck this bitch.

Yuu tries to argue with her. "I don't have, Grim. He's a person and student just like everyone else!"

"That thing," the woman said glaring, "Is a mongrel. The only reason I'll allow it here is because it's admission is tied with yours and technically has not earned expulsion. Now I suggest you do as you're told and don't give me a reason to expel you both."

Despite the previous deal with Crowley, she won't make any agreement with Azul and forces him to shut down Mostro Lounge. She made a policy so Sam would stop selling certain items in his shop. She micro manages everything to the point where the Housewardens have no power over their dorms.

Pretty much everyone who is not Riddles friend takes it out on him. Everyone avoids him. He can't even rely on Trey or Cater anymore, because his mother kept them separate at all times. She even moved him out of the dorm and made him live with her in the headmages quarters.

Yuu is stuck. They're a ward of the school,and with Crowley gone, Ms. Rosehearts is technically their guardian now. If they outright fight back, she may just turn over them over to the system and Yuu can kiss any chance of going home goodbye.

However, she mostly only cares about Riddle. So late at night, everyone sneaks out of their dorms to hold secret meetings late at night at Ramshackle and discuss what to do. Everyone debates on the matter. Maybe they can get all the families like the Asims or Kingscholars to push for her removal. Maybe get Idia to dig up dirt and have her fired. Regardless of how, the Wicked Witch must go.

[sacred-sacrilege]

Least to Most Likely: Yanderes (+ what type they’d be)

Characters: Belphie, Levi, Mammon, Satan

Reader: gn (implied amab), top!dom

Warnings: Obsessive, violent, and unhealthy behavior (All), Pet play (Satan), Praise kink (Mammon), Degradation (Levi)

4. Belphegor

Don’t get me wrong, the Avatar of Sloth absolutely has it in him, it’s just that it would take so…much…energy…

Whether or not he’d snap depends on the nature of your relationship. I think that he’d only really do so if you were already in a romantic relationship, and he became obsessive. The feeling of napping in your arms, your fingers threading through his hair, your hands pinning his wrists above his head as you thrust into him with reckless abandon- it would all be too much. He wants to be yours forever, so he’ll insist you prioritize spending time with him over anyone else.

Out of the 4, he’s the most tame, but if something particularly upsetting happens, he’s not opposed to turning to violence.

3. Satan

The Avatar of Wrath would, out of everyone on the list, be the most secure in an established relationship. However, his craving for domesticity and romance with you if you WEREN’T in a relationship would likely lead to him becoming delusional. He’s certain you love him, you must! He’s read so many books over the years, watched people fall in love on the pages. The way you tuck a stray hair behind his ear if you pass by him while he’s absorbed in a novel, the way you bring him tea if he’s up late studying. Surely, you’d only do such things if you’d fallen for him. He knew you wanted him to sit on your lap while he read, fingers ghosting up and down his sides. He knew you wanted to see him on his knees for you, taking orders like a good pet. He knew.

There are countless unsent love letters to you kept in a trunk beneath his bed, poetry, mindless drivel. Ironically, I think that Satan has the potential to be the least dangerous on the list. If he happened to be right, and you have feelings for him too, you’d find yourself with the most adoring and romantic partner in all of Devildom. However, if you don’t?

He isn’t the Avatar of Wrath for nothing.

2. Mammon

Canonically the most clingy and possessive of all the brothers, the Avatar or Greed would want nothing more than to have you all to himself. He was your first guy after all, remember? Regardless of your relationship status, he’ll act the very same: like you belong to him.

In reality, he feels more that he belongs to you, but that doesn’t change the fact that he wants everyone else to keep their hands off. He needs to be the only subject of your praise and attention, the only one you touch, the only one you look at, the only one.

He’ll express all of these things, and then turn around and pretend it’s not like he’s interested in you or anything, he just, uh, he just, just, nevermind! You wouldn’t get it!

Giving him just a taste of validation and appreciation is enough to send him spiraling, laying in bed and desperately fucking into his own hand, replaying words “Good boy” falling from your lips in his mind. While he’s the least likely to be violent, he’s the most likely to guilt you into putting all your energy into being with him, and his constant pestering combined with all of the above leads me to put him in the manipulative category.

1. Leviathan

The most dangerous of the 4, and most likely to be a yandere, would undoubtedly be the Avatar of Envy.

Like Belphegor, I think Levi would only turn to unsavory methods if you and him were already in an established relationship. I think this stems from his severe self esteem issues, as well as the influence from his sin. No matter how much reassurance you give him, it will never be enough. He’s just a disgusting otaku, unlovable, perverted. And you…you’re his Henry, the most amazing person in the world. No matter how many times your lips meet his, or you listen lovingly as he rambles about a new game, he will never fully believe it’s real.

He’s just waiting for the day that someone better comes along, someone who doesn’t steal your underwear, someone who actually gets fan mail, someone worth loving. He lives every day dreading when that time will finally come, and you’ll abandon him, just like he deserves. He’s convinced he can’t live without you, that if you leave, he’ll wither away and die.

Which is why he’ll never let it happen.

If ever there is a perceived threat to your relationship, a new person that likes talking to you just a little too much, another student who’s gaze lingers just a little too long-

He will kill them.

Consumed by envy and desperation, he’ll destroy whoever might stand in the way of you being by his side forever. The worst part is if you were to find out what he’d done (which you most likely would, his murders are undoubtedly ill-prepared), the only shame he would feel is due to the heat pooling in his stomach as you yell at him, his progressively uneven breathing as you condemn him for the awful things he’d done. He would never hurt you, but even if it was the last time, he’d savor every moment of you hurting him.

[bisexualcage]

Bliss | Sierra Six (requested)

pairing: sierra six/court gentry x male reader (trans male/masc)

summary: in which sierra six has a husband, simple as, very soft

warnings: no warnings, maybe like one nsfw joke

word count: 1.4k

a/n: be nice, this is my first fic on here

You loved how unconventional he was socially speaking, if you’d put him in a room full of extroverts he’d stick out like a sore thumb. Completely out of his element and that’s how you found your way in to his life; by him being the usual mystery that he is. Sparked up a conversation with him at a bar and bam, you were completely enthralled by his short yet intriguing answers. Above all, his distinct sense of humour. It made you smile. And despite being the polar opposite of him, you managed to win him over somehow. When he wasn't "hunting down evil guys," as he put it, he had a normal married life, two years to be exact of pure domestic bliss with you. He insisted on taking more breaks and stressed the importance of not missing out on you or any other more important aspects of his life. Every time he said it, you got butterflies in your stomach.

“Do I have to wear anything special?” you looked over at him with unease in your eyes, you wanted to make a good impression.

“It’s just a dinner, y/n.” The blond man timidly smiled at you from the bed he was sitting on. Observing how much of a wreck you were trying to pick something out from your closet.

“I know! But what if your boss doesn’t like me—“ You flung your hands in the air as your back faced him and you shuffled through the mountains of clothes.

You then heard a chuckle and a heavy set of boots approaching you, your neck immediately getting goosebumps as he lazily laid his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his muscular arms all around your chest— keeping you in a lock.

“I like you, ts’ all that matters.” he mumbled, closing his eyes and swaying back and forth with you.

You scoff, a blush pooling your cheeks. “I hope so, we’re legally bound. No take backsies.”

“You’re my husband. He’ll have to swallow it.” he mumbled.

“Does he know?” you questioned, “Also, don’t say that phrase.” you blushed.

“That i’m married? yes. Why? Did I say something wrong?” he teased, tightening his grip around your hips.

“Court…I swear to god…”

—

The restaurant was fancy alright, you felt like you just entered some rich people event. Chandeliers everywhere, long staircases, it didn’t even seem like a restaurant. You finally settled on a simple tux with a bow and Court well, he wore something completely eye candy. A red suit with a white dress shirt underneath, you were trying your best not to stare but it was beginning to be impossible.

As you approached to what appeared to be a circular table, you saw a man with white hair and beard, roughly maybe in his 60s. He was sitting next to a black woman— you assumed they were both his associates or bosses? Either way, your nerves started rising and you didn’t know yet how you were going to act around them.

When you approached the table with Court at your side, he instinctively pulled a chair out for you and you immediately went red in the face but sat regardless and mumbled a shy thank you.

“You know a hello would be nice, Six.” the white haired man gazed at Court about his usual dry behavior.

The two in front of you didn’t stop staring and sported the biggest of confused faces on this planet. Court scoffed and took a seat right next to you.

“Boss.” he nodded his direction, “Boss.” he looked over at the woman.

They both nodded back with a certain level of stiffness while trying to figure you out and not looking at Court. Court of course took notice of them staring at you like statues and cleared his throat so they would shift their gaze.

“Fitzroy…” he looked at the man, “this is Y/N. Cahill… this is Y/N.” he then looked at the woman with a slight smile.

“Yes- Hi.” You stumbled over your words, stretching your arm over the table and taking their hands in for a shake.

“Y/N…nice to meet you, although i’m a bit confused not going to lie.” Fitzroy chuckled a bit.

Court shifted in his seat, scooting himself more in to the table and at your side. Placing a warm hand on your nerve ridden thigh that was under the table as some sort of emotional support, he could see how nervous you were.

“…about what?” Court said nonchalantly, raising his eyebrow at him.

“I thought you said you were going to finally bring your spouse, let her have dinner with us.” he took a sip of his wine cup on the table.

“Fitzroy…” Cahill said lowly, looking over at the unaware man with a knowing look that only screamed ‘you’re a dumbass.’.

“What?” he nervously laughed, “Why did you bring a buddy over?”

At this point you didn’t know if you wanted to run out or scream.

Court laughed for the first time, but it wasn’t a joyous laugh it was a bitter sarcastic laugh.

“You’ve been on this field for decades and you can’t tell what’s right in front of you?” Court slid his hand from your thigh all the way to your hand and brought it up the table, clasping his fingers through yours, laying it on the table and showing the man the ring that lived on your ring finger for two years now. Still, as he laid it there he didn’t let go and held on to it proudly.

“Oh-“ Fitzroy gasped, “Ohhhhhh. I’m so sorry about that, you see i’m an old timer and I easily miss modern…traditions. That’s my fault.”

“Yeah this is my husband. Not my buddy, not my friend, my husband.” Court said with sternness in his voice and fiddled with the ring on your finger.

“Honest to god, I didn’t mean to assume.” He put his hands up laughing.

All the while you couldn’t help but have the biggest cheesy smile on your face, he really just went all out without any shame. Not that he ever had any when it came to you, but it always made you swoon. Court looked over at you momentarily and sent you a sly wink before opening the menu.

“Fitzroy has nothing but bolts in his head. Shake it hard enough and you’ll hear them clashing against his skull.” Cahill said in a sarcastic tone.

You couldn’t help but lightly snort, “I wouldn’t be too harsh, im sure it was a simple mistake.” you tried to be as understanding as possible.

“I need to know something though, how do you deal with the number (Court)? How did you tame such a nonchalant machine?” Cahill continued with curiosity.

“ha. Well, I don’t think it has anything to do with me mam-“

“Don’t be silly.” Court spoke up, “It has everything to do with you, I’m like a lovesick puppy— it’s bad.”

“I always knew you were a softy on the inside. Those blue icy eyes don’t fool me.” Cahill laid back on her chair.

“Tell me about it, had to hold him while watching Lion King.” You looked over at him, he was beat red, trying to hide his face behind the menu.

“Watch it. You’re ruining my carefully built reputation of a tough guy.” He said lowly, but could tell he was smiling.

“My niece would agree, she cried during Lion King— begged me to watch it with her about 300 times.” Fitzroy finally chirped in after his embarrassment earlier.

“You have a niece?” you said with a smile.

From then on everyone got pretty relaxed and everything went smoothly, all the worries you had melted away and Court made sure of that. By either massaging your back, your thigh, publicly grasping your hand on top of the table with no care in the world. It made you beyond happy.

As you were both about to leave, split checks to pay with the other two and finally said your goodbyes, Court instinctively held your hand in his and guided you out, with no worries, no rush. No matter who was staring. You both stood outside and shivered as a cold wind hit your figure, making your teeth tremble.

“Want my suit?” he asked with worry and didn’t even wait on a response, immediately laying his red suit over your shoulders.

“All this PDA…” you mumble, turning red.

“What?” he scoffed, “I can’t love my husband in public?”

“No, it just…even after two years, it makes me feel like i’m dreaming.” you look away from his soft gaze.

He walked in front of you, wrapping his suit more tighter around you. “That’s my plan, sweetheart.”, he leaned in and pressed his soft lips against yours.

[willowwhispersspeakeasy]

Pomegranate

this was a rejected imagine I'd written for the Drabble game. I didn’t feel like it fit the prompt quite right so I scrapped it. since it was finished ill go ahead and post it as a lil one shot!

this content is not appropriate for minors

warnings: gender neutral reader, NSFW, BDSM themes, revoking consent, switch!Lucifer and dom!reader, Lucifer calls reader “master”, mild choking

(nothing strongly spicy, may write a part 2 with an actual scene)

words: 900ish

“stop.” the word was a command, causing the demon before you to completely freeze.

“what's wrong? you can simply safe word instead of using our pact-” his brows furrowed in confusion. you were very careful to only use your pact with him under certain circumstance.

Lucifer was very very aware of just what power you held over him, it was not something he needed to be reminded of. his body would react to your command with or without his choosing. he knew this fact when he’d offered himself to you, he was vary aware you possessed the capability to revoke his own consent with mer words alone.

“I'm sorry I just-” you sighed, looking away from him. Lucifer stepped back from where he had you pressed against the wall, immediately removing his hands from your body.

“if you'd prefer we can just talk instead? or we can-”

“-no no that's not... I'm sorry Lucifer. I just can’t stand... laying back today.” you looked down as the floor of his bedroom, an expression of self doubt and frustration obvious to the demon.

“come, sit with me.” he patted a spot beside him on the bed, placing enough space between you to let you see each other eye to eye. “you are unsatisfied by our arrangement. lets talk about it.”

you shuttered, arms tight around yourself, but sat beside him anyway.

“you’re right, and I owe you an apology. I should have spoken up as soon as I wasn't comfortable. you have no fault in that.” you spoke, unable to look him in the eye. “but I just... I told myself you’d dislike what I wanted regardless. and, I love you, I love you so very much, that I tried to just choke it down anyway.”

“I love you too my darling, please, please don’t be frightened to be honest with me, my feelings for you will not change regardless.” Lucifer dropped his head, finding your gaze and holding it. a look of deep care and pain was reflected in his eyes.

“I just- you’ve been through so much and I- I try and do what I can wether that's bringing you coffee or organizing your desk or getting the boys to give you space or-” the words fell out of your mouth, spilling secrets you'd kept for yourself. “-I know you don’t need my help, you’re perfectly capable and you’ve run this house for longer then I've been around I just-”

“you want to take care of me.” you stopped at his words.

“yes. please.” raising your head you looked into the dark eyes of the creature before you. you hesitantly raised your hand reaching out and cupping his cheek. Lucifer hummed, pleased as he leaned into you.

“you understand what I've given you right?” his voice is gentle as he nuzzles into you more. his shoulders relax from his straight posture, reaching his hands out and taking the arm you've offered him. “you have a power over me I have not allowed anyone else. I belong to you, at least in my mind.”

your breath caught in your throat. his hands gentle as he reached out, his face changed, begging you to take him in your arms with only the sorrowful look in his eyes.

“master please,” his voice was soft now as you crawled forward, about to take him in your arms and shush him sweetly. “I'll do what ever you want, anything you ask.. I promise. ...I know you’ll be there to take care of me.” your heart soared as you pulled him close, hands gentle through his hair.

“oh Lucifer,” you held him in your arms, leaning back and letting his body fall onto yours. he was warm and gentle as he burred his face in your neck. “I'm right here my love, master is right here.”

“if you had told me you wanted me to do as you say in the bedroom this would have been much simpler.” his deep voice purred in your ear as he pressed a kiss just behind it. “but, im thankful to hear you desires, whatever they may be.”

a grunt of surprise came from the demon as you were quick to roll over, landing him on his back as you straddled his hips. you raised a brow, looking down at the handsome man below you.

“you respond very poorly to anyone undermining your power Lucifer. I have no desire to get on your bad side, again.” you sighed, a look of disappointment with him clear on your features.

“i suppose that is true, but you aren't undermining anything if I give it to you.” he smiled, laying his hands down on the bed, one each beside his head. closing his eyes he leaned his head back. “if I belong to you then you can do with me as you please.”

“hm, good point.” you reached a hand down, a satisfied smirk on your lips as he let out a gasp when your hand wrapped around his throat. he’d been so pretty in offering it to you after all. “I can play with my toys however I like.” releasing his neck you leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “safe word my love?”

“pomegranate.” you chuckled as his answer, hand returning to his neck.

“and if you cannot speak, tap me three times, I will consider it the same. understood?”

“yes, master.”