#forced relationship cw

[st4rsinthenight]

Momohiki Ash x Yandere!Rise!Leonardo Hamato Headcanons !!

★pulled straight from my wat-padd account once more★

— |✷| REQUESTED & ORIGINAL CHARACTER BY: @ash1kun !!

— |✷| ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC?: romantic.

— |✷| TROPES: angst-y.

— |✷| TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of murder, threats, kidnapping, yandere themes, gaslighting ??, hints of hypocrisy, rumours, forced non-sexual touching/affection, mention of intrusive thoughts, implications of bottled up emotions.

— |✷| CONTENT WARNING: Kind of a slow burn, oc x canon, the characters may be OCC, oc x yandere, not proof-read-

— |✷| NOTES: Once again, my dumbass autistic brain may have the genuine idea to repeat stuff and words in order to not be misunderstood. Also, grammar mistakes- point em out please- erh. This page is also also long.

— |☆| Okay, so, with Leonardo already having some sort of a petty banter with Donnie, despite their relationship being- well, positive, I can that positivity slowly drain out between the twins the more Leo see's Ash hang out, and eventually fall in love, with his twin brother- rather, well, him.

— |☆| Maybe irritation will begin to grow in his mind, although, at first- I doubt that he would notice that he was catching feeling's for Ash and instead, he would just think that he, once more, needs to beat Donnie to something. And that something is getting closer to Ash and prove to his beloved twin brother that they would rather be near him instead.

— |☆| So, yeah, he would get quite competitive and that need to show the them that, 'hey, I'm the better friend' would grow the longer Ash continues to warm up to Donnie. Oh, Donnie gives 'em a whole lotta praise for their work? He will double it, maybe even try to show some enthusiasm towards their inventions and stuff. Genuine enthusiasm that is. He might even not run away if they have some sort of, erm, speech mode. Which is something that has yet to happen with his twin. He might just sit back and attempt to understand their rambles, either from close up, or from afar. Perhaps his portals would help with him and act as a way to listen to their explanations, or well- anything about them. And if Ash is hanging out with Donnie while doing well, their own thing? He sent subtle, yet somewhat nasty glares towards his way.

— |☆| Now, as he begins to learn more about it the young kappa, noting down their interests and preferences, or maybe the things they dread, I feel like he would use that information to his advantag. He might make a couple adjustments to his personality. Although, those little changes are not that noticeable, just enough to ensure that Ash will show some sort of interest in him. Or just noticeable enough to make them feel more comfortable in his presence. Comfortable enough so he can take matters into his own hands in order to develop their relationship further. He might as well cook up a couple of one-liners using their likings to make them laugh. Maybe puns about science or something. If they laugh at least one of his jokes, his heart might skip a beat or two. He might get a small boost to joke around more, along with the impression that his one-liners may be one of the few things that make them show positivity. And he feels honoured by this. Of course, he makes sure to avoid anything that makes queasy or uncomfortable. Or anything that could potentially trigger them. Not now at least, it's not the time.

— |☆| If progress is made, he would most likely be pleased- however, that pleasure could be thrown out the window if he catches them hanging out and getting, much to his concern, all lovey-dovey with Donatello. That's where envy starts to kick in, along with the worry and perhaps frustration that the development he has made meant nothing in comparison to how Ash acts around Donnie. However, he would do a pretty good job at hiding away his jealousy. He may butt in in their conversation or whatever, rolling an arm over Ash's shoulder and maybe start throwing a couple of small, playful yet- embarrassing things about Donnie in a little attempt to humiliate him in front of them. Though, he would have to deal with an angry and embarrassed purple clad fighting off the urge to snap his neck or something, however- he doesn't really care.

— |☆| Those little quips and information that could potentially shame Donnie don't really stop at embarrassing moments that happened throughout his life span as they slowly escalate into erh, little warnings. Warnings that Leo gives to Ash in order to try and distance them away from his brother. Y' know light little rumours and stuff, while in parallel-y making sure that he doesn't seem overbearing to them. He wants them to feel distrustful of Donnie. However, as long as that stupid impression he has made on Ash disappears, he doesn't mind.

— |☆| Alongside with those little rumours, he also goes to Donnie- expressing his displeasure of him spending so much time with Ash. Oh, you thought straightforwardly? No no. He does it through small quips- that may seem playful at first, though, if you look past that little grin he flashes every once in a while, a grin that begins to falter with each 'joke', you would see the slightest hints of anger lingering somewhere along with his facial expressions, as well as a hissy like tone that hangs on the end of his words. He might give a couple of physical warnings as well, for example, putting his hand on Donnie's shoulder and start squeezing it just a tad bit too hard because he won't stop yapping-yapping to Ash about, anything really. Or maybe because they are just acting a bit too lovey towards each other.

— |☆| Anger that steadily, but surely, evolves into jealous rage as it's slowly becoming evident to him that he might just not be able to rip them away from eachother. It's also clear to him that the two may be..ewgh, in 'love'. So he can't do much to break them apart. Not with the use of small-talk at least.

— |☆| Now, the urge to show some seriousness with his threats is beginning to engulf his mind. He pushes it back as much as he can, although it's complicated to do so, especially if his efforts have gone directly into the dumpster. Maybe it's time for him to act out, some of his threats and things that he has in mind, starting with the more 'light' ones such as, purposely messing with Donatello's gifts and inventions. Y'know, stuff that he wanted and worked hard for to give to his lover. He might take apart some parts and bits, or maybe even program them to go ham. Maybe he will sweep in the area while the machine that Donnie wanted to show to his partner begins to fume and go crazy and in an attempt to 'save the day' he might just teleport them out of that area. Or just teleport Ash away- setting aside the fact that since they are amazing with technology and in case they want to help fix it- they can't, since they are teleported to safety.. Well, the safety of his room that is.-

|☆| And messing up his twin's gifts and separating him away from his so called 'lover' is one thing.. No, I'm not implying murder here. I doubt that he would kill his own twin, or any of his brothers for that matter- however, his way of getting rid of Donnie in this dire situation of jealousy is different. Maybe he will portal him somewhere unknown- and far from the lair. He paints this up as accidentally getting Donnie 'portal jacked' if the rest of his family start asking questions about the genius's whereabouts. He won't send him directly to New York, but also not far away from the city. Of course, he will let him have his gear- and stuff, but let's just say, he made sure that it's going to be complicated to get back in the lair before, well, Leo wins over Ash's heart. Or just convinces them that Donnie may not feel the way they thought he had about them. Sure, he may feel liable for the way he acted. Although, he still can't help but let the jealousy over-wash whatever reluctance that's trying to seep into his brain.

— |☆| Well, now since Donnie is erm, 'gone'- might as well he try to give Ash some comfort or some sort of reassurance. Maybe reassurance that Donnie will come back, or more likely- he reassures them that he won't, so their best option is hang out with him and be in his presence while their lover is gone. He would try to take his place as being their partner, though this time- since his patience is basically on the verge of cracking, he most likely wouldn't hide his actual emotions and wants from them through small jokes or subtle threats.

— |☆| Now, if Ash doesn't believe him, or doesn't accept his 'reassurance' and takes matters in their own hands to go search for Donnie, maybe with the help of their pet dragon Plutonium- that might just be his tipping point. He sees this as a way of them trying to distance themselves away from him. Although, that's silly right? They've already made progress in escalating their relationship into something positive- he has, as well ported them to safety multiple times when a failed invention of that damned twin of his started fuming- and- and more !! So why would they need their 'oh-so-lovely-partner' with them ?! And especially after all of his tries.. He feels betrayed by his own actions.

— |☆| So, with a raged-envy filled heart, he absent mindedly portals them to his room. He, for a moment, thinks of porting Plutonium away, perhaps in far away junk-mine, though, he doesn't do that- since he is practically like Ash's child. Maybe he will if the giant dragon-bot tries to tear him apart in an order to help it's parent- aka Ash.

— |☆| If they try to fight back, as a punishment- like my Donnie headcanon, he resort to isolation. Though he doesn't leave Ash completely alone, just a couple of hours maybe, letting that little voice in their head tell them to do worse and worse things. Letting it torment their head for a little while. It's like he is dealing with a 'Savage Raph' though he is not worrying that their situation might get worse- neither does he worry about where to find them.

- |☆| But of course, once he senses that they might just be at their breaking point, he will swoop in and try to soothe them, using ways that his twin used in order to rid them of such thoughts. He will obviously slip in some of his own ways of comfort towards them, one of them being cuddling..! Though, I doubt that his 'new-found partner' would appreciate the comfort he is offering to them. Also I further doubt that they would be happy with the new change.

[mothtral]

xipe requests an audience with the family after the guests have truly fallen asleep after their night of fun in the dreamscape. there, xipe calls sunday forward and bestows on him a necklace. the centerpiece looks like an ordinary dark purple stone, but the moment it catches the light it shimmers, radiating colors similar to xipe’s halo.

there is something… off-putting about it. through his gloves, sunday can feel as something pulses from the gem.

ensure our esteemed guests receives my favor, xipe croons in the minds of everyone present. their voice resonants across the planet that the slumbering guests in the hotel shift in their beds from it. with it, you will no longer have to worry if your words or gifts will be enough to keep them here.

sunday doesn’t give it to you immediately. you haven’t been there long enough to not become flustered whenever a member of the family tries to dress you in fine clothing and jewels. but they make sure to ease you into it, until you’re turning your back and lifting your hair to allow sunday to clasp the chain around your neck.

the change is immediate. before sunday’s eyes the clasps melts away until it fuses together to create a collar that fastens around your throat. you slump into his arms in a daze, your eyes blurring until the room becomes a swirl of colors, the only things in stark focus are sunday’s eyes and smile.

you feel exhaustion pull you down as something… crawls through your brain, like something is weaving a web around your thoughts and memories, smothering what doesn’t belong.

“rest,” sunday says. “you’ll feel better soon. we’ll make sure of it.”

(sequel to my last post that tumblr won’t let me link :c)

[sataron]

you guys are perverse and deserve eternal torture

[danmeichael]

Shencest where SY and SJ start dating but everyone around them says they look like brothers, not to mention the fact that they call each other "Gege" and "Didi" affectionately and both have the same surname. SY gets angry at this and tries to tell everyone they're NOT related: only to find out that they're 100% blood-related twins either via DNA test or looking into their family history.

Anyway they're still fucking after this.

i've frequently joked about an au where jiuyuan are dating and end up independently finding out they're siblings, but both of them also independently decide to hide that fact from the other and continue dating.

sy justifies it to himself in true sy fashion by saying that sj's in a really important stage in his career, he can't possibly tell him about this! it would be so incredibly stressful, it'd upturn their lives!!! he has to keep it a secret, for sj's sake obviously.

sj meanwhile is like well this changes nothing. if anything this is better. sy will be upset if he finds out and do the """morally correct""" thing, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Incubation

Author’s note: Hello. The Typhus Botflies have never left. Here’s another chapter. Please, please mind the tags and ask me to tag something if it bothers you First. Previous. Next.

Tagged: @ms--lobotomy @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, body horror, manipulation, forced geneseed pregnancy, smut, poison, stinging insect mention

Summary: You wakeup in Typhus’ bed, on his flagship. You are miserable and he is happy to have his Little Isha by his side.

You awaken, once again, in a fetid, stinking, dimly lit room with a large pair of arms wrapped possessively around your body. Cold armored hands resting lightly against your distended belly. The deep, rumbling purr of your captor, his head resting on top of yours as he sleeps. 

Yet again, the dream that once was your life of freedom and power as a rogue trader fades from your mind. Bitterness and longing vie for dominance in your heart as you slowly wriggle your way out of Typhus’ grasp, as you urgently need to use the bathroom. The stench in here is far worse, and it takes all of your will not to throw up as you quickly do your business.

You catch sight of yourself in the grimy, filth-covered mirror and wince. Your skin is several shades paler, the bags under your eyes are deep, and there is a miserable and defeated look on your face that you hate. The geneseed that Typhus had implanted inside of you weeks ago has swollen in size, making it very difficult for you to walk.

Not for the first time, you are tempted to use your psyker abilities to rid yourself of the foul things growing within your womb… But your captor was frustratingly attuned to any miniscule warp-use that you attempted and would be at your side within moments, cooing a mixture of threats and flirtations in your ear as he loomed large over you, holding you close. You heave a sigh, rubbing your eyes as you open the door, unsurprised to find Typhus awake and less than an inch from the bathroom door.

At first his habit of doing this had startled you terribly. But you'd grown used to his many strange and unsettling habits. “Hello Typhus. I'm going back to sleep.” You grumble at him, starting to move around him.

He scooped you up, grinning down at him with the half of his face he had left, some of the destroyer bees crawling out of his empty eye socket and into the hole in one of his cheeks. They buzzed and hummed along with him as he spoke “Aww, but the day has begun, my little wife, and you are already up.”

You bite back a scathing comment, not wanting to rouse his anger this early in the morning. “But… I am tired. I did not sleep well last night. The -” abominations “Geneseeds have grown to the point where I need to pee every hour and finding a spot to sleep where I'm not in pain, or have difficulty breathing or both is hard. When am I going to be free of these bowling balls inside of me?” 

Typhus listened to your ranting, an indulgent smile on his face as he did so. Once you finished, huffing and scowling up at him he leaned down and kissed you on the lips, tasting of overripe fruit and silly sweet honey. “The geneseeds will incubate for another week at most. I am curious as to how they will be, given that both of us are powerful psykers. Grandfather has asked me to bring another Imperial World into his loving embrace, which is where we are headed.” He brings you up and kisses you on the lips again, walking back to the bed.

“I hope you don't expect me to help if I’ve got Geneseed inside me at the time. I can barely waddle my way over to the bathroom and back before needing to take a break, much less fight.” You grumble. Though… if Typhus does, you are sure you can arrange to be in an unfortunate spot at the wrong time and get killed. You’re pretty sure that would kill the geneseeds inside of you, although you don't know for sure.

Especially since Typhus, the herald of a dead of rot and stagnant decay had shoved them inside of you.

“I would not risk you in such an encounter, my Isha.” Typhus rumbles, pressing nipping kisses down one side of your neck and along your shoulder. One of his large hands comes up to cup one of your breasts - which had swelled somewhat during this… pseudo company, becoming much more sensitive. 

You shudder and try to suppress a moan, though you can't help but lean into your touch. Your libido has been ridiculously high since you started intubating the geneseed. Something that Typhus had been more than happy to take advantage of, the hands, thorny bastard. “Hey… I'm hungry… and not for cock… Right now.” You grouse, leaning away a little from his touch.

Typhus grinned down at you, gently squeezing your breasts again, using his thumbs to rub teasing circles into your highly sensitive nipples. “Are you sure, my flower? Your body responds quite eagerly, and I can smell your sweet nectar.” 

You squeeze your legs together, a blush warming your face. He wasn't wrong, as the bastard's teasing had gotten you wet, your cunt starting to ache a little. You open your mouth to respond when your stomach gurgles loudly, the sounds echoing out of your mouth. You close your mouth again, wordless as you hide your face in his grimy armored skin, flustered.

“Mm, you are hungry, my love.” Typhus teased, a laugh shaking his shoulders and lilting his voice. “What would you like to eat?”

Many things. Few to none of which Typhus would ever give you. You sigh and grumble “Rations that aren't at least half-rotted or taste of cardboard. They upset my stomach.”

The herald of Nurgle hummed, a small grin appearing on his face. He closed his eye, several of his destroyer bees flying off. “I have something for you, something that I think you'll like.”

Oh no. What was he plotting now? You knew that any gift he gave you came with strings attached. “Oh?” You answer, trying for casually curious.

Two nurglings came scampering into Typhus's quarters, following the destroyer bees that he had sent off. Both of them were carrying tarnished silver plates, covered by equally tarnished silver clothes. “Here you are, big brother!” One of the nurglings chirps happily, setting the plate down on the bed next to you.

The other stares at you for several uncomfortably long seconds before setting down the plate in its hand and scurrying off. 

Typhus pulled off the clothes with a flourish “For you, my beloved. Enjoy~”

On the first plate, nearly arranged by color, were several different kinds of dried fruit, arranged into the shape of a flower, surrounding a shallow and small bowl of honey. A very familiar kind of honey, from its smell and color. The second plate had a selection of dried meats (hopefully none of them came from sentient beings) and mushrooms. 

You sighed internally and reached for the plate of fruit first, nibbling on a vibrant orange fruit warily. It had a bright and tangy flavor… You could feel Typhus staring at you, so you dipped the piece of fruit in his honey before taking another bite.

… the thick, sickly sweet flavor of his destroyer honey did make the fruit taste better, throne damn it. You swiftly devoured the rest of the first plate, a warm flush spreading across your nude body. You took a cautious bite of one of the pieces of meat and shook your head. The flavors were too intense for you and you offered them up to Typhus, pressing it to his half-dessicated lips “The meat is not to my taste, but perhaps it will be to yours, my lord?”

Typhus smiles indulgently down at you, and eats from your hand. “I had hoped these would be mild enough for your stomach. I still think a sip or two of one of the Soups would help with your nausea…”

You shake your head back and forth “No the… Flavors would be too complex for me right now. Even smelling the stews turns my stomach.” You also did not want to know what would happen if you drank one of those foul concoctions made to venerate Typhus’ dread Patron.

Typhus hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, pulling you up into his lap "Very well. I wouldn't want to upset your delicate stomach, my beautiful flower." One of his hands came to rest on your distended belly, squeezing gently for a couple of moments before sliding lower, squeezing your upper thigh.

The light blush on your face deepens a little, and you go back to eating, trying to ignore the rising desire that Typhus' damn honey provokes inside of you.

Not that your lack of outward reaction stops the Herald of Nurgle as his fingers slowly slide up your inner thighs, gently teasing your lower lips before one of his fingers slowly slides inside of you. "I find myself hungry for something else, my flower. If you would indulge me~?"

"Ah… hah… Maybe… Hng! Maybe after I finish bre--breakfast?" You manage out as his evil, awful finger plunges deep inside of you, curling a little before sliding out, leaving you achingly empty for several seconds too long before plunging deep inside of you again.

"Are you certain? Your nectar coats my fingers thickly, and the way you clench up around me says otherwise, my love." He purrs, grinning down at you, increasing the pace at which his fingers tease your wet and aching cunt.

"Only… Only because of your.. Ngh… Honey! I'd be… hah… Fine otherwise!" You protest, pouting up at him, in the hopes he doesn't take offense at the slip of your tongue.

Blessedly, Typhus only chuckles and kisses you again, nipping on your lower lip before answering "My honey may have helped you along a little, my lovely flower. But you've woken me up more than once this week with those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock as deep as you can take me without gagging, or you straddling me and bouncing up and down on my cock, seeking pleasure. Not that I mind in the least~!"

You try to growl, managing out a pathetically needy mewl instead as a third finger slides inside of you "I… Hah… Can't help it! Fucking… Geneseed drives me nuts!" That and his stupid evil bees sting you hard whenever you tried to get yourself off as he slept beside you. They either couldn't or wouldn't kill you while you carried the tainted geneseed of the Death Guard, but their poison hurt like little else could come close and left you weak-limbed and trembling, gasping for breath as awful nightmares swum in and out of your consciousness.

You can hear the devious smirk on Typhus' face as he purrs down at you "So you say, my lovely wife. I suspect that you merely haven't been satisfied with whoever your past partner or partners may have been and can't get enough of me fucking and filling you over and over again in all the ways you like most."

Indignant, impotent fury battles for the heady lust pulsing through your body at the tempo of the rat-bastard's fingers pumping in and out of you, making it near impossible for you to think of something to say that isn't really fucking stupid, or would make him even more smug.

Before you could come up with something, there was a quick and loud knock on the door to Typhus' quarters, and you jumped a little in his arms.

Typhus frowned a little, his grip on you tightening a little as he called out "Yes, Maleficus, what is it? I told you that I was not to be disturbed this morning until I left my quarters unless something urgent came up."

"And something has, sir. Several of the Thousand Sons' ships have surrounded ours, and Ahriman himself is demanding to speak to you about something. He says that he will take our ship by force and drag you out of your quarters by your ankles if he has to." Maleficus reported, his rusted armor creaking a little.

A low, frustrated growl rumbled from deep within Typhus' chest. He bit your shoulder, hard enough to bleed, sucking a dark hickey around the spot before lapping up the blood. He rumbled to you quietly "Wait for me, my flower. I will see what the idiot sorcerer wants and will return to pollinate you, my precious." He slid his fingers out of your pussy, licking them clean of your juices before sliding you off of his lap and getting up. He spoke louder and said "Tell Ahriman I will be on the bridge in five minutes."

"Your will be done, Herald!" The younger Death Guard responds, before turning and clanking off.

"Mm, duty calls, my precious. but I will be back soon enough. In the mean time… One final taste before I deal with a fool who obliterated most of his own brothers on a fools' errand." Typhus rumbled, pulling your legs apart easily and kneeling down. He licked at your pussy and clit, thrusting his tongue in and out of your cunt several times, enough to get you moaning and writhing in pleasure at his teasing before abruptly legging go of your legs and turning away. "That is all the time I have for you at the moment. Rest assured that I will be back to finish what I started." With that he left his quarters, leaving you alone to try and recover from his cheeky teasing.

You cover your face with a hand and groan, flopping back against his grimy, fetid sheet covers. You're briefly tempted to psychically contact this Ahriman - who is a potent psyker from the way his presence burns in the warp. But he is also very Tzeenchian, and… Well. You'd rather not have to deal with the constant back-stabbing and machinations of Tzeenchian followers. The slow, inexorable rot of Nurgle wasn't pleasant, but it was, at least, predictable. You sigh, and try to fall asleep, your cunt aching from his teasing ministrations as the honey slowly worked its' way out of your system.

[galaxywhump]

Prompt: Wren doing something that's blatantly stupid/suicidal (like going out into the jungle to pick fights with the wildlife) when he becomes apathetic about his own life, and Daniel's reaction to that?

[SV-240 masterlist]

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's so late, it's been in the making for a while now and I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Warning: this is a rather heavy one; it's also not canon.

contents: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, suicide attempt (nothing graphic), depression, restraints, comforted by whumper.

~~~

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so hopefully he won’t wake up for a few more hours. Wren just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. It’s the sort of hopelessness he’s been trying so hard to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

He’s had these thoughts a few times before, but now he’s decided to follow them. Not directly, even though he knows there are several options inside the house; instead, he lets fate decide, since it seems to control his life anyway. So he goes for a swim. If fate decides he should stay underwater, he won’t fight it, nor will he fight if it decides not to let him reach the pond at all.

He’s clothed, and yet feels so exposed, a puny human in a jungle full of animals he knows nothing about, having only met one, which tried to kill him. Maybe there are others like it. Maybe one is already stalking him.

Keep walking, not running, walking with calm emptiness. Get away from Daniel’s house, leave his life on the jungle’s mercy. He frowns when he feels a small pang of regret. He should turn back. He should live. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He’s far enough that the way back would be anything but safe, and he doesn’t want Daniel to question him once he returns. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists, and keeps walking.

There are noises all around him.

There’s a noise somewhere behind him.

Soft steps, a low growl. He’s being stalked.

He closes his eyes.

And then there’s a familiar man-made sound, cracking bolts of plasma piercing the air; one followed by the sound of the animal fleeing, one hitting a tree just a few centimeters left of Wren, making him jolt in place.

“Hi there,” he hears Daniel’s voice, almost playful. He swallows and slowly turns around to face his captor, who’s standing still with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“You missed,” Wren says, lifting his chin, though there is nothing more to his defiance, no spark in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” There is no affection in Daniel’s voice, and Wren prefers it this way. “Have you forgotten about your tracker?”

“No.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“What was even your plan?”

“I went for a walk,” Wren explains, looking him straight in the eye; his expression remains empty.

“Good one,” Daniel scoffs. “You know you’d be dead before the day’s over, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is unbearably heavy. Daniel gets it, and for a split second he looks genuinely surprised before going back to his usual unbothered expression.

“Come here. Let’s go home.”

Wren doesn’t break eye contact.

“And if I run?” he asks. “Will you miss again?”

“I’ll shoot, but I won’t kill you. I’ll target your leg, maybe both, and I’ll drag you back. Now come here.”

He does, his head lowered, brow furrowed, mind blank. The jungle around them is bustling with life, never completely quiet, yet the silence between them feels suffocating enough that it could spread over the entire forest, forcing it into stupor. Neither of them says a single word on the way home.

Home. Wren sighs. Home. Daniel’s house is his home now, there’s no denying that. He’s too tired to deny anything anyway, not to mention worry about what Daniel’s going to do to him after his stunt.

They’re still silent when they reach the house and the door closes behind them. Wren follows Daniel to the living room, sits down on the couch, and watches him retrieve two pairs of leather cuffs.

“You’ll have to be restrained more after this, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Wren puts his arms in front, wrists close together, and does the same with his ankles. The cuffs close, a familiar sensation, and he stares down at them, barely feeling anything.

“It’s for your own safety.” Daniel doesn’t crouch down, doesn’t sit next to Wren, still standing in front of him, towering over him.

“Yeah,” Wren repeats, his voice monotone; he only wants this pointless conversation to end, and Daniel can sense it, which doesn’t mean he cares.

“Look at me.”

When he does, Daniel frowns seeing the weary emptiness in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, and his accusatory tone makes Wren flinch, like he’s being scolded. It’s the last thing he wants to experience today.

“Take a guess,” he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if even looking up requires too much energy.

Daniel sighs and his frown deepens. He knows the truth, as much as he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I won’t let you do that, Wren.”

“I know. Cause I have nowhere to run, right?” For the first time today, there is something in Wren’s voice, the tiniest of sparks. “I can’t fucking escape you and this-this fucking nightmare, I’m stuck here and you won’t even- you won’t even let me-” He gets choked up, and to his frustration he tears up. “Fuck, just fucking hold me already and spew your bullshit, I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Without a word, Daniel sits down next to Wren, who leans against him and exhales slowly when Daniel embraces him.

“I’m not going to spew any bullshit. I just…” Daniel trails off for a moment and gives Wren a light squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting this, and it hurts.”

“Oh, it hurts you?” Wren laughs in disbelief. “Poor you, the guy you’re keeping captive and torturing is a depressed loser. Cry me a river.”

“It hurts me because I love you, Wren.”

“You said you weren’t going to spew bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit to me, and I hope that soon it won’t be bullshit to you, either.” Daniel sighs, a heavy sigh that makes Wren even angrier, which he knows is, at the very least, better than complete emptiness. Daniel doesn’t have the right to feel and react this way, not when he’s the cause of all of this. “And remember that you were depressed even before I bought you.” He feels Wren tense up at that. “You can’t pretend otherwise, it was right in your file. Depressed, isolated, drinking problem. You were lonely, and that made it possible for Berkeley to make you disappear without raising any eyebrows. Now you’re here, I’m here with you, I know about your problems, and I want to help. On my terms and at my pace, but I do.”

“You’re not helping,” Wren croaks, trying and failing to blink away tears, Daniel’s blunt words feeling like a dagger piercing his heart, over and over again. “I wasn’t- It was better than this, I wanted to get better, I just…”

He just couldn’t, and it was only getting worse, until he started spending entire hours - he was too busy to afford days - curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, questioning the point of it all, and he was alone, completely alone, and-

“On Earth, I wouldn’t have been there to stop you.”

Daniel’s words are like a punch to the face, strong enough that Wren would sway on his feet if he wasn’t sitting down. It’s true, he realizes in horror, and a painful sob reverberates through his body; he slumps in Daniel’s embrace, overwhelmed by the most terrifying what if he’s ever had to consider.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Daniel gently runs his hand up and down Wren’s arm and pulls him closer as he sobs, unable to stop, because Daniel is right, and he was so stupid, and in a twisted way he almost let Daniel win.

What could have been back on Earth doesn't matter anymore. Here, if he dies, Daniel wins. It’s a way to escape, but it comes at too great a cost, and now that he can think more or less clearly again, he can’t believe he even attempted that. So stupid, so stupid, and if it wasn’t for Daniel, the very same person he's fighting against, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He won’t thank Daniel, he can’t, but he leans into his touch ever so slightly, and he’s still crying, so overwhelmed by what he almost did and so relieved that he’s still here, still fighting.

“Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

For the first time, though he would never admit it out loud, he’s grateful for that.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Could you call Alastor a Yandere in this au

Mmm, maybe from an outsider's perspective. Al had a strange, unbalanced relationship with Vox before they "broke up," then became the Bugs Bunny to his Yosemite Sam for 50 years, and then became weird and possessive and paternalistic towards Vox after he broke him. It's less "yandere" and more "Mother Gothel." He's not obsessive, just manipulative. He knows the best way to keep Vox right where he "wants" him is to play hot and cold with him– treat him with the affection he craves, then take it away the second he steps out of line/messes up, all while reinforcing in Vox's mind that this is the only natural reaction to his behavior and is how he deserves to be treated.

Alastor's so obsessed with always being in control of the situation that even when he attempts to recreate a friendship that he enjoyed because of its unpredictability, he ends up twisting it into this weird, quasi-master-servant dynamic that he eventually grows bored of, but can’t relinquish nonetheless.

[ftl-faster-than-life]

I was contemplating watching that Flash TV show soon but I don't need to see Bally (I hear the "Barry" of the show is more like putting Barry and Wally in a blender and saying a prayer to remove the gay) being a cop enabler - so thanks! For saving me time! And will to live!

Putting my thoughts under the cut because I know some of my followers don't wanna see me Joe-bashing...

tbh the copaganda on the show is pretty bad, and it's made worse because the principle vehicle of it is Joe, and Joe's actor is a very handsome, charismatic Black man. So I think a lot of people don't even really pick up on the copaganda. It's very much a show where you are expected to accept that it's okay if the 'good guys' do the 'wrong thing' (ranging from summary execution to illegal search and seizure) as long as they're keeping people safe. There's some baffling plot holes as a result of Joe's hunches, too--and I don't need to tell you how much all of that diverges strongly from comics canon, where Barry is so relentlessly committed to evidence based conviction that it results in months and months of cases being re-opened as soon as he gets back from the dead, where acting on hunches and confession based convictions are portrayed as a bad thing, and where the majority of his interactions with the cops he works with serve to underscore how much they do not like him because of all of the above.

They also made Ralph a dirty cop and you KNOW that's wrong 😭

Idk. The actors on the show are pretty people, good actors by CW standards, and charismatic, but there's a lot of fridge horror involved in how terribly they treat human rights. And while they SOMETIMES make the point that the cops can be corrupt, lazy, or just wrong, overall the message tends to lean more towards "it's okay as long as in the end the Right Person goes to jail or dies!" And I completely understand if people can't stomach that. It leaves a weird taste in my mouth.

TBH my major criticisms of that Barry as a character is that he enables or participates in really shady police work, he pursues Iris (which is already wrong, Iris should always initiate and Barry never should) beyond the point where she clearly states disinterest, and he's reliant on other people thinking for him. He's not even the one who makes his own suit! It may seem silly, but I feel like those three things really show how the writers fundamentally don't understand the character. As adaptations go, it's not the worst I've seen, but the bar is being set by Ezra Miller's Flash. So.

[multi-lefaiye]

sometimes i see posts on my dash reacting to discourse that aounds absolutely nightmarish and count myself lucky to have avoided it myself

[gh-0-stcup]

My thing is that I just do not trust a single person who was involved in the show. It just seems like a lot of PR to fix their image and foster sympathy/goodwill/interest.

[undead-potatoes]

Not loving this increasingly weird behavior in fandom where they'll look at a female character behaving in certain ways and go "ooooh that's so hashtag girlboss, feminism wins uwu", but then you look deeper into it and she's actually just behaving out of fear or deep rooted trauma

[galaxywhump]

if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes. 

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood

[winepresswrath]

I got extremely sick and watched all of love between fairy and devil in a miserable haze and I've gotta say 1) bodyswapping at its finest 2) with slight tweaks the idiot ball did not need to be passed around so much/at all 3) the fuckup little brother industrial complex still has me in its grasp but this time I've gotta give it up for the shifufucker. they really nailed the miserable oblivion of quasi-incestuous all consuming devotion & that's not even my thing. Good job team!

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

note to self: checking the notes of a post that says "please don't add anything anti-theistic" to block everyone proving they either can't or won't follow that simple instruction, as well as any Christians who can't help proselytizing when reminded atheists exist, is not a good and encouraging way to start your day

[thebirdygrace]

Death, and Other Dark Desires, Ch. 8

Lore loomed over Lyla, basking in her beautiful humiliation. Standing over her in the small dining area of the ship, he checked the feeding pump that was attached to a thin metal pole next to her chair and turned it off. Lyla sat, ankles bound to the legs of the chair, arms, and wrists tied behind her, a red ball gag with a hole in the center in her mouth, and a thin feeding tube coming out her left nostril, skillfully secured along the side of her face and behind her ear. Her head drooped, and her eyes were swollen and red. Her face was stained with snot, tears, vomit, and blood; her body shook from silent sobs, and Lore could tell he had won.

Lore had indulged in every moment of her punishment; tying her to the table, he pinned her head in place and laughed as her screams pierced the air when he forcefully shoved the tube up her nose and down her throat, stabbing the back of her throat on purpose several times. He practically howled when he turned the volume and speed on the pump to the max, pumping her stomach until she vomited again and again and begged for him to stop. He’d bathed lavishly in her sorrow as he whispered to her, softly degrading her with insidious cruelty. “What does this say about you?” he’d said. “What does it say about you that this is how I get you to understand your place? What type of person does that make you? To be so vain.” 

When Lore found the tricky prey that had been eluding him, he decided to leave her tied there, hooked to the feeding solution, left to run on low continuously while he was gone. He laughed coldly when he told her he was leaving, and he could hear Lyla quickly break down, sobbing and thrashing about like a dying animal as he walked away, her muffled cries ringing in his ears with a sweet sensation—a sound he’d replayed many times in his head while out hunting his prey. When he’d finally subdued the Lanthanite—a task that had taken slightly longer than he’d intended—it was a personal victory for Lore, and he was excited to return to see what he would find, to see how far gone his sweet Lyla would be. Either way, his work in the Beta quadrant was over, and if her timeout had been ineffective, maybe a new view in the Delta quadrant would help her adjust.

Left to toil in fear and filth for nearly twenty hours, Lyla tried to cling to her stubbornness, exerting herself uselessly against the bonds—but even she had her breaking points. She was swinging between worrying he would not return, and she would rot and die tied there like an animal, or dreading the moment he did return and decided to turn the machine back up. In this hellish limbo, she drifted into despair—a territory she was very familiar with—all anger and obstinacy receding into… emptiness and deep, forlorn resentment. What was the point? Lyla felt the weight of her anguish set upon her shoulders like a pillory she was forced to wear for the rest of her life, however long that may be. He refused to kill her, for the time, despite Lyla constantly egging him on, and now, nearly five months after her initial capture, as they lingered somewhere far outside of Federation territory, Lyla knew there was little hope of seeing rescue. 

When Lore did return, and Lyla heard his slow, heavy footsteps enter the dining room, all she could do was weep. She had no bitterness left to dwell in nor stubbornness to cling to; both her body and constitution were weak, and the only future she saw was a bleak existence where she was forced to linger among the living, waiting for the moment she was no longer entertaining or useful toward him, and she could finally meet death.

Even in the alternate universe, where the Federation stood a chance of catching up to him now, how could she return? How could she go back and pretend her father wasn’t an awful, greedy creature who’d rather she die than his dirty secret get out? Who would listen to her if she told?

A part of her, a larger part than she’d care to admit, wanted Lore’s words to cause an eruption within the Federation, she wanted to see people like her father finally be served the justice they deserved. Lyla had long ago soured on the efficacy of the Federation; she’d seen far too often, firsthand, that the checks and balances meant to hold the system accountable were anything but failsafe, and with so many left reeling from the Dominion War, temperaments were still heated, and wounds had yet to heal for most. It was hardly a wonder why so many who came of age during this time now found themselves blindsided by the harsh reality they were fed little other than lies and broken promises, and many young people, like Lyla, made their displeasure known in rather interesting ways.

Much to her father’s embarrassment, Lyla was rather publicly involved with the notorious journalist Jack Spencer. An outspoken critic of the Dominion War, who had also been a well-known Maquis sympathizer, he’d written several hit pieces, as her father had labeled them, criticizing the Federation and Klingon Empire’s tactics, often deeming them unethical. While never publicly speaking on the matter, she was pictured many times with him at protests or other demonstrations. It had been an extraordinary point of contention between her, her father, and her siblings, especially after her mother fell ill toward the end of the war. After she passed, Lyla, who had left the London Ballet to care for her, felt a sense of remorse for the pressure her relationship had put on the family, and her father, like the viper he was, used it to get his way. Lyla could only imagine the same thing was happening back within the Federation at this time.

She was not personally acquainted with Captain Picard, but if his reputation was true, and Picard was a man of rare, outstanding moral character, then Lore’s Easter egg was certain to have grabbed his attention, and Lyla was sure Picard was diligently searching for details of Project Legend, but she knew better than to hope by now. The Federation was a bureaucracy, and a bureaucracy by any other name is just as ineffective. As certain as she was, Captain Picard was looking for the truth behind Lore’s taunt, she was also certain he was likely finding blockades made of stone. It mattered little to her now, though, by the end of the fifteenth hour, all Lyla found herself hoping for was that she would meet death sooner rather than later. 

Lyla did not pull away when Lore cupped her chin and tilted her head to look at him “Did you miss me, darling?” Instead, she bit down on the little red ball and tried not to cry at the relief she’d felt when he returned. Though she longed for death, a slow, torturous, rotting death left hooked to that fucking machine, swimming in her own filth was not a fate she wanted to endure.

Lore smiled, pleased to see both his plans were successful he turned away, grabbed the other chair, sat across from her, and pulled off the thick black gloves he’d been wearing to check on the cryo-chambers before coming to the dining area. 

“Well, I missed you.” He said before leaning forward and grabbing her chair. He dragged her chair toward him, pulling her between his legs as he leaned close to her face. “I really hope that after this time apart, we can… start fresh.” He held her face in his hand, thumbing the thin, plastic tube, and delighted in how Lyla flinched when he touched it. “Open a new chapter in our relationship.” He paused before continuing. “You know,” he said mirthfully, “you never asked how my mission went.” he teased. “It went spectacular, by the way, thank you very much. I was exemplary as always, though this Lanthanite was a worthy opponent—much more so than those lousy Klingons.”

Lore paused and threaded his hand through her hair, pulling her head back, he pressed his face against the pulse in her neck and thrilled at its erratic rhythm while Lyla continued, in vain, to try and hold back her tears. “There’s something I want to show you. Something I’m very excited for you to see, but first—” he pulled her face to his and met her eye to eye. Her eyes were red and swollen, brows furrowed in futile effort as tears continued to trickle down her face. “I need to know that I can trust you, Lyla. I’m going to let you out of timeout, but if you try to pull this tube out of your nose,” a Cheshire cat grin spread across his face, “I’m going to break every single bone in your two little arms. Do you understand?” Lyla sobbed and closed her eyes before slowly nodding. “Good.”

Lyla did not look at Lore as he removed the ball gag first, revealing a pair of swollen, dry, chapped, and cracked lips. They were speckled in blood and scabs, with two little sores on either side of her mouth, and she flinched when Lore thumbed over them. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll pull out the medical kit for you. I know this must hurt.” He smiled as he did it again, and they began to bleed in a spot where he’d pulled a small scab loose, eliciting a sweet little yelp from Lyla that Lore simply adored. Lore proceeded to untie her limbs, one by one, taking note of every welt and laceration with gleeful pride; he regularly enjoyed painting her body black and blue and red like a canvas he used to express himself upon. “These look so pretty on you, darling,” he thumbed over a painful burn on her wrist from the synthetic fiber rope he’d used. “I can only believe you think the same since it was your misbehavior that got you into this situation.”

Lyla said nothing as she gingerly flexed and nursed her wrists while Lore moved to untie her legs. An odd numbness began to set in, something Lyla was not inexperienced with, and as he quickly finished undoing her bonds and stood looming over her, Lyla continued to sit, staring at her lap, slowly circling her wrists, a distant blank expression on her pallid face.

“Stand up. I need to show you something.” Lore commanded bluntly.

Lyla slowly looked up at Lore, eyes vacant and glassy, a soft confusion in her still otherwise blank expression, as though she wasn’t certain he’d spoken.

“Stand up.” He demanded again, a hint of frustration entering his voice when she did not immediately jump at his order.

Lyla blinked, but the glassy, vacant look in her eyes persisted—a look that, though he would be averse to admit it, unsettled Lore a bit—still, she attempted to stand. Leaning forward, she pressed up, but her legs quickly buckled beneath her, her muscles, weak from the exhaustion of body and spirit, could not hold her, and she fell to the metal floor with a loud thud. As the impact of hitting the floor wreaked her body with pain, Lyla began to cry. Sobbing loudly and uncontrollably, and without even the strength to hold to her stubborn nature or hold herself upright, she could no longer hold back her hopelessness.

“Oh, Lyla,” Lore toyed as he leaned down, elbows on his thighs, lurking over her crumpled form, “having a hard time? These are the consequences of our actions. Aren’t they? Give me your hand.” He held out his hand for her to take, but Lyla, still in the throes of sorrow, was hesitant and did not immediately reach back. Lore, who did not care to wait, grabbed her hand as soon as she started to lift it and wrenched her up as he stood, but Lyla’s legs were still not obliged to hold her, and, as he quickly began pulling her to the bridge of the ship, she fell behind him. Lyla’s arm stretched and twisted painfully as Lore dragged her across the cold metal floor. Parts of her dress got caught on sharp objects as they passed, with pieces of fabric ripping from the skirt and little bits of metal slicing thin cuts into her hip and thigh. She screamed and begged, “Please! Stop! Please!” but before long, he was slamming her down into the captain’s chair, pinching her face between his hands roughly.

“That is such a lovely word coming from your mouth,” Lore said. “Keep that up, and you’ll earn yourself a nice treat. Now shut up and pay attention, or I’m going to put the force field up.”

Lyla bit down on her lip, shaking like a frail tree branch as she tried to hold in her sobs. Lore had used the force field several times as a means of punishment, slowly lowering the oxygen level inside as he watched Lyla struggle for air before returning it to normal and allowing her to breathe, then repeating the process on a loop endlessly for hours. As Lyla’s mind spiraled under the weight of her despair, she could not bear to suffer his wiles further and shrunk from him. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she balled into the fetal position, rocking slowly with her arms around her legs, trying to soothe herself quietly.

“You’re being such a good girl.” Lore purred happily. “Now, it’s time for us to leave, my darling. My work here is—"

An incoming communication on the comm interrupted them, and Lore growled in frustration, turning away quickly to tend to their caller. A Romulan warbird, performing routine scans of the area nearby, had gotten lucky—or unlucky, depending on perspective—and found the trail of artificial carbon particles the ship was still leaving behind. By now, word of the stolen Jump engine and the knowledge of how to track it were hot commodities worth a small fortune, and the Romulan Empire had been one of the first bidders.

Lore smiled. He welcomed the chance to prove a point and flicked on the viewscreen. “What can I do for you, such a fine gentleman, on this wonderful day?” he crooned with a Cheshire cat grin.

“This Commander Koval of the Ten Shir,” on the screen, was a weather-worn and unpleasant, looking old Romulan, whose brow looked to be in a near-permanent furrow, even when at rest. He leaned forward and tapped his long, knotted fingers together lightly as he spoke. “This vessel and its occupants are here-by possessions of the state, by order of the Romulan government. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded.”

“While I love to indulge in fantasy, we must move on from the quadrant, duty calls elsewhere. Our business here has concluded. So, I’ll make you a deal,” Lore reached beneath the brightly lit ops console, where a small, locked compartment hung, opening it with his thumbprint, he pulled out a black notebook, one which he’d forced Lyla to copy some of the doctor’s notes in. He held it up in his hand, like a waiter presenting a neatly set tray of desserts. “I’ll give you a copy of my notes; you build your own.”

Lyla eyed the notebook and saw a small emblem on the cover she had not seen before. A raised gold circle with a symbol in the middle she did not recognize but appeared to resemble a pentagram. What an odd thing to add, she thought, but she knew better than to question any part of Lore’s plan by now. He hadn’t been caught yet, and she would not hold her breath—especially for the Romulans.

The commander of the Romulan warbird laughed. “I expected better from the brother of the famed Starfleet android.”

Lore felt his positronic network heat up, and ravenous hate began to swell beneath his golden skin. “Are you sure you don’t want to look at it?” he cooed maliciously.

The Romulan laughed, but their amusement was, inevitably, short-lived. Lore glanced back at Lyla, winked, and with a green flash, the notebook was gone. In an instant, it appeared on the bridge of the Romulan ship, dropping into the Commander’s lap. 

“A little trick I learned from my Borg friends.” Lore had learned many tricks from the group of Borg he’d once controlled, and over the past several months, he had put that knowledge to good use, modifying both the ship and himself.

The commander grimaced. “This will not suffice! The ship belongs to the Romulan Empire!”

“It’s not meant to suffice.” Lore smiled wider as the gold emblem began to melt, and a vague white fog began to fill the air around the Romulan.

“What is this!” he demanded.

“Sarin gas,” Lore said cheerily. “It tends to have a delayed effect on Vulcans, so I’m guessing it’s the same with Romulans.” He added as the Commander gave him a rather confused look. By the time the Commander’s nose began to drip little dots of green blood on his gray, boxy tunic and he attempted to yell for his second in command, it was too late. The gas had seeped into the ship’s vents the second it began to melt, and Lore’s recipe was highly concentrated, needing only a molecule to kill a full-grown elephant.

Lyla screamed as the Commander began seizing, vomit foaming from his mouth like a rabid dog as his eyes began to bulge before he slumped over and fell out of frame. The notebook, which had fallen to the floor, erupted in a blaze of green plasma flames, and she could see the smoke beginning to rise on the empty viewscreen.

Lore turned to her, and with a smile that would forever linger in her thoughts, he said coldly, “You have to be thorough when you exterminate a pest like this.” In the next few moments, he proceeded to unload a barrage of bright green plasma missiles at the defenseless Romulan ship. Aiming directly for the bridge, when their shields finally gave, he grabbed Lyla and forced her to watch as the hull was penetrated and a group of Romulans that had been on the bridge were swept into space. With one hand on the nape of her neck, pinching hard, Lore whispered in her ear while she sobbed, “Just another group of worthless fools, ruining my surprise,” and with the other, he powered up the Jump engine.

Lyla began hyperventilating as the loud humming sound from the engine’s power source filled the air. Pushing and shoving at Lore as he held on to her with gleeful force, enjoying every minute of her panic as the engine reached full power. 

The ops console lit up as Lore set in their coordinates, and the untested Jump engine began to kick in—one shot was all they had. They would either succeed or be blown to oblivion, but Lore would succeed… no matter the costs. “I was hoping for a bit more ceremony, but I think this sector is about to get a bit too crowded for my liking.” He taunted as a bright white light began to encircle their ship. The engine hummed louder and louder, the sound becoming a deafening thrum throughout their bodies. The ship vibrated, seemingly down to the atom, as Lyla felt herself being stretched further and further until, in a sudden blinding flash… they were gone, and only the broken pieces of the Ten Shir remained.