#her power and restraints are a prison but a needed one!!!

[ptanalo]

Ah I wanted to rant more headcanons abt neon and her gear as a type of insulators for her powers even tho it’s not that deep

[reasonsforhope]

Paywall-Free Article

"In one of its first big decisions, Britain’s new Labour government on Friday [July 12, 2024] announced the early release of thousands of prisoners, blaming the need to do so on a legacy of neglect and underinvestment under the Conservative Party, which lost last week’s general election after 14 years in power.

With the system nearly at capacity and some of the country’s aged prison buildings crumbling, the plan aims to avoid an overcrowding crisis that some had feared might soon explode.

But with crime a significant political issue, the decision is a sensitive one and the prime minister, Keir Starmer, a former chief prosecutor, lost no time in pointing to his predecessors to explain the need for early releases.

“We knew it was going to be a problem, but the scale of the problem was worse than we thought, and the nature of the problem is pretty unforgivable in my book,” Mr. Starmer said, speaking ahead of the decision while attending a NATO summit in Washington...

Under the new government’s plan, those serving some sentences in England and Wales would be released after serving 40 percent of their sentence, rather than at the midway point at which many are freed “on license,” a kind of parole.

The even earlier releases will not apply to those convicted of more serious crimes, including sexual offenses, serious violence and terrorism. But Mark Icke, vice president of the Prison Governors’ Association, told the BBC that the plan could remove from the system “between 8,000 and 10,000 people,” providing “some breathing space.”

[Note: And more importantly - breathing space for thousands of people who have been unjustly imprisoned for minor offenses, as well as their families.]

Despite some early releases under the previous government, the strain on the prison system has been relentless. In England and Wales, the prison population stands at 87,505 — very close to the maximum capacity of 88,956 — according to the latest official data...

In its first week in power, Labour has said that it is grappling with a difficult inheritance after years of restraint in spending on public services under the Conservatives. In one of her first acts in government, the new chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, has ordered a review of Britain’s public finances.

Before Labour had won the election, it identified the strain on Britain’s prisons as a potentially major problem. The issue was cited on an internal list of key concerns; others included the strain on the overburdened health care system and financial pressure on municipalities and universities.

The prison population of England and Wales has doubled over the last 30 years, despite a decline in crime rates, and it has increased by 13 percent in the past three years...

Rory Stewart, a former Conservative prisons minister, said that Britain had incarcerated too many people, including for minor crimes such as repeated failure to pay council tax, which is levied by local authorities for municipal services.

According to Mr. Stewart in remarks to the BBC, imprisoning people for minor crimes “doesn’t protect the public. It doesn’t help these people get away from offending. And it creates these violent, filthy, shameful places which our prisons have become today.” The Conservative and Labour parties, he added, had “competed with each other on being more and more ferocious in demanding longer and longer sentences.”

Mr. Starmer has raised hopes among those who want to change that policy by appointing a prominent advocate of overhauling the prison system, James Timpson, as prisons minister. Mr. Timpson, a businessman, has a record of employing former prisoners in an effort to give them a second chance."

-via The New York Times, July 12, 2024

[zeroducks-2]

You know there really is something poetic about the fact that Flash and Reverse keep bringing each other back intentionally. Like they’re not each others lightning rods so they have to try and bring the other back. At this point Reverse seems to have won if you really look at it. They’re two sides of the same devoted coin and Barry Allen needs Eobard Thawne the same way Eobard needs him.

Sweetheart, they very much ARE each other's Lightning Rod.

Eobard is the only one person in the whole multiverse who was able to bring Barry back after Barry had been dead for 23 years. Iris (who by the way is the reason or at least part of the reason why Barry died in the first place), didn't even FEEL that Barry had returned once Eobard had brought him back. Wally, who keeps saying he is Barry's Lightning Rod, was never able to pull Barry out of the speedforce.

It is kind of subtle because there is no moment in which Eobard uses the words "Lightning Rod" and I don't think he likes the expression, but that's very much what happened in the Rebirth Mini. He did the unthinkable (made himself the NSF), physically walked into the Speed Force and pulled Barry out. And Geoff Johns, being as subtle as a brick, had a panel of Eobard standing next to a huge lightning rod lol.

And when it comes to Barry? Well, Barry very much uses the Lightning Rod expression. And at the end of Finish Line he does accept/admits to being Eobard's Lightning Rod.

When it comes to how they need to actively WANT to bring each other back, I think it's partially due to the fact that these are not "just" speedsters; Barry is the Speed Force personified, and Eobars is the Negative Speed Force personified, and this again is explained pretty well in the Rebirth Mini. So yeah, they are very much two sides of the same coin and it makes SENSE that they're each other's lodestone.

But it's not always intentional anyway. Barry did not consciously brought Eobard back to life at the beginning of Running Scared. He was feeling guilty because he didn't manage to save him in The Button, and apparently he wanted him back. Same thing happened when Barry summoned a lightning storm that very precisely hit Iron Heights and again very precisely crushed Eobard's cell and his restraints, without hurting him, in order to set him free - Barry did not do this knowingly, he was worried because Daniel had been taken from Iron Heights and brought to Belle Reve, and subsequently he had died in a Task Force X mission, and in his fear that this could happen to Eobard too, his powers manifested and broke him out of prison.

It's the same thing as when lightning strikes and saves August's life by turning him into a speedster. Or when it keeps striking and turns some hundred people into speedsters because baby feels lonely. Barry doesn't do this consciously; as he hasn't accepted that he is the Speed Force, his powers come out following his desires or his fears.

That being said, there is a very important component of reciprocity when it comes to lightning rods. When Linda forgot about Wally, Wally was unable to leave the timestream because even if she very much is his Lightning Rod, she couldn't be that for him at that time, because she didn't remember him. It's not an automatic thing: if tomorrow Linda stopped loving Wally, she wouldn't be his Lightning Rod anymore despite how much he loves her. Which leads me to believe that despite not fully realizing it in a conscious manner, Barry and Eobard know and they look for each other subconsciously, and they keep each other grounded to the timeline.

Again you are correct, Eobard very much won. Barry didn't care about him ONE BIT back in the Silver Age, Eobard was just a nuisance with superpowers. And now Eobard is his lodestone, the darkness to his light, and even the voice of reason sometimes. Like when in Knight Terrors he's pretty much the only one telling Barry "this is a nightmare, wake up".

[minothtime]

hello tumblr people this is my opinion on the prisoners

YUNO/KAZUI: yeah yeah the social themes and consequences of their actions blah blah blah. afaik they didn't kill nobody ms yuno had a secretive risky abortion and mr kazui told his wife he's gay and then she presumably killed herself is that his fault? no she should've reacted better next

FUUTA/SHIDOU: afaik neither directly killed anyone, shidou just pressured families into offering bodies for science so he could use them for his personal purposes which while shitty and a crime not murder, and fuuta was a stupid teenager + wracked with guilt over his actions. both were shitty but not as bad as [bottom two tiers].

MAHIRU/ES: Need to learn more about Mahiru's entire situation bc i genuinely don't know what's going on at all (mutually abusive relationships don't exist bc abuse comes from power imbalance). I'm just v nosy about Es like what's their whole deal why did they break down when kotoko said they were being a bad warden are they also a prisoner in here what's going on

MIKOTO/AMANE: Fuck if i know how to handle these two people. Mikoto's whole ordeal is NOT for me to talk about and it's a MESS and same w amane it just feels that whatever we vote her it's bad i just want her to be happy :(

KOTOKO: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU little ms hypocrisy she tries to put milgram's psychological violence and her physical violence at the same level when one is unavoidable and the other one is PERFECTLY AVOIDABLE. she believes to be some kind of angel of retribution when she's now shown her true colors and is going DOWNNN idc i kinda liked her at first but she's fallen off HARD. her ass needs a fucking muzzle and some more restraints bc it's clear she's delusional as FUCK

Muu/Haruka: muu's case is she's a bitch and when she was served her just desserts she broke down and killed someone like fuck her entitled ass. Haruka's thing is he's neurodivergent and a minor well guess what i too am neurodivergent and when i was a minor i suffered more than jesus on the cross and i didn't kill SHIT not even ANTS so maybe he should get it checked. buh-bye.

JACKALOPE: he's cute but i lowkey hate him. where the fuck is he now. why is he here. too mysterious too cryptic i need him GONE.

Once again this is my vibes and how I think things went so "oh but I think x and y and we don't know z" ok maybe you don't but I personally am omniscient . Skill issue

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel. 

AN: It’s the final one! Day 5/5 stories for 500 followers. Thank you to lillithathecat for requesting trope 2. Amnesia, and thank you to anyone who followed this journey or who joined along the way 💕

Warnings: Violence, torture, injuries

Words: 2,232

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Part 1 ∇

Poison coursed through your veins, burning as it raced through your body. Screaming, you jerked against your restraints. Your mind was reeling, and you couldn't tell if this was a dream or a waking nightmare. Flashes of white, the memory of someone yelling your name, and the same male reaching for you over and over again.

That male – there was something about him. His hazel, almost golden eyes, the peaks of wings that reached above his handsome face, the pure panic in his voice as he reached for you…

Oh gods, it wasn’t just any male, it was Azriel. He was your mate!

Your heart leapt as your brain screamed at you to remember him, to fight for him. “Azriel!” you screeched, gasping as you were bought back into the dark and damp setting around you, thrashing against the leather bounds at your wrists and ankles.

“Give her another shot,” a cold voice spoke.

“No! No, please!!” you begged, trying to blink through your hallucinations and tears.

“Now remember, Y/N.” The voice drawled closer now. “This is what you will feel when you think of him. This is how much he can hurt you. The only way to stop it, is to kill him.”

“He’ll find you,” you seethed. “He’ll find you and kill you all!” Your were feral, thrashing again as you spat in the direction of the voice. Howling at the sharp sting at your neck, your eyes rolled back as another round of poison rushed through your bloodstream, the pain all consuming. Your veins were on fire, and you drooled through clenched teeth as your body spasmed this way and that. Heart pounding with adrenaline and fear, you succumbed to another round of torture.

It had been weeks, or maybe even months since Hybern’s army had stolen you in the night. Instead of killing you, they had taken to torturing you, hijacking your mind and using poison to turn you against the Night Court, your family, and your mate.

Everyday they tied you to that chair, and everyday they injected a poison while manipulating your visions, coaching you to become the enemy of your own home. You were terrified of what they would do to you, but even more terrified at the monster you were becoming.

The bond between you and Azriel frayed a little further each time, and you felt yourself slipping away. You're only hope was that he would find you before you completely disappeared.

————

3 months later

Azriel grazed his fingers over truth teller, his leathers strapped more firmly than they had ever been. He tried to calm his breathing, at least for the sake of his shadows, that now lashed and whipped uncontrollably. But it was no use.

“It’ll be alright brother,” Rhys said, placing a sure hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We’ve found her, and we’re getting her out.”

“Let me join you.”

“No,” Rhys said tightly. “I know the urge to protect your mate, to kill for her. It’ll make a mess of things when we need them to go smoothly. You’re to stay here. That’s an order.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he felt Rhys’s power course through his words. He’d be here – waiting. He had no other choice.

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian chimed in, checking his leathers and stretching his arm across his chest. “I promise you brother.”

Azriel nodded tightly, unable to convey any gratitude over the gnawing anxiety and primal desire to burst into the prison and ripped the heads of every guard in sight. There, in that building, was his mate. His mate, who had been stolen from right under his nose, and he hadn't been wise enough to stop it. His mate, who’d been missing for months, and no matter how many sleepless nights he spent slaving over maps and records, he still couldn't find you. And every time you were hurt, he could feel you slipping away, the bond weakening every so slightly. He didn't know what state you’d be in, he only knew what he felt – the very last fragments of a withered bond, calling him from inside that building.

Rhys and Cassian gave Azriel one final nod before winnowing to the prison, leaving him in the silence of the night. A cold wind howled as he watched from the darkness, his shadows begging to follow his brothers inside. It could be minutes, it could be hours – every second was torture for the Shadowsinger.

————

Asleep in your cot, your ankle was chained to the metal frame as you slept completely still from exhaustion.

Each day ended like this, and they all blurred into each other. The guards would throw you into your cell, sliding a tray of greyish food and stale bread on the floor before chaining you to the bed. You were often too tired to eat, and while your first weeks had been spent clawing at the door, screaming and throwing your food in protest, you had weakened so quickly, and it now took everything you had to haul yourself up onto the thin mattress.

Tonight was as cold as the rest of them, the thin stained covers barely doing a thing to warm you. You shivered your way through a nightmare, the poison still active in your blood. A winged creature approached you, it’s hazel eyes glowing as claws grew at it’s fingers, it’s snarl ripping into a roar as it lunged for your throat.

Jolting awake, you heard sounds of commotion outside your cell. Your heart thumped as you pulled the covers over you tightly. They’d be here soon, to claim you from your bed. Then the pain would start.

After a few yells you heard a large thud, and then footsteps. They were getting closer and closer, and you curled up into a ball, clenching your eyes shut, begging to be anywhere else.

“Y/N?” you heard a male ask. Your body jerked at the sound of his voice, refusing to raise your head or even open your eyes. An uncontrollable shake quickly overtook your whole body.

“Y/N, is that you? Hang on doll, we’re going to get you outta here.”

You heard the male grunt as he pried and forced the cell door open. “Rhys!” he called, and you could now note two sets of footsteps. The sound of the metal door grinding open filled your ears, and you had no choice but to face the threat that awaited.

Sitting up in your cot, you clambered to the end of your bed, as far away from the males as you could get.

“Oh Y/N, thank the Cauldron you’re alive!” A male with dark hair wore a broken smile, his body sagging in relief as his purple eyes glowed in the darkness of your cell.

You used your legs to push yourself further back, unable to stop the quiver in your voice. “L-leave me alone.” It was not a voice you recognised – instead it was raspy, broken, and a little sick sounding. You wondered when the last time you actually spoke was.

You saw the purple-eyed male exchange a look with the other, his red siphons glowing as he stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Y/N, it’s us, Cassian and Rhys.”

A white light filled your eyes then, clouding your vision as your ears rang. Furious visions filled your mind at the mention of their names, and a headache so painful pierced through your brain that you had to clutch at your head to stop it. You let out a howl, blinded by dangerous and violent visions. They must be the people Hybern had warned you about – they’re here to kill you.

You leapt from your bed, scrambling as far back as the chain would let you. You knew how you must look – hair a mess, eyes wild, your tunic stained and dirty as you shook like a meek animal. “Fuck off,” you spat, trying to sound as aggressive as you could.

The purple-eyed male stepped forward then, slowly making his way over with his palms raised. You pushed yourself against the chain, your ankle throbbing in protest. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you as the male knelt down, and you pulled your knees up and hugged them, your last attempt to protect yourself.

“It’s ok, we’re not going to hurt you,” the male said gently. He was close enough that you could smell him, his scent familiar, yet disarming. Your clenched your eyes shut, the headache piercing through again. “We’re here to take you home.”

Snapping your lids open, your eyes darted between the violet ones before you. Home. You didn’t remember having a home, you didn’t remember much before this.

“You’re lying,” you hissed, cowering into your filthy tunic. The male’s brow clenched in what you thought might be sympathy, and he cast another glance back to his counterpart.

“I assure you, you can trust us. How about we get you out of this chain?” You stared wide-eyed as the taller-male walked over, kneeling at your ankle and pulling a large knife from his side. You cowered at the sight, swords, knives and sharp things were all too familiar.

“It’s ok,” the long-haired male soothed. “I’m just going to cut the chain here.” You stared as he raised a strong arm, before swinging it down against the metal links. The chain broke immediately, metal clinking to the ground, and the male returned his weapon to it’s sheath.

“There we are,” the purple-eyed male said, and you remembered he had called himself Rhys. “Now we can get you out of here. Do you think you can stand, Y/N? Or perhaps you might let us carry you?”

Another flash of white filled your vision then, and as instinct took over, you found yourself clawing for the males face, trying to hurt him in any way possible. Rhys stepped back smoothly, his brow pulling in concern as Cassian quickly caught your wrists, pulling folding them over your own chest as he held flush against him, likely stopping you from hurting yourself more than anyone else. You continued to scream and thrash, trying to break from his hold.

“Put her out of her misery, Rhys.”

Rhysand shot you a soft look before gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead, his hand cool to your clammy skin. “I’m sorry Y/N. But it’s for your own good.”

It was the last thing you heard before a ring struck your ears, and the world melted to black.

————

He scented you before he saw you. Winnowing in front of his brothers the moment they arrived, Azriel’s body froze as he took in your lifeless form.

“Oh gods, oh gods, is she–?“

“She’s asleep,” Rhys answered, his wings disappearing as he caught Azriel by the shoulders, pushing him up as his brother sagged in relief.

Cassian handed Azriel his unconscious mate, your body slack with painless sleep.

Azriel’s couldn’t help his tears. “Oh gods, oh Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he cried, weeping into your neck as he rocked you. “There’s nothing left of her,” he claimed, noting your weak and disheveled figure. How light you felt compared to the last time he held you.

“We’ll get her the help she needs,” Cassian reassured him, clasping a tight hand on his shoulder. “She’s with you now, she’s safe.”

Azriel couldn't help the sob of relief that racked through him. He breathed in your scent, and while it was changed, underneath there was a hint of you. It was the scent he had longed to breath in for months now, the scent that had faded from your home, your clothes, your bed. Azriel’s wings flared as he soaked it in, pressing you tighter to him.

“She should see the healer. Let me winnow her back to our base.” Rhys reached for your body, unthinking of what he might be asking in a moment like this.

Azriel’s cries were immediately replaced with a predatory snarl as he stepped back from Rhys, snatching your sleeping body and pulling you closer to his chest.

“I just got her back,” he growled, his voice low and animalistic. You were the only thing stopping him from exploding, from launching at his brother.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look before Rhys gathered himself, raising his palms. “I know, Az, I know. I’m not taking her away, I can just see your emotional, and thought you might want to deal with those who remain in the prison.”

Azriel’s eyes glowed at the suggestion, the instinct to rip each and every guards head off was almost as primal as the one to keep you pressed against his chest and to never let go. His voice was thick as he stared past Rhys, straight at the prison. “I will be the one to see to my mate’s wellbeing. Round up the survivors. I want them alive and in my chamber.”

Cassian nodded at that, turning to do the work for his brother.

“Feyre’s called the healer to your tent, they await your arrival,” Rhys said.

Azriel steadied himself as he ran his eyes over your bruised and ashy face, bringing a gentle scarred finger to run down your gaunt cheek. “Let’s get you home,” he said softly, before evaporating into a winnow, Rhys close behind him.

--------

Part 2 >>>>

AN: Suuurrrprise! It’s time for another Azriel series. While I fully intended for this to be a one shot, I’m so excited to explore the idea of a brainwashed reader. Think Hunger Games Peeta being tortured by the Capitol (in fact, that was my direct inspiration). 

I so so hope you liked Part 1, please let me know if you’d like to join the tag list for this series in the comments. And as always, I love you, thank you for reading/liking/comment/reblogging or following – all of it means so much.

Tag list: Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere alphabet for Princess Celestia, please? 🦄

I can try my best, sure! Here's more Princess Celestia content :) Not fully proofread, there may be mistakes.

Yandere Alphabet - Princess Celestia

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Isolation, Manipulation, Deception, Abuse of power, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Imprisonment, Deception, Restraints, Forced companionship/relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Celestia takes on a mentor-like role with her darling no matter her intentions. Many ponies look up to her and trust her. This allows Celestia to get away with her obsessive tendencies.

Celestia can come off as intense at times due to her manipulative tendencies. However, the princess is extremely affectionate with her obsession. She'd pamper and spoil her darling... no matter what they think about it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Celestia has no need for violence, she prefers to use her influence. So, her white hooves stay pristine for her darling.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Celestia would want to pamper her darling. She's a princess... of course she can decorate and gift things to her darling! The best food, clothing, and care money can buy!

She wouldn't mock you unless you tried to expose her obsession or something.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

She has the power to do so, but it depends on your behavior towards her.

She can be forceful... but hopefully she doesn't have to.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Celestia can be rather honest about her feelings. She isn't very vulnerable but she can be open with you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed more than annoyed. She really thought you would be better than this...

But this can always be corrected.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Not really and she'd feel disappointed. The only time it's a game is when she realizes no pony believes your claims on her obsession. In that case, she's teasing.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Her punishments I assume. For the most part Celestia is lowkey and doesn't hurt you. Yet when you don't cooperate...

She locks you away, a chain on your back leg, and no pony else to talk to...

Not even her for who knows how long.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

You being by her side somehow. Be it as a friend, student, adopted sibling, or a romantic partner. Her intentions dictate which one you fall under.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes and I feel Celestia starts petty, trying to cope in her own way. But soon her tolerance runs out... leaving her to lash out more.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Manipulation, Suffocating, Obsessive, Possessive/Protective, Caring, Mischievous, and occasionally Strict/Disciplinary.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

You could work under her, be a student, or a younger princess she took under her wing. Her intentions dictate the way she approaches you.

Celestia starts very subtle with her obsession. Subtle care, subtle favoritism. You can barely tell something is wrong.

That is until you begin to be isolated and no pony listens to you...

By that point Celestia has you where she wants you.

Yes. No pony believes her intentions to be dark... just you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation and restraints. You're essentially in a gilded prison cell with no contact until she feels you've "learned" something.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Not many depending on your behavior.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

She may not move on or take a long time with it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Not really and maybe with a guard or two.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity... but maybe childhood if you think about it. It's lonely at the top.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

She'd try to comfort you the best she can. Although she views your outbursts as "temper tantrums", she'll help you through it.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Reciprocating, or at least playing along with Celestia, will get you some useful privileges.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere but would go to great lengths to keep you in her castle and under her care.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If she did pine, maybe for a year or year and a half.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Six. Somnolence)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist

Chapter warnings: trauma, A/N: This is literally half of what I planned on for this chapter. Soooo. Yeah. One of the teasers for this chapter applies to chapter seven, lol. But the wait will be worth it! Thank all of you who've stuck around. <3 You are all dears and deserve big cups of tea and cuddles. Dream’s creations brought him stories.

6: Somnolence

They groveled before his throne by the dozen, sharing tales of the child Aisling – in need, protected by his arcana as she moved through the mortal plane, jetsam in the wake of a better life she should’ve lived. Hundreds more, many of them nightmares, told epics of the woman Aisling – tearing their anchors from the dreams of innocent mortals, protecting the most fragile dreams from harsh reality in quiet corners of the world where fantasy still thrived.

His creations brought these stories to trade for forgiveness the subject of their tales had already secured. Only a few shared their memories because they cared for her. They wanted their lord to see her as they’d found her, and how could the Prince of Stories not love a timely hero in a grand tale?

Some told him what they thought he needed to know. Facts about the mortal with his name and power etched in her soul.

He had his own story, one of a cage and a strange woman with true sight and curious magic. A woman who looked too hard at all the wrong things and freed him without promise or threat.

When he first saw her from his prison, when his restraints shattered and he could see properly for the first time in over a century, hope and loss nearly consumed him. He’d been aware of the place in his essence where a mark might grow before Earth gathered into a planet. Every time he fell in love, he waited for the name to appear. Trapped in his glass prison, cut off from anything that made him more than a fragile facsimile of a human shape, he hadn’t felt anything fill the empty space. He lacked the awareness.

How had he imagined meeting a soulmate? Not like that. Not as that – a nameless monster in a cage. She fled the moment she found him, and he imagined he could see Nada’s footprints in the sand as his true soulmate’s steps echoed over stone.

Perhaps it was for the best. The quaint hell of Burgess’s basement was no place for introductions, and he brought all his bereaved fury to bear in his escape. Even as he found his freedom, he found yet another treasure the magus and his son had stolen from him.

She had been hurt. Badly. And he had not been there. If Alexander Burgess hadn’t already earned his punishment, seeing the crude letters cut into Aisling Hunt’s heart over her own mark clinched his doom.

When she finally slept, he showed himself as everything he was not upon their first meeting. Her clever eyes, blinded by fear and expectation, did not see him. Did not know him.

Though he ached to be with her since the moment he truly saw her, though he yearned to repay her for ending his captivity, a hundred years of helplessness festered like a dark canker in the depths of his passion.

When she did not recognize him in that first dream, he did not rush to correct her ignorance. He welcomed it, and with her oblivious naivety, he took control. In the second dream, it was even intentional. So long as she did not know him, he was… safe. So was she. Or he liked to believe so. Safe from fear and confusion at the clear weft of their wyrds knotting them together through actions she believed entirely her own.

But now she knew him.

She’d seen his face, and the budding trust he’d savored as she came apart under his hands and tongue shattered like the finest glass. He imagined it like shards coursing through her blood. He’d seen as much in her eyes as she looked up from the hand of her captors, brought in silken chains to her monster, the entity she’d readily freed from Fawney Rig. Her growing faith, possibly even affection, cut her from the inside out, glittering in her eyes as she fought against the pain his face brought her.

Once again, he was shown to her as a monster, as a frightful king who might accept such a gift from the unseelie court. His lip curled at the thought.

He could not bear it. Though the two parts of him stood at war – the lover and the wounded king – neither exalted in her fear. Deep within, the mark cut him, too. Soothing her pain when she fell into his hands in their first dream together was far from selfless.

He wanted to chart her, like a star-filled sky, or an endless ocean reflecting those stars. He could sense the elements in her, the base reality of every living thing bound up in her tattered mortality. Wildfires and oceans. Sweeping winds and green fields.

And beyond that? She’d done more with the powers the fae cursed her with than he would’ve thought to ask. A touch of eternity beyond anything human tangled so deep in her soul he could never take it back, not without killing her.

He wanted to do terrible things. To pluck out her heart and wear it in a locket, sundering her from the waking world forever. To wrap her up in splendid charms and spells to make her forget anything she might miss outside the bounds of the Dreaming. To pull her deeper and deeper into himself until they were truly one, until she became a part of every aspect, even if it would destroy her. His desire ached to maul her in some way, to sate his hunger and leave a mark even mortal eyes could see.

At the same time, he’d gladly hand his nightmares the broken remains of any other – mortal, god, or angel – who threatened so much as the ease of her smile.

He yearned for her entirely, and he was not all light.

She felt so right in his grasp when he caught her up in the throne room. safe at last in the circle of his arms. But he was not free to hold her. He required her permission, her clear consent, a reciprocal yearning in word and deed, and until he had that, he must prove himself. He could not fail her again.

And so Lord Morpheus, dread King of Nightmares and ruler of the Dreaming slouched low in his seat, watching Aisling Hunt breathe, at rest in the perfect silence of oblivion as he waited at her side.

He hadn’t brought her to the rooms he began crafting as he rebuilt his kingdom from ruins. The bed was no less grand, the space fit for a goddess, but it was a thoughtless grandeur. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want her fear to spoil the joy he’d hoped she’d find… in her home. He did not want her first memories there to echo with terror and doubt.

“My lord?”

Lucienne hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and brow furrowed with care. Though he wanted to close the doors and keep these quiet moments entirely for his own, his librarian had been the one to remind him of his soulmate’s fragility, and although she often provided insights he did not like, they were all the more invaluable for his distaste.

“I do not know what to do.” He looked from his love to his librarian, nearly as lost as he’d been when he first returned from his imprisonment, sitting below a throne governing nothing but broken glass and crumbled stone. Then he’d had a course to follow, a realm to repair, even if he hadn’t known where to begin. “There is no quest to fulfill. No correction to make. She is not even mine to repair, even where I am at fault.”

His former raven watched, shifting in place, but never taking her eyes from her master and the mortal he would love.

“Perhaps…” She paused, and Morpheus looked to her searchingly, grasping for hope in the wake of this latest failure. Taking it permission, she continued delicately, handling her ruler like the delicate pages of the library’s oldest tomes. “Perhaps a king is not what she needs at this time.”

He already knew that, but he could not accept it.

“Is my name not carved on her heart?”

“Morpheus, my lord.” Lucienne offered the correction like a balm to a blistered wound. “Not Dream of the Endless. You assume you know what her reaction will be when she wakes, but how can you predict someone you barely know? She knows even less of you, and I’m sure she has plenty of assumptions.”

He bristled. He already knew her, as he knew all dreamers. The facts of her life flowed through the Dreaming, but he only understood them as a mortal would know printed words on a page. They’d shared precious little time. Three dreams.

Would she ever trust him like that again, or had he lost her entirely in his carelessness?

He didn’t wish to agree with his librarian’s suggestion, but he had no ideas of his own, and he would not fail his little hero once again. Could not.

“What do you suggest, then?”

Drawing herself up, Lucienne unclasped her hands and folded them anew in the front, clearly itching for a book or ledger to occupy herself. “I don’t know her any better than you do, sire, but there are some who do. Why not… invite them to share their insights?”

Morpheus closed his eyes, calling to mind the many subjects who flocked to offer pieces of Aisling’s story. Most clasped nothing but small gems, scattered fragments of a grander jewel. But the ones she called friend, that walked the Waking world beside her…

He opened his eyes and looked through the Dreaming, reaching to the shores of Nightmare, where a beast with pretty manners turned at his call.

“Fine Gentleman. I summon you. Come to me.”

The nightmare followed his order, appearing in the room at the foot of Aisling’s bed as the shape of the realm bent to accommodate Dream’s will. Despite his decades in the Waking world, the nightmare had taken up his old duties admirably, and Dream expected Fin, as so many called him, would return the loyalty Aisling had shown him. She risked her freedom to safeguard the nightmare’s path home, after all.

Fin knelt, bowing to his king, but his eyes flicked to the bed, and Dream dismissed his respects. “Rise. You have leave to speak. There are answers I would have of you.”

The nightmare didn’t need to be told twice. Back on his feet, he gingerly touched the edge of the blue coverlet, and asked, “It’s true? The unseelie, they – Is she alright?”

“In body, yes.” Lucienne approached the far side of the bed, closing a semicircle around the sleeping mortal who’d caused so much concern. “But she had an attack of some kind, and none of us are sure what to expect when she wakes. Perhaps you have some experience with similar episodes?”

“I do.” The nightmare kept his attention on Lucienne and his hand a few inches from Aisling’s feet. History and affection bound them closer than oaths and debts. Rot green ghosted through Dream’s thoughts, and he wrestled the specter away as the nightmare explained. “She hasn’t had one in a long time, but she used to have panic attacks when she was younger. Bad ones.”

“And how did she treat them?” Morpheus demanded his creation’s attention. It would do the nightmare well to remember whose soulmate he’d been called to aid. It would do him well to remember his king.

Nothing of the beast faced the King of Dreams, only the gentleman, and though he kept his head down, his gaze fixed on Morpheus with iron determination.

“My lord, I have a suggestion you won’t like.”

There was much in the past hours Morpheus had not liked. He’d cut his throat to ease her thirst if need be or burn every star in the Dreaming’s sky to keep her warm. Sitting up in his chair, he prepared himself to bleed.

“What is it? What does she need of me?”

The nightmare didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.

“Your distance, sire.”

Morpheus recalled the scene in the great hall. His destined soulmate. Alone, collapsing on his throne room floor, shaking and afraid. He wouldn’t have it.

“I will not leave her. She will not be alone.”

Her friend, the nightmare, shook his head. “She wouldn’t be alone. Any of us she knows could stay and mind her, but…”

Ah. Morpheus sat back in his seat, expression cooling as he realized they had only just reached the part of the suggestion he would not like.

“Speak.”

The nightmare took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and forged ahead like a soldier facing down a dragon.

“She was never afraid of you because you were powerful. She lived in fear that you’d take her choice.”

He gave his king a moment to consider the revelation, though even in his brief acquaintance, Morpheus had learned that much. But it was only a reminder, and he spooled out deeper knowledge like a bandage he could pull his friend together with.

“When she wakes up,” he said, “she’ll need to feel in control. Even in the Waking she took space for herself – to find the truth, redraw the borders around what she’d chosen and what she’d been told to choose. The greatest gifts you can give her are time and space.”

Drawing his hand back, letting his fingers drag over the covers, the nightmare bowed. Morpheus read more than respect in his creation’s bent spine. This was the obeisance of a supplicant, one begging for grace rather than offering fealty.

“She’s resilient, but give her a chance to find her feet before you ask her to be brave again.”

Dream of the Endless did not smile down on his creation. The nightmare had been right. He did not like this plan at all, but he had asked, and the nightmare spoke truly. As a true friend.

Loathe as he was to banish himself, he would abide by the counsel of one who knew his soulmate well in the hope that he, too, may someday be allowed to know her.

“Very well.” He rose, and the chair crumbled to sand. “You and those of your choosing will serve as companions, guides, aides. The One Beneath will guard her.”

The nightmare took his orders and departed to gather his fellows. Lucienne waited for her lord, offering him silent company and support as he pulled himself from his little hero’s side.

He craved her faith. Her willing trust and all that would follow. It seemed, however, that he must first give her his own.

“When she is ready, she will come to me.”

.O.O.O.

She roused from the dreamless ocean to meet a crush of memories.

The fae delivered her. Morpheus took her. And now she woke in a bed she didn’t recognize.

He’d watched as the fae threatened to strip her of her own mind. And he’d – he’d always been –

She ripped the sheets back and fought her way off the plush mattress. Not awake enough to land on her feet, she fell to all fours, and the impact jarred her knees, sparked little agonies up her wrists. She dropped flat, belly-down beside the impossibly soft sheets and a blanket that looked like rolling waves caught the threads. She looked at the wonderous bedding with dull eyes. Then closed them, so she wouldn’t have to.

Everything here was his. Even… even she was. Now. Maybe.

She hated every beautiful thing in the room, but she hated herself more.

It was her fault. She let herself believe she was safe, and she paid in flesh and scars.

How many years of her life would she voluntarily trade to the fae to erase the past… however long they kept her, from the moment she passed through the mirror til now? And how long was that? Did she sleep for a few hours? Days? Had the Waking world seen a hundred years as her monster bundled her up in his castle?

Her breath caught like a sleeve on a doorknob, sudden and jarring.

It hadn’t really happened.

It had.

He’d promised her he wouldn’t steal her away or exploit what she offered. He helped with her pain and brought her pleasure, and she’d –

A cold hand with scabby skin and broken nails wrapped around her fingers.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize Jeff.

She rubbed her thumb along an exposed tendon to assure him she was alive, and he squeezed back to prove he was listening, that he had her, that he would stay. That everything was alright and nothing truly terrible had happened as she slept.

That all was still as she remembered.

Despite what she’d seen.

Maybe it meant something that her monster let her oldest friend comfort her instead of demanding the burden of care himself.

But if the first promises had been lies, and his excuses for the mask must’ve been, then she couldn’t trust any peace offerings, either.

The nightmare held her hand, but he couldn’t ground her. She refused to settle in her skin. She knew what would happen when she did. Whole people wore skin – filled with pain, and regret, and longing. Nothing hurt more than that.

She’d been here before. Not on this floor, in this plane, within her monster’s domain. But a floor, and in the end, polished marble or scratchy, threadbare carpet, it didn’t matter once she landed. A floor was a floor. She became hollow enough to forget she was alive, bleeding from a war no one else could see or save her from.

She had to get up. Had to move. Had to save herself. No one else could, not even Jeff, or Fin, or Gault, or

– Morpheus.

The floor had warmed under her cheek, proof of a beating heart she didn’t want to feel, and she turned to press the other side of her face to a new, cooler patch of marble. Maybe the stone floor could leach enough heat to freeze her mind. Numb it. So she could forget.

Forget his face. His expression when she broke the seal in the basement of Fawney Rig and the way he looked down from his throne as the pansy swung above her eyes.

Forget his careful, beautiful hands, and how it felt to dissolve with him between the stars.

Forget the smell of earth. The feel of claws. Of spider silk… The dress. She was still wearing the damn dress.

Inspiration couldn’t lift her from the floor, but fear and disgust launched her upright as she sank her fingernails into the delicate lace and pulled.

The left sleeve tore from her shoulder like tissue paper. Just as it was meant to. A pretty thing for her soulmate to rip off her body. Titillating scraps of fabric that wouldn’t impede a lover. That offered even less protection than she’d thought.

She froze again. Her breath caught on a lump in her throat as visions of another destiny crept like a snake through her thoughts. One where the graceful fingers she was coming to adore destroyed the dress. Where she’d lost herself entirely. Where her monster became everything she feared.

She blinked furiously. Her wet eyelashes stuck together. The air in her lungs turned thick with agony she wouldn’t voice, and the elegant room turned to a blur as she crashed to her knees, clutching her arms close to keep from shaking apart. To protect herself. To hide the body the fae tortured into gleaming perfection for a monster’s pleasure.

She wanted the dress off.

She couldn’t stomach the thought of baring any more skin.

She couldn’t think beyond the tearing pain in her chest.

This is what came of leaving the floor and becoming a person again.

Hands cut through the fog, urgently curling around her shoulders. She jerked back, shouting wordless protest, and a voice reached out to find her where the hands could not reach.

“Aisling, you’re safe. We’re here. Can you hear me?” The voice plucked on memories. Dust and sunshine and green stains on her skin from cheap jewelry stewing in sweat.

“Gwen?” She only realized she’d asked when she heard her own voice. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.

“Yes.” A smile behind hands offered in support, palms up, begging to be accepted. “It’s just me and Jeff. Can I – Are you…” The dream looked her like she was holding a knife to her lover’s throat. “Can you tell me what you need?”

No. She really couldn’t. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t know.

But the fucking dress…

She pulled at the fabric. Carefully. Trying to express herself as words failed to coalesce.

“I want it off. I feel…”

She felt like she needed to scrape her skin off all over again, but even in her confusion, she knew Gwen wouldn’t help that far.

But Gwen knew her, and Gwen knew how to listen, even when dreamers struggled to speak. “I’ll draw a bath and find you something to wear.”

Aisling knelt where she’d landed and swallowed down rising bile. Even she forgot, on her better days, how physically painful fear could be. Jeff took her ankle, so she knew she wasn’t alone as Gwen swept out of sight to do as she’d promised. Her most loyal nightmare.

She didn’t mean to scare him.

Her chest ached with an old burn, and she knew she couldn’t turn to the same cure that soothed it last time.

Gwen returned swiftly, before Aisling even had time to miss her, offering her soft hands again for her friend to accept.

She still couldn’t stand the idea. Jeff was different. Jeff needed the comfort as much as she did, and there was no mistaking his hand for anyone else’s.

She found her feet on her own, still hugging herself, eyes on the floor. Her stomach ached. Her skin crawled under the sticky lace. As she followed Gwen into a side chamber, she couldn’t help noticing the view outside the great, arched windows. A whole world stretched beyond the glass – worlds upon worlds, even.

Her ordeal wasn’t over.

She couldn’t just jump in her van and leave the Dreaming. Boundless as the fears and fantasies of every living thing, aware of her presence as its monarch, it would hold her until he gave her permission to leave. As she walked through her – ostensibly – private rooms, she might as well be sitting in her monster’s palm again.

Gwen showed her to a sunken tub behind a screen, an indoor pond that scented the air with clouds of lavender. An indistinct set of clothes sat on a low table beside a stack of towels, and a small collection of soaps and bottles stood within reach of the water.

Gwen wrung her hands, fighting to smile. ���Would you like help? I can wait outside if you prefer.”

“I’ll be fine on my own. Thanks.” Getting the dress off would end in a fit. Big, ugly tears and hacking sobs. She just knew it. She couldn’t stomach someone sitting beside her, trying to comfort her as she came to terms with everything the fae had done.

She had to wash this new skin alone. She needed to mourn. She needed to figure out which way to swim before she drowned in aimless grief, and worrying what she looked like or how she made a loved one feel would only pull her deeper. Fortunately, Gwen understood.

Her friend left. She stood alone in the opulent ensuite, pulling apart what was meant to be her dreaded wedding gown, trembling as she tried shielding herself from eyes that simply weren’t there.

She took her bleeding heart into the bath, and the warm water tried to swallow her pain. Washing and scrubbing until she couldn’t feel the faeries’ touch under her raw flesh brought a little relief, but missed her scars. The little marks on her fingers from careless accidents in the kitchen, places she cut for spell work, and a hundred incidental bumps and nicks. It looked alien now. Too smooth. Perfect in a way even a birth-bruised baby’s wasn’t. Her true sight detected residual magic that wouldn’t fade in her lifetime from the unicorn’s horn. It made her beautiful. The kind of beauty she could use as a weapon if she wanted. If she was dealing with a lesser creature than an Endless.

When her cuticles bled, she gave up trying to erase the potion’s effects.

And she cried.

She cried so much she was surprised the water level didn’t rise. The bath stayed hot and fresh as she tried flaying herself, and she wondered if had some secret healing power. Hardly shocking, all things considered, but she wished it was plain water she could turn pink with her human blood.  

She stayed too long, cleaning her hair, her face, the spaces between her toes. Her intention worked the scrubbing into a ritual. Not all the magic would leave, but she banished the traces of her captors’ essence. She peeled away their staring eyes and casual violence.

She was her own self, and she would make it so.

At last, cleansed in body if not in mind, she climbed out and began the process of becoming a whole person again, with feelings and all. Feelings, and legs, and wet hair.

The towels were so soft she nearly cried again, but she felt ridiculous enough to sniffle down her hysterics and start getting dressed. Gwen had brought something like elegant loungewear. Better than any sweatpants or old t-shirt, they draped around her without clinging or threatening to fall off. Comfortable. Woven from some fabric she’d never touched before but maybe dreamed of, like the plush toy she slept with as a child and the silky ripple of a stream over her fingers. A shawl waited at the bottom of the stack, and she pulled the extra shield around her shoulders like armor. Everything fit. Nothing pinched, or chafed. It couldn’t be the most attractive ensemble, but it felt like a promise. Reassurance stitched into the loose fit that covered her so well.

It wasn’t for display. She wasn’t for display. It was consideration. Patience. A tender embrace offered from a safe distance.

And she was beginning to doubt Gwen had chosen these clothes at all.

She shivered, pulling the shawl tight across her chest, and returned to the bedroom. Gwen rose, uncertain but ready for anything. Aisling waved her down.

“I still… I’m going on a walk.” The world beyond the windows was all Dream’s, but she needed an open sky and a breeze on her face. The screaming child in the back of her head wailed the polished marble felt like raw slate and the close air smelled like soil and mildew. It didn’t, but she wanted to break the association before it took root.

Twisting her hands again, Gwen nodded, and Aisling didn’t wait for someone to tell her she wasn’t allowed, or that she really needed to stop and put on shoes, or that she should act like a delicate lady and keep to the garden. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So many of her friends told her stories about the Dreaming. She wanted to love it.

She would outrun her fear, literally if she had to.

[avatarkurukdefender]

Since the adhd brain refuses to cooperate and let me finish chapter two of A Literal Team Avatar...might as well talk about it instead

Specifically about the Boiling Rock arc

Aka the arc where I get to go full whump writer and torment the beloveds

:3

Kuruk and Roku are gonna get captured after the failed invasion during the eclipse (fpr reasons that I will not spoil)

And they are going to be taken to the Boiling Rock and will be there for about three weeks, maybe a month since that seems like how long that time period was.

That will be the worst time of their new lives

They will be separated almost immediately upon arriving, with Roku being taken to solitary confinement in the freezer (where he will stay for at least like sixty to seventy percent of his time in the prison) while Kuruk is taken deeper into the prison.

Ans the Warden will take EVERY possible precaution to make sure Kuruk cant bend. Because its one thing to hold a powerful firebender, just lock them in the freezer and they cant bend. No problem.

But keeping a WATER bender from bending in a prison that is literally SURROUNDED by water is a much more difficult task.

So Kuruk will be kept in a very hot, very dry room. Dry air will be filtered through at all times, he will be guarded at all times, there will be MULTIPLE locked metal doors before even reaching his cell, and most importantly

He will be heavily restrained.

Hands completely covered in metal cuffs, more restraints on the elbows, knees, and thighs and ankles, even a shackle around his NECK to really keep him as still as physically possible.

Oh did I mention that they will only give him the BARE MINIMUM amount of water needed to keep him from dying of dehydration (like once every five days)

They'll feed him even less.

Anything to keep him weak, prevent any chance of him breaking out.

Because Kuruk is definitely the most dangerous person in the prison and if he got out all hell would break loose

Meanwhile Roku is just gonna be left alone with his thoughts, with his guilt because this was all his fault, it was his fault that they got captured it was his fault that Kuruk was suffering and he was helpless to stop it, hell it was his fault that this entire war was even happening!

Because even thought he's in solitary, in the freezing cold, unable to bend, he's not actively being STARVED to death (even though he's only getting fed a bit more frequently than Kuruk) and being constantly kept on the brink of dehydration and close to heatstroke.

It will be such a relief when Sokka, Zuko and Yangchen come to rescue them and eventually Suki, Sokka's dad, and the other inmate guy whose name I cant remember.

The only reason Kyoshi wasn't allowed to join the rescue mission was because both her mentor and her former pupil being held hostage would make it be an absolute BLOODBATH.

It will still be a mass homicide when Yangchen sees Kuruk in his current state. Jst not as bloody, because she can just make people's lungs collapse, trap them in an airless void or just obliterate them with a close ranged scream.

Kuruk will get to drown people with boiling water, as a treat.

Zuko is gonna realize just how lucky he was that Aang is a pacifist because air nomads can become absolutely terrifying when "all life is sacred" goes out the window.

There will be three chapters before the actual boiling rock arc begins

One when Roku and Kuruk are first brought to the prison.

Another on how they're doing during the Sun Warriors arc

And a final one the night before the rescue trio arrive at the prison.

(The chapters will be titled "No Mind To Think." "No Will To Break." And "No Voice To Cry Suffering." Yes that is a Hollow Knight reference that game is a masterpiece, one of my favorite video games EVER and I cant wait for Silksong so bite me)

Why does this arc have to be so far away :(

Anyways enjoy

[noobiestnoober]

Shadows of Destiny (Part II) – Blood Ties (Kai x Reader)

This is a sequel to Shadows of Destiny. Read the Part 1 here >>>

Shadows of Destiny (Kai x Reader)

I hope you enjoy the story <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jo and Alaric were having a happy, celebratory wedding surrounded by loved ones. Everyone involved desired a fresh start and a peaceful moment. However, tranquility proved to be fragile and easily disrupted.

With wrath and resentment in his eyes, Kai Parker dashed into the ceremony. He launched his strike before the Gemini Coven could respond, with magic sparking through the air.

Trying to escape the lethal energy bursts, guests shrieked and dispersed. His twin, Jo, eyes wide with shock and resolve, stood her ground. Shaking, she begged, "Kai, stop this! Why are you doing this?!"

But Kai had no brotherly affection in his distorted smile. Ignoring Jo, he said, "You should know by now. I never quit on what I started."

As he lifted his hand to cast another attack, the hall doors flung open. Y/N staggered in with her gaze fixed on Kai, bruised, and worn out. Her willpower, pushing her on despite the agony, had allowed her to break free from her restraints.

She cried, "Kai!" as she hurried herself between him and Jo, "Enough already!"

As Kai saw Y/N, he paused, his gaze closing in. In a low, and deadly tone he muttered, "You… How come you were free?"

Y/N sprang for him, attempting to throw him off balance before he could react. Kai moved more quickly. With his power blazing, he turned and launched her across the room with his magic. Y/N flew into tables strewn across the floor. She flew so hard into them that her lungs were afflicted with formidable force and coughed up blood. All bloods were stained on her clothes.

Y/N’s besties Elena and Caroline raced to her aid, "No, Y/N!"

Fearful, Caroline sobbed, “Don’t die on us, please.”

Damon, who had developed a close bond with Y/N during their time in the Prison World, stepped closer and unleashed a torrent of anger. He yelled, "You messed with the wrong person, Kai."

Kai had little time to react when Damon tackled him, but with a flick of his wrist, he sent Damon hurling across the room and into a set of chairs.

“Damon, get out of here!” Kai yelled, “This is between me and the rest of the others.”

With a sneer on his lips, Damon got up to his feet. He spat, "Like hell it is," but Elena held his arm and stopped him before he could strike again.

“Damon, no,” she cried out, “You are going to make things worse.”

As he watched them, Kai's face faltered, something flickering in his eyes when his gaze turned to Y/N.

"Y/N, you shouldn't have come here," he added in a near whisper, “You should have stayed away.”

Y/N clung to her side as she staggered to her feet, "I could never let you do this," she exclaimed, "You're not a monster, Kai. There is no need to do this.”

Kai's fists shook with hardly controlled power, his mouth tightening.

"You persist in defying me even after I provided you with the chance to behave properly!" This was mostly targeted at his coven members, especially the former Gemini coven leader, Joshua Parker. He spat, "You must be so desperate to die." Fearful, the guests crowded together.

Elena moved forward, her face resolute. Despite the chaos surrounding her, Elena uttered firmly, "Please, Kai. Do not do this. Let everyone go.”

Kai's hold on his power became stronger, and for a split second, it appeared as though he would let loose everything. But Y/N's shaky voice broke the strain.

She whispered, "Kai," as she fixes her gaze on him, “Avoid turning into the monster they believe you are.”

He looked at her, his face tense between wrath and something else… something… human.

"You don't understand," he continued, his voice trembling, “I have to finish this. This is the only option."

Ignoring her wounds, Y/N protested, "No, it's not," and moved closer, “You are free to take another course. We can work out another solution together."

Kai's gaze wavered, and the fury gradually faded. His voice hardly rose above a whisper, "I don't know if I can," he murmured.

Stretching out her hands to him, Y/N said, "You can. You do not have to be alone.”

The guests' labored breathing in the entire room was the sole sound for a long, anxious time. Then, very gradually, the enchantment at Kai's fingertips vanished. With his face tense, he lowered his hand.

"You should be thankful," he says at last directed towards his coven, breaking the silence in the room, his voice breaking, “You get to live another day.”

Kai turned to go, but as he saw Y/N's strength waning, he hurried to her side, and lifted her into his arms. The guests watched in horror as Kai carried Y/N away; her blood smeared his clothing. Her eyes opened, a mixture of relief and bewilderment meeting his. Weakly whispering, "Kai, what are you doing?"

"Saving you," he said, sounding almost compassionate now, "Y/N, I can’t lose you. No, not in this way."

Kai disappeared, dragging Y/N into the unknown after one last, conflicted look at Elena, Caroline, and Damon.

______________________________________________________________

As night descended, remorse swept over Y/N. She would never have let Kai leave if she had known what Bonnie, Damon, and Elena were up to. Their plan was to trick Kai and keep him in another prison world. She had not acted on her intuition that something was amiss. She heard bits of their talk, their low voices, and their hurried murmurs just before Kai and the others went to the prison world where the Heretics were imprisoned. She disregarded her inner intuition, convinced that they were acting morally. She wished she had done something—anything—to stop this chaos made by Kai.

"I'm sorry, Kai," she said in a regretful and painful whisper, "I should have known. I should have stopped them."

“It's too late for that now,” he said, “Maybe, though, we can work things out together.”

The darkness drew closer, and Y/N nodded feebly. She held onto the belief that there was someplace, someway, a chance to put things right, to keep Kai from the darkness that threatened to swallow him, and to keep herself from the sorrow that was eating at her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Read Part 3 here >>>>

Shadows of Destiny (Part III) - Redemption's Edge (Kai x Reader)

[justafriend-ql]

"i can't breathe" - the privilege paradox (never let me go, ep. 4)

nuengdiao has "everything," except for what he really wants. the paradox is that although he occupies a position of privilege, that very privilege is what most prevents him from achieving happiness. his privilege comes with expectations that constrict around him and limitations on his ability to form meaningful relationships with other people. nueng is incredibly skilled at maintaining a confident, unbothered mask. but as the pressure on him mounts and his feelings for palm grow increasingly uncontrollable, the mask fractures - and as he shouts at palm at the party, it shatters.

the first 15 minutes of the series set the tone. nuengdiao's parents prioritize work over him. his dad pressures him to take over the family hotel business (despite his lack of interest in it) by saying he's "the only one" who can be trusted to do it. his dad is murdered in front of his eyes, launching him into the limelight as the company's heir apparent. he must face a crowd of hungry reporters fishing for dirt on his family and the greedy parents of his peers with a steel gaze, betraying no weakness.

the color palette is all midnight blue and velvet red - decadent, heavy, and suffocating. you subconsciously feel nueng's unwanted future closing in around him, so much so that you don't realize you're holding your breath until it cuts to palm on his fishing boat. there, it's all bright sky and open air, complemented by relaxed, breezy music. of course, this too, is a prison (palm himself says he has "no future here"), but in contrast to the darkness and formality of nueng's world, it feels like freedom.

nueng takes it pretty well, all things considered. he swallows his desires and tells his parents he'll do his best to take over the family business. when an english-speaking reporter asks him about concerns that the company's profits will decline in his father's absence, nueng masks his uncertainty about the future with a confident tone and elegant accent, telling the report everything will be "absolutely fine."

nuengdiao wears the same mask at school, proclaiming he doesn't need friends and refusing to give his bullies the satisfaction of seeing him upset. instead, he leaves the room calmly, only folding in on himself when in the safety and privacy of his beloved music room.

because everybody approaches him for personal gain, he can't allow himself to trust anyone. perhaps the most powerful example of nueng's masking ability is when he acts friendly with phum in the pool, all while suspecting him of being his bully and simultaneously executing a plan to catch him in the act. even when he does, nueng exercises self-restraint, attempting to first negotiate with phum to get his necklace back rather than rely on violence.

palm is the only one with whom nueng's mask falters, perhaps because he is the only person nueng has any real power over (or, perhaps, because he actively wants palm to see and love his true self). again and again, we see nueng show extreme vulnerability to palm in a way he doesn't let anyone else (even his own mother) see. he shares his grief and bitterness at the condo rooftop in episode one ("my father died on my birthday"/"we are our father's puppets"), invites palm to touch his neck in episodes two and three ("pengyou"/"can you put it on me?"), and shares his anxieties about his mother's response to his sexuality in episode 4 ("i'm afraid i won't fulfill her expectations").

nueng's inability to be with palm (as a friend and a romantic partner) is yet another instance of nueng's privileged position getting in the way of what he wants. each time they take a step closer to becoming something more than boss and subordinate, an external factor comes and reminds them that doing so is not allowed. this is clearest in episode 2: they agreed to be friends, but aunt nid asks palm to bring palm breakfast like a servant; nueng invites palm to eat with him, but chanon scolds palm for doing so; palm must take the bus to school, while nueng rides in the van; the teachers exempt nueng from doing push-ups when he's late, while palm must do double; and so on...

because being with palm seems impossible, nueng accepts ben's advances, mostly because he is willing and able to shower him with the love and affection he so desperately craves (side note: at least for the time being - i haven't forgotten chopper's warning). when ben confesses his feelings for him, nueng admits that "no one has said those words" to him before. as he tells palm later, it feels good to be "wanted."

but nueng cannot mask or repress his feelings for palm for long. two scenes are critical to nueng making the decision to continue to pursue palm and slow things down with ben. the first is when palm says he doesn't like maggie during their conversation by the pond. nueng looks confused and asks if it's possible that he'll like her in the future (perhaps an attempt at figuring out palm's sexuality?), to which palm gives an ambivalent response. previously, nueng had assumed palm liked maggie, and that assumption drove his jealousy. now though, there's a possibility that all of those lingering looks and soft touches and caring words he's exchanged with palm meant something to palm too.

the second critical scene is when nueng is in the bath, thinking about his kiss with ben. he touches his lips contemplatively, remembering the sensation, but the memory of ben is quickly replaced by one of palm wrapping his arms around him at the shooting range. just like in episode 3, when nueng danced with ben but wanted to dance with palm, nueng kissed ben but would rather kiss palm. he sits up and leans forward abruptly, as if coming to a decision. he's not giving up on palm. he looks slightly resigned, acknowledging how difficult it will be for them to be together.

nueng's conversation with ben at the dance hall, in which he suggests they not rush to date and take time to get to know each other first, illustrates his decision to pump the brakes with ben in hopes of being with palm instead. throughout their whole conversation, he wears a happy, flirtatious, confident mask. but as soon as ben leaves, the mask drops, replaced by a forlorn, jealous expression as he heads to the bar to drink while stewing over maggie and palm from afar.

more than anything else, i think nueng is jealous of how easy it is for maggie and palm to be with each other. when he storms over to them, demanding to know why palm can dance with maggie but not him, he is acutely aware of why. he spells out all the reasons as he derogates palm, calling him his servant, his running dog, his lackey. he doesn't really see palm this way, but everyone else does. and when has what nueng thought mattered? when have his feelings made a difference?

despite his privileged position in society, nueng is powerless in his own life. at the dance, he takes out this helpless anger on palm, the one person he can exert power over. (it reminds me a little of vegaspete's dynamic on a smaller scale, with one taking out their frustration about the impossible expectations they've inherited from their fathers on the one person they can control.) it's almost like nueng is grappling with the impossibility of being with palm aloud, angry that their status difference will always keep them apart. maybe he's angry with himself, for thinking things could be different.

while the moment is certainly devastatingly painful for palm, i want to suggest that it is also painful for nueng. when palm is knocked to the ground, gasping for breath, nueng falls to the floor too. despite the harsh words nueng just said, they reach for each other in mutual anguish. nueng cries palm's name, begging for help as he repeatedly says, "i can't breathe."

it's a confession. i can't breathe. maybe he stopped breathing when his father died, bleeding out in a back alley and releasing one last breath into the night air. ever since, he's been suffocating in slow motion, denied oxygen at every turn. palm is the only one who gives him air, the only one he can let the mask slip for. but now, the mask is altogether shattered, and nueng is as vulnerable as he's ever been. he's reaching a shaky hand out toward palm, telling him, i can't breathe without you.

and sometime soon, palm will take him to the ocean, where we first saw palm against a background of bright sky. where it felt like freedom. and they'll be able to breathe once more. together.

[tparker48]

(Contains light M/F)

Outside the gates of Tartarus, a vehicle arrived at the entry point, Suneater stepping form the car of one of the officers on duty. Fatgum said he needed help with an interrogation of one of the villains he managed to capture. The Minimizer, he called himself. His quirk held the ability to shrink anything he saw fit by a single touch. The more he read the report he filed, a gloomy cloud rose above him. How in the world did he catch him with a power like that?

"Fatgum is waiting for you inside the prison, sir" an officer interrupted ushering to the path ahead.

Always the first to head in, just like him. "Thank you.." he pulled his hood over his head, making his way past the mecha guards standing post at the gate.

He tugged at his cape as the panels hissed, wind escaping into the air as they opened to another set of mechas guards behind it. He met their cold stairs, standing at the central panel ahead of them before the floor raised ahead. He counted the seconds as the he looked to the outside glass, pressure building in his ears as the fish swam passed. this place would be a good place for solitude, if it weren't for the swarm of villains contained inside. reaching the ground floor, he walked through the cemented hallways, past the thin doors of the prison cells to Thick doors blocking the path. It was there, he saw the yellow jumpsuit of his instructor. Fatgum

"Hey, Tamaki!" he waved to him, "glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't it's a pleasant one, sir." he shrunk beneath his hoodie.

"I know, I wish we met up on better times too. Through here." he pressed his palm at a panel, before the thick doors opened. Officers were already inside, guns aimed at the plastic splitting the room as a man wrapped in an Asylum Jacket, smirked on the other side.

his eyes darted to the door. "Well well, didn't know the clowns did visiting hours for us. Gonna blow me a balloon, tubby?" he turned his gaze toward Suneater, the small hero ducking beneath his hoodie. "Who's the clam shell?"

"My partner." he stepped forward. "You know what we came for, Minimizer, what did you do with the hostage you had?"

"Ah that woman, she had a lot of fire in her eyes. Even gave me a scar" he tilted his neck, a streak of burnt skin rising to his right side. "But even candles can be snuffed out if you "shrink" their stem."

one of the officers gripped their fist, stepping from the others toward the smug villain in the cell. "You loathsome-!" A palm from Fatgum touched his chest, ushering him back.

"Don't let him get in your head." He said, his eyes never leaving the strapped villain.

"No no, please, let him come a little closer." Minimizer said.

Suneater eyed his instructor, looking to the surrounding officers before tugging his mask down. This environment is too much stress for him. He could be at home, eating a snack while watching herotube. He yearned they'd find the hostage soon, wherever she may be.

"Where did you take the hostage?" Fatgum asked again,his tone less welcoming than what he had outside.

The villain chuckled, dancing in his restraints. "Oh it's embarrassing just to tell you. It's all a blur really, she caused such a fuss I just had to put her in her place. Hmm.. where was that again?…" He shook around, humming to himself as he looked to the ceiling. a bulge pushed out below him, the lining of his belled cock shaping the fabric. an aggressive whimper pieced the hollow room. "Oh that's right, there." he grinned at the barreled hero."

Fatgum's gloves squeaked together. "Release her, now."

"You'll have to try harder than just barking demands. But you hero Types don't have the.." he shivered, his cock throbbing into the jacket. "mmm..drive to get the job done."

Suneater watched silently at his instructor, shifting toward the villain that stared back at him. it just had to be more difficult. hiding the hostage inside him? how were they supposed to retrieve her without hurting the villain.

Fatgum sighed, turning to the other officers. "Do we have the green light?"

"It just came in now." one of them said.

"Good, do you mind giving us the room for a moment?" The officers nodded, exiting into the hallway. Fatgum moved toward the side of the room where a tray rested, pulled the lid to a sizzling steak underneath..

He wheeled it closer between the three of them, and the villain bellowed. "What is this? A dinner party? That's how you're gonna bribe me?"

The hero cocked a smile. "Oh this dish isn't meant for you" he stuck the fork into the meat, hovering it to Suneater. "It's for my pal here."

Suneater blinked. "M..Me?"

"It's time we discuss your role in this bud, you're going to help with this interrogation. This steak is specially modified for this situation, gened by Mt. Lady herself." he handed the plate to him, his face still filled with confusion.

He shook his head. "Not like I have a choice." he took the fork from Fatgum, lifting the steak to his mouth as grease spilled onto the plate below.

He bit at the fat along its edge, salty fluid filling his mouth as a spark ran through his body, stretching to his limbs like lightning. He looked toward his instructor, who nodded in approval. He didn't know how feeding him would save the hostage, but he was too far in to stop now. He took another bite, and his limbs bega to bulge, stretching along the corner of the room.

His head bumped against the ceiling of the cell, his arms forced to bend. "Sir? I don't know what's happening."

"You're doing great, suneater." Fatgum said, unlocking the villain’s as he wheeled him between himself and Suneater. "You're going to get the information out of this villain"

Minimizer looked to the towering hero, watching him shrivel beneath his mask. "Him? Aha! You're going to send a brat to deal with me? What's that pipsqueak going to do? eat me?"

"That's exactly what he's going to do."

"What?!" Suneater and the villain shouted.

"You forced a civilian to endure your body. If you don't want to cough them up, then perhaps a taste of your own medicine will motivate you." he turned toward the giant hero. "Suneater."

The hero was hesitant, extending an arm toward the strapped villain. He hoisted to the air, his reflection shining through his mask. Was he really about to do this? Eat a villain and have him wriggle inside his body. He watched the villain flail in his hold, thrashing like a worm on a hook.

"You even think about eating me brat and I'll give you indigestion!" Maximizer said.

"Don't listen to him bud. Think of the civilian, and the danger she's in."

Suneater paused, looking at the villain as his fiery gaze stared back. Fatgum was right, a civilian was counting on them for rescue. He couldn't let them down, he couldn't let Fatgum down. He took off his mask, hovering Minimizer overhead. He licked at his back, and shriveled as his cologne eradicated his taste buds. He could have at least had a decent taste, he thought, scraping his tongue from his head to the tip of his boots.

the villain swung his weight around, knocking his head against his tongue. "Hey! I'm not seafood you damn brat!". Suneater glared at him as he thrashed, their body jerking from one finger to another.

“And you’re no sweet tart, but the sooner you calm down the better-” the fold of the jacket rppined off, sending Minimizer face first into the bed sized flesh of Suneater’s tongue. Suneater gagged at the sudden intrusion, mustache hair glossing along his tongue like a paint brush.

A different taste soon welcomed his taste buds, sour taste as the villain rolled around before sweetening. He didn't know if it was his mind losing it, or if it was the steak that he ate. He wanted to pull the villain out, tugging at the end of his jacket. but his tongue moved in the opposite direction, the asylum jacket slipping from his fingers and behind his now closed lips.

The wriggling of the villain was alien to him, saliva filling the chamber as the villain’s body floated from his tongue. The villain's complaints met his ears, sloshed from one corner of his cheek to the other before the tongue wrestled him to the middle. It was as if his mouth had a mind of its own, manhandling him before it threw him to the ceiling of his mouth and tossed his eager gullet..

Before he knew it, his throat muscles flexed upon the stationary villain, a faint bulge sliding down his neck, as their scowled softened into his collar bone. He snapped out of his trance, looking down to Fatgum who’s starry gaze looked to the center of shirt. a kick struck at his abdomen, suneater lifting his shirt to little imprints dancing at his slender stomach.

"What kind of hero eats someone?!" the villain cried out, punching weakly at the abdominal wall. "Security! Security!"

"Security won't be able to help you in there" Fatgum approached. "Not until you comply and release the civilian."

The villain shouted in a rage, twisted against Suneater's stomach. Softened features of his body pushed at the surface of his stomach, stretching like a goo monster as his skin pulled them beneath the skin.

"Sir, all this struggling is giving me an upset stomach" he wheezed, his gut tightening as fluid raced to his throat. "I think i'm going to hurl."

"Don't do that with me in here!" the villain squealed, pounding to the outside world. "Get me out of here!"

"You know the deal, Minimizer.." Fatgum said smugly, crossing his arms..

grunts and groans overcame the stomach, indents appearing from wall to wall as palms printed from its surface. After a moment of struggling, the villain gave his answers. "Fine, just..get me out of here!"

Fatgumgum nodded, giving the signal to suneater who still clutched at his stomach. he took a step back as he adjusted to his knees, heaving at his stomach as salty fluid blowing climbed into his mouth. A wriggling bulge traveled up his neck, his cheeks filling as muffled grunts returned. He spat the contents to the floor, the villain riding its tide to the far wall.

He flicked chunks of meat from his mustache. "You loathesome..insignificant-!"

"Enough games, Minimizer. Cough up the civilian, or we can put you back in."

He gritted teeth at the demand, but smiled as he stood up. "No you think I’m goingto just give up my prize, fatso, I don’t think so." he watched as the heroes gritted their teeth, his smile growing wider.

"Why I otta-" fatgum raist the sleeves of his suit, the villain hopping before he flexed his waist, and a whimper escaped.

“Ah ah ah, anymore movement and I’ll shrink this woman to molecule size. Just think of how long it will take for you saps to search for her through my seed. That wouldn’t be good now would it?” he said, watching Fatgum lower his fist. “ Typical heroes, always one step too slow to save the day. Now why don’t you tell your officers to ready a car for me, and don’t even think about playing hero-” a crimson glow came from beneath the leather, smoke simmering to the air.

"Sir?" suneater asked.

"I see it, and I think it's gonna blow."

it grew brighter, the fabric deteriorating into embers as flames arose, erupting in an inferno. Suneater raised his palm toward Fatgum, transforming it into a clam as he shielded him from its blast. He could hear the villain scowl among the fiery torrent, his eyes bulging as it spewed out from his waist. But it flickers as creamy fluid spilled onto the floor like lava,a thicker wad splashing to the ground before him.

It grew limbs, rising from the wad like a spawn as a woman stood up. "Can't believe I have to go through the likes of that. So filthy, I can hardly breath in there." she flicked her hair to the said, squeezing the ends as her palms heated them. She looked to the ceiling to the heroes looking back, cocking her brow. "Oh good, I was wondering when you were going to show up."

"You lousy tramp!" Minimizer yelled weakly, a burnt hole in his jacket exposing his thighs, and the now charcoaled cock as it flexed weakly. "You burnt me!"

"You're lucky that’s all I did for you what you put me through." she scorned, looking back to Fatgum. "Listen, I’m tired, damp, and would really like to enjoy a shower. So let's wrap up shall we."

"Uh, yeah of course. But first, we have to get one more thing for you. Miniimizer, return this civilian back to normal."

"Like hell I would do that! Especially after you threw me into that brat's stomach."

Suneater soaked, hiding beneath his hoodie. "It wasn't exactly ideal, you gave us no choice."

"I'd destroy all of you right now, especially you, tramp!"

Sparks flickered from her palm. "Tramp? let me tell you something mister." she approached. "I've been cooped up in your balls since we got here, put up with your senseless banters of conquering half the district." she scorched the bottom of the jacket, burning his legs free as she climbed to his crotch as he pinched at his cock. "So unless you don't want your cock barbecued, you'll give me my size back."

Fatgum tugged at his jumpsuit. "How'd he manage to get her like this?"

"He got the jump on me when I was shopping," she replied. " So what'll it be, chuckles?"

"f..fine."

She scoffed through her nose, her palm leaving a print along the bulbed head. She stepped away from the villain, he snapped his fingers as returned to size, the heat from her body overtaking the two heroes.

she stretched her limbs, tugging at her tank top. "Ah, that's much better. With that out of the way, I'll leave clean to you two" she moved past the two of them, opening the door to officers peeking in.

"I don't think so.." Minimizer said, his other arm slipping from the sleeve. "You think you can just walk away after this? You're dead wrong!" He lunged for the civilian, his speed catching the officers off guard.

The civilian raised a glowing palm, before Fatgum stepped in between, his arm spread out and his body exposed. The villain impacted against him, and was swallowed up, his punches absorbed into his muscle.

"You won't get that chance this time." he replied, hugging the villain into submission. Curling into his knees, he launched the villain back to his cell, cracking the cemented wall before they fell to the ground. The officers advanced, arresting the villain once more. "Let that be a lesson to you."

looks the investigation is over, Suneater thought to himself. He watched as another officer approached with another jacket, before Fatgum approached.

"Nice job as always, little bud. I knew I could count on ya." he raised a fist to him.

Suneater sighed, placing his fist against his. "Thank you sir. but now I have one more question that needs to be solved."

"What's that?"

"Can I go home?"

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 5: Oliver's Shower

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Restraints, slavery, non-sexual nudity, mind control

Apparently satisfied with the results of their medical exam, Cecily unhooked Oliver's leash from the pole. "All right, let's get you cleaned up," she said.

Oliver's breath hitched, not keen to be hosed down by vampires. "My hygiene is impeccable."

"It actually is, compared to many humans I've processed," she agreed. "But it's standard procedure."

Thomas unlocked the door, and Oliver had a brief impulse to try and bolt for it, but with Cecily holding his leash there wasn't any point. He had already vowed to himself to save his strength, but it was hard to squash down the increasingly frantic voice in his mind that wanted freedom, wanted to return to his life as though this had all been a nightmare.

Cecily led him down the sterile hallway to another door, which opened to a tiled shower room. It was neatly kept, with squeaky clean tiles, fat bars of peppermint pink soap, and towels piled up on a shelf. She attached Oliver's handcuffs to a kind of locking contraption on the wall, and removed his leash, giving him some respite from the uncomfortable collar.

Oliver closed his eyes as she turned on the spray. It was freezing cold, causing him to yelp, but turned pleasantly warm in a few moments. He took a deep breath, trying to derive some small enjoyment from the warm shower. Who could say when he'd have another?

Taking one of the bars of soap and a cloth in hand, Cecily began to scrub him from head to toe, all business, a bit rough but nothing that uncomfortable. She rubbed soap into his hair and rinsed it out again. Oliver said nothing, trying to block this humiliation from his mind as much as possible, trying not to think about how he was being washed like a piece of fruit for a vampire's snack.

One final rinse, and the shower was turned off, and he was being dried off with a big, fluffy towel. He stood there, shivering, for a few minutes, wondering what was going to happen next. The sudden, terrifying thought occurred to him that they might simply leave him naked for captivity and auction. That was when Cecily returned with a tape measure. 

"Stand up straight and be still," she said, taking his height. "It's so we can get you properly fitting clothing, so it's in your best interest to cooperate."

"I already had properly fitting clothing. You burned it," he said, nevertheless acquiescing to her command, relieved to be getting clothes.

She measured him tip to toe, from waist to foot, the length of his arms, and around his chest and waist. Then she walked away and hit a button on the wall. 

"This is Cecily in Shower Room One with Lot Seven. Need medium size uniform and one for backup."

"Uniform. Like a prison," he said.

"Obviously. You are a captive here," she said. "But we do want you to be in good condition for the auction, so you won't be treated poorly."

"Kidnapping me, handcuffing me and stripping me down is a strange definition of not treating me poorly."

"It could be much worse."

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? If you were actually once a hunter, then you know..."

"I don't expect you to understand," she interrupted. "I didn't, either, until I was turned. The hunger for blood. The power we hold over humans. It's either feed or die."

Oliver, naked and handcuffed, mustered up as much defiance as he could. "Then I would choose to die."

She laughed. "Many say that. Few actually mean it. I doubt you'd be any different," she said. "This auction is actually frequented by the more ethical vampires. Better to purchase a processed human fairly than violently ambush humans in the streets. Good humans are expensive, so it's in a vampire's best interest to keep their thralls in decent shape. There are exceptions, of course, vampires who buy humans to abuse them, but they're the minority."

"That's what you call ethical? Buying a human slave? Doing the bare minimum to keep them alive?"

"That's right."

"Then you're right. I don't understand. And I'm glad everyone here is going to hell. I only wish it were sooner."

"The auction house has been here since before you were born and it'll be here long after you die, so I wouldn't hold your breath on that," she said.

He didn't really doubt that she was right. "So how about you? Do you have a human slave, then?"

"I have two thralls."

"What do you imagine the difference between a thrall and a slave is?"

"A thrall has been properly processed and conditioned to serve a vampire."

"And that makes it better?"

"It's better for us."

"And what does this conditioning entail?" 

"You'll see soon enough."

Oliver groaned in frustration. There wasn't a shred of empathy left in her, former vampire hunter or no. It was disturbing how much she could talk and act like an ordinary human while casually discussing processing and conditioning him to serve a vampire. It was all so simple and easy to them, and the reality that he was next was sinking in deeper. There might be no miraculous rescue or opportunistic escape. They might simply process, condition, and sell him, his life turned into a commodity.

"So your thralls, do you imagine you treat them well?"

"Of course. They're my precious pets. They get plenty of food and sunlight and entertainment. They do housework, provide me with blood, and accompany me on trips. I dress them in fine clothes and they have their own beds."

"How lovely," Oliver spat. "A cross between a servant and a dog."

Before Cecily could respond, a burly man opened the door and shut it behind him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, and he was carrying a pile of clothes. He bowed. "The uniform you requested, Mistress Cecily," he said.

Oliver's eyes went wide. "Are you a human? A thrall?"

The man didn't acknowledge Oliver's question at all. "Yes, he's a thrall of the auction house," Cecily explained. "Now I'm going to remove your cuffs so that we can dress you. This thrall is instructed to stop you if you get out of line."

"You'd stop a fellow human from escaping?" Oliver asked the man, who didn't even glance his way.

"Well, thrall, would you stop a fellow human from escaping?" Cecily repeated. 

"Of course, Mistress Cecily. Preventing the merchandise from leaving is one of my primary duties. Any human would be blessed to be made into a high quality thrall by the auction house."

Oliver felt sick. This man had no free will at all, any mind he had left devoted to sending other humans to meet a terrible fate. Would this be him in a scant few days? A polite and mindless servant to the auction house? He couldn't let that happen -- but then, he had no doubt that this man had resisted as well, and here he was.

"Now then, please do behave," said Cecily, unlocking his cuffs. "Remember that I only gave you one chance."

Oliver fought down the urge to run, spurred on by his terror at seeing an actual human thrall. Any chance of escape was blocked by a vampire, a mindlessly subservient man twice his size, a locked door, and whatever other security the auction house had. And Cecily had threatened to drug him if he tried. He had to keep his mind as long as he could.

Cecily handed him soft cotton shorts and undershirt, a loose white blouse and blue slacks, and a pair of surprisingly comfortable thick woolen socks. No belt or shoes. He put it all on without a fuss, happy at least to be clothed again.

"Very good!" she said, clapping her hands. "If you continue to behave this well, I won't need to leash or cuff you."

"I'll behave," he said immediately. Better to stay unrestrained for now then pick a pointless fight.

"Then let's get you to a cell," she said. "Dinner will be served soon, and I'm sure you're tired after all of this."

Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "Sure." He was exhausted, but could hardly imagine sleeping in a place like this, and he had no appetite at all. It must be past midnight by now -- but that made sense as the time when vampires would serve dinner.

"Follow me," she said, and he fell into step behind her as she left the room, the man trailing behind him. They walked to the end of the hall, turned left, and arrived at a set of metal double doors, which opened onto a wide hallway lined with what could only be described as prison cells.

His new home for now, he supposed.

Part Four >> Masterlist >> Part Six

[pigeonwhumps]

Gagged

Kidnapped masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @fuckcapitalismasshole @ghost-whump @whump-tr0pes

@rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumpinggrounds @actress4him @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds

@a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

AI-less Whumptober day 8: rope burns | gagged | "you're so much prettier this way"

Brynn wakes up a prisoner.

1k

CWs: hero whump, immortal whumper, gag, restraints, stress position, revenge whump, former parental figure whumper, drugged, ableism, imprisonment

Brynn's surroundings are a blurry white blob when she first awakens. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks again. With every blink, the world comes more into focus.

It’s still very white. White tiles on the floor, walls, white wallpapered ceiling. Metal table. Camera in the top right corner.

Oh no. She recognises this place, she thinks. She has to get out.

She twists her wrists behind her back, feeling the rough power blocking rope tight around them. It bends but not enough. She tries to stand but her limbs are so drowsy, her legs like lead weights. Her head is like cotton wool too.

What did he give her?

Still, she has to move, she can't just stay like this, especially not now she suspects who has her. If she wasn't immortal he'd kill her, but as it is…

What’s he going to do?

Brynn scoots backwards on her bottom, back and back until she hits the wall, until she can dig her fingers into the edge of a tile and drag herself up, up, willing her feet to keep her upright. Come on, legs, stay strong.

They won't for long, she knows. The drug is far too strong for that. But she's not weak and helpless anymore, and she's going to meet Sovereign on her own two feet.

The double doors swing open.

Sovereign is…

She swallows.

He's big, looming, imposing. It's his territory, and he knows it, swaggering in. There’s going to be no stumbling, no looks of well-concealed panic, not here, not now. Not now Brynn can't double-cross him, doesn't know the environment far better than him. Here, she’s nothing, and they both know it.

No. No, she's not nothing. She's Brynn.

For whatever that’s worth.

“W-w-w-where’s H-h-Horus?”

“Alive. Unharmed. That’s more than will be said for you soon.”

He wouldn't lie about that, there'd be no point, and a weight lifts off her chest. But he's still keeping him hostage.

She's not going to ask. She's not going to ask. She's not going to give him the satisfaction.

She narrows her eyes as he stands there, eyebrow cocked, waiting. Waiting.

She's going to win this stand-off.

Eventually, Sovereign heaves a sigh. “I can see you are planning to be uncooperative. We will just have to proceed as planned regardless. You always have been a disappointment.”

And despite everything that's changed, that makes her heart crack, guilt attempting to intrude. She’s always hated disappointing him, even before he started hurting her. He always got this… look.

One he doesn't have now, as he reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a mask.

She freezes, guilt replaced by flooding, icy fear.

No. No. Not that.

“Yes.”

She stares, transfixed. She promised herself she would, but that was before… before… only for Kai. If he needed that to trust her again then she would. She'd take any punishment from her team, after she betrayed them so badly but they're still letting her back.

But not here. Not for Sovereign. She can't.

She ducks.

“You little bitch.”

“N-n-n-not y-y-y-y-yours.”

“You're my prisoner. And you still have the audacity to speak? You can't even do it properly, who would let you? It's disgraceful.”

Everyone she cares about would let her. Or they have so far. But she doesn't think she can say that so she stays quiet.

“I still know your measurements. Stay still or I'll make it so much worse for you. You deserve it, after what you did. Double-crossing me for those brats.”

“Th-th-they’re g-g-g-good p-people,” she retorts, surprised at how strong her voice comes out. Too good for her, certainly. She tries again to dodge but he grabs her hair, spinning her and pulling her head back.

“They're not coming for you, Brynn. Why would they? You're not worth their time. But you still betrayed me for them. And I don't need to hear your excuses, in fact I don't want to hear anything that comes out of that dumb mouth of yours. Maybe ever again. Certainly not when you can't even speak properly.”

Stupidly, tears fill Brynn’s eyes. She remembers a time when he was nice to her.

He wipes her eyes with one finger. “You should feel lucky. I've decided not to cover your whole face this time.”

Lucky. Sure. She still squirms, even knowing it’s futile, refusing to thank Sovereign for something that’ll cut and tear and shred.

Sovereign rolls his eyes, and pushes the mask over the lower half of her face. The mouthpart forces its way inside her mouth, tearing the soft tissue of her cheeks as it invades.

The stiff cloth covers her cheeks until it reaches just below her eyes, and over the bridge of her nose. The strap pinches at the back.

“Much better. Silence is better than stuttering, remember, Brynn?”

He drops her to the floor. She goes, unable to hold herself up any longer, knees smashing against the white tiles. She isn't– she isn't staying on her knees. She isn't. She slides her legs out, head down, refusing to look at him.

Sovereign clicks his tongue. “Come on. You've observed intake. You helped. You know what position I require of my prisoners. Because that's what you are, Brynn. You don't get the same luxuries you did as my sidekick anymore.”

Brynn forces back a sob-laugh. That’ll only hurt now. ‘Luxuries’. Does he mean a bed? Food? Shower? They’re luxuries to his prisoners.

He unties her wrists and then forces them above her head, retying them. When she tries to tug them there’s no give at all. He hoists her up and kicks at her legs until they’re back under her, and her body is screaming with the strain.

She wishes it'd stop. There's nothing she can do.

“I'll see you soon, Brynn. And I promise you, no matter how much you ‘care’ about those little irritants, it won't be long before the only thing you can think about is how you wish you hadn't double-crossed me.”

He stalks out, doors swinging shut behind him, and all is silent, all is pain. All she can hear is herself, and she really, really hates that.

[sokkastyles]

Something that occurred to me about "The Search"...

When we're introduced to the scene in Ozai's prison cell, we hear that Azula and Ozai have not spoken a word to each other. And when Azula attacks Zuko, we only see Ozai smile silently, as if to himself.

Then Azula asks to be allowed to talk to Ozai alone. Zuko acquiesces, but we don't see what they talk about. Then when Zuko comes to escort Azula away, she breaks free of her restraints and heads straight for Ursa's letters.

The assumption is that Ozai told her where to find them, and indeed, that is what Azula says. However...

She ALSO says she knew where to find the letters, which were hidden behind a secret passage, because of exploring she did alone when they were kids, which she says Zuko should have joined her in, but his fear held him back.

The first time I read this, I assumed that Azula knew how to find the secret passage because of her childhood exploits, but that Ozai was the one who told her the letters were there or how to open the passage. And that's probably how we're intended to interpret the scene, since the comic never revisits it.

But there's something else interesting here.

"He overcame her control long enough to give me the truth."

We need to remember that Azula is an unreliable narrator. And here, she's attributing her father's weakened state to Ursa's "control," her delusions about Ursa allowing her to create a narrative that preserves her idolization of Ozai.

And the choice of words, and the use of "the truth" makes me question it. Because Ozai's words are anything but truth.

Of course, Ozai is using Azula here. He says nothing to Azula while Zuko and the others are present because it's a way of exerting his control of the situation. Over both his kids, because he's also testing Azula to see if she's still loyal to him. His smile when she attacks Zuko indicates that she passed that test, and then Azula is able to manipulate Zuko into letting them speak alone, so that they can plot together.

Which, again, is probably what happened as it is written.

But a much darker and more interesting interpretation would be: what if Ozai actually didn't tell Azula anything?

Just as we know that Ursa's "control" is part of Azula's delusion, maybe she also is imagining that her father told her where to find the letters, which she in reality already knew about because she had already found the secret passage as a child.

It makes sense that Azula wants to imagine that Ursa is controlling her father, and that Ozai's silence is because he had to "overcome" that control. She plays along with Ozai's silence because she think that Zuko and the others are also being controlled by Ursa. Ozai also probably knows that she will play along because of her love for him and because he instilled in her this "us against the world" mentality that a lot of abusers use to groom their victims, which in turn feeds Azula's paranoid delusions. So Azula plays along under the belief that this is some grand secret between her and her father, until she can get Ozai to talk to her alone.

But we never see their conversation. Azula says that Ozai talked to her but she also already knows where to find the letters.

Maybe Ozai did not, in fact, break his silence. Maybe he didn't say anything to Azula at all.

This would of course be the hardest thing for Azula to admit, because it defies what she believes about her father's love for her and how special he made her feel, that "us against the world" mentality.

But it would be entirely in line with what we know from the end of book three about how Ozai is willing to throw Azula under the bus to increase his own power.

And we also know this is something Azula can't admit, hence she concocts this narrative about Ursa's "control." Which neatly explains in her mind why Ozai, after not seeing his supposedly beloved daughter in a year and confronted with the state she's in, never seems worried about her or says, in Ty Lee's words, never so much as a "hi" or asks how his daughter has been.

I mean, why would Ozai want Azula to find those letters?

I'm probably reading too much into this, since all of this can be explained by Ozai being in on Azula's plot to kill Ursa / control Zuko and possibly eventually free him. I can see Ozai using Azula this way, and since the show never revisits that missing conversation, we're most likely supposed to just assumed that it happened.

But it's also much more tragic to interpret it this way, that maybe that conversation between Azula and Ozai that we never see is something Azula imagined to cope with the fact that her father never really loved her to begin with.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x demon!Reader | The Dungeon

type: smut (fluff at the end) warning(s): explicit descriptions, rough sex, shadowplay, vulgar language word count: 2.3k words

request: sure, my wicked mind won't leave me alone. Could you write (if you want), one where the reader is part demon maybe? but there is a "beast" form that she is afraid of being scary and that Azriel don't like her anymore, but one night Az asks them to have an intimate night with reader in her real form ? something certainly lewd and fluff. English is not my first language so forgive the mistakes 😅 and thank you 🌺❤️‍🔥

- all rights reserved - 

Azriel’s eyes are trained on your sweat slicked skin, how your hands are bound together, chained to the ceiling. Teeth bared, you growl lowly, eyes aglow. Once a full moon this would happen and Azriel wanted to finally see it. He wants to be with you, wants to be there for you.

You have been mate’s for a while now, but not once did you reveal your real —your beast— form to the shadowsinger. But Azriel wants to change that—your are his mate, he wants to truly know all of you.

Icy cold power stretches out like dark cloud, crawling under the spymaster’s skin when you growl again, your eyes trained on him. They glow vividly, burning flames dancing in them.

Azriel feels everything but cold. His blood is running hot, his skin prickling, grazed in a thin film of sweat. He wants to feel your icy skin on his warm membrane. He wants to feel your touch all over his body. He needs to feel you touch all over his body.

You have been afraid that it would scare Azriel, that he would no longer like you after seeing you in this form, but gods, it did the exact opposite to our shadowsinger.

Some primal, animalistic part of him gets him quite aroused at the sight of you, the danger, the lethality glowing in your eyes. He knows what, in this form, you could be capable of. And he wants all of it. He wanted to experience it all. The danger, the rawness, the power. He wants to have a taste of it all, he wants to become subject of it.

One hand moving over his crotch, his skin feeling so tight, his cock throbs at the sight of your disheveled figure. He knows that every rational part of his mind has left, finding that sight so terribly arousing. But he also knows of the so called heat, the desire and arousal you emit during that phase. Maybe it is your lust that reaches him through the bond and gets him so worked up.

You want him just as much as he wants you, but could he truly let this happen? Could you let this happen? Could you allow this? 

An escapee of the prison. A demon locked away centuries ago. Caught by no other than the shadowsinger himself. That is what you are. So could the restraints really be removed from you?

Over the months that you were living in his dungeon in the Hewn City you and Azriel got to know each other, grew closer, found yourself yearning for the other until one day the bond snapped in place. Neither of you could believe it. It seemed like an atrocity–everyone apart from you two had been shocked. 

Azriel is the High Lord’s spymaster. You are a creature with no other purpose than bringing pain and violence to this world. You thought there would never be a life in freedom for you and if Azriel would allow his deepest desires to reach the surface, if he would allow himself to claim you, he would not only betray his own morals but also his dear friend, his brother, the High Lord. Rhysand ordered that you either would be locked up again in the Prison or that you would otherwise be taken care of—killed in other words. Someone like you could not be trusted, you were thought to be cruel, vicious, lethal. It that is what people say about you. You were never given a chance in life. From the moment on that you were born your fate was doomed. Azriel, once there was no denying that the two of you were mates, convinced his brother to allow you freedom, to let him be with you. And he allowed it, you became a citizen of the Night Court, living amongst the others. You were finally given a chance. Rhysand gave you a chance. And most importantly Azriel did. 

Only once a month you would go back to a prison, a different kind of prison. Azriel’s dungeon for the really, really bad kind of fae. His torture chamber was the only room that could hold your power in, that could hold you in. 

Where shackles of magic bound you, you had found a place to let your true self show. 

In the past you were always alone in here until Azriel said he wanted this to end. He wants to be with you during this phase, knowing how agonising and exhausting it is for you. He is you mate, he needs to be there for you every step of your love. For better, for worse. 

Azriel leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee. “It is midnight,” he breathes. You rattle on the chain, groaning, your toes curling on the ground. His voice, the deep tenor reverberating through your whole body, is your undoing. It fuels some primal need inside of you, that makes wet heat flood your body.

During a full moon you are so sensitive, so full of need for your mate. Also the days around full moon, like the previous night where Azriel has taken you five times and you still felt a throbbing need between your thighs in the morning. 

You rub your thighs together, the memories flooding you, making your skin feel tight and hot. But gods, your body is actually icy cold, the demon inside of you reaching the surface. Black has replaced your eye colour, damp strands of hair clutch to your face, the same with your thin night gown that is drenched in sweat. But for Azriel you still are the most beautiful female in this world. Breathtaking and stunning.

You rattle the restraints once again, growling and snapping your gaze into his direction. He looks delicious–stunning, cruel beauty. 

The shadowsinger's pupils are dilated when he looks at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, long lashes drawing shadows to his flushed cheeks. Azriel must have felt hot as well, you thought, as a thin film of sweat has built up on his forehead, his nose, his neck. Gods, his neck! You want to taste his neck, lick over it, bit into it while he moves inside of you. While his proud cock stretches you out, ruts into you, makes you come. It is torture having to look at him without being able to touch him. Without him touching you.

“Need you,” you groan through gritted teeth and squeeze your eyes shut. “Need you in me. On me. Please touch me.” Azriel breathes a laugh, a smirk appearing on his face. His hand moves over his crotch when his shadows slowly scattered towards you. Almost like a cat’s tail they curl around your calves, slowly gliding up and leaving heat in every place they touch.

You eyes closed, your head falls back when two of his shadows brushed up your torso, smoothing over the pebbled hardness. The slip, damp with sweat, clutches to your skin and leaves absolutely nothing to imagination. Azriel groans low in his throat, his shadows at the ready but waiting for their command. 

“Say please,” Azriel coos.

“Please,” you breathe through gritted tears. His shadows shove your night gown down, curling around your nipples, rolling, teasing and tugging just like their owner likes to do. Two other shadows slide inside your undergarments and part your hot and damp flesh, moving inside, making your growl in pure bliss. 

The stimulation was perfect, intense and overwhelming.

Azriel loves the sight that is presented to him, your hands chained to the ceiling, his shadows bringing you pleasure, your hips rocking, lips parted. A lewd sound leaves your

Gods, it truly was a sight for sore eyes. Azriel adjusted himself in his pants, his cock throbbing and aching behind his tight pants. The shadows move in and out of you, just like your mate’s scarred fingers. Azriel is not touching you, but then he is. HIs hand toys with the laces of his pants, his head tipped back slightly, lips parted, eyelids heavy. He was not going to make you come with his shadows, just play with you, tease you, prepare you for him. 

Azriel shoves his pants down his legs, sitting now fully nude and in a sprawl in front of. It…does things to you and fuels your need even more.

A feeling of amusement, almost arrogance, fills the shadowsinger at the sight of you. He knows how much you need him and he loves it. He loves the feeling of lust that reaches him through the bond. 

And then….it was enough of the teasing. The shadowsinger decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands, moving over to you in a fluid movement. His shadows depart, skittering away from you and leaving you aching for some more touching. 

Azriel’s hands fall to your hips, mouth mere inches form your face. Desire stretches out. But Azriel turns you around so your back his to his front. He is hard and ready, pressing against your back.

“Want me to take care of that throbbing need?” Azriel groans against your ear, his hands sliding to your front.

You grit your teeth, arching your back so your ass rubs against your mate's front. A shudder courses through the shadowsinger, his hips thrusting forward. “Yes,” you say when he fists your slip and rips it into two halves, your undergarment following immediately. “Better.”

Still chained to the ceiling, Azriel adjust you so you are flush to his body, his hard length pressing against your core.

Your bodies come together when he pushes forward, holding you at your hips, one hand moving up to curl around your throat. You moan, your head leaning against his shoulder, his sculptured, solid chest pressing against your back. It is the raw and primal lust that fills this moment–not once had either of you felt such want, such desire, such need. 

A loud growl leaves you, followed by a lewd scream when your mate thrusts his hips against yours and slides in to the hilt. His fingers curl tighter around your throat, squeezing. 

“That‘s what you wanted, huh?“ Azriel pants against the back of your neck, his proud length stretching you out, making your walls clench around him. The two of you move against the wall, the shadowsinger steadying himself on you. The cool brick wall presses against your front, your cheek, while Azriel ruts into you, his pace soon turning fast, relentless almost. And then he fucks. Just like you wanted him to. 

A feeling of light-headedness overcomes you when flecks of black and white spark in your vision. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, hips thrusting against your ass. He has never taken you so hard and you know this even thought you have half-entered a state of oblivion already. But it is exactly what you needed, how you needed to be taken care of in that state. Azriel knew this, understood it and now takes care of you in just the right way. 

Rocking against him, deep, primal groans leave the shadowsinger, accompanied by growls of pleasure that have your toes curling and your walls clenching tighter. 

When the heat finally cools and after having been pressed against the wall for quite some time you breathlessly fall into bed–you don't remember much, it has all become a blur or need, of desire, of pleasure, of damp skin moving against damp skin, of feeling Azriel's cock so deep inside of you, of the press of his body against yours. 

Azriel wraps you in his arms, in his wings, cradling you tightly to his chest. His scarred hand brushes over your damp hair when you curl your leg over his waist. “It did not scare you?” you silently ask, voice barely above a whisper. You cannot meet his gaze, afraid that his eyes might say more than his mouth does. Azriel gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, inhaling deeply. "There was not one moment where I was scared. It was definitely something new, something different. But there was not a single moment where I felt intimated or in the slightest bit scared. It is who you are and I know that you would never hurt me." Azriel kisses the top of your head. "And I couldn't be more thankful that you showed me this side of you. That you showed me this vulnerable part of your life.”

Your heart swells at his words, at the lush feeling reaching your through the bond. He meant what he said. He truly loves you no matter your dark side. He is not afraid either. A single tear falls to his skin and you kiss his peck. 

“I love you, Azriel,” you mumble into his soft and in a thin film of sweat covered skin. “More than anything in this world.” “I love you with my whole heart, Y/N. And you have to know one thing for sure—“ Azriel grabs the  back of your head, tilting it back so that you look straight into his eyes, “you will never have to spend a full moon alone. From now on until the very last day of our immortal lives will I be with you on a full moon. We will always be down here and I will take care of you, my love.”

You move a hand over your mouth, a silent sob leaving you when tears brim your eyes. You want to scream it from the rooftop how much you love this male, how important he is, how much he values you, how much you value him. 

“You are so perfect. The way you are. And I couldn’t love you anymore. I will never be scared of you. I will always be in complete and utter admiration of you, my love.”

A tear rolls out of your eye, your heart swelling, heart beating rapidly against your ribs.

“And before you say you don't deserve this,” Azriel says, the corner of his mouth tipping up, “you do. You deserve all of it. All the love you can get. You had to live without it for so long. So I will spend the rest of my life worshipping and loving you as much as you deserve to be loved and worshipped."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbitxh @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Beautiful Blood -- Sadistic Vampire Whumper Keeping Human Pets part 14

TW: violence, blood drinking, intimate Vampire whump, death, forced servitude

It was a while before Asher came back to his senses, and the first thing he became aware of was the bite of metal cuffs digging into his wrists, holding him up with his arms stretched to either side. He groaned, his fingers twitching as he regained mobility, terror seizing his heart. He couldn't be here again... the terrible place he'd been kept on his first day...

Blasting pain wracked his whole body, stealing his breath with every slight movement. Each breath hurt like daggers stabbing his lungs and throat from all the screaming, and blood crusted in his nose, which fortunately wasn't broken anymore thanks to his gift.

He could feel every bruise, every ache lancing his battered body. He must have been unconscious for quite some time, he realized, because his stomach rumbled hungrily. That must be partially why he was healing so slowly. His regenerative abilities sapped a lot of his strength, and he had to eat frequently to have the energy to support and fuel the healing process. Otherwise his powers ran out of steam and wouldn't heal him anymore. He flinched when the door to the prison room swung open, and Nyx herself came striding in, flanked by two servants carrying rags and bowls of water.

"Ah, you're finally awake," she said flatly. "I was worried for a minute there I might have accidentally killed you." She chuckled as though she'd made a funny joke, smiling like a viper. "I did warn you on your first day here, that privileges can be both given, and taken away." She wagged a mocking finger at him like a parent punishing their disobedient child. So degrading. "That was pretty bold of you, attempting to take my immortal life. It's as admirable as it was stupid." She gestured to her humans.

"Get him cleaned up and presentable, I'm having a visitor over later who paid a lot to see him, for exclusive access."

Asher shuddered, his gut twisting violently at the thought. So now he was being rented out to other vampires who wanted a taste of his blood? It was sickening to imagine.

Nyx left her servants to their work as they approached him, dipping their rags into the bowls of water before gently dabbing at the blood on his skin.

Asher cried out and twitched in pain every time he was touched, and the servants winced sympathetically. The whole process was pure agony for him to endure. He was only half-conscious when they finally finished, his head and body drooping forward against the restraints with exhaustion and pain as he let himself drift off to sleep. He knew he'd need the rest to face whatever horrors were waiting for him in the near future.

He awoke with a jolt the instant the prison door opened again, recoiling from the harsh light that bathed him, a startling contrast to the pitch darkness he'd been kept in. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that Nyx had brought a friend who had the same characteristic silver eyes that she did, giving him away as another vampire.

Asher knew what was coming, and he shivered apprehensively.

"This... This is the regenerate you speak so highly of?" The man asked skeptically, eyeing his scar-marred skin, his unassuming appearance. "He doesn't look like much."

"Looks can be deceiving, Darius," Nyx said with an eye roll. "Never be too quick to judge. You paid me a handsome sum, and I'm giving you what you asked for. One feeding." She pointedly emphasized the 'one', as though she were worried Darius might forget it.

Darius stepped up to the front of Asher and roughly grabbed his chin in a calloused hand, staring deep into his eyes for a long moment with a calculating expression, as though trying to read answers straight from his soul, examining him like one would a priceless artifact, or a common animal for sale. Like an intriguing specimen.

"Hmph. It better be worth the price," he muttered, half to himself. He ran a finger along the side of Asher's neck, finding that precious pulse point, before tilting Asher's head back as far as it would go, uncomfortably and painfully so that he was staring at the ceiling.

Asher squeezed his eyes shut in dreadful anticipation, swallowing hard and bracing himself. He felt so vulnerable, so exposed, completely helpless.

Unlike Nyx, there was no warning, no sign before the piercing, agonizing pain of sharp fangs plunging into his throat. Much rougher, more needy than even Nyx ever was. Which was remarkable, considering how violently she treated everyone around her.

The pain exploded through Asher's whole body, and he gasped loudly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, hands twitching feebly against the restraints holding him in place.

Darius started to drink in large gulps, too fast to keep up with. It was barely a minute before Nyx stepped in, placing a firm hand on Darius' broad shoulder, noticing Asher losing strength too fast for comfort. "All right, that's enough," she ordered.

But Darius only clamped down harder with a greedy, possessive growl, blood-hungry instinct taking over and overriding reason and rational thought. Asher groaned, slowly going limp.

"Hey! I said fangs off!" Nyx wasn't known for second warnings. A short dagger appeared in her hand, and she pressed it against Darius's own throat, hard enough to draw a thin line of vampire blood. It worked. The prick of the blade was enough to snap him out of it, and he staggered back from Asher, chest heaving and pupils heavily dilated.

"You... weren't kidding..." He panted.

"I already told you, I never lie when it comes to business," Nyx snarled, angrier than ever. She turned and brushed light fingers over the fresh puncture wounds in Asher's neck, examining them, noting that they weren't healing fast like usual. "I don't think I'll be doing business with you again in the future," she said flatly in a clipped tone, swiveling back to Darius.

"I bet a larger paycheck would fix that," Darius answered with a crooked smile, licking blood from his fangs, looking delighted and greedy.

"No. You're finished. I'm not letting you near my prize again. You are dismissed." Nyx stood her ground and shot Darius a fiery glare that could wilt the petals off of roses. Full of fury and wrath, how DARE he almost kill her pet. Only Nyx herself was allowed to bring Asher that close to death, because she knew she could consciously stop herself from drinking too much. She'd gotten much better control over her thirst with practice.

Darius looked like he was about to argue, but another venomous glare from Nyx silenced him, and he slunk dejectedly out of the room.

Nyx had some more servants come and make sure Asher would live, they helped feed him and gave him water, a huge relief from the torment Asher had been through. After getting food, his gift finally started working again, slowly healing him bit by bit until he was fully restored, aside from some new scars.

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