#minor blood play

[iwriteyanderes2023]

Yandere Socialite (Fem! Yandere x Fem! Reader)

Divider credits: @/anitalenia

Trigger warning: Violence, drama between friends, profanity usage, yandere themes, name-calling, sexual harassment, power abuse. Choking, pet play, humiliation, drugging, sexual scenes, bondage play, female on female

(8941 words)

You regretted agreeing to this.

Your friends were raving about this massive party, where all the hottest celebrities and the wealthy go to flaunt or make a fool out of themselves. Obviously, it was an exclusive event, no mere commoners could simply walk in. To enter, it's either paying an extravagant fee or be (in)famous enough. Which, you were neither.

They claimed to know how to sneak in, undetected by the burly bouncers that you would rather not be the receiving end of their anger. It made sense to have some tight security, it is taking place in someone's mansion; someone's home, after all.

You, being new in this city and desperate to make connections to you could advance your career, said yes. You stupidly said yes, put on your best clubbing outfit and makeup, and went through with your friend's plan to slip in through one of the back doors while the other distracted whoever was around to hinder the plans.

Which leads you to be lost in a seemingly unending maze of hallways, you don't know where the other girls went and you don't know where you are. There wasn't a single soul wandering around the carpeted floor and chandeliered ceilings. Elegant paintings of men and women in dignified poses seem to peer at you in disgust; a filthy commoner dressed like a tramp. You didn't belong here, and it's only a matter of time before you were thrown into jail thanks to the recorded footage from the surveillance cameras you're sure were pointed at you.

You covered your arms with your hands as you moved onward, cussing under your breath about how silly it was to wear a ridiculously tall heel. It's already giving you blisters, so you decide to take them off and walk barefoot; silently and dryly sobbing about how humiliating this feels.

You continued trundling on, periodically looking back and trying to see where the life of the party is at so you could at least witness how it's like. Perhaps make a few connections, but you think that's unlikely. Most of them are probably drunk out of their mind or high off coke to care.

Actually, what are you even doing here? You're supposed to be networking at a classy, evening soiree, not a rich boy's messy party!

Before you could sigh again, you were interrupted by the sounds of yelling in a room nearby.

"Get off me, fucker!" You heard an enraged feminine voice shout out before the sounds of crashing reached your ears. Groaning could be heard as you assume the other party was shuffling to get up.

"You fucking bitch!" Retorted a masculine voice, followed by more stumbling. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"We're over. Get the fuck out of my sight!" She yelled, but it doesn't sound like she was too hurt over it. It's more anger if anything.

"What...? Just like that?! After everything that I've done-"

"All you did was embarrass me over and over again! Like, does it kill you to take a shower? Does it kill you not to be an entitled, gross loser all the time?"

You inched closer to the door and discreetly poked your head in. You saw the back of a woman with the most gorgeous blond hair draping down to her tailbone. She's wearing a silver sequin dress that barely covers the fold of her bum.

The male, slightly drunk and injured from the shove with debris around him, was glaring at the blonde.

"Shut up, slut! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't get to live like this!" He threateningly pointed at her, but she didn't budge.

"Oh? You mean that monthly allowance of fifty bucks from you? Please, I pick up my dogs' crap with it. That's how worthless you are to me, I'm only tolerating you because I'm doing your mommy a favour." She fought back, her words enraged the man even further.

"You can forget the deal our families had! I'll make sure the Maciovelli name goes to shit, you will be living on the streets before you know it!" He yelled right in front of her face, getting up close and personal; and having his stray spit hit her. She merely wiped them away.

"Ugh, you're insufferable. Whatever, I'd like to see you try, bitch." She hissed before shoving him away again.

But this proved to be a dangerous move, as it provoked the man to lunge and swing his arm at her. Luckily though, it seems she has predicted it and dodged his attack on time.

You had to do something! And so, you looked around as the pair went on to physically fight. Though, it's more like she's doing all the defense while he does the offense. Sometimes blocking his hits with her red handbag.

There is a vase nearby, decorated with intricate, hand-painted flowers. Without thinking, you picked it up and chucked it at the man. The antiquity of that piece of art be damned, that woman is in danger and you have to do something to help her!

She visibly jolted when it flew past some strands of gold and crashed onto her assailant's head, spraying shards everywhere and making small cuts on her legs. He was thrown backward and rendered unconscious almost immediately.

The woman whipped her head back to see the source of it, staring at you with wide, baby-blue eyes. You stared back at her breathtakingly stunning face; she had thin, sharp brown eyebrows that accentuated her fox-like eyes. Long, black eyelashes framed her iris as smokey makeup made her eyes look much bigger and lively. Her lips were glossy and in a shade of pastel pink, with a dusting of sparkly glitter.

You stammered, not knowing what to do or say. You're not even supposed to be here. So you remained silent as you and her continued this staring contest, the woman's eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe.

She began walking towards you, her heels menacingly clicking against the marbled floor of that room. You felt a surge of panic course through you, so you took a few steps back.

Only to be grabbed by the shoulder by someone else behind you. Chills ran down your spine when you heard the familiar sound of a walkie-talkie beeping. "I found one of the trespassers."

You started panicking even more, speaking erratically to try and defend your case. But the security officer wouldn't hear it, instead restraining you and pulling you away from the scene. You thrashed and screamed, not wanting to get caught and end your life as soon as it started. "I need backup!" Shouted the guard into his device as he tried to wrangle you into his grip.

You shouldn't have agreed to them, look what it has gotten you into. Your life is so over, you're going to be shoved into a jail cell and forced to move back to where you came from. If only you could-

"Hey, you fatass!" You saw her red, crescent handbag whack the officer in the arm, he flinched in surprise. "Hands off my best friend! And who the fuck do you think you are, calling her a trespasser!?"

A look of surprise crosses his face. "Miss Maciovelli? She's with you?" The officer took a look at you, there wasn't an aura of money emanating from you, not like how the woman was.

You looked back at the woman, now putting her hands on her hips. An irate expression adorns her face, "Um, yeah? I just said it, are you fucking slow? Let her go right now!" She demanded, raising the volume of her voice as her patience was running thin.

He sighed and released his hold on you. The man brought his walkie-talkie up to his mouth and said that it was a false alarm and that there wasn't a need for more of them to come over. They should focus on finding the rest of the intruders, which you can guess that they were referring to your friends.

"I'm sorry, Miss Maciovelli-"

"Yeah, you better be." She spat as she hooked her arm around yours. "Insulting my girl like that- why don't you all actually do your jobs and kick the real troublemakers out? Like that pig there, taking a nap on the floor. He tried to hit me and my best friend!" The blonde pointed her ivory-white acrylic nail to her bleeding ex, who seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness.

His eyes widened as he seemed to recognize the waking man. "O-oh! That's-!"

Before he could finish his sentence, the woman dragged you away from the scene. Pushing you by the shoulders and pulling you by the hand. You looked behind you to see the security guard entering the room while frantically speaking into his walkie-talkie.

"You're new. What's your name?" You were snapped out of your frazzled trance when she spoke. Her pace was slowing into a leisurely walk when she deemed it safe enough. The blonde's arm was still linked around yours, though.

Her baby blues curiously stared at you, all that malice and rage she held earlier was gone. Replaced with friendliness with a bit of wariness.

You told her your name and stumbled over your words trying to explain your situation as fast as possible. You made sure to thank her for saving you.

"Your friends are gross for abandoning you like that." She scowled. "I hate fake bitches like them, they should like, get shot in the head or something."

Your mouth gape open at her extreme remarks. Is this how socialites usually talk?

You defended your friends, telling her that they didn't abandon you. They probably just lost you as everyone scrambled to hide from security.

"Yeah, you're definitely new here. They knew what they were doing. You came with five others, at least one should be hiding from security with you." She brought you into a grandiose bathroom. The blonde finally lets you go and approaches the vanity. "Those sluts used you."

Miss Maciovelli pulled a tube of lip gloss from her mini handbag and began doing touchups. You simply watched her, not knowing what to say. Well, you should have seen it coming. Big city dwellers are known to be cutthroat, and you just met them.

"Sorry babe, but that's the reality here." She smacked her lip and wiped away any imperfections with her thumb.

You scratched the back of your head. You asked her if she could show you the exit, it's been a long night and you want to go home.

"You don't wanna stay for a little?" She asked, turning to you. "You're hot, I'm sure you'll have fun. I'll get rid of those snakes for you, if that's what's holding you back."

You shook your head, feeling exhausted after everything you went through today. You asked her if she's going back to the party, wherever that may be in this mansion.

"Duh." She bobbed her head.

There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Until she decided to fish her phone out.

"Number." She extended her hand and brought her phone, numpad side to you.

You picked it up and entered your phone number. It's saved under your name, but you doubt that she will remember you after today.

"Oh, so that's how you spell it." She mumbled, looking at the contact name.

You watch her keep her device away before fixing her hair in the mirror again. She used a nail to adjust her eyelashes.

"Okay, let's go." She linked her arm around yours again, escorting you out of the bathroom.

You and she walked past numerous rooms and halls, some had excited shouts coming from them, some had salacious moaning and some had loud booming music. When you were nearing the core of the alcohol-fueled rave, the noise from massive speakers was nearly unbearable. You even had to cover your ears in order not to blow your drums out. But the woman didn't even flinch, she continued strutting along with you in tow.

You saw men and women feverishly dancing along to the beat, the surroundings were dark and illuminated by colorful strobe lights. Good thing you weren't epileptic.

"Heyy..."

You turned your head to see one of your friends. She's wasted beyond belief. "You... you made it! C'mere, I want you to meet-"

"Fuck off, whore!" Barked Miss Maciovelli, she yanked you along with her. Ignoring the expletives coming out from your friend's slurring mouth.

You asked if that was really necessary.

"Yep. They won't get the hint if you're this nice." She answered. "They'll keep trying until you're dragged down to their level. Don't ever disrespect yourself like that." She sternly warned you.

All you could do was nod meekly.

Eventually, you reached the exit. It's as grand and fancy as it was on the inside. You see a massive water fountain in the middle of a looped road. Yet, no cars could be seen but there were hoards of security milling around.

"Wait here." She left you on the marble steps as she approached a uniformed staff member. You watched them exchange some words before she marched back to you.

You thought that this was the end of your meeting with her. So you told her thanks and bid her goodbye while referring to her as Miss Maciovelli. She scrunched her nose up in disgust.

"Ew. That's so fake. Don't call me that." She crosses her arms over her chest, and you can see pale tan lines on her skin.

You asked what you should call her instead.

"Mercedes." She replied immediately. "You know, the car."

You told her that it's a beautiful name. She smiled and flipped her hair.

You told her that you better get going, it's late. Mercedes narrowed her eyes at you and grabbed your wrist.

"And how are you going to do that? It's an hour's drive from here to the city."

You said you were going to take the bus, that's how you got here in the first place. Worst come to worst, you would call a cab.

She shook her head defiantly.

"I'm driving you home, no way am I trusting those weirdos to bring you anywhere."

You told her that you would be fine and that you didn't want to be a hassle. To that, she rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, shut up." Mercedes punched your arm playfully.

A hot pink convertible then rolled up in front of the two of you. Its headlights are heart-shaped, you thought it was cute. "Miss Maciovelli?" Said the parking Valet.

"C'mon, don't be difficult." She urged you to get in through the passenger's side.

"This is your place?" She asked with a tone of incredulity. "Looks... plain."

You wouldn't call it plain. It's small but cozy. It's also all you can afford at the moment with your job, that's why you were planning to network around to get better opportunities.

"Hm." She hummed, releasing her grip on her pink, fluffy steering wheel to fix her hair.

You got out of her car and said goodbye. She didn't say a word but watched you get to the front door.

You look behind you to see her staring, so you wave bye. But she neither budged nor returned the gesture. Simply staring at you like a hawk. Feeling a bit creeped out, you went into the lobby.

Only then did she drive away. What a strange woman.

You sighed and trudged to the lift, pressing the button and resting your forehead on the cold, metallic panel. Well. There goes your only contacts in the city, they're all not good for you.

You didn't even get to know Mercedes's number, so until she texts you first, you're completely alone.

The lift opened to reveal no one. As usual. You don't think you've seen your neighbors yet, thinking they're either avoiding you, extremely busy, or extremely reclusive. Or living in an entirely different timezone.

When you reached your room, you decided to boot up your computer. While waiting for it to be functional, you did something else; preparing the things you need for a relaxing bath and boiling some water for tonight's five-star dinner: instant noodles.

You spent the night researching Mercedes, only searching her first name predictably bringing up results of the luxury car brand with the same name. But as soon as you searched for Mercedes Maciovelli, you began learning a lot about her.

She is the heiress of a very successful, multi-billion conglomerate company. Her family owns more businesses than you can count in two hands, they're also huge and famous companies. Banks, grocery stores, and even planes. It's scary how her family possesses this much power. That was such a silly thing for her ex to say, that if it wasn't for him, she would have been in poverty. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.

However, she is no stranger to paparazzi as she frequently mingles with high-profile celebrities, gets into physical altercations, and goes wild in nightclubs. She is nothing like what was expected of her as someone who grew up in "old money". She's associated with words like "bitchy", "fiesty", "trashy" and "Messy". Whereas her peers barely have any information available about them online, they stay out of trouble and act too elegant for the paparazzi and tabloids to take any interest.

The most interesting bit about Mercedes was her dating life. Your eyes bulged out of your skull, seeing the seemingly unending list of boyfriends she had over the years. It's almost like she has a new one every month, but there are never repeats. Articles, gossip pieces, and smear forums about Mercedes are just so prevalent, that you think you're getting a cramp on your finger by just scrolling your mouse.

In the end, you're sick of seeing the public bash the blonde. It gets old and you're becoming tired. Perhaps aging has already caught up to you, but you cannot stay up past 12.

You decided to shut your computer off and head to bed.

It's been a few days since that party. Your "friends" kept texting you, trying to get you to join one more of their trespassing escapades. You gave them excuses upon excuses because you're not interested in such a lifestyle.

"Aw, don't be such a lame-o," Drawled one of the girls as she shook your shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun! You had fun!"

The other girls continued egging you on in this expensive cafe. You were already uncomfortable meeting them here, as you can barely afford the cheapest of their pastries. At least the ambiance looks amazing in photos. If only you owned a digital camera...

You let out a nervous chuckle as you tried to decline as much as you could without offending them.

"There's another one tonight! You should totally come with us, I got like, the routes and everything already!"

"Yeah, think of the cute guys that's going to be there!"

"OMG, I heard Retro Rhymes are going to be there!"

"Really!? The rapper!?"

You sighed as they chatted amongst themselves. You silently picked at your muffin with your fork, that was the cheapest thing on the menu and the price was enough to give you eight of these back home.

Eventually, they must have forgotten your existence. Because they continued talking until they left the building. Not saying a bye or sparing a glance in your direction. Leaving you to sit at your table alone and brooding.

Well. You shouldn't expect much when it comes to friendships here. Many people come to the city solely to make money and have fun, after all. Not so much finding true, lifelong connections.

You took a sip of your black coffee. Again, the cheapest thing you could get from there. You couldn't even afford sugar or milk with it.

Suddenly, a manicured hand slammed a cup onto your table, shocking you and making you accidentally spill some of your drink onto your blouse.

"You should try this, it's so good. Way better than your boring-ass black coffee, I bet." You recovered from your initial shock to crane your head up to see Mercedes staring down at you from above, her soft, golden hair falling to your face.

You greeted her, asking what she was doing here.

"I could ask the same of you, seeing that you're pretty broke. But I saw how you still hung out with those sluts even after I told you not to." She cocked an eyebrow as an unimpressed look crossed her face.

Today, she wears a simple, lacey crop top and a pair of low waisted jeans. You got to know that she had her belly button pierced.

You sighed once more, burying your face in your hands. You told her you don't have a choice, it's a cold world out here and you need someone to fulfill that human need for socialization. Now that you have calmed down, you decided to take a better look at the drink she gave you.

It's a tall, plastic cup with a dome cover. It's an ice-blended, creamy mocha with chocolate syrup drizzled on the sides of the cup. It has a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top and a thick straw is sticking out of its opening.

"Um, hello? You have me." She moved away from you and took a seat next to you, she ordered the same thing. Mercedes shook it around before taking a sip. "You don't need them anymore, I'll be showing you the ropes."

You thought about it for a while. There is definitely a non zero chance that she will play you like a fiddle, but it's much better to have someone high up there in the hierarchy. Even though she isn't necessarily a mature businesswoman yet, you would still have a better chance to brush shoulders with relevant people. Not... Partygoers.

So then, you agreed. Picking up your cup and taking your first sip.

It was tooth-rotting. It was good, but you knew if it wasn't for sugar, this cup would not even be filled to half. The sheer sweetness of the treat made you grimace and pucker.

"What? Don't like it?" She asked, looking bored.

You said it was nice, but a bit too sweet.

"That's the point. I like it sweet." She took another sip from her drink. "Keeps me full for hours."

You... Don't think that's how it works. Isn't it usually the opposite effect? Whatever.

For the next few hours, you and her chat about almost everything and anything. Ranging from each other's histories, to each other's interests, to oddly philosophical questions and personal views on things. There were quite a few differences between you and Mercedes- obviously so, as she was raised by the uber rich and you were raised by... Your guardians, but you liked how she kept her mind open and was non-judgemental about you.

It was refreshing, really. Someone you could somewhat be real with, unlike your previous set of friends where you had to put on the most guarded mask in order not to feel like a pathetic lowlife around them.

You were curious about her dating habits, but you think it's rude to ask about it this early on in the friendship. Plus, it never came up, so you decided to save that question for another day. You bet if she's willing to open up, it will take more than just a few hours.

It's getting late, you should leave.

So you stood up, secretly in disbelief at how you finished the entire thing of diabetes. You told Mercedes that you have work tomorrow and you're going to need to leave soon.

She frowned. "Boo. Boring."

You said that you have to be "boring", you don't have her type of money.

"And it's literally just six in the evening. It's not like it's six in the morning or something." She huffed.

You said you have been in this cafe for seven hours.

"They don't close til 10."

Still, you have to get back home. You're tired.

She stuck her tongue out at you.

"Fine. But I'm driving you home."

You said there isn't a need for her to do that, you could take the bus.

"Let's go, you need your beauty sleep." She ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, pulling you along with her so quickly that you struggled to keep up.

Weeks would go by and you would meet Mercedes every Sunday in a different cafe of her choosing. And these meetings would increase in frequency each week, to a point where you were eating all three meals with her daily. She would always foot the bill and refused to let you pay for anything, talking about how you're so poor, that you're probably fighting rats for the scraps at the bottom of the dumpster. It's an absolute win for you; no cooking involved and you haven't eaten instant noodles for months now.

The five girls you originally started off with seem to lose interest in you, they never texted or called you again. And when you did bump into any of them, they would pretend not to know you.

It's extremely obvious that they're avoiding you for some reason, maybe it's because they've seen you buddying up with Mercedes: one of their sworn enemies and one of the most feared figures in this city.

It's... Surprisingly sad. Knowing that the friendship was doomed from the beginning didn't change the feeling of isolation and hurt in you. But at least you gained something that resembled a friend.

Mercedes would gradually increase the frequency of her texts and calls, hitting you up whenever she's bored out of her mind.

"Stop working letz go shopping"

"U r SO going blind in ur 30s"

"nerd :-P"

"im boreddddddddddddd"

"go clubbing with moiiii"

"letzzz goooo"

"stop ignoring me :-("

These were just some of the few text messages you would frequently receive, blowing up your phone even when you're in a meeting. You would usually need to turn it off entirely to keep yourself quiet.

But yes, you would go shopping with her. Mercedes seem to have a kick out of spoiling you with clothes, jewelry and other things you can only dream to buy.

You didn't like trying on clothes, because Mercedes would barge into your changing room however and whenever she liked.

"What's the big deal? We're both girls." That was what Mercedes would say when she slips into the cubicle, while you're mid-change without any warning. Of course, you would react negatively to that, especially since you don't know her that well.

In the end, though, you would just give up and let her come in. It's not like you could stop her and she isn't doing anything too weird... Aside from her vaguely longing stares at your partially or completely unclothed body. She would almost be in a trance, staring unblinkingly for long periods of time until you snap your fingers in front of her face. She just claims that you're just too hot for anyone to handle.

Mercedes would contact you via your phone, asking if you would want to go clubbing with her, or if you would want to be her plus one to an event. And each time, you would say no. And each time, she would whine about how lame you are but never pushed too far.

A temporary boyfriend would take your place, only for her to break up with them the next day and appear in another tabloid for some scandalous fighting or dating. When you asked her about it, she would get moody and irritable. She would rant about her feelings and problems with the world at large, finding the dating pool now repulsive and general standards insanely low.

"Ugh! Can you believe that he said that to me?"

You would have to nod, it would end her ranting faster. It's always the same phrase over and over again, with slight variation.

"I wish men were just like you, I would find it so fucking easy to commit to a guy. But they're not, so I rather shit my hands and clap. Oh my god, he was so pathetic and gross."

You could recite her words at this point, you got it the first time that she wishes she could date a male version of you. Mercedes didn't have to repeat that every single time you and her met up.

For her sake and yours, you pray hard that she finds what she's looking for. You don't know how much more of her repetitive complaints you can take.

All your other attempts to network and make connections fail. As soon as any of them knew you were Mercedes's "bestie", they would either run for the hills or become actively hostile toward you. She has made a lot of enemies and you don't think she has any girlfriends... Only orbiters or those who tried to get her approval but secretly hated her guts. Or die-hard fans who don't see her as a human, but as an object, whether for better or for worse.

She kept them around, just because she could benefit from them. Mercedes would bring them along to some of your many shopping sprees with her just so they could carry heaps of heavy bags for the two of you. While you and her get to enjoy the day, completely unburdened.

It unsettled you how she treated them like lowly servants, or even more degradingly so, like dogs. And not like one of her spoiled Pomeranians, but mutts that are bred to work and live off scraps of attention. You could be having a spa day at the city's finest specialist, sipping on complimentary champagne, and having your hair done with products that you cannot even pronounce; Mercedes would make her lackeys wait outside. Yet, they appear happy about this treatment from her. Eagerly following Mercedes and by extension, you, wherever you go.

It didn't matter who you tried to befriend, Mercedes's opinion of them would remain constant: They're all two-faced liars who are out there to kick you when you're down. It never changed despite never even meeting them or you made them up. She's fiercely protective of you, and always assumed the worst of everyone, even her own relatives when they tried being cordial with you.

Of course, the friendship has blossomed to the point where you would have a slumber party at her multi-million mansion every Friday. You wouldn't even need to bring anything, she would have everything ready for you; clothes, toiletries, hairdryers- anything you need to survive from day to day, you would have a more luxurious version of it. She definitely has an affinity for bling, as the tops that Mercedes provides always have rhinestones decorating them.

You were living in opulence, a lifestyle that can only be seen on TV, in magazines, or in history books. It's jarring and almost dreamlike how you got to experience such things just by chance. You didn't have to work hard for it, you just need to endure a spoiled blonde's clinginess to receive all these. What a steal. You had maids and butlers that would await your every order, personal chefs to whip up something delicious in a second, and hunky pool boys to ogle at when you tan with her outside.

You just wished that Mercedes wasn't so touchy, though...

"Like, sunburn isn't cute. C'mon, don't be such a hardass, turnover." You would groan and do as you were told, laying flat on your stomach and adjusting your sunglasses. Mercedes would then squeeze a handful of white sunscreen on her palm, and begin rubbing onto your exposed back and legs.

She would always take her time running her hands over your skin, sensually massaging from the base of your neck and down to your bum. Her flesh would glide against yours, reaching all that she could touch and occasionally squeezing your cheeks down south. Whenever you complained, she would say:

"What? Not my fault you have a bubble butt. No one can resist giving a squeeze." And continues fondling you under the guise of preserving your youthful skin from the harsh sun rays. You would sigh, slumping your head down as Mercedes continued doing whatever she wanted. It's her house, her money, and her influence after all. You're just riding on it for free. And it's not like anything is going to be too weird, you and her are both girls!

"Okay, I'm done. My turn." She would hand you the bottle of sunscreen and flip herself over. It's undeniable that she has a body that even Aphrodite would be envious of, thanks to a combination of genetics, her lifestyle, and other procedures. Mercedes does put in work in her personal gym, toning her body and alluring men everywhere. Her bikini would leave very little to the imagination, but it made sense why she needed much more sunscreen.

"Make sure to get it on here too." She would purr, playfully wiggling her plump rear. This would usually prompt an eye roll from you and a giggle from her.

She's soft to the touch. And you knew that not because you would have to smear sunscreen on her, but because she would often cuddle with you. It didn't matter what you were doing, you could be stretching in her living room, and she would wrap her arms around your waist. You could be curled up on her fluffy sofa, watching a sitcom, and she would crawl up all over your space. You could be sleeping, and you would wake up to her being the big spoon. And she would have the audacity to whine about how you ruined her sleep by moving around.

But you must admit, she is comfortable to cuddle with. Especially when you rest your head on her voluptuous breasts, allowing yourself to sink into them and inhale her sweet, floral perfume. It would be heaven squared when she would rake her long, acrylic nails through your hair. Mercedes would let you twirl with her golden strands, playing with them between your fingers.

You think, maybe it's because she's just lonely and a big fan of physical touch. It must be exhausting to constantly think every single person in the world is out there to get you. But does she have to be so... gross?

"I just want it." Mercedes would whine, demanding that she wants your drink. You would ask her why, you also drank out of this straw anyway.

"I didn't like my order."

You pointed out that you ordered the same exact thing as her.

"They didn't make it right!"

You asked her what made her think they made yours right.

"They just do!"

You said it's just going to be the same thing. Why not throw hers away and order another one, seeing that she has near infinite amount of money?

She would groan in frustration and stomp her heels on the ground. "It tastes better after you drank from it, okay!? I don't know what it is about your... fucking saliva that makes something so mediocre, tastes so good. Now, gimme!" Mercedes would snatch it out of your hands and swapped it with her one.

You drank more than half of yours while Mercedes barely touched her cup. Well, more for you, you guess. At least everyone is happy.

This habit of hers would extend to utensils, you knew she would purposely drop her dessert spoon just to eat from yours. Mercedes would steal your clothes, claiming that your outfits are always cuter than hers, and she's jealous.

But she chose and bought you these clothes...?

You were so used to her antics, that one day, Mercedes gave you a new brand of gum to try. However, when it touches your tongue, you immediately grimaced as it was the most atrocious flavour ever.

"Whaatt? Are you fucking serious? That's like, my favourite flavour!" She would look at you in disbelief. And you would look at her in disbelief, because this was the first time seeing her buying this brand.

You told her that you wanted to spit it out, it's awful.

"Don't waste it!" She hit you on the arm. "Spit it in my mouth." Mercedes would part her lips wide and bring her face close to yours.

Without thinking, you expelled the partially chewed up candy into her orifice... which she gladly accepted and began chewing on it. Sucking whatever flavour that was left on, including your fluids.

"What are you talking about?" You could hear her obnoxious chews between words. "It tastes fine, you're so dramatic."

Upon realizing what you just did, you would shudder in disgust. Quickly walking away as if you're trying to run from the memory.

Soon after, Mercedes would permeate through every aspect of your life. It seems like she had a chat with her parents about offering you a job at one of their firms. A high standing one at that, too.

You obviously accepted it and resigned from your previous post. Now, THIS is what you're talking about. A prestigious job with unbelievable benefits and tasks that doesn't seem too hard for you to do. It's everything you wanted you achieve, ever since you arrived at the city.

Well, minus the fact that your bestie who got you this position would intrude your office every chance she gets and talk your ear off.

"Ughhh... this is so boring... Let's ditch this place and go somewhere fun." She would rest her head on your shoulder while shaking you by the arm.

You said you can't. You have work to do.

"Says who?"

You said your boss.

"Who's your boss?"

For the fifth time, you told her the name of your supervisor. But instead of complaining, she would storm out of your office. At first, you thought she would leave you alone, maybe she's tired of bugging you and got the hint that you're a responsible adult with adult jobs.

But, ten minutes later, she would be barrelling in with your boss in tow. She had him in a very unsavoury grip, her hands tightly clutching his sleeve.

"Tell her!" She demanded.

"Y-you're free to go. Someone else can cover for you."

Your eyes would widen, asking if this will affect your pay.

"Not at all. Don't worry, I will have this... agreement in writing. Please e-enjoy the rest of your day." He would then quickly excuse himself from the room, avoiding Mercedes's fiery glare.

You looked at her. How could she just do that?

"My Dad owns this company, duh. Anyways, less talk, more walk." She hooked her arm around yours and dragged you out of the office.

It's as if her father was paying you just to babysit his bratty, adult daughter. You barely get to do anything for the company! You don't even know what you were hired to do in the first place anymore.

It gets extremely suffocating being her best friend, you don't know anyone around except her. The staff in her mansion is always rotating, so you wouldn't see the same face twice. You barely remembered your supervisor's names, let alone any colleagues'. All your free time is robbed by Mercedes, she saturates every single second of your life. You don't remember not seeing Mercedes's pretty face on the daily, yet it's astonishing how she would get the paparazzi on her for constantly dating a new roster of boys each season and getting into catfights with other women. Where does she find the time to do that?

It's rubbing on you, now you begin to crave a boyfriend. A 'boy toy', as Mercedes would call it.

It shouldn't be too hard, you know that you're good-looking; you have the clothes, the hair, the makeup and you can always steal from your filthy rich best friend. Your bank account is a little chubbier now thanks to Mercedes. If you just put yourself out there, you're sure boys will flock to you.

But you shouldn't tell this to Mercedes, you get the vibe that she would be jealous that you're stealing the spotlight. You aren't trying to do at all, you're just curious to know what it's like to live like Mercedes for once.

So you had to do it secretly. You would always decline her requests to join her clubbing, preferring to favor sleep over drug-fuelled parties. But recently, you would cover up your eyebags with concealer just so you could introduce yourself to the market. It goes without saying, that you're not tagging along with Mercedes, you went on your own and told not a single soul.

And it was a success! You have never received so many free drinks from men before, you even witnessed some of them fighting over you, all physical and mock-macho. It was hilarious and flattering, but the other girls would avoid you like the plague and shoot you nasty looks your way. It's much worse than you expected it to feel, you feel... rejected, alienated, and ugly. Was this how Mercedes felt? Is that why she thinks all other women are out for her blood? Well, you understand it now. And some of the boys would be really creepy towards you, it doesn't feel so good on the soul knowing the people who defended you from those weirdos are also creeps themselves. They just wanted a piece of you as if you were just a slab of meat in a cage of hungry wolves.

Though, it would be a big, fat lie to say you didn't feel free. You felt the freedom that died on the day Mercedes took you under her wing. It tasted so sweet, you wanted more and more. You were so addicted, that you took illicit substances just to keep you awake for longer, to party until the sun rises.

You were leading a double life: As Mercedes's goody-two-shoes bestie in the day, a bad girl gone wild at night. Make out with whoever you want to, drinking as much as you want and shaking yourself to the beat of the music until you drop.

You knew Mercedes was suspecting something was up, but at this point, you give no shits. This is your life, and you get to live it.

It didn't last long, though.

There was one night in particular; you remembered that they had a massive disco ball in the middle of the ceiling, reflecting every ray coming out of the projector. It was deafening, the smell of booze and sweat nauseated you but you didn't notice. The DJ was bopping his head to the rhythm and scratching records using his fingertips. The patrons were doing their own thing, some were dancing like no tomorrow, some were locking lips and some were snorting lines. It was one of those types of parties, the one where you first met Mercedes. Except this time, you successfully snuck in without your ex-friends and finally found the core of the rave.

Your hair was frazzled and you had a few wardrobe malfunctions, but why should you be bothered by that? It's not like everyone around you were dignified at all, you blend in and that's all that matters to you.

The details were fuzzy, but you remembered wondering what it was like to make out with a woman instead. Men had pretty rough lips and they smelled like crap. Why not experiment? You're here anyways, and no one is going to recognize you- whatever happens in this mansion, stays in this mansion. Plus, you already have a willing participant next to you, who has been hitting on you all night.

Later in the dark, you became bold from a mix of alcohol and whatever glowing pill you took from a giddy stranger. You pulled her aside to somewhere secluded, the two of you were clearly hot and bothered, deeply eager to explore each other's bodies. Nothing else matters in this moment, other than to satisfy each other's needs.

She pulled you in by the neck, pressing her full lips against yours. And you were correct, it was soft, fragrant, and delicious. A thousand times better than kissing stinky boys. You closed your eyes and melted into her touch, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss. She's on top of you, straddling your hips and your hands are rubbing all over her body. The woman, who you didn't even know the name of, trailed kisses from your jaw down to your collarbones. Her slender fingers began to stray from your chin and roam downwards until it was dangerously close to the hem of your panties. You let out a muffled moan as she let her tongue taste every corner of your mouth, neither of you could speak. And neither of you wanted to, words weren't necessary.

However, your ecstasy was cut short when your lover was yanked backward. Confused, your eyes immediately shot open at the first taste of emptiness... only to witness something scaringly horrific.

"Fucking slut! How fucking dare you, how fucking dare you touch my girl!" Shrieked Mercedes as she had an iron grip on your lover's hair with one hand, and another was whaling on her non-stop. She was screaming in terror as your best friend inflicted as much damage as she could on her face. Scratches, punches, cuts, she had done it all. Mercedes pulled clumps of hair out from her victim's scalp and dodged every attempt of her to fight back. She was fast, fueled with the purest distillation of rage you have ever seen, mascara streaked down her face as she shouted until her voice was hoarse. Blood splattered onto her light-hued hair, her outfit was ruined and no doubt, a thousand dollars worth of acrylic nails were ripped from her nailbed as she threw brutal punches.

You panicked, trying to break the fight up but Mercedes was entirely immersed in anger that she didn't care that she lost her natural nails along with her false ones. She's also bleeding, scarlet painted her fingertips, knuckles, and up to her wrist as she went on tormenting your lover with more hits and pummels. At this rate, Mercedes might just kill her!

You attempted to restrain her, but she was too strong, easily overpowering you just so she could beat your lover to death. There was so much hatred simmering in her heart for this one stranger, this one woman you're sure she's never met. Why!? Why her!? Why would Mercedes attack her unprovoked!?

The fight, which was one-sided ended a few minutes later when your lover stopped moving and was covered in gruesome welts. Her eyes were swollen shut and there was blood pooling around her from her nostrils, scalp, and lips.

"You."

Growled Mercedes. She was breathing heavily and all her strands were out of place. Tears were flowing down her bloodshot eyes as she trembled.

You were speechless, you quivered in fear as you looked on. In the end, all you could mewl out was a meek "Why?"

This caused her to wail, scream, and sob. She brought her injured fingers to her head and gripped her hair, letting out all her frustrations and agony before composing herself enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Fuck you, Whore! Fuck you!" She pointed at you, her shrill voice was making your ears hurt, but you're glad she wasn't biting them off instead.

You said you didn't understand what was going on, why was she so upset.

"You were into girls all along! I-I-" She sniffled, ungracefully wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Soiling her face with her own blood.

"I'm... in love with you..." Her voice quietened as it wavers, Mercedes choked on her own tears as she confessed. "Why didn't you tell me...?" She gasped erratically as she cried. Suddenly, there was a spike in her emotions. "Why didn't you fucking tell me?!"

You took a few more steps backward as she lost control over herself again, she had to kick your already unconscious lover with her heels to calm herself down.

"I wanted you! I..." She let out one last bloodcurdling scream before lunging at you.

You tried evading her, but she was just too experienced in this. Within seconds, her hands are tightly wrapped around your neck; Choking them until blood rushes up your head. You clawed and clawed on her hands, but nothing worked. She was determined to kill you.

She gnashed her teeth as she choked the life out of you, her salty tears rolled down her cheeks, taking some concealer along with it showing that she also had severe dark bags under her eyes.

You started seeing spots, and your thinking became redundant as your brain shuts down from the lack of oxygen. Is this it? Your death? Killed by a nepotism baby with her bare hands?

You took one last look at her face, it was filled with pain and anguish.

You regretted agreeing to come to the city.

She was yearning for you, ever since she bought you that first drink. If you knew the depth of her twisted, obsessive love she harbors for you, running for the hills would have been your immediate reaction.

Mercedes cried herself to sleep almost every night, suffering from a heartache that could never heal itself as long as she knew you were straight. She knew that you would never share her feelings, because she was taught that everyone sees lesbians as freaks of nature.

She tried distracting herself with parties, boys, booze, and coke. But nothing worked, all she ever thought about was you, you, you. She loves you and wanted nothing but to be your lovely wedded wife. Oh, how she longs for a life where it's just you and her. And no one else.

Mercedes couldn't let you go, no way in hell. That's why she would scare off anyone who got too close to you for her liking, that's why she sent out hit after hit to eliminate the competition. Because if she can't have you, no one can.

But now...

"Sit."

You frowned, refusing to budge from your spot.

Mercedes pouted, she cupped your cheeks and stared deep into your eyes.

"Bad puppies don't get treats, you don't want to be a bad puppy, do you, baby?" She cooed in a babyish tone but with heavy condescension.

You couldn't speak, because there was a ballgag between your lips. Yet, you stayed still in defiance.

She narrowed her eyes at your disobedience.

"That's how you're gonna be, huh." Mercedes lets go of your face and sticks her hand into the pocket of her bathrobe. You heard a click, and soon you felt insane vibrations between your legs, it's coming from the vibe taped to your clit!

You let out a muffled yelp as the stimulation made you buckle to your knees, and eventually, you were on the floor, helpless as your hands were tied up behind your back. Juices leaked from your slit and onto the cold, smooth floors.

"Good girl~" She praised in a sing-song voice. Mercedes happily clapped her hands together.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you were about to be overcome by pleasure, but... the device suddenly stopped moving. Leaving you incomplete and agitated.

You whined and whimpered, wanting your rightful climax but Mercedes only smiled at your pathetic, squirming state.

"Aww, what's that? Puppy wants to cum?" You feverishly nodded, face burning from the degradation.

"Well, only good puppies get their pussy eaten. Are you a good puppy?" She rested her hands on her knees.

You nodded and let out a muffled yell.

"Roll over."

You tried your best to do that, but the frigid floor is stimulating you further.

"Play dead."

You lay still for a few seconds, your sex is still throbbing in arousal.

"Good girl, good girl!" She praised, giggling at you.

You whimpered, having tears bead from the corners of your eyes. You need that release so badly, it's starting to hurt.

"Mmm... you're so fucking hot..." She whispered as she slowly got down to the floor, slipping her hands between your inner thighs to remove the toy. Her pupils are dilating at the sight of your naked, dripping crotch. "I can't wait to eat you out. You always taste so fucking delicious." Mercedes brushed your puffy lips with her fingers.

"Open your legs."

She didn't have to tell you twice, you granted her full access.

"Good girl..." She purred before dipping her head down to drag her wet, pink muscle over your pussy.

You writhe as she tongue fucks you, lapping up everything and not letting a drop of your sweet, sweet nectar go to waste.

You would spend almost every waking second being 'trained' by Mercedes. Her treats are sex and the overstimulation of your pussy until you faint. You never knew that she was such a nymphomaniac, or maybe she just is that for you. Mercedes just couldn't get enough of your essence, so you're subjected to such treatment.

Well, at least you don't have to work anymore. You get to eat five-star meals and sleep in a mansion, and you get to binge-watch all your favorite shows guilt-free. All you had to be was Mercedes's pet and have her eat you out whenever she wants.

Her beloved Pillow Princess; was embossed in gold, on the hot pink collar around your neck.

[snickerdoodlesart]

sickly Victorian child and his so not brother

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

good afternoon, if you buy, pirate, or in any way play or support Hogwarts Legacy, get off my blog. if you refuse to do the bare minimum to support Jewish and transgender people right now, i don't want you here. fuck right off

Plain text: good afternoon, if you buy, pirate, or in any way play or support Hogwarts Legacy, get off my blog. if you refuse to do the bare minimum to support Jewish and transgender people right now, i don't want you here. fuck right off

[theindescribable1]

Clown Daisy redraw

Yeh this is a redraw from the Clown Daisy I drew back in 2023 Spooktober! That one little prompt has become a plushie 🤌

Old drawing under cut 👇

[angel-hole]

but for the grace of god. < >

[nevadaafterdark]

was testing my dog's new lancing device (she has diabetes) just to make sure it worked because i didn't want to accidentally hurt her. so i cocked it and put it on my inner thigh because i don't bleed as easily there. but, i didn't know how much i needed to press down on the button for the lancet to release, and good god the anticipation was better than the actual lancing.

like, yeah, it didn't hurt a lot because it's designed not to, but the buildup to the sting was so fucking good. i need someone to take advantage of that and trace their knife over me, not cutting but just scratching. and i'm just squirming and whining because i want to be cut, i want that pain and they're just building the tension higher and higher until the blade slits my skin open and i nearly cum on the spot 😖😖

[quixoticquark]

Guilt

[murmel-malt]

Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone

[phantom-z0ne]

Chapter 2: Impressions and Investigations

CW: Minor Character Deaths, Corpses, Disfigured bodies, Cults, Blood

Damian was missing and Dick was going crazy.

Damian hasn't responded to any inquiries of his location since he missed his scheduled check in time. It had already been two hours past that and they still didn't have any clue where he was. Last they knew, he was heading towards Chinatown. Damian knew a couple of the locals and regularly visited some animals, mostly cats and dogs but occasionally a bird or two.

They would have been able to track him with his comm, but Damian had modified it so that it was untrackable unless it was being used. Unfortunately, they hadn't learned of it before today. If they were to track him through his comm, they would only have a short time to triangulate his position. Damian stated that he wanted his privacy, likely so he could disobey orders without them realizing. They had allowed it because they trusted his judgment, not to mention they all had their rebellious phase, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

It was unfortunate they didn’t have Barbara helping, she was off on her own mission with the Birds of Prey and not in Gotham. Finding Damian would have been way easier with her help, she was an expert in navigating the surveillance systems around Gotham.

Dick could tell he wasn't the only one concerned about their youngest, the others were worried in their own ways. Jason fidgeted with his gun, which Bruce was just barely tolerating, as he paced the rooftop while Tim ran the diagnostics multiple times, his fingers flying on his wrist hologram.

Cass and Bruce’s unease was less noticeable, the only reason he caught it was that he knew them for such a long time. Bruce double checked his trackers and flew across the roofs in search of Damian. Cass was tense and alternated standing near each of them, subtly clenching her hands into fists as she did.

“Robin, come in.” Bruce demanded, Dick felt the desperation in his voice although it was hidden well. He didn't want to lose another son while Dick didn't want to lose another brother. 

There wasn’t a reply, only the sound of static filled their ears.

Dick sighed, running his hands through his hair. They needed to find Damian quickly. The longer they didn't locate him, the longer his captures had to smuggle him out of the city. If Damian was taken out of the city, it would be infinitely harder to find him. 

He couldn’t let that happen, especially to Damian. He’s already had a tough life, what with how he grew up. His integration into the family was difficult on everyone, B was gone and Tim had chosen to pursue a theory he had thought of at the time insane. Jason wasn’t on talking terms with them at that time and Cass had her own responsibilities across the world. Steph was also busy with juggling her hero and civilian lives, though her attitude towards Damian did turn around in the end.

The comm crackled, faint sounds coming through. Dick jolted, jarred out of his thoughts from the abrupt opening of the comm. Both Cass and Tim’s hands went to their comms as Jason stilled. The shuffling of cloth was most prominent, though he could hear a quiet voice.

“Robin, report. What is your location?” Bruce asked, hope underlying his words.

There was the sound of shuffling before a young, unfamiliar voice sounded, “Is this comm trackable?”

That was not Damian. Did he kidnap Damian and was going to ask for a ransom or gloat? Another also kidnapped alongside Damian? Or perhaps a concerned civilian who had nothing to do with Damian’s disappearance?

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, treating the unknown as a hostile. It was understandable, this was a stranger who possibly abducted his son.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” The voice responded. ‘You can call me Polka?’ Was he implying that Polka wasn’t his name or the only one he goes by? Dick’s siblings crowded closer to Bruce as if they couldn’t hear out of their own comms.

The good news was that they now knew where to search. Most warehouses were either near the docks or the Warehouse District. That meant they had two areas to search if Tim didn't triangulate where Damian’s comm was during the short conversation. He could see Tim hunched over, one hand typing swiftly in his wrist hologram. 

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Bruce said curtly, his cape snapping as he turned to Tim and asked if he captured the location of the comm. Tim gave him a thumbs up and sent the coordinates. 

They piled into their own vehicles and sped their way across the city, heading towards the warehouse Damian was held in. 

They surrounded the warehouse once they arrived, Bruce entering first before they snuck in from different entrance points. Dick shivered slightly as he situated himself behind the boy who Damian was laid out on. His siblings spread out and surrounded the boy from all sides.

The warehouse was a mess, blood pooling from the disfigured bodies laying every which way. Dick could faintly spot a chalk circle underneath a pool of blood. Another cult, he surmised grimly. There have been too many cults running around lately for his liking, though it looked like this one had fallen victim to their own summoning. 

There wasn't much he could tell about the boy from behind, his baggy clothes hiding his frame. His hair was what stood out the most, cropped silver hair. It seemed to almost glow in the dark warehouse. Dick’s attention went back to Bruce who stepped out from the shadows and addressed the boy after taking Damian back into his custody, though he kept an eye out on the boy.

“None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?” The boy asked, standing. That was interesting. Everyone from Gotham knew who Batman was, and even if you weren't, Batman was still a famous figure.

Bruce answered in his signature low voice, obviously gearing up to interrogate the boy. That was his cue to step in. They’ve done this routine before, good cop and bad cop. It was surprisingly successful.

“Happened to find him?” Dick questioned, rolling down from the support beam he was perched on and revealed himself. The boy turned to him, his hair fanning across his face. A black stripe cut into his silvery hair. It was the inverse of Jason’s hair, Dick thought absently. 

The boy’s face was blank, unsurprised to see another vigilante popping up behind him. Dick’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck. It spanned most of the neck and would be most definitely fatal if it was deep enough. The boy was 15, 16 years max. Where would he have gotten a scar like that? Not to mention, he was too calm in this situation. Blood and viscera surrounded him and all he seemed was bored. 

Slight motion to the right made Dick’s eyes snap to the plush on the boy’s shoulder, almost certain that it moved on its own. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

The boy took his time to answer, his face slightly scrunched in thought. Faint sound of movement emerged from his comm but he showed no signs of hearing it.

He pointed to the body of the cultest then to the mound that Dick hadn’t paid much attention to as he answered, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids. They killed the others. Who are you?

Dick heard a sharp inhale, likely in reaction to the dead children. It looked like they were thrown there uncaringly, Dick thought angrily. They were piled on top of each other, some of their limbs bent unnaturally. Most of the injuries were from a slit neck, but there were signs of other injuries. These poor kids were likely tortured first then slaughtered. 

He could see Bruce soften after the boy answered, likely thinking the same things as Dick.

Dick sighed silently, sheathing his escrima sticks as he walked to stand closer to Bruce and Damian. “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?”

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Jason cursed. They were too late, for both the kids and the summoning. Not to mention the ominous name of the being that was summoned. Just what were these cultists planning for summoning such a being? Probably to ‘rid the world of impurities’ like every other cult he came across.

Bruce asked for confirmation of the being, pulling out his ‘victim voice’. It was significantly softer than what he usually spoke as Batman. The boy nodded, affirming their suspicions on the being. Though, where was it? Usually, summoned being raged and caused destruction in their wake, especially ones with such ominous names. There was no sign of this one.

Dick pasted on a smile and bent closer to the boy, “Did you see where the God of the Dead went?” 

The boy nodded as he bit his lips, visibly nervous. It was a bit strange to see such an expression on the child when he was blase for most of the conversation. He leaned forward as the boy cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “He’s still here.” 

Dick felt a shiver race down his spine, one of his siblings sucked in a breath. That was… not good. Was this a trap? Had the God of the Dead been lying in wait and observing them since they had arrived?

The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was tense and ready for battle. Of course, that was when Damian began to stir, calling out to Bruce once he opened his eyes. Bruce adjusted his hold on Damian, beginning to answer Damian before he was cut off by the boy.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Dick most certainly couldn't let a key witness, and a most definitely traumatized child, wander off without supervision. 

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Dick said apologetically. 

The boy did not like that. He crossed his arms and gave them an annoyed look. “Why?”

Jason, Tim, and Cass took this as the perfect time to reveal themselves. They hopped down from their respective posts and gathered near Bruce. Tim, however, aimed for the cultists as he responded, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.” 

The boy's eyes lingered over Cass and Jason before focusing on the latter, his expression curious. Jason obviously noticed but didn't pay it any mind, more interested in fussing over Damian who wasn’t having it, swatting Jason’s hovering hands away. 

“Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”

Jason answered as he finally relented from teasing Damian, “Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” This did nothing to stop the boy from looking apprehensive. Good job, Jason, Dick thought tiredly.

Tim interrupted the boy when he stated that the cultists were, in fact, not dead. It blindsided Dick. Many of the cultists were in pieces as others had bled enough to be six feet under.

Damian looked mildly curious as Bruce and Tim questioned the survival of the cultists, likely thinking over the logistics of how they still lived. Eventually, Bruce asked Tim to alert the hospital and GCPD. They wouldn't be arriving in a long while, it was still Gotham after all.

Dick walked over to them as they discussed the boy and the cultist, hearing the tail end of Tim’s suspicions. 

“—clearly up with him. Despite the situation he’s in, he is unusually calm.”

That was true, not many kids were so nonchalant about almost being ritually sacrificed. Or seeing mangled bodies and pools of blood laying around.

Dick glanced at the boy—he really should be calling him Polka by now, since it was the only name he was given—seeing him grow red-faced as he spoke with Jason. 

The almost silent crackle of a radio signaled their time was up, they needed to leave before the police arrived. 

Herding Polka out of the building and out of sight was easy, all they needed to do was avoid cameras and stick to the shadowed side of the alley. Those who saw the group were quick to run away.

Losing Polka, however, was not something Dick expected to happen. They all were hyper aware of their surroundings, and in turn, the kid. How he managed to disappear under the scrutiny of six highly trained vigilantes, Dick didn't know. 

They had to admit defeat after searching the area and beyond for an hour and a half, Damian being sent back for an examination despite his objections early into their search, and trudge back to the cave unsuccessful. 

Dick watched Jason walk into the infirmary—jokingly nicknamed the “batfirmary” by Steph— and remove his helmet from his seat next to Damian’s cot. Steph walked in after him, plopping down on the end of the mattress next to Jason and ignored Damian’s hissed demands for them to get off. 

Cass slunk in a moment later, Tim behind her. He was still typing on his wrist computer as he sat on the opposite side of Damian. Cass leaned on the arm of his chair, gazing curiously at the screen.

Off to the right, through a sliver of the thick cloth that blocked the med bay, sat Bruce. The light from the Batcomputer illuminated his bent figure. 

Dick pursed his lips, not liking the expression that crossed his father’s face. Whenever there were children involved, Bruce always got into a mood. It wasn’t that the rest of them didn’t, but Bruce’s mood was always the worst. He wouldn't accept any food or comfort until he solved the case and got justice for the innocent children. 

As his child and fellow vigilante, Dick couldn't let Bruce neglect himself like that, least of all when it wasn’t his fault the children died. He stood, walking over to Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, offering all the comfort that was allowed. Bruce gave him a weary smile.

“You should join us.” Dick said, retracting his hand to cross his arms. “It does you no good just sitting here. Damian needs you right now.” 

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I need to give those children justice.”

“Bruce, they aren’t going anywhere. You need to focus on the child in front of you.” Dick winced at how that came out. “I mean, Damian should be your priority right now. He’s recovering from being kidnapped!”

“You're right.” Bruce sighed, straightening his back slightly. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

Dick walked back to his seat, pleased with the sound of Bruce’s footsteps behind him. He watched as Damian’s face brightened when he spotted his father, and the subsequent haughty look he made to cover it up. 

“How are you doing, Damian?” Bruce asked, sitting on the cot. 

“I am fine, Father. It was just a scratch.” Damian answered, lifting his chin then frowning. “I didn't need to be hauled to the infirmary. I could have helped track down the boy.”

“We had to check if the cultist had done anything else to you. Would you rather not know if they had? And how did they manage to even snatch you anyways?” Tim intervened, crossing his legs as he looked up from his wrist computer. 

“They used defenseless animals against me.” Dick almost cooed at Damian’s pout. He was always glad to see Damian act his age. 

“What kinds of animals?” Steph leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. 

“… Kittens.” Damian admitted quietly.

“They lured you in with kittens?!” Jason said hysterically. Muffled snorts came from all around, Dick himself wasn't exempt from laughing either. Everyone but Jason quickly pasted on an innocent face when Damian furiously glared at them, he didn't bother covering up his laughter. Even Bruce seemed amused, his eyes darting between them with a fond look on his face.

“Do you remember what happened?” Cass signed. Dick could tell she was still worried about Damian, the sides of her eyes were creased and her lips held together tightly.

“I passed out after I was hit over the head.” Damian began, the bedding clenched in his fists. “I remember waking up a couple of times but it wasn't for long. The last time I awoke, the boy was there.”

Bruce put his hand over Damian, his lips pursed. He clearly didn't like how his son was treated, and looking around, none of them were. “Did he do anything?”  

“He told me to rest.” Damian said simply, brows furrowed.

“And you did?” Tim asked, dumbfounded. Dick was just as confused, Damian barely took orders from them that he deemed unnecessary, so him listening to a random civilian? It was unheard of.

“That was the strange thing. The moment he told me to, I was overwhelmed with drowsiness. I couldn't help falling asleep.”

A magic user? Dick thought speculatively. Or perhaps a meta? There were many abilities that could cause someone to fall unconscious with just a word, and just as many with aftereffects. Dick prayed that there weren’t any lasting effects on Damian, he wasn't sure what he would do if there were.

“I knew there was something up with him!” Tim announced, jumping up from his seat. “The fact that he was so calm in such a bloody environment was the first clue. Why would he be calm, let alone stay in that warehouse, when he was abducted and watched others be sacrificed? Plus, despite telling us the Corpse God—or God of the Dead, whatever— there was no sign of the being other than the cultist’s dismangled bodies. Why did he lie?” He paced back and forth, letting his theories flow like water.

Cass knocked on the wall, gathering their attention. She signed, “He didn’t lie.”

“He didn’t?” Dick questioned, understandably confused.

She shook her head, “He was truthful the whole time, but was he hiding something.” 

“He could have been misleading you.” Steph crossed her arms. “He was being pretty vague in the recordings I watched. Plus, some of his words could have been taken in a different way.”

“That's true. The way he slipped away from us wasn’t something a civilian could do. Even a meta would be hard pressed to disappear from right under our noses.” Jason spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I’ll call Zatanna.” Bruce sighed, getting up from his seat. “Get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“He’s right. We need to conserve our energy for interrogating Polka tomorrow.” Dick ushered his disgruntled sibling towards the staircase leading to the manor.

Once he was sure they were in their rooms, Jason deciding it was too late to go to his own safehouse, he returned to the cave. Damian was unsurprisingly still awake, his stubbornness fighting against his weariness. 

Dick dimmed the lights of the cave and headed towards the infirmary. Giving his brother a quick peck on the forehead and tucking him in, much to Damian’s displeasure, he grabbed a tablet and wrote up a report next to the cot. He made sure to include his sibling’s theories in the notes margin.

Soft muttering sounded off to the side, behind the infirmary’s curtain. After making sure Damian was asleep, Dick crept towards the sound. Around the corner, Bruce’s frustrated voice spoke. He ended the call a minute after he spotted Dick leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

“Constantine?”

“Zatanna was busy.” Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He was clearly tired after the eventful day, but Bruce would continue working despite his complaints, Dick bitterly thought. He shook his head, now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. 

Dick hummed and walked towards the Batcomputer. He sat down, Bruce a couple feet away typing away on another monitor. He transferred his half finished report to the computer in front of him, finding a keyboard easier to write with than a tablet. 

He let out a yawn. He had been up for more than twenty four hours, most of that time spent patrolling and studying cases in the Batcave. He laid his head on his arms, a quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

Distantly, he felt a heavy weight cover him. He let out a murmur of thanks for the blanket and fell asleep, not hearing the whispered response. 

The insistent buzzing of the tablet woke him. He stretched, his back popping, before unlocking the tablet. A gasp escaped him once he laid eyes on the screen.

“Uh, B? You’ll need to see this.” Bruce looked at him in question before rolling closer, eyes widening slightly once he read the article.

In strikingly bold letters, the headline was “JOKER MAULED BY THE UNDEAD”.

Wrote a large chunk of this months ago and just sat on it since I didn't know how to write batfam interactions. I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out :)

<< Chapter 1 | Masterpost | Chapter 3 >>

[starlystudios]

I haven’t done Star Wars in a fair bit so,,, I have returned, I guess. Have my favourite trash grandpa.

Was originally gonna draw a biblically (canonically) accurate outfit, but then I was upset at the lack of contrast to see his clothes properly and it all spiralled down from there – so have him with a bit of a lightning motif and more silver

[keeps-ache]

the kinda gal to stick around

[pmpwbrrs]

couldnt find a template i like so i made my own . also rushed

[sqebu]

Well, here's Ravinder. I hope he's moé to you.

He's an artist but also works (worked) at one of those health food stores with questionable vitamins.

Also

Something like this btw, if you even care

[cherriesandcharms]

i finished the main game so now im moving onto trespasser and wanted to share the change in my inquisitor since gaining the title

Vir'nadas before and after solas

[phantom-z0ne]

"A bright flash of light blinded him as he landed on his feet, bending his knees to brace for the impact. The first thing he noticed was the sound of wailing and the wetness beneath his shoes. There were small, child sized shades reaching toward a group dressed in black robes, hoods obscuring their faces. The hooded figures whispered between themselves after he arrived, seeming delighted when they saw him. Their souls ballooning in anticipation and fervent joy. Distantly, he could tell the robed figures were asking something of him in excitement, but Polka was focused on the group of shades crowding around him. They latched onto his clothes, crying thick black tears. ‘Help us’, they asked, pawing at him, ‘Save us!’" Or, Polka and Corpse God are summoned into the DCU and give more than a few heroes headaches.

Chapter 1: Promises

CW: Minor Character Deaths, sacrificial murder, cults, blood and ghosts

The faint tugging sensation in his gut was what tipped him off that something was wrong. Even the real Polka seemed to understand something was off, his plush body moving from side to side, seeking out what he previously detected. Polka scanned his surroundings, Takumi typing away on his computer while Misaki chatted away with Sayo. He could sense Xiaoyu toiling away in the kitchen, Civil and his friends training in the basement. Nothing was out of place and yet he still felt apprehensive.

A sharper tug stole a gasp from him, the background noise of talking paused as his friends turned to look at him. It was as if there was a string tied to his ribs and someone pulling, trying to attract his attention. The longer it went on, the more painful it felt.

The soft body of his brother rubbed against Polka’s cheek, aura conveying the real Polka’s worry and slight curiosity. He softly petted the shark body in reassurance, turning to his friends to do the same when a harsher yank arrived, shoving him to his knees. He turned his gaze down, noticing the magical circle beneath his feet that definitely wasn't there a moment before. Was he being attacked again? By who?

Takumi and Misaki stood with a shout of his name, beginning to approach him. He splayed his hand in front of him, “Don't get closer!” They paused.

Who knows what this magic circle would do, he didn't recognize what its purpose was and didn't want his friends to be caught up in it. How he was connected to it was a different story.

Turning his gaze inwards, Polka took a good look at his soul. His soul was standard looking for a necromancer, a grayish silver color, almost like mercury. There was a thin yet steadily growing thread binding him to the magic circle. It didn't appear to have much power over him but the little it did wanted him to complete its purpose. From what little of the archaic runes he could interpret, this was a type of transportation array. It would bring him to a specified area the creator designed it to. 

Unfortunately, there was little he could do in this situation. He couldn’t shake this circle off with what little magic he had remaining after the fight with Civil, but he also didn't want to just go wherever he would be transported. 

The circle pulled more insistently, Polka sinking slightly into the magic circle. He wouldn't be able to resist much longer at this rate. The real Polka wiggled frantically, his friends also in various states of alarm.

“I’ll be back soon.” Polka reassured his friends. He wasn't planning on sticking around the area he would be transported. It would be better to conserve his magic and use it for defense then just use it up resisting. If he had more magic, he would have been able to sever the connection between him and the magic circle.

A shout of ‘Wait—’ hit his ears as Polka let go of his tight hold on his magic, letting the magic circle overwhelm his form, encasing him in thick black strands. It pulled him into the circle, darkness surrounding him on all sides. 

Weightlessness came over him before he was quickly pulled downward, his clothes whipping around in the non-existent wind. It felt as if he was falling down a vertical tunnel. He had to grab the shark plush his brother was housed in before it was blown away. It stayed like that for a while, Polka falling for an indefinite time, waiting to finally land.

A bright flash of light blinded him as he landed on his feet, bending his knees to brace for the impact. The first thing he noticed was the sound of wailing and the wetness beneath his shoes. There were small, child sized shades reaching toward a group dressed in black robes, hoods obscuring their faces. The hooded figures whispered between themselves after he arrived,seeming delighted when they saw him. Their souls ballooning in anticipation and fervent joy.  

Polka pulled his attention back to the spirits. They were new, probably created at most an hour ago. Their expressions were full of grief and confusion. They solidified the longer he stared, likely realizing he could see them. 

Distantly, he could tell the robed figures were asking something of him in excitement, but Polka was focused on the group of shades crowding around him. They latched onto his clothes, crying thick black tears. ‘Help us’ , they asked, pawing at him, ‘Save us!’

Looking around the shades, he saw a small pile. In the dim lighting, it was hard to make out. Taking a step closer, his shoes squelched from the sticky floor. He was stepping in a dark puddle, the overwhelming scent of iron revealed the liquid as blood. Tracing the blood with his eyes, it led to the pile. The pile of deceased children. Oh. The shark plush on his shoulder shivered, obviously unsettled from the image.

“Oh Great God of the Dead, Corpse God, Devourer of Souls. We summoned you here today to ask of you to fulfill your glorious purpose.” Polka snapped his attention back to the robed group. One of the figures was a few steps ahead of the rest, speaking as the head of the group.

“My purpose.” Polka said flatly. The shades gathered around this person the most, anger and sorrow warring in their auras as they clawed at the figure’s robes. 

“To rid the world of impurities, of course!” The robed figure responded, clasping their hands fervently. The other members of the cult—it was quite obvious that it was a cult now that he took a closer look—bowed behind their leader, rubbing their hands together in prayer.

Polka narrowed his eyes, scanning the scene before him. The cultists surrounded him semicircle as he stood in a summoning array made from the blood of children. It was sickening.

One of the spirits, this one slightly older than the rest, lightly poked his shoulder. When he turned to them, they pointed to the side of the room. A young boy dressed in bright colors lay motionless, tied to the pillar. A steady stream of blood was dripping to the floor from a head wound.

He would have let them go had they not harmed children. Had they not sacrificed them in his name. He wouldn't kill them but let them live in agony. Let them think about what they’ve done, Polka thought vindictively.

“I see.” The leader’s hood rode up, showing an ecstatic smile that dropped when Polka lifted his hand towards him. Behind Polka, an unnaturally white skeleton arm came through a black dripping magic circle alongside a duplicate of it.

The arms crushed the leader, twisting his body into knots. A shrill scream signaled the rest of the cult to run for safety, Polka looked on unbothered as he gave the cult the same treatment as their leader. Eventually, the only sound in the warehouse was the faint breathing of the injured boy and moans of pain, though many of the cultists had already fallen unconscious from pain.

The spirits swarmed him after he dispelled the skeletal arms. Their aura’s lightening, some giving him a quick smile and a ‘Thank you’ before fading. He had gotten their revenge for them, it wasn't surprising that they decided to go to the beyond. 

A few shades held their hands out to him, feeling satisfied. He grasped their hands, feeding on their staying energy as they said their goodbye to him. The staying energy he just gathered replenished the magic he used earlier from his small reserves. Finally, it was just Polka, his brother, and the injured boy in the warehouse. 

The boy’s dark complexion was covered by the blood pouring from his head wound. Polka wouldn't be able to heal it without turning that part of his body into a corpse and he wouldn’t do that without the boy’s consent. 

Though the boy felt different from a regular human, a heavy sense of death covered him. He was most likely a revenant, he could still feel the aura of life in the boy. The energies were twined, both life and death mixed together in his aura.

Polka untied the boy, catching him when he fell onto him. The boy blearily opened his eyes, unfocused as he asked, “Grayson?” The shark plush looked away from the mess made of the cultists and towards the boy, finally taking the time to observe the young boy. He was worried, the feeling emanating from his aura. There was also a faint recognition.

“No.” Polka answered calmly.

The boy was alarmed, Polka noted, sluggishly struggling to extract himself from Polka’s hold. 

“Rest.” Polka placed his hand over the boy’s forehead, the boy’s eyes going wide before he slumped back into Polka’s embrace, eyes fluttering shut.

Polka took the time to assess the rest of the boy's wounds, checking him over and finding that the head wound was the only injury the boy had. It was sluggishly bleeding still.

Polka conjured a roll of gauze, applying to the boy’s wound and taping it closed. Now, he needed to figure out what to do with the boy. He couldn't just leave him lying unconscious in this warehouse for anyone to find.

The buzz of a comm answered that problem, a deep voice questioned “Robin, report. What is your location?” He paused, likely waiting for a response before repeating the message. Clearly, the boy, Robin, knew this man which meant it would be safe to hand responsibility of Robin over to him.

Polka plucked the comm from the boy’s ear, asking, “Is this comm trackable?”

“Who are you?” The voice demanded, on the edge of hostility.

“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” Polka responded calmly, not taking the hostility to heart. The man was clearly worried about Robin being in the presence of a stranger.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Polka shrugged and sat down against the pillar, placing Robin’s head in his lap. He fiddled with his brother’s plush boy, speaking with him. He wondered what the relationship between the man and Robin was. Were they father and son? Related? Or just had a mentor-mentee relationship? He shared his thoughts with his brother, who responded as best as he could.

In no time at all, a large man cloaked in black emerged from a shadowy corner of the warehouse. If he didn’t know better, Polka would have thought the man was using shadow magic. He was a bit surprised that the man was another revenant. The way life and death swirled around him was similar to Robin’.

He could sense the presence of four more people surrounding him, but couldn't see any of them. They hid themselves well, but unfortunately for them he could see their souls. They were obviously worried about Robin and wary of him. 

Polka stopped stroking Robin’s hair as the man strode up to him, looming over him menacingly. The man was quick to scoop Robin up and distance himself from Polka. Although Polka couldn’t see his eyes, he could tell that they bore into him intently. Polka stared back at the man impassively, tilting his head slightly. 

He felt a strange aura surrounding the man, a mixture of malevolent and benevolent emotions. Stretching his senses, he could feel it from the other four presences, though there was a higher amount of malevolence surrounding two of the presences. Had someone cursed them?

“What intentions do you have with Robin?” the man asked.

Polka shifted to his feet, placing the shark plush back in his hood as he stood, “None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?”

The man gave him a long look and said curtly, “Batman.” Polka felt his brother perk up at that. 

“Happened to find him?” A voice behind him asked, a man in a skintight black suit with a blue emblem stood behind him, smiling as he rolled two escrima sticks in his hands casually. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”

Polka hummed, thinking on how to explain this. He can't expose his magic, that would be disastrous, but he isn't sure how to say he got here without magic. Plus, he was a terrible liar so he couldn't do that. But what he could do was shift the blame and tell the truth. Only, he would be omitting some details.

He pointed to the blood, balled up cultists, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids.” He pointed at the mountain of bodies, “They killed the others. Who are you ?”

The two men slightly softened at that, grief and guilt coming off of them in waves once they saw the children’s bodies. He sheathed his weapons as he walked to stand closer to Robin and Batman and asked, “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?” Polka’s brother was clearly excited, did he know these people?

“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Polka replied evenly.

“They summoned what they called the God of the Dead?” Batman asked, his voice softer than before. 

Polka nodded, “That's what they called him. He’s the one who did that to the cultists.” He mimed balling up a paper. The man frowned while Nightwing looked thoughtful.

“Did you see where the God of the Dead went?” Nightwing asked after he plastered a warm smile on his face and bent down to be closer to Polka’s height.

Polka bit his lips, thinking of a way to phrase it without lying. Polka slowly nodded, eyes darting around as he feigned nervousness. He leaned towards the younger man and cupped his hand to his mouth, loudly whispering, “He’s still here.”

Alarm filled the warehouse sharply, the two men tensing. In contrast, his brother was gleeful, probably finding humor from him lying by omission to these people, though he was a bit apprehensive with the situation.

The interrogation was broken by Robin stirring. Robin quietly uttered, “Father…?” His voice was hoarse. So Polka’s theory was right, they were father and son. 

“Robin—” The man began, maneuvering Robin to a more seated position.

“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Polka interrupted, sticking his thumb towards the exit.

“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Nightwing said, giving him an apologetical look. Polka pursed his lips, not wishing to stay any longer. He had to get back to Takumi and Misaki. They were undoubtedly searching for him and probably worried out of their minds.

“Why?” Polka asked, crossing his arms. 

The three presences exposed themselves, walking towards their colleagues(?). One of them, dressed in a red and black suit with a long cape, answered, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.” 

The other two hovered around Robin and his father, one dressed in a full black suit, her mask stitched together over the mouth. The other was dressed in a leather jacket and had guns holstered on his thighs, a red helmet covered his head. It was clear that he had killed many, the heavy stench of death covered him. From what Polka could feel, he had probably taken hundreds of lives.

What Polka wasn’t expecting, though, was for him to be a zombie. Was there another necromancer around who resurrected him? It would be troublesome if they turned out to be his enemy. What was the coincidence that three people, probably family from the looks of it, all died and came back? Not to mention all of them having some connection with death?

If he went with them, the holes in his story would be blown wide open. He couldn't have that.

Polka tore his eyes away from the zombie and towards the one in red and black who was looking over the cultist bodies. “Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.” 

“Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” The zombie huffed, his voice coming out distorted, likely from the helmet. Polka paused, worried about what he got himself in. He should have just left the moment they arrived.

“What do you—” Polka started.

“They're alive!” The one dressed in red and black exclaimed, claiming the room's attention. 

“How.” Robin’s father growled. Robin looked on curiously, though obviously still out of it.

“I'm not sure. Their limbs are broken and twisted into knots but they’re obviously still alive. From the amount of blood spilt, they should be dead.” He replied, poking one of the cultists' body and earning a groan in return.

That's true, a regular body shouldn't have survived. Polka had just made sure that they would survive and face the consequences for their actions. They shouldn't have slaughtered so many children, Polka thought coldly.

“Black Bird, call the hospital and alert the police of what happened. Let's go.” Robin’s father barked.

Black Bird nodded, quickly typing away at what appeared to be a small computer embedded in his glove. Once he was finished, he stood and walked towards Robin's father and the one in blue, talking in hushed whispers with them. They gestured between him, the pile of children’s bodies, and the cultists as they spoke. 

Polka was left standing near the other two strangers, studying them once more as gestured towards one another. “What are your names?” He asked, looking between the one in a red helmet and the one with a stitched mouth mask.

“Never been in Gotham, kid?” The zombie questioned, sounding a bit incredulous. Polka shook his head, earning a huff from him. The one in black tilted her head curiously.

“I'm Red Hood and that's Black Bat.” Red Hood stuck his thumb at Black Bat who waved at him. Polka waved back.

“What's its name?” The zombie pointed to the plush his brother was stored in after a lull in the conversation.

Polka paused. He hadn’t ever thought of a name to present to others when asked. He blurted out, “Polka Jr.”

His face heated, a little mortified that was the first thing he thought of. 

The zombie snorted, or at least what Polka thought was a snort. It was hard to tell with the helmet's distortion. “You name all your plushies after yourself?” 

“No. Just this one.” Polka answered as he was led towards the back alley behind the warehouse. Robin’s father said earlier to ‘Report back to the cave’ after a couple minutes of casual conversation. 

Polka was surrounded by the strangers, the zombie and the one in all black behind him and Robin, Robin’s father and the one in blue walked in front of him. If he wanted to escape without ruining his cover, he would have to take a chance soon. 

They walked down the winding alleys, anyone standing in the alleys would scramble away the moment they saw the group. He could see a sleek black car parked just around the corner. If he used his magic at the right time, he could conceal himself and make a run for it.

It was when he turned the corner and the ones behind him had yet to do so that he had the chance. He deployed his magic, covering himself in shadows and augmented his body. He dashed towards an empty alleyway and stuck to the shadowy walls, hearing shouts of surprise behind him.

It was only after evading the group for twenty minutes straight that he slowed down, reasoning that they were likely off his trail already. He came to a stop near the opening of the alley, leaning on the wall after he dispelled his magic, panting as he let himself regain his breath. 

He had noticed this already, but there seemed to be a higher amount of mana here than in the real Polka’s world, almost rivaling his homeworld. Not to mention the amount of spirits he passed along the way. There were way less spirits in Japan than wherever he was now.

Even now, he could see a ghost across the street from him, haunting an apartment building. What had happened in this city for there to be so many spirits?

Once he had finished resting, Polka raised his hood, gently pushing the shark plush to his shoulder. 

He spotted a payphone not long after he joined the rush in the streets, and was reminded that he didn't have his phone on him. It was on the table back home and he didn't have the time nor energy to grab it before he was taken.

What he did have, though, was his wallet. He should have enough money to be able to make a call with Takumi or Misaki. Polka entered the booth and followed the instructions printed on the wall. Entering Takumi’s number, Polka waited for the call to connect.

What came instead was an automated message that said ‘The number you have tried to reach does not exist. Please check the number you have typed in and try again.’ When he tried Misaki’s number, the same message popped up. 

Polka frowned, he’s called both Takumi and Misaki’s number with different phones before and this had never happened before. Which means it wasn’t a problem with their phones, it was a problem with where he was summoned.

From the feel of the mana in the air and the strangely large amount of spirits, it was safe to assume that he was in another world. If this had happened before he was reincarnated, he wouldn't have come to such a conclusion. It's only because he was reincarnated that he knew that other worlds were possible.

Polka looked to the sky after he exited the booth, it was getting late and he’d need a place to stay for the night. Not to mention a large reservoir of magic to create a gateway back to his home. With the amount of spirits around, he doubted he would have much of a problem with gathering magic.

He decided to follow the largest signature of negative energy, there were most likely going to be spirits there. Usually when there are a large amount of spirits, the building is typically abandoned. 

He was right, pursuing it led him to an abandoned warehouse next to the docks. The amount of spirits was a bit astonishing, the last time he saw such a large quantity of ghosts was when he visited the mass grave of a town murdered by demons.

Entering the building, the ghosts crowded around him, some begging for help while others simply curious. Many of the ghosts were on the younger side, young adults and children, their faces bleached and mouths forced into a bloody smile.

He gave them a sympathetic look and asked, “Who did this to you?”

A cacophony of voices answered, many simply saying ‘Him’ while others repeated one name over and over. Joker.

One man killing this many people was troublesome, especially when they were so young. Polka hummed, coming to a decision and raising his hand towards the ghosts, “I’ll find him and avenge all of you. In exchange, I need your energy.” 

Many of the ghosts wailed, their aura fluctuating between happiness and wariness, obviously overjoyed that someone would avenge them but not quite trusting him yet.

“It's a promise.” Polka said, stretching his hand out more. Many of the ghosts looked between each other. Some came to him quickly, accepting his offer and passing on to the other side. Others deliberated, hesitant to believe him yet yearning to trust his promise if not him.

Eventually, Polka grasped their staying energy, watching as the final group of ghosts faded. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, letting the converted magic flow through him. He made a promise and he would act on it, he never broke a promise.

But first things first, he needed to rest, he was tired. Polka searched the warehouse and found a secluded room, no one would be going in without him knowing. 

He conjured a mattress with a couple of blankets and pillows and placed them in the center of the room. Setting up a protection and surveillance array, Polka flopped onto the mattress and placed his brother next to him. 

Polka is lucky that the world he was summoned to was so similar to his new world. Having to navigate a completely unfamiliar world would be really troublesome, he didn't want to deal with that again. 

Polka turned to his side. He needed to rest, he’ll have a busy day tomorrow. He had a killer to hunt down after all.

Happy (very late) New Year! Enjoy the chapter!!

Masterpost | Chapter 2 >>

[eclecticmiasma]

Knife Play (Scaramouche x Reader)

Flesh is fascinating to a doll.

NSFW

[Warnings: blood, restraint, gore, noncon, reference to medical equipment, dead dove: do not eat, scaramouche is his own warning, sort of ended up being more blood play than knife play woops]

Pale fingers grip the cracked brick wall Scaramouche steadies himself against, leaning forward as far as he dares to catch even a glimpse of your flesh splitting.

"This one has grown quite deep..." Your response is immediate- a short, sharp cry ringing out above his colleague's musings as your skin is cut. It sends a shudder through Scaramouche, an electric tingling over the surface of his skin as if it's a misfire of the delusion at his hip. His lips are glistening with saliva as he worries them with an eager tongue.

Slow down, you fool, even his internal dialogue sounds desperate. He'd throttle the other Harbinger if he could. Time and time again he's watched as the Doctor hurriedly flicks your skin apart with the edge of his blade as if he's merely tearing an envelope. Of course a cretin like him wouldn't be able to conceptualize of the pure, organic beauty writhing beneath his instruments. Even the Doctor's clones had flesh, sinew, blood- they would never be able to appreciate the human body in the way that Scaramouche could.

Take a knife to the sixth Harbinger and all you will receive is disappointment. It would hurt- he'd found as much long ago- but the layer's of his outer casing would unceremoniously re-bind and life would go on.

Humans, however, are a flash of color when they're split apart. Layers of viscera too intricate to comprehend for most. It's mesmerizing. Were it up to Scaramouche, he would savor the look in your eyes as his scalpel penetrated your flesh. He'd feel the racing of your heartbeat against his own chest devoid of such an organ. Your blood on his blade, his hands, his cock-

"Please...Archons..." You beg so softly, defeated, and all Scaramouche hears is is please. Yes, beg, he thinks, thrown into the illusion. As long as his eyes stay trained on the carving tool, overhead light bouncing from its surface as it's turned again and again, it's no effort at all to imagine that your small cries of pain are actually whimpers of need. He can visualize so vividly his own body baring down on you now, he deserves it to be reality.

"It's too much," Your voice cracks and you strain. Scaramouche doesn't even hear the Harbinger's voice as he assures you it's almost over, his own thoughts leaping through the scene in his minds eye. Bleed for me. Scaramouche palms his stiffening member, bracing against the wall as a familiar twinge grows in his gut. The operating table is stained red, you're moaning so sweetly in his ear as he nicks your skin again and again and again.

"I can't, I can't-" Suddenly, the Doctor stops and hums in approval. Scaramouche's nails nearly crack as they dig into the brick beneath them. He can't already be finished... There's a brief conversation between the Doctor and one of his segments as bits of your removed Eleazar are tossed unceremoniously into a dish and whisked away. Rage flares in the sixth Harbinger's gut. He had waited so patiently for your Eleazar to return, bidden his time night after night for the Doctor to wheel you in for removal. It hadn't even lasted five minutes.

"As I mentioned, the nodule had burrowed itself quite deep this time. Its removal was relatively straight-forward, but we'll have to try a new approach with your treatment regimen."

"But-" Before you can say another word the Doctor turns on his heel and begins to depart. From his position hidden in the back of the room, Scaramouche fails to see the flash of his colleague's pointed teeth.

"Rest a while. I'll be back with a mixture that should at least prevent that nodule from returning in say...oh, an hour."

Heavy silence falls on the operating room as its thick, metal door swings shut. Scaramouche curses under his breath, slamming a fist against the wall at his side. Months of anticipation, for this?

As he chews his inner cheek, simmering in self-pity, Scaramouche glances up to see you laying helpless in the center of the room, illuminated by a bright spotlight trained on your barely clothed form. He takes a cautious step forward, realizing that you can't see a thing in the surrounding darkness.

Then, he sees it. In all its glistening glory, a scalpel stained red lays on a metal table at your bedside, open for the taking. He swallows hard, inching closer and closer, throat suddenly bone dry.

An hour.

His hand clamps over your mouth before you can even register he's there, muffling a surprised yelp. Like a man possessed, he snatches the scalpel from its resting place and holds it up to the light above. Your blood dribbles down the blade's shaft before dripping onto the floor below. Scaramouche swallows again.

The room is nearly spinning as elation takes its hold. Without a second thought the Harbinger hikes himself onto the operating table and seats himself between your legs, running his eyes down the length of your body before returning to your face. He grins wildly as your chest heaves, body writhing to try and get away, fruitlessly jerking at the restraints on your wrists and ankles. Suddenly, he recalls that he's never heard a single sound from this room and removes his hand from your lips. Your sobs of fear are like music.

With his other hand now free, he hikes up the tattered gown that adorns you even higher than it had been and groans aloud as the sight of the Doctor's previous work reveals itself. On your inner thigh sits a dark, weeping mark crudely made by the scalpel Scaramouche now wields. He reaches out to touch it with his finger tips and you gasp in pain, bucking up unknowingly into his clothed length.

Warm. It's all he can think, over and over. All of this time he never thought that blood would feel like anything else but water. He rubs the viscous fluid between the pads of his index finger and thumb, mesmerized at the texture. How could a fool like the Doctor not see the beauty in his work?

"Wh-what do you want?" Your voice is so small, trembling. Tears wet your cheeks just like in his fantasies. Scaramouche is beaming, eyes wild, caging you in with his body. You gasp in pain as his thigh brushes against yours, cloth dragging against your open wound.

"I have to know what it feels like," He mumbles, dragging his open palm along the goose-pimpled expanse of your unmarred abdomen. With his other hand, he traces the inside of your other thigh with the tip of his scalpel. You shake your head violently, not entirely sure what he means.

"Shhh..." Hot air envelopes your ear as the stranger's lips hover just above its shell, "You should be grateful...to be used by me," A strangled sound escapes you as Scaramouche pushes forward, blade slipping into your flesh and setting your nerves ablaze. The way it feels as it punctures through jolts the Harbinger's cock alive and he keens. It was better than anything he had ever imagined. Humans are so fragile, so much more fragile than he, and just the thought of it fills him with adrenaline.

"Stop, stop!" You cry. Your heart is racing so fast that Scaramouche wonders if it might just stop. He looks down to see a rivulet of crimson trail down your bare skin from the deep cut he's made and he nearly laughs with delight.

Again, he presses his blade to new places on your flesh and again he watches with frenzied awe as boundless color springs forth. Some cuts are shallow, some deeper than he means to make them. He can't help but shamelessly rut against the valley between your thighs as he slices you again and again and again.

When there's no more room for openings, he tosses the scalpel to the side and presses his hands to all of the dribbling cuts on your body. You aren't coherent anymore as he smears crimson up and down your thighs and abdomen, as he rambles about the raw beauty of human flesh and how eternally grateful you should be to be able to please him like this.

"I want to see-" He mutters against your neck, freeing his cock from the confines of his under garments and dragging it along your marred skin, "-your insides..." The sixth Harbinger moans, imagining slicing you open right here and now to poke and prod at whatever lies beneath, "It would be a...worthy sacrifice..."

The thought of how warm and wet the cavernous opening between your ribs would be is enough to send Scaramouche toppling, and he stills against you. Warmth spreads over your thigh as he finally releases, and he reels back to watch in awe as spurts of clouded semen meld into pink pools on your skin.

Before he can even begin to come down, bright light floods the operating room as its door swings open. The Doctor waltzes in, arms behind his back. Though he doesn't feign surprise, he does feign concern as he shakes his head at Scaramouche, who sits coated in your blood and still quivering between your legs.

"Well, well. It looks like our dear sixth just couldn't help himself," He looks to one of his younger segments, who flashes him a devious grin in response, "If you wanted to be my assistant, little puppet, you should have just asked."

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload. please consider reblogging, as mature content is often buried by Tumblr!

[Genshin Masterlist]