#pet prince prisoner

[rubysparx]

Ok fine fine fine I’ll share my takes with the class.

FIRST OF ALL THO. Jrwi art dump coming soon MAYBE.

Okay anyway I see everyone saying butch Arthur Bennet which is fucking awesome, I love that, but I have to inform the masses that while listening on my own time I decided he’s transhet and I am attached to this concept now sory </3 I’ve also seen everyone talking abt Emizel and Soda and idk what’s going on behind the scenes with that so I will just believe you, yeah he’s gay. I thought about saying he’s bi but as it happens I was once again projecting.. also I think he’s nonbinary but not yet. Like he’s having what happened to Jonathan Archives. The horrors occur and you die but don’t really die but there are more horrors so you never really have time to process the feeling of being not a man as in not human and also just literally not a man. Ok last one forgive me for my insanity I think Prince Shilo is cis and sucks abt it. I think gender roles are baked into him but he also thinks they don’t apply to him or apply differently bc he is royalty . Heteronormativity isn’t real with vampires tho in fact I’d even bet on homonormativity. Yeah he’s gay, he’s flirty with his guards, yeah.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, kidnapping, syringes, hitting, bloodshed, attempted rape, lots of blood, sylus goes a tad bit crazy, pet names like kitten, sweetie, doll, little mouse, stalking,

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel

AN: I decided to make this chapters theme red since it fits the bloodiness of this chapter. This is on A03 as well! Also YALL I'm so sorry, apparently my taglist hasn't been tagging people correctly. It should be fixed now! I’ll go back and fix it on the other lists as well!! Per usual, heed the warnings and enjoy! Next chapter is definitely going to have lots of smut, I’m already writing it 😌

"Your tears, your pain, your misery," Sylus whispers, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy as his hand moves gently to your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen, his touch both tender and terrifying. "It all belongs to me."

“I am the only one who gets to see you cry”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.6

The darkness had swallowed you whole. When you blink your eyes open, the world is a blur, as though you’re caught between waking and a nightmare. Cold, sharp and biting, is the first thing you feel, seeping into your skin from the damp concrete beneath you. Your nightgown is soaked, sticking to your body, the freezing water from the shower still dripping slowly from the showerhead, an eerie rhythm to the otherwise oppressive silence.

It takes a moment before the memories resurface, and when they do, they crash over you like a wave. The basement. Reese. The other man. The betrayal. Your heart clenches painfully as you recall the way Reese had looked at you when he led you here, his guilt ridden face made you scowl.

How dare he have a conscious when he had led you to your very demise? You had trusted him. Told him about your kidnapping, your escape. He had listened with kind eyes, nodding in all the right places, making you believe he was different—that he was your salvation in a world that had turned cruel. He had seemed so genuine, offering you a place to stay, a promise of safety. But now, that memory feels like poison, a twisted mockery of the trust you had so willingly given him.

How could you have been so naive?

You groan as you try to sit yourself upright, every muscle in your body protesting with sharp pain. The cold has seeped so deeply into your bones that it feels like your limbs are made of lead, heavy and uncooperative. Your fingers dig into the rough concrete as you push against it, your nightgown clinging to your skin, wet and miserable.

Your head spins, the pounding ache a reminder of everything you’ve been through, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to move. Lying there, helpless, isn’t an option. Not anymore.

Each breath is a struggle, shallow and ragged, as you steady yourself against the wall behind you. The dampness of the basement, the steady drip of water in the corner, the faint musty scent of decay—it all feels suffocating, as though the walls are closing in. You blink hard, trying to focus, to ground yourself in the moment, but the betrayal still burns in your mind, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Reese's face flashes before your eyes again, his soft voice promising safety, and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a shaky exhale. Safety. What a cruel joke.

You had simply traded one prison for a colder, darker one.

You look around the basement, squinting in the dim light. Your legs ache as you try to move them, pins and needles shooting through your feet as you attempt to stand. Your body feels battered, but the deeper pain—the one rooted in the betrayal—hurts far worse. Reese wasn’t some random passerby, some kind stranger. He knew what he was doing, and worse, he had listened to your story of suffering and seen you as an opportunity to fulfill some promise.

As you lean against the wall, trying to steady your shaky breath, Reese’s words echo in your mind, gnawing at your already fragile sense of reality.

“I promised them a girl.”

The phrase rattles around in your skull, unsettling and cryptic. What did he mean by that? Who was them?

Your stomach turns, the bile rising in your throat as you replay the memory over and over. Reese had said it shakily, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with barely concealed fear. But his words were soaked in something far darker, something that made your skin crawl the moment they left his lips.

Promised them a girl.

The weight of it sinks in deeper, heavier with each passing moment, like a noose tightening around your neck.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging sharply into your palms as you struggle to suppress the rising wave of nausea and panic. Every breath feels like a battle, the air thick with dread. You want answers—need answers—but more than anything, you need to get out of here. Every second you spend trapped in this basement feels like a countdown ticking away to something far worse than anything your mind can conjure.

Whatever Reese had promised them, whatever twisted deal he’d made, you won’t let it come to pass. You won’t be some pawn in this dark, twisted game he's playing. You refuse to be reduced to a bargaining chip for them, whoever they are. They might have Reese tangled in their web, but they won’t have you.

Your eyes drift toward the dingy mattress settled on a metal frame, barely visible in the dim light. A tattered towel, a folded pair of sweatpants and a white shirt lie haphazardly on top of it. You hesitate for a moment, the sight catching you off guard. Did Reese leave these here for you?

The thought sends a wave of conflicting emotions through you—anger, confusion, even a twisted sense of pity. Despite everything, despite handing you over to whatever fate awaits, had he still tried to offer some small gesture of comfort? Or had this been planned, just part of the sick arrangement, a way to keep you alive long enough for them?

You shake the thought from your mind. It doesn’t matter.

The cold clings to you, a constant, suffocating presence in your wet nightgown. Your teeth are still chattering, your skin icy to the touch. Without thinking too much about it, you rush over to the mattress, snatching the towel and the sweatpants. The rough fabric of the towel is worn, but it's warm enough as you rub it over your chilled skin, drying the water that’s soaked through your night gown.

With shaking hands, you strip off your wet, heavy dress and quickly pull on the dry sweatpants and t shirt. The warmth is immediate, a small, fleeting relief that feels almost like a luxury in this basement. You wish they weren't so loose, but it’s better than nothing.

Your body is still cold, still trembling, but the damp heaviness has lessened. You feel lighter, a little less trapped by the elements, even if the air around you remains heavy with the weight of everything that has yet to happen.

Reese’s face flashes in your mind again, his nervous, guilt-ridden eyes, and you can’t help but wonder—was this his attempt at an apology? His way of making up for the unforgivable?

Abruptly, you hear it – footsteps above, faint but unmistakable. Your entire body tenses as you freeze in place, straining to listen. The whispers that follow are barely audible through the thick ceiling, but you can catch snippets of words, just enough to recognize one of the voices: Reese.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you make your way towards the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, every step agonizing from the cold and strain. You push through the pain, desperate for more information.

You press your ear against the frigid metal, the voices growing clearer yet still muffled. Reese's voice is shaky and filled with nervous energy, like when he made that dreadful promise to "them."

"She said she was kidnapped," Reese's voice trembles, sending a wave of chills down your spine.

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin. A lump forms in your throat as you strain to listen, your mind racing. You had trusted him with everything, thinking he would help. The other voice – deep and calculated – interrupts.

"By who?" he demands harshly.

"I don't know," Reese replies, panic evident in his voice. "She didn't give names…I didn't ask…I didn't think…"

"Idiot," the man hisses angrily, cutting off Reese's rambling. There's a moment of silence before heavy footsteps approach closer. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

You hear something unmistakable—a faint scraping sound. Your blood runs cold as you slowly realize what’s happening.

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

It’s a slow, deliberate movement, the iron grinding against itself with a low, ominous creak that makes your breath catch in your throat. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening as you stare at the hatch, watching the handle twist further, the tension of the lock giving way with a soft, metallic click.

Panic floods through you as the realization hits like a punch to the gut—they’re about to open the hatch.

The handle continues to turn, and with a surge of panic, you pull away from the hatch. Your body moves before your mind can fully process, instincts kicking in. You scramble down the creaky wooden stairs, your legs protesting with every movement, but you push through the pain.

Each step feels like it takes an eternity, the sound of the hatch above grinding against your nerves. You reach the bottom, your breath ragged, and without a second thought, you make a desperate dive under the bed.

You scramble under the grimy mattress, your heart pounding as you press your body flat against the cold floor. The space beneath the bed is cramped, dark, and thick with dust, but you force yourself to stay still, biting back your panic. Your breathing comes in short, shaky bursts, but you try to control it, barely daring to inhale as you listen to the creak of the metal hatch swinging open.

The footsteps echo louder now, descending the wooden stairs, each step making your pulse race faster. You watch from your hiding place, the dim light casting shadows across the room as the first pair of feet—Reese's—comes into view. His sneakers shuffle nervously against the floor. Right behind him, heavier boots thud down the steps—boots that belong to someone much more imposing, someone far more dangerous.

You peek through the gloom, barely daring to lift your head.

Reese speaks first, his voice shaky. “I-I swear, I don’t know who kidnapped her. She just told me she was running, that she escaped. I didn’t ask for details.” There’s a tremor in his voice, thick with fear.

The other man’s voice is low, cold. “And you didn’t think to get more information? You were too busy playing hero.”

You didn't recognize this voice. He wasn't the one from earlier that had helped Reese bring you down here.

Reese mumbles something incoherent, but you can hear his terror. The other man clearly isn’t buying it. The booted footsteps hit the last step, and the man takes a slow, deliberate step into the basement.

You curl up tighter, heart racing, your body nearly paralyzed with fear as you catch sight of him. He’s taller than Reese, broader, with an intimidating presence that fills the room. His voice cuts through the tension. “Where is she, Reese? You promised us a girl. So, where is she?”

Reese stammers, his anxiety palpable. “She’s—she’s here, I swear, I locked the hatch. She couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

The man lets out a slow exhale, clearly unimpressed. “She better be. Otherwise, you’ll have hell to pay.”

You can feel the weight of the man’s presence shifting, scanning the room, and you shrink further into the darkness, praying that the shadows will keep you hidden. The dread mounts as the sound of their steps grows louder.

Your heart races, every muscle tense as the heavy boots come to a stop right beside the bed. You can feel the air shift, the man's presence looming dangerously above you. His shadow stretches over the mattress, and for a second, you think maybe—just maybe—he'll move on. Maybe he won't look under here.

But then, in one swift motion, he crouches down.

His eyes lock onto yours, blue and calculating, a cruel smile playing at the edges of his lips. Your stomach drops, panic surging through you like wildfire. You try to scramble backward, to escape deeper under the bed, but it's too late. His hand shoots out, iron-tight fingers wrapping around your ankle.

"No more hiding, little mouse," he growls, his voice thick with menace.

You kick and thrash, but he’s far too strong. With a brutal yank, he drags you out from under the bed, your nails scraping uselessly against the concrete floor as you try to find some kind of grip. Fear pulses through you, sharp and overwhelming, as you're pulled out into the open.

"Got her," the man says, his grip on your ankle tightening painfully. He hauls you upright, forcing you to stand even as your legs buckle beneath you.

Reese is standing off to the side, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with guilt and fear. He doesn’t say a word as the man forces you up, his cold fingers digging into your arm now, holding you in place.

The man looks you over, his smile fading as he studies you with dark, unreadable eyes. "This is her?" he says, glancing at Reese, his voice a mixture of disbelief and something far more dangerous.

Reese stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yes. I swear. She’s the one."

The man turns back to you, his expression hardening. "Good," he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your arm until pain shoots through your shoulder.

You bit back a cry of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The man's grip tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh like steel talons. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as you fought to keep your composure.

"Let. Me. Go." You hissed through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venom.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Feisty, are we? Hilarious. Won't last long though".

He released your arm abruptly, causing you to stumble. As you regained your footing, you noticed Reese had retreated to a corner, his face a mask of guilt and fear. The betrayal stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for that later. Right now, survival was your only priority.

The men turned toward the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, drawn to the sound of heels clacking against the wooden steps. You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling with anticipation as another pair of legs appeared, descending with an air of confidence. A woman stepped into the basement, her dark hair swinging with each precise step, her sharp brown eyes surveying the room with calm, calculated detachment. She was dressed in a crisp, business-casual outfit, perfectly put together, every detail deliberate.

Her heels struck the floor with a final, authoritative click as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locking onto you immediately. There was no warmth in her eyes, no recognition of you as a person—only cold assessment, as though you were an object, a piece of inventory.

She didn’t speak right away, her expression unreadable as she glanced at the man beside you, then at Reese huddled in the corner. Her presence demanded attention, a silent command of the room that made your skin crawl.

“Is this the girl?” she asked at last, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience.

The man nodded, his smirk never faltering. “She’s the one boss.”

The woman’s eyes swept over you again, lingering on you for a moment longer than before. You felt her gaze like ice, sharp and invasive, as if she could see through you, past your fear, right down to your core.

“She doesn’t look like much,” she remarked, almost casually, though there was a quiet menace in her tone. “But she’ll do hopefully.”

Your heart dropped, dread pooling in your stomach as her words hung in the air. Whatever Reese had gotten you into, it wasn’t just a betrayal—it was something far more dangerous. And now, you were caught in the middle of it.

Your mind raced as you tried to think of a way out, but the walls felt like they were closing in, your options shrinking with every second that passed. You had to do something—anything—before it was too late.

You certainly couldn't fight your way out of here. It was 3v1, and the days of little food and constant stress had weakened you significantly. Your limbs felt like lead, and any attempt to resist would be useless, not against these people—especially with the woman’s calculating gaze locked onto you.

"Wh-what is this?" you stammer, trying to sound calm, but the tremor in your voice betrays you. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The woman turned toward you, her expression cold, detached. She raised an eyebrow, as though mildly amused by your question, but there was no kindness in her eyes—only a chilling indifference.

“Does it really matter?” she replied, her voice smooth but laced with cruelty. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with each deliberate step, her presence looming over you. “You’re not in a position to negotiate or ask questions, are you?”

You felt your pulse race, panic swelling in your chest. You tried to stand straighter, to show some semblance of strength, but your body betrayed you, trembling from exhaustion and fear.

The man who had grabbed you before let out a low chuckle. “She’s already scared. Good. Makes things easier.”

Reese, from his corner, shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. The guilt was written all over his face, but he said nothing, didn’t even try to stop what was happening. He had already played his part in this nightmare.

The woman tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve been promised to someone very important, and it’s best if you cooperate. Things will be... easier for you.”

Your stomach dropped at the implications of her words. Promised? You were no longer just a person—you were a transaction.

Your mouth went dry as you forced the question past your lips, your voice shaky. "Promised for what?" You had to know. Every terrible possibility ran through your mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at you even more.

The woman paused, a brief flicker of something—pity, maybe?—crossing her face. She sighed softly, like she was indulging a child who didn’t know better. “I guess it couldn’t hurt for you to know,” she said, her tone almost bored. “Won’t make much difference in the end.”

She stepped closer, crouching down so she was eye-level with you. Her gaze softened slightly, but the words that followed made your blood run cold.

“You’ve been promised to a very wealthy man,” she began, her voice calm, detached. “His wife...she’s dying. Organ failure. They’ve tried everything—medications, various treatments—but nothing’s worked.”

Your mind raced, struggling to process the meaning behind her words. Organ failure? The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach as her words continued.

“He’s willing to pay any price for a match,” she explained with chilling indifference, her eyes boring into yours. And if you're a perfect match for her...” She paused, letting the weight of the situation sink in before she added, almost with a shrug, “Your organs will save her life.”

A sickening silence followed, the air thick with your disbelief.

They were going to harvest your organs.

Panic clawed at your throat, and your body felt like it was in freefall. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The cold, brutal truth hung in the air between you and the woman, her pitying gaze cutting you deeper than anything else.

“You should feel honored,” she added, her voice devoid of any real sympathy. “You’ll be giving someone like her a second chance at life.”

Your heart raced, blood pounding in your ears. Your survival wasn’t just threatened—it was already decided.

Your body went numb as her words settled over you, the realization of what they planned twisting your stomach into knots. But as the silence stretched on, the woman seemed to catch herself, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” she admitted, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

She reached into the pocket of her crisp jacket and pulled out a syringe and a small vial. The sight of it made your blood run cold. Your heart hammered against your chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how close you were to losing everything.

“I need to take a blood sample,” she said, her tone almost professional now. “Don’t bother resisting. We’ll get what we need, one way or another.”

Your limbs froze, panic surging through your veins. You wanted to run, to scream, but your legs felt like they were locked in place. The walls of the basement seemed to close in tighter around you, and for a moment, all you could focus on was the needle in her hand.

The woman’s dark brown eyes flicked toward you, assessing your reaction. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just a small test,” she said, almost like she was coaxing you into compliance. “If you’re not a match, maybe you'll get lucky. You're a woman after all, you at least have other parts you can use to gain your freedom."

She stepped closer, the syringe gleaming under the dim basement light. Your body tensed, the urge to fight back bubbling up inside you. But you were weak, outnumbered, and utterly trapped.

“Hold out your arm,” she said softly, like she was giving you a choice.

Your breath caught in your throat as the syringe gleamed ominously in her hand. Your heart hurt as you glanced toward Reese, who stood in the corner, guilt-ridden and pale, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t help you—he wouldn’t help you.

You glanced back between her and the syringe, the world closing in tighter with each second. Your mind raced for a way out, some escape, but it was futile. Even if you refused, they’d force you—there was no other option.

You took a shaky breath and slowly extended your arm, the gesture more out of survival instinct than anything. Live long enough to find another way out, you told yourself, trying to cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still time.

The woman smiled, satisfied, as she knelt beside you, her movements smooth and practiced. “Smart choice,” she said, wrapping a rubber band around your arm to prepare for the blood draw.

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but you forced yourself to stay still. The vial began to fill with dark red blood, and the woman worked with a cold efficiency, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

After what felt like an eternity, she withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball to your arm. “There,” she said, standing up and eyeing the shiny vial filled with your blood. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You wanted to lash out, to scream, but your body was too drained, your mind too scattered. She was right—it didn’t matter if it was easy or hard. What mattered was what came next.

The woman turned to the man with the heavy boots. “Get this to the lab,” she ordered, her tone brisk. “The results will tell us everything we need.”

He nodded and took the vial, disappearing back up the stairs without a word. The metal hatch closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the basement fell back into tense silence.

The woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

You swallowed hard, dread pooling in your stomach. The blood had been drawn, the wheels set in motion—and there was nothing you could do but wait for your fate to be decided.

Reese shifted uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes downcast, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The woman glanced at him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “I suggest you keep her in good condition until we know for sure. We wouldn’t want her damaged, would we?”

Reese flinched but nodded, his guilt written all over his face.

And with that, the woman turned on her heel and left, her heels clacking up the stairs, the metal hatch sealing you back in the basement.

You were alone again—alone with Reese and the suffocating weight of your uncertain future.

As the metal hatch slammed shut, trapping you back in the dim, suffocating basement, something inside you snapped. The overwhelming dread, the helplessness, the betrayal—it all collided at once. Your chest tightened, and your blood boiled with the rage that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Your eyes locked onto Reese, who was still slouched in the corner, avoiding your gaze. His entire body trembled, but all you could see was the man who had led you into this nightmare. The man who had stood by and watched as they drew your blood like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

You trusted him.

"You," you spat, your voice cracking with fury. "I trusted you, Reese."

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t look up. His hands were shaking, balled into fists at his sides, but that didn’t matter. He had made his choice.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Reese's lips trembled, and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, guilt etched deep into his pale face. "I... I didn't have a choice," he stammered, his voice weak, barely audible. "They—they would've killed me if I didn’t—"

"Spare me!" you snapped, cutting him off. "You sold me, Reese! You handed me over to them like I was nothing!" The weight of his betrayal hit you all over again, the pain of it cutting deeper than any physical wound. You had told him about your kidnapping, he had watched you sob over Xavier, had you thinking he was someone you could trust, someone who cared.

Tears of frustration burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t —not now, not for him of all people. "You knew what they were going to do to me," you continued, your voice trembling with anger. "You knew, and you did it anyway."

Reese shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "I—I didn't know they'd—about the organs. I thought..." He trailed off, as if the excuse could somehow absolve him. But it didn’t.

"Thought what?"

"I'd thought they'd just...rape you. And then dump you somewhere..." he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like the others.."

"Like the others?!" you said, your voice rising. "You...you've done this before? You're...sick! Fucking sick!"

He shrank back, visibly cowering under your words. "I didn't have a choice," he repeated weakly, like it was the only thing he could cling to.

"You always have a choice!" you shot back, your voice cracking from the strain. "You had a choice to be a good person, and you chose to betray me."

The room was silent after that, the air thick with tension. Reese had no response, nothing to say that could possibly justify what he'd done. He just stood there, looking more like a frightened child than the man who had so easily handed you over.

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions. "I hope it was worth it," you said coldly, the anger fading into something far more painful. "I hope whatever they promised you was worth selling me like this."

Reese remained silent, his eyes cast down, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but it held no weight, no real meaning. Before you could respond, he suddenly rushed past you, his footsteps heavy on the cold floor. He didn’t look back.

You watched, stunned, as he hurried up the wooden stairs, his movements frantic, almost as if he couldn’t bear to stay in the room with you a second longer. The old wooden stairs groaned under his weight, the sound harsh in the suffocating silence.

You stood frozen in place, your mind whirling with a mix of anger, disbelief, and the crushing weight of betrayal. His retreating figure disappeared through the metal hatch, and the sound of it slamming shut echoed through the basement like a final punctuation to his cowardice.

The room fell eerily quiet, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You were alone again, left with nothing but the cold, the dull ache of exhaustion, and the horrifying knowledge of what awaited you.

You slumped against the wall, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all at once. The basement felt smaller, colder, and more suffocating than before.

Days blurred into each other, each one indistinguishable from the next. The cold, damp basement became your prison, a place where time felt meaningless. Your mind drifted constantly, a mixture of fear, anger, and hopelessness gnawing at you from all sides. You found yourself thinking about Xavier—wondering if he was still out there, still searching for you. He had to be, didn’t he? You tried to cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d find you before it was too late.

You wished you had listened to him when he said he had a bad feeling about you going with Reese. How could you have been so stupid?

Reese came in and out of the basement sporadically, never staying for long. He kept his distance, barely making eye contact, as though seeing the consequences of his betrayal was too much for him to handle. He left you basic necessities—pads, water, a couple of small meals—but nothing more. Every time he disappeared, it felt like another thread of hope was being pulled away, leaving you more isolated than ever.

You pondered attacking Reese when he came down here next. He seemed fidgety and not as strong as the others. But still strong nonetheless. And in your weakened state, he could still take you down, or threaten you with the gun again.

At some point, you drifted off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking you in the cold dark. Your period had finally subsided, and so did the awful cramping, allowing you to rest at least somewhat peacefully. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sound of the metal hatch creaking open startled you awake. Instinctively, you didn’t move, thinking it was Reese again—another silent, guilty visit to drop something off before fleeing.

But then, a deep, gruff voice pierced the silence. A voice you recognized, but not in the way that brought comfort.

“Well, look who’s sleeping like a baby,” the voice sneered, low and menacing.

Your heart sank, and fear surged through you as you realized it wasn’t Reese. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, and your breath caught in your throat when you shifted to look at the voice.

It was the man—the one who had helped Reese bring you down here in the first place. His heavy boots clomped against the wooden stairs as he descended, and his shadow loomed over you, large and threatening. His expression was cold, his eyes calculating as they swept over you, like he was assessing just how broken you’d become since last seeing him.

“Thought maybe you’d die of boredom or despair by now,” he muttered, amusement tinged in his voice. “Guess you’ve got a little more fight in you than I thought.”

You swallowed hard, your body going rigid. You stayed still, instinct telling you that any sudden movement might provoke him. The air around him seemed darker, more dangerous than Reese’s jittery cowardice. This man was different—he was in control, and he wasn’t afraid of you.

“What do you want?” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He stepped closer, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, the sound making your skin crawl. His smirk widened, and without warning, he crouched down, bringing his face level with yours.

“What I want,” he said, his voice low and mocking, “is to see if you’re worth anything besides your organs doll.”

The threat in his words hung heavy in the air, and you knew with chilling clarity that whatever came next, this man wasn’t here to make things easier for you.

The man crouched in front of you, his smirk growing wider as he watched the fear flicker across your face. You tried to keep still, to steady your breathing, but your body betrayed you—a small shiver ran through you, and you knew he’d seen it. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, feeding off your discomfort.

He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his hot breath on your skin. "Reese might be too soft to touch a woman, but I’m not." His voice was a low, rumbling threat. "You’re property after all. But it'd be a shame to let sweet pussy go to waste before they cut you open."

You recoiled in horror at his depraved words, bile rising in your throat. The man straightened to his full height, towering over your prostrate form with an air of malevolent authority.

"So here's how this is going to go," he said casually, as if discussing the weather rather than your impending ravishment and dismemberment. "I'm going to have my fun..." He smirked cruelly. "And you are going to lay there and take it. Use any teeth and I'll rip them out of your head. Got it?"

Your mind raced, desperate to find some escape from the waking nightmare. But with Reese too cowardice to come down and interfere, and this sadistic brute clearly intent on violating you in the most degrading ways imaginable , you knew you were utterly at his mercy.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as tears streamed down your face. Despite your best efforts, the man's lecherous gaze only widened at the sight of you in distress. His grip on your arm tightened, filling you with pain.

"Go ahead and cry," he mocked. "It only turns me on even more, doll."

You screamed, desperately trying to free yourself and escape his grasp, but he was too strong. He slammed you back down onto the dirty mattress as you fought to kick him away. But he easily overpowered you and forced your leg back against the bed.

"Stop! Please!" you pleaded, horrified as he reached for the waistband of your sweatpants with his rough, calloused hands.

Panic surged through you as his fingers grazed your skin. In a burst of desperate strength, you twisted violently and managed to wrench your leg free. You kicked out hard, your foot connecting solidly with his jaw. He reeled back with a pained grunt, momentarily stunned.

"I said, lay there and take it" he growled, bringing his palm down against your face in a deafening slap. Angry hot pain radiates against your face and you cry out, tears spilling out faster now.

He wastes no time flipping you around, pinning you on your stomach against the bed. You sobbed loudly as he finishes pulling your sweatpants past your rear, rubbing his cold hands against the cloth of your underwear.

"Nice butt, smooth skin..." he growls, tugging off your underwear past your legs despite your struggle. "Oh this is gonna be so much fun."

Your underwear hits the concrete floor with a soft patter and your mind goes numb. There was truly no way out of this. Maybe the struggle was futile all along.

It was time to accept this.

Your body goes limp as you try to dissociate from the sound of the man unbuckling his belt. The sound of him shuffling with his underwear. The feel of his rough hands as he grabs your hips and raises them towards his groin, forcing you onto your elbows. You notice his breathing gets heavier as he takes in the sight of your exposed cunt.

"He shuffles in his pockets for a bit, looking for something. Your mind drifts off as he does so, thinking of the time Sylus had you in a similar position.

The morning he had promised to only do it once that day if you didn't fight him. You had picked the position yourself, not wanting to see him enter you again. At least that's what you told yourself.

Truthfully, you hated the way your face would heat up and your cunt grew wetter at the sight of his toned chest and stomach. The deep rumble of his voice in your ear as he praised you for taking him in all the way. You didn't know why your body reacted the way it did to him but it scared you. You had chalked it up to it just being an involuntary bodily reaction.

But there was no wetness when this beast touched you, no warmth or aching heat in your core.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

Ah, he brought a condom. At least you wouldn't have to worry about catching any diseases before you were hacked to pieces.

You almost laugh at the thought but nothing was funny truly. The man grumbles a bit and rolls the condom onto his thick shaft gently, his knuckles popping as he slides it down. The smell of latex and lubricant fill the air momentarily. You wish you could gag at the smell of it, but you're too scared to move anymore. He positions himself, aligning his tip with you. You brace yourself for the pain that is sure to come, your heart pounding in your chest as he presses forward.

"If you make a sound, I'll beat your ass stupid. Got it?" he growls.

You say nothing as he begins trying to push into you, but he had clumsily misjudged where your slit was and kept missing. You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh, this guy clearly didn't have much experience with the female body. You feel his hand slam down on your head, causing you to cry out.

"Ain't. Shit. Funny..." he snarled, gripping the side of your face even harder. You stifle another sob, trying your hardest to breathe against the mattress.

Still, he kept trying to force his cock inside you, every clumsy miss rubbing salt in the wound of your complete helplessness. He leans back momentarily to try and balance his cock against you. Your head throbs under his grip and you feel your eyes starting to gently close, sticky tears threaded between your lashes.

Your mind, desperate for an escape from the current nightmare, drifts back to Sylus. Memories of him rise to the surface, unbidden yet comforting in their own strange way. You recall his gentle gaze, the way he’d look at you when you opened your eyes in the morning—those moments when everything was still, and his presence felt like a soft cocoon of warmth around you. You’d never once seen him fall asleep before you. No, Sylus clearly only slept when it was "morning". Your circadian rhythms had always been completely opposite, and you knew, deep down, that he was likely watching over you as you slept.

It had never really felt invasive though. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you feel... cherished. As though, in his world of shadows, you were the one light he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

No one had ever looked at you with such adoring eyes—not even Xavier. Though Xavier had cared for you, and there were moments where you saw glimpses of that same tenderness, it was different with Sylus. Something deeper. Something more intense, as though you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The thought made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected. Even now, locked in this nightmare, it was Sylus’s gaze that haunted you—not Reese’s guilt, not Xavier’s concern, but the way Sylus had seen you, like you were fragile and powerful all at once.

Despite everything, he had shown you the most kindness out of anyone in this horrid place.

"Sylus..." your voice escapes in a broken whisper, a fragile plea lost beneath the weight of fear. Silent tears streak down your face, and your body shakes uncontrollably beneath the man's looming presence. His grunting had finally stopped, but the air between you buzzes with his barely-contained fury. His body is tense, frustrated—still unable to force himself into you.

With a snarl, he suddenly flips you onto your back, his hands rough and merciless. The room spins for a second, and your breath catches in your throat. He looms over you, his eyes dark and burning with a cruel light.

"What the hell did I say about talking?," he growls, voice low and dangerous. His hand rises, fist clenched, muscles rippling as he prepares to strike. Your heart lurches, and a terrified squeal slips out, unbidden. You squeeze your eyes shut, body curling in on itself instinctively, trembling as you wait for the blow to fall.

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

Instead, the air shifts—thickening, buzzing with something far darker than the man hovering above you. His fist, still poised to strike, halts mid-air. His breath stutters. Eyes wide with shock, he suddenly clutches at his throat, his face twisting into something grotesque, panicked. His mouth opens as if to scream, but only a strangled gasp escapes.

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right—red mist, thin tendrils coiling through the air like living smoke. It winds around him, constricting. His body spasms as if in a silent scream, but no sound comes, only those terrible, wet choking noises.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting second, wide with horror, before his body jerks violently. With a force that seems inhuman, he’s wrenched from above you, flung across the room like a rag doll. The impact as he slams into the far wall is sickening—bones cracking against stone, the wet sound of flesh collapsing under the blow.

He screams in agony, his body convulsing violently on the hard concrete as his cries echo through the space.

Your breath comes in shallow, rapid gasps, the red mist still hanging in the air, pulsing like it has a life of its own before it slowly starts to fade. The air grows colder in its absence, the immediate threat gone, but the tension in your chest refuses to ease. It's over, but the chaos is still fresh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Then you see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his white hair touched with streaks of silver, and those unmistakable crimson eyes—sharp, intense, but not as lethal as they were a moment ago. There's no mistaking Sylus, even through the haze of confusion clouding your mind. You blink, trying to process it all. He’s here, finally, but the emotions swirling inside you are a tangled mess.

He steps toward you, slow and deliberate, his gaze softening the closer he gets. Despite the relief that comes with his presence, something else churns beneath the surface—frustration, maybe even anger. He’s here, but it took so long. Too long.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Sylus smirks, his voice low and teasing, as if the sight of him towering over you like this is the most natural thing in the world. He tilts his head, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he studies your expression. "You called my name, didn’t you?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. Relief washes over you, but it’s tangled with confusion and resentment. Part of you wants to collapse into his arms, to finally feel safe, but another part of you burns with anxiety—why doesn't he look angry at you?

Sylus’s smirk softens into something more genuine, as if he senses the storm inside you. "I’m here now," he says, his voice quieter, almost gentle. But it doesn’t calm the whirlwind in your chest. You don’t know if you want to yell at him or thank him. Maybe both.

All you know is that the sight of him, standing there like he’s always been, stirs something deep within you that you can’t quite name. You're suddenly aware again of your half-nakedness and you rush to put back on your panties and sweatpants, much to Sylus's amusement.

“Wh-what took you so long?” you finally quip, a sharp edge to your voice as you lift your chin, deciding to meet his presence with defiance instead of relief. The condescension rolls off your tongue, even as your heart still pounds from the aftermath. You can feel the tension in your own body, a mix of trauma and pent-up frustration, but you mask it behind a cold stare.

Sylus moves toward the hyperventilating man still writhing on the ground, his gaze briefly flickering with something unreadable before a low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound reverberates through the room, rich and deep, completely unbothered by your biting words. His crimson eyes flick to you, amusement dancing in them, as if your sharp attitude was exactly what he’d anticipated.

“Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” he muses, his tone playful, yet carrying that underlying edge he always seems to have. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he towers over you, utterly relaxed, like your defiance is nothing more than an amusing game to him.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" He raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

The comment, laced with a playful challenge, lingers in the air. He seems utterly unaffected, like your frustration has only fueled his amusement, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell whether you want to snap back or let your guard down. That smirk of his—so infuriatingly calm and knowing—pulls you deeper into the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Before you can spit out a retort, the sound of scuffling and harsh footsteps echoes down the stairwell. Your attention snaps toward the noise just as Reese is unceremoniously dragged down the steps, his pleas and panicked protests filling the room. The twins, Luke and Kieran, have him by the arms, hauling him down with little effort. Reese stumbles on the last step, crashing face-first onto the concrete.

Luke and Kieran exchange satisfied glances, snickering as they stand over him, a mixture of triumph and mockery in voices.

"We got him, boss," Luke announces with a smirk, nudging the groaning man with his boot. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slowly lifts his head. His gaze darts frantically around the room, his face paling as he realizes who surrounds him. His eyes widen in terror, flitting between you, Sylus, and the man still crumpled on the ground beside him, writhing in pain.

"S-Sylus..." Reese stammers, his voice barely a whisper as it cracks with fear. His entire body begins to tremble, the weight of what he’s done crashing down on him. "You ran away from Sylus...?" The disbelief in his own voice is palpable, as if fleeing from someone like Sylus was a death sentence all on its own.

Sylus’s crimson eyes narrow as he watches you closely, his expression shifting to something darker—something possessive. He takes a deliberate step toward you, the casual ease he held moments ago now replaced with a quiet intensity. His gaze flicks to Reese, then back to you, and though his smile remains, there’s no warmth behind it.

"So," Sylus begins, voice smooth but tinged with something uneasy, "seems the two of you have gotten well acquainted?" The question feels loaded, not out of curiosity, but something more. His eyes bore into yours, as if searching for answers beyond your words. The smirk on his lips falters just slightly, betraying the irritation he’s trying to mask.

The tension between you grows thicker, his posture subtly shifting as if he’s placing himself between you and Reese. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t so much as glance at the trembling man on the ground. His focus is solely on you, as though the possibility of friendship with someone, especially another man, unsettles him more than the danger you just faced.

You shake your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips without hesitation. "We’re not close!" you say quickly, the firmness in your voice leaving no room for doubt. "He’s no one to me."

Sylus’s eyes remain locked on yours, his crimson gaze intense, but you don’t falter. "Reese… he tricked me," you continue, the words coming faster now. "He’s the reason I’m down here in the first place. I didn’t come down here willingly. I followed him, stupidly thinking he was going to help me."

Your last words are filled with malice as your eyes flick to Reese, who cowers on the ground, unable to meet your glare. You shoot him a look of pure disdain, your anger boiling over at how easily he had deceived you, how he had dragged you into this mess.

Before you can say anything more, Sylus reaches out, his hand cool against your hair as he rubs the top of your head with an almost unnerving gentleness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the smug look on his face that catches you off guard.

“I know, sweetie,” Sylus says, his voice smooth and dripping with that signature arrogance. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches you closely, his smirk deepening. “I watched you disappear into this house. I saw everything.” He speaks as if he had been in control of the situation from the start, his tone laced with confidence, as if he was always one step ahead.

"You were following me the entire time?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief as you try to piece together how much of this Sylus had been controlling from the shadows. Sylus merely chuckles, the sound rich and full of amusement, like your confusion was a source of entertainment for him.

"Something like that," he replies casually, his smirk widening. "I had Mephisto follow you."

As if on cue, swirl of red mist begins to materialize on Sylus's shoulder. The mist condenses around the form until, with a sharp, eerie caw, a large black crow appears, its wings flapping beside Sylus’s head. The bird’s eyes glow faintly, a reflection of the same crimson hue in Sylus’s gaze.

"Mephisto?" you and Reese say at the same time, your voices overlapping in disbelief.

You take a step back, staring at the bird in shock. "Mephisto... he's been that bird this whole time?" The revelation hits you like a slap in the face. You'd seen the bird before—many times, in fact—but you’d never thought it was more than just an ordinary creature. Now, the sight of it perched so confidently on Sylus’s shoulder, surrounded by that ominous red mist, makes your head spin.

Reese, still on the ground, stares up at the bird and then back at you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I thought your name was Meph—" he begins, his voice trembling as he looks between you and Sylus, but his words are abruptly cut off.

Sylus’s expression hardens instantly, the playful amusement evaporating as he glares down at Reese with pure disdain. His eyes darken, the malice in them palpable as he takes a step toward Reese, who shrinks back, trembling.

"Don’t talk to her," Sylus snaps, his voice cold and sharp, dripping with venom. The possessiveness in his tone is undeniable, a clear warning that Reese’s mere presence, let alone his attempt to speak to you, is unforgivable in Sylus’s eyes. The tension in the room grows suffocating, the danger swirling around Sylus like a storm barely contained, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his protectiveness—both unsettling and strangely reassuring.

Mephisto caws again, the shrill sound echoing through the room as if punctuating Sylus’s command.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground. Your head spins, barely able to process what's going on here. You suddenly feel dizzy, as if the room was getting smaller and smaller.

You hadn't truly escaped from him. Not once, the entire time you had been gone. He had been watching. His influence here stretched farther than you could ever imagine.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground, clearly too terrified to challenge Sylus any further. His presence becomes insignificant in the midst of everything else crashing down around you. Your head spins, the room seeming to close in on you as the weight of the situation presses against your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air itself is suffocating you. You try to steady yourself, but a dizzying realization takes hold.

Every step you’d taken, every move you thought was yours alone—he had been watching.

Mephisto.

Sylus had seen everything, every moment you thought you were free, unraveling in front of your eyes now like a cruel illusion. His influence, his reach—it stretched farther than you could have ever imagined.

The invisible leash you thought you’d slipped off, the one you were so sure you'd broken, had never left your neck at all. It had been there the whole time, just waiting to tighten when he decided.

Your pulse quickens, panic settling in as the walls seem to close in tighter, the room shrinking around you. The thought of being watched, controlled, all while you believed you had any autonomy—it sends a cold wave of dread down your spine. Sylus’s smirk, the way he speaks so casually about it, only amplifies the feeling that you were never really out of his grasp.

He knew. He always knew where you were.

And here he stands, calm and possessive, like he’s merely reclaiming what was his all along.

The weight of it all becomes too much to bear, and your legs give way beneath you. You crumble to the floor, feeling as though the world has closed in around you. The realization sinks deeper, suffocating you with the cold, hard truth—despite all your efforts, all your fighting, you’re right back where you started. The leash had never been cut. You hadn’t escaped. And now, the path ahead is one you thought you'd left behind.

Your body trembles, you let out a sob, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions—fear, frustration, resignation. But before the panic can fully take over, you feel a hand brush against your shoulder, light and reassuring. Sylus crouches down beside you, his presence filling the space, his voice low and deceptively soothing.

"Shh, kitten," he murmurs softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a caress, though it only twists the knife deeper in your chest. "It’s alright. I’ve found you, its okay." His tone is affectionate, but there’s something twisted lurking beneath the surface, a dark possessiveness wrapped in that comforting voice.

"You're mine again," Sylus whispers, his voice soft but laced with an iron-clad certainty. His fingers delicately trace small circles on your back, sending involuntary shivers up your spine. You don't look at him, unable to meet his eyes. Your chest tightens, and you can feel the threat of tears building, teetering dangerously close to spilling over.

As much as you wanted to leave this wretched place, to escape the nightmare of it all, the thought of being trapped with him—completely under his control—felt just as suffocating. Maybe more. Yet, despite that suffocating feeling, your body betrays you. You’re not pulling away from him. You’re not resisting.

Why weren’t you leaning away from him right now?

"Don't cry," he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin, drowning out the cold, damp air of the basement. "Not now. Not in front of them."

Before you can process his words, the room fills with a new, horrific sound. Reese and the bleeding man on the ground suddenly scream, the agony ripping from their throats. Red tendrils of mist swirl violently around their bodies, coiling like snakes ready to strike. The sound of broken bones echoes sharply through the space as Reese is slammed into the back wall next to his fallen comrade, the impact brutal, unforgiving. The sight sends a fresh wave of horror washing over you.

You instinctively shift your gaze toward the carnage, wanting to see what’s happening—but Sylus’s hand shoots up, his fingers gripping your chin firmly. With a gentle yet unyielding force, he turns your face back to him, refusing to let you look anywhere else but into his crimson eyes.

"Look at me," he commands softly, his tone dark but calm, as if the violence behind you was nothing but a trivial distraction. His fingers are warm against your skin, his touch disturbingly tender despite the chaos around you.

"Your tears, your pain, your misery," Sylus whispers, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy as his hand moves gently to your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen, his touch both tender and terrifying. "It all belongs to me."

His crimson eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a vice. He leans in closer, his bourbon cologne enveloping your senses, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

"I’m the only one," he murmurs, his voice a possessive, almost dangerous softness, "who gets to see you cry."

The declaration sends a chill down your spine, and your heart clenches at the weight of it. There's a dark finality in his words—a twisted claim over every ounce of your suffering, every emotion that was once yours, now his to control. The room feels smaller, the air thinner, as if everything in this moment is solely for him, as though the very act of your tears belongs to him and him alone.

You can feel the tears threatening again, but now even that feels like giving in to him—another part of yourself slipping through your fingers, taken by the man who holds you so tightly in his grip, both physically and mentally. And as his thumb lingers on your cheek, his gaze never wavering, you realize just how much he's wrapped himself in every aspect of your life.

The screaming in the room builds to a deafening crescendo, filling every inch of the space with the sounds of agony. Reese’s voice cuts through the chaos, desperate, pleading.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!” Reese begs, his voice cracking, raw from pain and terror. His broken body trembles against the wall, red mist still coiling around him like a vice, squeezing the life out of him with every passing second. He looks at you, eyes wide, desperate, his fear palpable.

"I-I helped you! R-remember? I'm sorry!"

For a moment, you hesitate, frozen in place, the weight of his suffering tugging at some distant part of your conscience. Should you take pity on him? The thought flickers briefly in your mind. But then you remember. The lies, the manipulation, how he had dragged you into this nightmare without a second thought. Your heart hardens.

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. Reese’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can speak another word, Sylus moves with a calm, terrifying ease. Without a second thought, he reaches into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. The room falls eerily silent for a brief second, the chaos holding its breath.

And then, without a word or hesitation, Sylus points the gun at Reese and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out, and Reese’s body goes limp, his head lolling to the side as blood pools beneath him. The life drains from his eyes in an instant. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of what just happened settling heavily in the air.

You stare at the scene in shock, unable to fully process how quickly it had all happened. Your breath catches in your throat, your mind racing as you look to Sylus. But he simply shrugs, completely unfazed, his expression calm and even slightly amused.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,” Sylus says casually, tucking the pistol away as if nothing had happened. His voice is smooth, disturbingly nonchalant, like this was just another task to cross off his list. His eyes, however, flicker with something darker—satisfaction, perhaps, or just a quiet thrill at doing what he believed you wanted.

Your stomach twists, a mixture of shock and disbelief churning inside you. Sylus turns his gaze back to you, his smirk still present, as if waiting for your approval or reaction. You say nothing, just watching as Reese's once lively body slumped to the floor.

Sylus then turns his attention to the last man still clinging to life, his crimson eyes narrowing with cold calculation. Without a word, the red mist surrounding him begins to swirl, thickening and intensifying with an ominous hum. The tendrils of mist snake their way toward the man, wrapping around him like a tightening noose.

The man’s breathing becomes erratic, desperate gasps for air as his body convulses. He tries to scream once more, but no sound escapes his throat as the mist constricts further, crushing the last remnants of life out of him. His limbs jerk, his eyes wide with terror as the pressure grows unbearable.

Sylus watches with a dark, detached satisfaction, his hand slightly raised as if guiding the mist with an almost casual precision. Then, Sylus clenches his fist. And with a final, sickening crack, the man’s body gives way. The force of Sylus’s power snaps through him like a vice tightening too fast. His chest caves in, bones splintering as the red mist crushes him entirely.

A grotesque splatter erupts as his body meets the tiled shower wall behind him, his carnage painting it in violent shades of red. Blood and tissue streak down the wall, dripping in a slow, macabre trail, the remnants of his existence.

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat at the brutality of it all, but Sylus remains calm, lowering his hand as the mist dissipates, his expression indifferent to the destruction he’s caused.

"Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

The room is deathly silent now, save for the slow drip of blood from the walls, and the overwhelming finality of it all settles in your chest. You can't tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene, the shock numbing your senses as Sylus steps in front of you, his presence once again wrapping around you like a suffocating mist. His dark eyes bore into yours, a predator sizing up its prey, his calmness only amplifying the terror that gnaws at the edges of your mind.

You flinch as the squelch of his shoes on the blood-soaked floor breaks the silence, your heart pounding in your throat. Every instinct tells you to run, but your legs refuse to obey, frozen in the icy grip of fear. Sylus tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile.

"Woo hoo! Boss is so cool!" Luke chimes in, his bubbly voice shattering the eerie stillness. He gives Kieran a high five before erupting into a fit of laughter. The contrast between his cheerful tone and the grotesque scene feels jarring, almost surreal. You glance at him, baffled by the carefree attitude, as if the carnage before him was nothing more than an impressive show.

He bounces on his feet, voice shrill with admiration as he watches Sylus with the same excitement one might have for a favorite hero. The dissonance is unsettling, pulling you deeper into the spiraling nightmare, where the boundaries between reality and madness blur with each passing second.

Sylus doesn’t react to Luke’s enthusiasm, his focus entirely on you.

Sylus, now visibly more at ease after the extermination of the two men, steps forward with a calm confidence. His eyes never leave yours as he crouches down and effortlessly grabs you from the floor, hoisting you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. The abruptness of it sends a jolt through your body, and you instinctively try to push away, but his grip only tightens—firm, yet almost playful, like a cat owner gently restraining a stubborn pet.

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with dark amusement. "Ah ah, I won’t let my kitten scatter off a second time."

Your body begins to tremble uncontrollably in his arms, the weight of the situation finally crashing over you like a wave. You had escaped—however briefly—and now you were trapped again. The suffocating inevitability of it wraps itself around you, a crushing reminder that there was bound to be a punishment for trying to flee. Your mind flashes with memories of him slicing open your arm, the cold, detached precision of it, and you wince as the old wound aches in response.

"Please... I'm sorry," you whine, your voice barely above a whisper as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Don’t hurt me again, don’t punish me."

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes watching you with that unsettling mixture of amusement and something that borders on tenderness. "Sweetie, it’s okay," he whispers, his tone disturbingly gentle. He reaches up to brush a bit of dirt from your face, his fingers cold against your skin. "Do you really think I’m going to hurt you? Am I that scary?"

Despite the soft cadence of his voice, the dissonance between his words and the twisted affection in his gaze only amplifies your fear. He holds you securely as he begins to ascend the stairs, leaving the bloodied carnage in the basement to rot, a gruesome memory that would never wash away.

As you both make your way out of the metal hatchet you spot various bags filled with small white powdery substances settled on the couch and tables.

Drugs. Reese had been tricking girls and trading them for drugs.

The air grows cooler as you pass through the broken, dingy living room and out into the crisp, suffocating night of the N109 Zone. With a shrill caw, and a flatter of his wings, Mephisto takes flight and disappears into the night sky.

A dark car with blacked-out windows waits for you at the curb, its ominous presence sending your heart racing again. You think about making a run for it—just for a fleeting second—but that hope vanishes as the twins scatter hurriedly to the front seats, and Sylus pushes you both into the back with an effortless shove.

The car roars to life, and the world outside begins to blur as you realize the inevitable: you were headed back to your cage, the one you had fought so desperately to leave. Sylus keeps you firmly straddled on his lap, his grip unyielding, as if he thought you’d vanish into the night if he let go for even a moment. His eyes, sharp and predatory, stay locked on you, unblinking and watchful.

For a while, the only sound is the hum of the engine as it cuts through the night, the silence between you as suffocating as his hold. Then, suddenly, Sylus lets out a long sigh, breaking the quiet as he leans forward, his face burying into the curve of your neck. The unexpected closeness makes your skin prickle. He nuzzles into your skin like a bird seeking warmth, though you doubted you smelled like anything but blood and grime.

"I missed you," he whispers, his voice soft but strained, as though it carries a deep weight of worry. He shifts, tilting his head up to look at you, his gaze surprisingly gentle, like someone gazing at something precious. His eyes search yours, a strange vulnerability flickering behind the usual cold dominance. "So, so much."

Something tightens in your chest at the sight of him looking at you this way, as though you were his treasure, something he had longed for. The sincerity in his expression shakes you, confusing your thoughts even further. Could he possibly mean it?

"Did you miss me?" he asks, his lips curling into a small, almost playful smile.

You just stare at him, uncertain how to respond. The words lodge in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn your head away, avoiding his eyes. The truth is, you don’t know what to feel. Had you missed him? Or were you just desperate to be saved, no matter who?

He chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his head gently against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "You don’t have to answer."

As the car speeds deeper into the dark, your mind begins to spiral, thoughts tangling into knots you can’t unravel. As his arms tighten around you, keeping you pinned in place, you ponder a persistent thought.

Sylus had said he wouldn’t hurt you—but he never said he wouldn’t punish you.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

First, love the dark Lucifer Vampire story! And I love how treats Adam like a pet. So, here's what I have you:

Prince! Adam x Warlord! Lucifer (yes he would be dark and treat Adam like a glorified pet. Adam would grow to like it but at first, he's embarrassed as hell. He's given to Lucifer as his prisoner to stop him from attacking the kingdom of Heaven. Adam tries to fight it but he's forced into it by his mother, Sera, against his will. Lilith will be dead in this, died during childbirth, and Charlotte is just as ruthless as her father. Lucifer sees Adam as his pet for the most part but later on, decides he'd make a good bride. He's submissive and does what he's told. Perfect. Adam slowly falls in love with him and Lucifer will follow slowly after. Adam's personality would basically be shy but easily moved to tears due to his low self-esteem. Sera treats him like a waste of space and much prefers her daughter, Emily.)

XxX

Prince Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing from his own mother. He had been dragged from his room by guards, no yelling would get them to stop, and he was brought before his mother, Queen Sera of the kingdom of Heaven. She looked down at him with a glare like she normally would.

"Adam. The invaders have come to a decision." Adam had a bad feeling about this. Emily refused to look at him but she did look bored to be here. She was always bored, even when their mother was hurting Adam. But, this whole situation leaves Adam with a bad taste in his mouth and the guards forcing him to kneel didn't help either.

"Adam, you will go with them as...collateral to keep them away from our borders. They've requested a prisoner and me and Emily certainly couldn't leave Heaven to its own devices. That leaves you."

No. No! This couldn't be happening! Adam was to be a prisoner?! To some tyrant, they call The Devil?! He felt tears fall onto the floor as he begged, "Please! There has to be—"

Sera simply scoffed. "Cease you're crying. Honestly, a man shouldn't be crying this much but I guess you never met the criteria of a man, did you?" Adam flinched, hurt once more by her words. Emily let out a chuckle but she didn't say much of anything. She never did. She saw Adam like one would a fly. Annoying but completely forgotten when out of the room.

He was bound in chains and gagged before being put in the dungeons to wait until after the kingdom celebrated getting out of war. They would throw a feast for the tyrant and his daughter, they would take their prisoner and leave. The war over and Adam gone. Two birds with one stone.

Queen Sera prepared the most magnificent feast they could and just in time. The Warlord and his daughter were here. He walked in like owned the place, his regal cape flooding behind him. His daughter, taller than him by a head, walked beside him, her cold eyes gazing at everything in disgust. Their palace was much better.

"Ah, if isn't the Queen." The Warlord said, smirking at her. There was a reason they called him The Devil. The birth name given to him was Lucifer. His daughter, Charlotte Morningstar, looked just smug, her red eyes dancing with mirth at the fact everyone seemed afraid of them.

She was known to keep a plethora of women at her side that she used as her pleasure. She took care of them in her opinion and they all loved being her pets, but it was amusing to see all of them, especially the women, terrified that she would seduce them and use them like a pet.

They weren't worthy of that.

"Shall we eat?"

I love all of this so much!! @beef-brisket @fanofstuff01 @kittenfangirl20 I need of rp of this yesterday lmao

-

Adam sat down in the cell, his eyes wet as he couldn't stop silently crying as he could hear the celebration going on upstairs. They were celebrating him being given to a ruthless Warlord as a pet, a slave in every sense of the word.

He was supposed to be a Prince, yet he was treated no better than the dead rat in the corner that was rotting away. Soon that would be him, The Devil will likely torture him for the rest of his days and use him any way possible.

Adam felt another tear fall from his eyes, he was a virgin so the thought of the only time he'd be having sex........ It broke his heart that he would never be loved by anyone.

His father loved him before he passed away from being sick. Adam wished he was still alive, surely he wouldn't let his mother do this.

His mother didn't love him, Adams not sure she ever did. His sister seemed indifferent towards him. He didn't know what he did to make them not want or love him.

No one loved him, no one ever would. Adam was never going to be happy ever again.

His eyes stayed locked down on his bound hands. Was this what awaited him down South in the car country of Hell? To be thrown in the dungeon, bound and gagged, only to be fed enough to live. To know only pain and suffering from this day on. Maybe the Warlord will take pity and make Adams death quick and painless.

And maybe Adam will grow wings and fly away.

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter I

𐙚 Following Aegon's crowning of King, you attempt to settle into your new reality, with absolutely idea of what is happening around you. Your only company? The one eyed Prince himself.

𐙚 Aemond Targaryen x Reader (tw: manipulation, slight non-con, incest)

The nights following Aegon’s coronation were chaotic, whisperings of Rhaenyra’s claim lay about plainly as others argued the whore was not the rightful heir after all. Doors remained closed tight, no one talked too loud, servants kept to themselves. War was brewing, that was for certain.

You remembered the night your father died, your mother had snuck into your room and had gently woke you up. Cradled you as she gave you the news, you being the only Viserys doted on after Rhaenyra. And in some sick way, Alicent was sure you were her favorite too.

At first you did not comprehend how he was dead. He was not in good health, but to die so suddenly had left you confused.

‘My sweetling, he was not well. You saw. So weak, so poor in health.’ she spoke as she pet your hair.

Tears caked your face, hair matted to your skin, ‘I just don't understand.’

She sighed, ‘My poor girl.’

When Alicent had left that night, you had felt a void inside. Heartbroken and scared at the news. You found yourself in a familiar place, slipping out of your own chambers and into Aemonds. You wouldn't bother Aegon at that hour, him too drunk to even wake or want to comfort you. So instead you slipped into your more understanding brother’s space, the one who gently held you when you were scared and kissed you so gently.

But now, everyone's attention had been guided to Rhaenyra and her war. Everyone in the keep insisting she would come with fire and blood. And where you would seek Aegon’s affections, it would now be shunned upon. He was married after all, with two children and now king. He could no longer lie in bed and keep you entertained with his flea bottom stories.

✮⋆˙

“He's too busy now brother, too busy for me.” you complain, stitching at Aemond’s ripped attire. “He drinks a lot, I know this. But never stops by my chambers anymore. He must be so occupied with being king.”

Aemond doesn't reply, just makes an agreeing sound as his one eye watches you sew.

“How is Helaena? I know you two spend time together, she will not speak to me either. I wish she would, I get so lonely.”

“I talk to you.” Aemond reminds you.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile, “You’re always so good to me brother.”

His hand finds your arm, gently rubbing you to calm you.

“No one tells me anything. It’s…” tears form in your eyes.

“My love…”

“No!” you slam his arm away, getting up and begin to pace. “You are not to call me that! You are gone for days, on that beast you claim to be a dragon. Mother will not come visit me, Aegon has completely shunned me. Cole will not look at me and my dear sister will not speak to me. I am going insane in my room. Please. Please, what is happening?”

Aemond studies you for a moment, as if he were examining your outburst.

“I’ve never known you to yell. At all people, me.” he finally speaks.

It hurts you. The pain that settles in your chest after his words are enough to make you sick.

“I did not mean-” you return to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Please forgive me. I cannot stand if you are mad at me. I am losing my sanity. I'm so lonely.”

“Am I not enough to keep you happy?” he questions.

“I miss our mother, and our brother.” you admit. “When father was alive I wasn't so…lonely.”

“Because he kept you company.”

“I just want Aegon to visit again. Or mother. Or even Haelena. Please just ask them. Ser Kavvin does not let me leave ever. It’s like I am a prisoner.” it’s almost as if you were praying to the gods. Gentle and begging. Please please please.

Aemond is silent again, until he rises and kisses your head, “I’ll tell mother and brother to visit you my sweetling, it must be so awful for you to be cooped up in here, I am sorry Vhagar has my interests as of late. My priority has always been you.”

You beam at his words, the remembrance of your outburst a memory it seemed. Although the court was terrified of Aemond, you were not. Perhaps some of you was, but he was gentle and sweet to you, you almost had no reason to be scared. He took care of you, bringing you jewelry and new gowns, dining with you in place of your mother. He was the only human interaction you had gotten as of late, everyone else so preoccupied with Aegon.

“Is it?” you ask. Out of place, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself.

“I always thought we’d marry. Aegon had Haelena, but who has you, but me.” Aemond begins to cup your face. “I enjoy our time together, but there are matters I must attend to this afternoon. But don't worry, I will have mother or Aegon visit you.”

You struggle to understand his words, “What do you mean. Have me?”

He smiles and shakes his head, giving you a kiss on the lips before finding himself out of your chamber.

✮⋆˙

If anything Aemond does well, it's keep a promise. As he said, Alicent finds herself in your chambers a little after nightfall. She had maids run you a hot bath, your white hair gently slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.

“Why haven't you visited me?” you finally ask after too much silence.

“Aegon is being prepared to finally rule, I have been attending to it.” she says. “I am sorry, I haven't seen to you. I do feel bad.”

“Why must I be confined to my chambers.” you turn to her, violet eyes looking up at her.

“I do not trust…” she tries to collect her thoughts, not sure how to word it for you to understand best. “Aegon thinks it’s best if you are under protection. He thinks you might be a target for Rhaenyra’s anger.”

“Rhaenyra.” you say your sister’s name. “Rhaenyra is upset that father replaced her as heir?”

“Yes my sweet. She is upset that your father changed his mind about the succession. He decided he wanted Aegon on the throne after all.”

“I miss him.” you say after a while. “He was very sick…but he kept me company.”

“I am sorry, I am. I know it is no excuse but you must forgive and understand how daunting this has all been. So much has been done and needs to be done, the realm may be at war soon-”

“At war?” you interject, worry in your tone. “War? Why war?”

Alicent catches herself, she has slipped.

‘Do not mention the mess with Rhaenyra to her, I would not have her worry’ Aegon’s voice played in her head.

“No war my sweet, I only forget myself. I am sure Aegon will come to peace with Rhaenyra, and maybe she will even be seen back in the keep. You’d like that, right? I know you were fond of her son, Jacerys, I know you two were close.” Alicent goes back to braiding your hair, scared her words have put unrest in you. You did scare rather too easy.

“I don't want anyone at war.” you murmur.

“No war.” Alicent nods. “Aegon will be a good king, and make peace. I know it.”

✮⋆˙

If you were honest, you were close to Jacerys, spending time in the garden together and studying. Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you, mostly due to your shared father also taking a liking to you. You were not close with Lucerys, you did not know him well. You did not spend time with him nor were you very thoughtful towards him. No time truly spent between you.

So news of his death broke the in the red keep, you found yourself indifferent. No tears were shed, but your heart hurt for Jacerys.

Aemond had returned from dragon back, Aegon so delighted of his brother's victory, the murder of a child, that a feast was thrown. You were allowed in your finest green silk and finally allowed out of your chambers, where you sat among several counsel members and your family along with some court attendees. Aemond had been silent for most of the feast, ignoring the praise he had received, most of them insults for Rhaenyra. You watched him closely, hoping, begging he would make eye contact with you. But he did not.

For hours it went on like this, Aemond slowly sipping and eating at the feast presented in front of him, not truly present at the party that was all for him and his victory.

Aegon, ever drunk, was quite present. Too present.

“My sweet sister!” his voice calls, and you turn to him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“My chambers, on your ruling.” you murmur.

“My ruling? Why would I ever…” he hiccups and slams himself down in the chair beside you. “I have missed you soooo much. Your absence has been noted, why do you scorn me so?”

His words don't make sense to you. Your mother’s words and now his, dancing in your head. You hadn't noticed, not truly noticed, until you briefly look at him, that Aemond is staring at you. For the first time in the entire night, he simply stares. But his gaze is far from comforting.

“I’ve been in my chamber, lonely.” you admit, looking back at Aegon.

“Well…I have missed you my girl, so much. It's so lonely…” he whispers the next part, “my bed… has been rather lonely.”

Aemond stands, everyone quickly glancing at him. He excuses himself from the table, with Aegon’s hand on you all you truly can do is watch.

“He’s upset” you mention.

“Ah yes. He’s been so moody since that business with the dragons. Don't know why though. They're all traitors. I’ll have all of their heads.” Aegon smells like alcohol, a smell you’re familiar with but still sensitive to.

“Aegon!” your mother’s voice rings. “I do wish you would not speak of such things with her, you know better.”

Alicent attempts to pull Aegon up from beside you, but he is quick to shove her away. You stand, shocked at the whole ordeal.

“I think I will head to bed.” you insist.

“I think that would be best, sweetling.” Alicent nods.

When you enter your chambers, you don't notice Aemond at first. He's facing the bookshelf, one your late father filled with stories of old and history. The one thing you both bonded over.

When you do notice him, it’s when you're half naked, pulling your sleeping slip on.

“Your skin is always so beautiful.” his voice startles you.

“Aemond!” you jump, clinging to your fur blanket, attempting to cover yourself.

“I've seen you already, have you forgotten me already?” you're not sure if he's as drunk as your other brother was, but his voice is calm and almost soothing.

“You should be in bed, the hour is late and I know you are upset.” you try to reason with him, knowing that when he is upset he is easiest to get to.

“But you always grant me so much comfort.” Aemond steps towards you, allowing his hand to cup your face, thumb lining your lips. “Do you remember the night I lost my eye. I was in so much pain. And you found me, alerted the guards to me. And that night, before we left, you let me in your bed for the first time. And we laid there together in peace.”

You watch his face as he talks, there's always been a certain amount of devotion you showed Aemond. That night you had found your cousins and him, screaming at the top of your lungs that alerted the guards to the situation. And he was not wrong. That night Aemond had been restless, in pain over his lost eye. Where your mother usually slept beside you, she had taken a leave of absence from your bed that night, allowing Aemond to replace her.

“You were always so sweet to me, where they laughed, you had always welcomed me. For dolls, for tea…for anything. So gentle. So kind.” Aemond sounds breathless, like he was praying.

“Aemond-”

“Shhhhh.” he licks your closed lips, causing you to gasp.

Aemond was always strict with the affection he gave you; always keeping his hands to himself, always to be careful that your mother did not catch a glimpse of how hungrily he would stare at you. But never this brazen. You did not know what to make of it.

“Please.” you beg. “We can't-”

“Can't what. You have no husband, and I have no wife. This is right. We were born to be together.” Aemond presses his forehead towards you. “Ever since that night I lost my eye, and you welcomed me so warmly into your bed I have wanted you since. Why won't you let me take you?”

“We can't…Aegon…he-”

Aemond’s face twists in anger, “Don't mention him! Do not speak of him!”

The outburst scares you, taking a step back and clutching your fur tighter.

“Drop it.” his face changes, as does his voice. His entire demeanor shifts. He unclips his cloak from his armor, letting the fabric fall to your chamber floor. “I said…drop it”

You drop the fur immediately, standing there almost bare for him. He looks over body, with a hungry gaze and a curious eye. Your slip was a thin silk, something your mother would die if she ever found you dressed in. But the sun had been hot as of late, and her nightgowns were too heavy. The several slips had been a gift of Aemond, now you had known why.

“I have waited years for you. Years for you to come to your senses of what I am to you. What you are to me. I am sick of waiting my sweet, I need you now. And I will have you now.” Aemond’s hands gently pull your slip down, allowing your naked body to be in full view for him. “You’re mine. You always have been. I just need to prove it to you."

[threepandas]

Bad End: Actions Speak

"Be Silent."

Those were the first words commanded to me by the High Dragon Prince of the South. He did not want to hear me. Did not want to see me. To even be forced to endure, my obnoxious, insignificant, human presence. Any more then he absolutely had too. If it weren't for the fact that I had magic? He likely would have preferred to have me killed.

Just like the others.

I was a prisoner of war. One, which? I had no choice but to take part in. Had been drafted, by the humans. Only to be captured, by the dragons. All I had wanted? From my second chance at life? Was to live quietly. Study magic. Enjoy what I could not, before. Instead? I got warfare. Fear. The constant threat of death.

They needed me to open confidential human intelligence. Reverse engineer defenses and weapons. My safety and quality of life? Depended entirely on my compliance. And? If those reports and devices happened to be trapped to hell 'n back? By Mages FAR more skilled then myself?

Do it anyway. You are replaceable. Either you succeed... or you die.

You... hah... y-you really...

Really can say, I guess, n-now I know...? That...

That you really DO learn faster, under fire. Enduring pain curses. Fighting lethal curses, for your very life. Fire and drowning attacks. Lightning. Wind spells meant to choke the life of out of me, by sucking out all the air from my lungs. They... they really were creative, weren't they? My old colleagues.

Yes, sadistic, in ways I had never imagined. But also? Very, very creative.

I had the scars to prove it now.

All the while, as commanded, I did not talk. Did not DARE. Still do not. Even as I am shoved around. Dragged from tent to tent, building to building. Hurried along, like an inconvenience. A faulty, inefficient, piece of machinery, that dares eat their food and breathe their air. Slow and lagging, but sadly? Oh, sadly. They could not find better.

But I endure. Survive. I do not talk, so I can not offer. I give them nothing more then they demand. Malicious compliance. Nothing more, nothing less, then EXACTLY as you commanded, oh Wardens mine. My Keepers, foul and wretched. The holders of my chains. Someday... someday, this war will end. Or I will die, my luck running out, at long, long last.

And I?

I Will Be Free.

Once, long before this all, I had heard rumors. They say that talented humans, magically gifted humans, tended to be kept as glorified, pampered little pets, in the Vampiric lands. It... it sounds nice, now. To worry for nothing. To be protected. Adored and provided for, like some exquisite house cat, lounging in the sun. I could study again. Find someone nice.

....I worry.

You see, I... I think...

I may be breaking, around the edges of myself. Hairline fractures, born of stress. It's the isolation. Surrounded as I am. None of them are human, none of them will talk to me, at me. Anything at all. They follow the lead of their Prince. And he? Oh, he has made his distain for humanity clear.

Which begs the question. Why is he here?

Or rather, why am I? Dragged, from the ratty little cloth hovel they call "my tent", by the worn and patched to incoherence cloak I now wear, straight to the central command tent. Where the Prince is. The generals. The beating heart of the army itself. Dumped on the ground at his feet, I was fully expecting that to be it. That this would be the day.

They had found a better, less worn down, mage. A stronger one. A more obedient one. My services would no longer be... required.

I sat there. In the dirt. Eyes locked on his feet and waited. Palms splayed against the floor. Why bother fight? If I did THAT, they'd use me as "an example" for the NEXT mage. No. No, better to go quick. I had been reborn once. T-there was a possibility... however small... it... it might? Happen again?

Please, Gods. Please Gods, let it happen again.

But no. I was told, with judgment in his voice, by some general, to "get up". Ha! As though they were not directly responsible for my beaten down state. How dare. How DARE he judge me? I owed them nothing. Refused to die, in some short sighted tantrum of honor or pride.

I would LIVE, damn it. I MUST live. For how ever long I could. I wanted to be free again. To read and travel, do magic for magics sake. Never... NEVER see another dragon again.

Perhaps that was hateful. But damn it... I... I was so tired.

Nonetheless, I stood. Looked at no one and said nothing. Just an empty, ragged cloak with flesh inside. I am not here. I do not suffer. Unfocus your eyes and be far away. Yes, that's right, I tell myself, far... far away. It's like meditation. Just... ride the flow of magic. Do not call it. Merely observe. Let the colors drag you in. Be washed away. Far, far away.

I hear and do not hear, there. See and do not see. They can not touch me, can not hurt me, there is nothing and everything, in the Magics. It is... so... so BeAuTiFuL.

No wonder so many are lost. Drift and never come back.

I play a dangerous game, here.

But they can not hurt me.

No one can.

In here.

No answer comes then. But I am expected to work. Perhaps it is a show? Or they wish to verify, that I am indeed, doing what they keep me alive for. Nonetheless, I sit, in the corner, silent as I got to work. As old colleagues try to stop my heart, freeze my blood, rupture my organs. As burns roar over my skin and lightning crackles against canvas walls.

I do not scream. That would be too close to "speaking". I am not fool enough to give them an excuse. There is a belt I can bite. I use it often. Will have to salvage another, as this one is falling to pieces. That and a silencing spell? My screaming is muted.

Getting better at healing magic, I think. Either I have learned to numb the pain or I may have nerve damage. I doubt, now, that I will ever win awards. For my beauty. Too many scars. My arms are a wreck. My hands a travesty. It is nothing short of a miracle, that I have not LOST any fingers, to this.

Why am I here? Why? Why?

At least in my little hovel, I can curl up and weep. Emote. Can take breaks between bouts of pain and battles of magic. But here? Like a machine, stacks are dumped before me, and I am expected to perform. Do or die, human. We can always find another.

Through it all, haunting golden eyes watch. My pain, my exhaustion, all observed, giving away nothing, by that impassive royal face. I don't know what he WANTS.

Finally, after weeks of considering me, he decides to tell me. Comes to some conclusion, no input required. Why would it be? Of course. He is a High Prince. His power is great, his honor and name without equal. Why would he need MY input on anything.

"Did I know," he asked me, voice ponderous and musing, "That of all the mages his people have captured... I had lived the longest?"

I had not. But it did not suprise me.

He sat, considering me, splayed back in his chair like it was a throne, every bit the picture of a royal. A portrait of the man he was born to be. But the distain... the distain? Had... lessened. Not gone. Never gone. Gods, no. We peons were beneath him. Especially I, a mere human. But? Apparently I was not longer quite so wretched.

Our dear High Prince decided I should get a better tent. A new cloak. Actual medical supplies. What wonders.

It made me nervous. What cost, did these things come with? What expectation? Loyalty? I had offered none and never will. That would quickly become a problem. Still, I kept my head down. Always, always, keep your head down. Let the dragons die, for their stupid fucking war.

No longer replaceable. I discovered.

In the next big attack, as there was ALWAYS a next one, I wasn't evacuated last. As attacks fell. But FIRST, as the soilders were arriving. I was... was "essential personal". Shoved in an evac cart with the fancy strategists.

They started deliberately capturing mage supplies. Books and spell papers, chalks and high quality inks. Not just to disarm their opponents. Oh no. But to give to ME. I had... I had NEVER gotten supplies. The last time I had actually, truely, desperately, needed ink? I had been forced to use my own blood.

My hands actually shook. Touching such richs now. It overwhelmed, after so long, with nothing. I... I had healing books. Could actually look things up!

Curling up, before the piles of crates they dumped in front of my little tent, I didn't care, if they saw me cry. On my knees like an acolyte before the alter. Finally. FINALLY! Answers, armaments, and supplies. Relief, after so long? Was rain on desert sands. Burned skin left tender and screaming, to the cleansing mercy, of the softly weeping skies.

This, too, the High Prince saw.

No where to store them, of course. A gift given then taken away. Held just out of reach. Just long enough to give hope. All the better to torment you with it. Oh where we would we store, your useless little trinkets, human?

But I refuse to play the game. Fine. Take them. Take it all.

I need nothing.

Retreat into the Magics. They can not hurt me. I am not here. Far, far away. I am far, far away.

The High Prince, lounging and watchful, seems to have decided. No. The human things will go to him, actually, not to the fire. He watches with strange, considering eyes. In fact? I will make my self useful. Show my gratefulness. He is using valuable storage space on me, so I am to come before him and study. Prove it is worth it.

Is he not gracious? Now press your face to the dirt in thanks, human. Bow and scrape. Be glad, be honored, that your Liege is so kind.

He does not disagree, as they tell me these things. Why would he? They are his due. I think... I think I hate him. Hate them all. But the pull of books, of proper supplies, is simply too powerful. Back to that wretched tent I go. Under the staring eyes that dissect me so. Finally, I can heal my aching body.

He watchs me. As I study, improve, learn and grow. As old books are taken from me, shipped away somewhere, beyond my reaching, and new ones arrive. I desperately make notes. Hope those notes will be enough. Work and suffer and bleed. Somewhere, in the camp, I sense others.

The come and go. Bright lights that flare and then dim. Struggling and struggling, before finally going out. Some faster then others. The objects and messages they have me working on now? Are truely nasty. Again and again, I see the crests of Nobel houses and royal seals. How powerful, I wonder, have I become? Or is it simply... specialized?

A gift, for not dying.

Over the camp walls, I have begun to recognize the surroundings. The mountains and the valleys. The trees, in bloom. It seems wrong, that the world should be so beautiful, as everything is ending. The nation I grew up in, is falling. But... but we passed Heartriver two weeks back. And THAT? Was well within the border.

And from HERE... I can see the school.

The University of Magics. All I had ever wished, was to return. But... but not like this, never like this. I'm... gods. Oh Gods, I'm sorry. For my weakness. For not choosing to die. For not running at all, before it all began. I should have. But... but I was a coward. And now everyone else, must pay the price.

I stand outside my pathetic little tent and watch the horizon smoke. Burn.

Dragons are so very, very fond of fire.

Far away... j-just go far away... the Magic will always take you. Is always kind. Towards the tent I go. I remind myself, as I force myself to move, one step in front of the other? That if the worst comes to worst? I can just... Let Go. Go DEEP. So deep that no one and nothing can ever find me again. So far away, my body forgets I ever lived at all.

Just... just a soul. Floating along like a jellyfish, in the beautiful Allthings. The light and void, the far away and gone. I-It wouldn't even hurt. Just be like... like letting go of a balloon. I could be that balloon. Disappear into endless starlight...

But... BUT! I wont.. I can't! Not yet. Not until every other path has burned. Last resort. Only, ONLY, as a last resort.

(I refuse to acknowledge... how comforting the knowledge is. That I have a plan at all. A way out.)

Entering the tent, I head for "my table". At the High Prince' feet like a dog. A lovely little carpet, comfortable little pillows, a low table to work on. It would... honestly? It would be a lovely place setting. A delightful workstation. If it were not the context. The obvious, blatant, demeaning context.

Sit at his feet and behave. Be good and you're rewarded, be bad and you're punished. Brought little treats at HIS command? Sit on a pillow, on the floor, as they talk over your head? Ha ha... I? I half expected to one day show up to find someone holding a fucking collar.

If they fucking tried? I was going to set everything on FIRE. Even I, had limits.

However, it was just the Prince and I. Uncomfortable, but I could ignore him. Walking for my humiliating little seat, I noticed him watching me. Slowed. Why... why was he watching me? Awkwardly I paused. Did NOT want to be kneeling in front of a man that was staring that intently at me. Especially not so closely to a man, staring like that. The vibes were... off.

"Did you know, pet, that we actually have several rather old alliances amoung the Vampiric Royal Houses?" He said, breaking the strange silence.

'Pet, huh? Good to know he's at least fucking AWARE. I did NOT consent to that!' I seethe, in my head.

"It's been bothering me, you see. Your wretched state." He continues, completely unbothered that he might as well be talking to a statue. I stare, seethe, would give a limb at this point, to set him on fire. "You've suffered unbearably and I've done nothing to correct it, even though I could. We needed you for the war effort, you see, but now? Now, pet, we're nearly done. And I can finally care for you properly."

"Reward you, properly." The bastard says, calm and oh so reasonable, as though I had anything to do with him willingly.

"Honestly, it's long over due. The second I realized I wanted you as Mine, I should have stepped up to care for you properly. Officially. But, sadly, it would have been a conflict of interest. An abuse of power. Now, however? Now I can finally call on our allies for their support. Get you the medical assistance you so badly require."

A pleased smile stole across his face as he considered me.

"You'll make a lovely vampire. It was selfish of me, to cheat you of the years turning you sooner would have given you, but I'm sure you'll forgive me with time. Our people needed us. I can swear to you now, pet, you will forever remain my favorite, even if I take a Queen."

Horror was like a gut punch, deliver by a fighter jet. I felt immediately and intensely sick. W-what? Frozen so completely I nearly forgot to breathe, I looked for ANY sign he may be joking. Exaggerating. But... but no. W-WHAT?? How. WHEN? At what point, in my torment? In my UTTER SILENCE? Did this man "fall in love"?!

H-How can you LOVE a women you've never-?! No. No, I KNEW how.

You decide you like the IDEA of them. The shape of their body. You project onto them your OWN narrative and decide it is a love story. Fuck. FUCK!! I was... this was... no no NO! I REFUSED. Like HELL was I could to live, trapped for DECADES if not CENTURIES, the pretty little war bride of a tyrant!

The High Prince gets up and walkes towards me. Sweeps me into terrifyingly powerful arms. When he smiles? There are fangs. Deadly and hardly the comfort he thinks they are. We are a laughable contrast. Richs and rags, power and prisoner, royal and the woman who might just burn the world to escape. Shit. SHIT. I was scared of him before.

And that's BEFORE he decided he loved me.

[blorboazula]

I've been reading a bunch of Azula fics, I have three pet peeves (and they bother me a lot because I read "Azula-friendly" only).

Azula shot Iroh with lighting: she didn't. I've just watched one or those bending compilations and her shot even makes the fire noise. there's no crackling of electricity, there's not the whole bending movement she does for lighting.

the same goes for Mai, she was going to shoot fire. (it's not as if we see her shooting with two fingers multiple times...) fire is faster, she's good at it, that's a primary weapon.

sending the Kyoshi warriors, Ty Lee and Mai to prison is the worst thing she could have done. it makes sense to send Suki to the Boiling Rock, as it makes sense that Hakoda was there, they're the leaders. having prisoners of war is not a war crime. actually, war crimes ≠ acts of war. sending the Kyoshi warriors to prison after fighting them is exactly what you expect of people in a war.

Ty Lee and Mai committed treason on her face. that's not even about the betrayal, that's just a whole ass crime. that's the crown princess, the second most important person in the fire nation, literally the only one left to take the throne. if this wasn't a children's show, they'd have been executed before Azula could move again after being chi-blocked.

sure, being resentful about being in prison is fine, but if you don't want to go to prison, perhaps don't commit treason in front of the god-damned crown princess?

now, the worst of all: Azula always wanted to be Fire Lord.

Azula...

born fifth in the line of succession...

who has her grandfather, her father, her uncle, her cousin and her brother in front of her...

Azula always wanted to be Fire Lord.

you mean the kid that has abandonment issues?

not even counting that. after the whole shit with Lu Ten dying, Azulon dying and Ozai usurping the throne. she still has 1) her father in the throne and 2) Zuko as the crown prince. to want to be Fire Lord even then, when she's a lot closer to it, is making her want the people she loves the most to be dead or exiled.

even if you don't believe that she loves someone. why would she bring Zuko back home, restore him as the crown prince, if she wants to be Fire Lord? leave the guy there, betray him after he helped you, that would make more sense for a power-hungry secondborn daughter of the secondborn son than bringing your only competition to the throne.

I don't know where the idea that she always wanted the throne comes from, I just know it's stupid and doesn't fit anything in her show characterization

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

I've been thinking about yandere Malleus again and how well you wrote that scene out. ❤️ May I get another yan!Malleus but with corruption kink and size difference? (Over a foot's worth of size difference.) - Starlight

Why of course, Starlight~ I hope you enjoy this continuation of your previous request~

Title: Crime and Punishment (Continuation of The King's New Toy)

Characters: Malleus x m!Reader

Contains: Dark themes (Yandere), corruption, size difference, rough sex, restraints, stepping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, hand job, pet names (love, dear, pet, darling) we're back in Diasomnia's dungeon, double dick Malleus

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"I can't believe my toy would try to run away..." Malleus slowly circled you, eying you like a predator hunting its fresh prey as his heels clicked against the floor.

You sat on your knees, head hanging down and wrists tied behind you. Your attire was ragged, holes and slipping off your body. You thought you looked like a prisoner of war, but Malleus saw the fruits of his efforts, or what he only thought were the fruits of his efforts. He saw a scared, trembling little human, a meek little thing. How dare you try to run away after all the kindness he has given you.

You didn't dare meet his gaze as you spoke. "M-Malleus, please I-I'm s--"

His steps stopped suddenly in front of you, and your body went cold. "Did I give you permission to speak, love?"

You shut up immediately, not even risking the answer.

"Good boy~" His steps resumed, the clicking sound of his heels returning. "You know...the reason why I keep you in this dungeon is so I can keep you to myself. I'd hate for any of the others to try to make a move on something that is mine."

You had opened your mouth to speak, but you were quick to shut it, remembering your place.

"I mean, I trust you." He paused, speaking and moving. "Or rather...trusted you." The prince's voice was laced with disappointment as green eyes glared down at your meek form, glinting in the dim room as he resumed his actions. "And here I thought about bringing you to my room, giving you a soft bed to sleep on while I was away, even giving you this lovely little collar that would decorate your delicate little neck."

This was all a game, a sick and twisted game for Malleus. He had left the cell door open on purpose, waiting to see how you'd react. Catching you outside of the cell, well...the rage he felt nearly sent him into overblot. Nearly. Luckily Lilia was there to calm him down, and he even helped restrain you and got you into position in the cell, forcing you to wait for the prince.

So you cursed yourself for being the slightest bit curious, though...part of you was sort of...excited right now.

"Do you have anything to say, dear? You may speak."

Despite the permission, the idea of speaking to Malleus almost felt like a sin itself, but this could be your only chance to speak while it was given to you.

"I-I'm truly sorry, Malleus. P-Please, give me another chance." Your head rose from its hanging position, meeting Malleus's narrowed gaze. "I-I swear to behave! I-I won't run again!"

Malleus was silent save for a small hum, stepping behind you once more. His silence felt deafening, seemingly more terrifying than a verbal response. He pressed his heel to your back, pushing you forward.

Before you knew it, your torso was on the ground, his heel gently pressing into your spine as your form now lay flat on the chilly dungeon floor. A strange chill washed over your body as the light pressure pinned you in place.

"...Do you think you're worthy of another chance, pet?" Your heart strangely wrenched from the name change, knowing well that he was not happy with your response. "I expected more from my toy than some half-hearted apology." As he got to 'half-hearted', the pressure of his shoe increased lightly, causing you to let out a silent, startled gasp.

"I-It wasn't half-hearted, I swear! I promise, I'll be good! I'll--!"

The pressure in your back increased once more. There was no pain, but the pressure certainly heated your body, causing you to shudder.

"Did. I. Give. You. Permission?" Malleus enunciated each word slowly, pressing gently into your back at every word. You hated to admit it but...it felt nice. This force of Malleus felt...nice.

Snapping you out of your taboo thoughts, you heard Malleus sigh as he released you from underneath him. The lack of pressure almost felt like a disappointment. He stepped in front of you, and you weren't able to see much, but when he forced your head up by your hair, putting you back to your knees, you could see angered green eyes narrowed in a domineering stare.

"It seems that you are still unaware of your place, dear. Shall we change that?"

---

Malleus had shackled each wrist on either side of your head, putting you in a position that forced you to stand, lest you decide to hang by your wrists. He admired his work, eying you up and down. His gaze felt like a pair of hands running up and down your body, and it didn't help that he made you strip prior, enhancing the feeling.

"Shackles are a nice look on you, love. Perhaps I should keep you in them more often~"

The prince slowly stepped forward, once again appearing like a predator. Honestly, if you could, you would kneel before him and beg for his forgiveness, because before, you never realized just how tall he is. The top of your head met the top of his chest. Basically, if he wanted to, he could rest his chin on your head. You truly felt small against him, and you were more than willing to grovel before the prince's presence.

But chains kept you from doing so, and even if you could, you knew Malleus would punish you for such a feeble act.

Black nails gently skimmed down your exposed arms before they found a place at your neck, gently pressing into your flesh. It wasn't enough to hurt, but the pressure kept you on guard.

"Now...I trust you can behave, yes?" When you failed to respond, Malleus simply chuckled deeply. "You may speak, dear."

"Y-Yes," you breathed as if you had been holding your breath from his touch. "I-I'll behave. I swear."

Not wasting a moment, Malleus grabbed your hips and lifted you up. Your eyes widened when you felt a hard object line your backside and another pressing against your own hardening shaft. You wrapped your legs around him to keep yourself up, but really, that was unneeded with the prince's strength.

"Should you prove yourself, darling, I will accept your forgiveness and even bring you up to my room as I originally intended." One of his hands left your side as he gently caressed your face, fingers carefully tracing your jaw. You leaned into his touch, melting against him. A dark chuckle left him, knowing his actions were slowly changing you. "Perhaps I could shackle your neck like a dog..."

The idea made your cock twitch, a soft whine unintentionally leaving you. The response did not go unnoticed with Malleus.

"Hmph~ How lewd of you, love. You like the idea of that, yes?"

You nodded, assuming such a response should be okay within Malleus. You'd be correct, as Malleus leaned forward to line your neck with a slow, teasing lick of his tongue instead of berating you in some way.

A soft mewl left your lips as you felt Malleus's hips adjust. His tongue stopped by your ear as he whispered darkly. "Let's get your punishment over with so I can keep my pet at my bedside~"

The pain of your ass stretching was enough to make you nearly black out. It didn't matter that his cocks were slick, they still ached when they entered, but you were thankful that it wasn't the first time he entered, as this time your ass was quick to adjust around such shafts.

"My...used to me already?" the prince teased in a breath, feeling just how tight you were around him. "Has your body been corrupted~?"

You weren't sure if it was or not, as you couldn't think straight at the moment. Malleus gave you permission to speak, stating that from now on you are free to answer him whenever he asks a question.

"I-I...I-I'm not sure...~" Your voice was coated with lust, your legs holding onto his waist tightly. "A-All I know is...I-I want you, Malleus...P-Please~"

One of his hands rested on your neck, the thumb tilting up your head to meet your gaze like you were a doll. "You desire me, love? Well, worry not. You will get me, but it may not be what you actually want." Keeping his hand in place, his forefinger extended up, his nail gently scraping down your cheek. "You will scream, you will cry, you may even beg me to stop, but my actions will not cease. You will learn to understand your place."

"M-Malleus, my love, I-I understand! I-I understand my p--place~!!"

You spoke after a statement, not a question, meaning Malleus took things back into control. He thrusted his hips, both his cocks sliding in and out of you at a rapid speed. The pleasure wrecked into you like a sack of bricks, and you swore you were about to suffocate from it. His movements felt so good, enough to cause you to dig your head into the wall behind you as you screamed in bliss. You called for Malleus, your prince, your love. You were quick to submit, your mind broken from all he had put your through before this. Before you tried to work with him, but now? Now you were just gone, willing to allow yourself to be his pet, his toy. You loved it. You loved him.

"M-Malleus~! F-Fuck~!" You tugged against the chains, as if trying to get away from the overwhelming pleasure, but the fae had his hands on your hips, keeping you firmly in place. There was no escape from the prince's onslaught of pleasure. He would be right: you would scream, you would cry, and yes, you even begged him to stop. You didn't want him to stop because you hated it, no. You wanted him to stop because it was too good. You were in heaven as tears rolled down your face, drool slipping from your lips from your mouth hanging open from the unforgiving pounding. Your cock ached with the desire to release, but at some point, Malleus had gripped the base, preventing you from cumming at all.

You were unsure of how long this lasted, but all you knew is that you didn't want it to end. Malleus had, indeed, corrupted you. You wanted him, you wanted more if possible. You wanted to be his favroite.

At some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. Your voice was hoarse as you spoke. "M-Malleus~! P-Please let me cum~! P-Please~! I-I wanna cum...f-for my king~!"

Your words seemed to intrigue him, his actions faltering for just a moment. "Y-You want to finish? Th-Then...tell me. What are you...going to do?"

You didn't miss a beat. "I-I'm gonna...be a good toy! I-I'll listen! I-I won't ever run...away again! I-I'll be a good boy! I-I promise! I-I promise, my king!" You had to force your voice out, struggling to even form coherent thoughts.

Malleus trusted you, and with that trust, he took his hand and kept the pressure of the grip as he rapidly moved his hand along your cock, jerking you off with no way to cum. You shrieked in ecstacy, thrashing against him as you begged for release. Your mind turned to mush as you wished for nothing more than to cum. When his hand loosened up, it was practically instataneous with his own release. As you shot out multiple ropes of white between you, Malleus's two shafts pumped its own set of thick, white liquid deep inside of you, some of it dripping out of you.

Panting softly, Malleus took note of this, sighing lightly. "Oh my...you're dripping my release onto the floor...what a shame." Removing his hand, Malleus licked whatever of your seed that landed on his hand, humming at your bitter taste. "When I relocate you, I'll have to make sure to acquire a toy that keeps whatever I leave inside of you."

You honestly weren't listening at this point. You were practically unconscious, your eyes half lidded as they gazed at nothing, your chest slowly heaving with air. You heard him, you just couldn't respond properly save for a delayed nod. Taking note of this, Malleus chuckled.

"What a good boy~"

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 11

Steve had spent the rest of the day alone in his room. He had a feeling the only reason that happened was because the king himself had given an order to the kids not to bother him at all. Most of the hours he sat at the window sill, looking out onto the land that was supposed to be cursed.

But it was quite the same as the land he'd been raised on. What other lies had his family told about this place? About these people? There were still things Steve didn't understand. It felt like a puzzle had been formed with mixed pieces that no longer fit together.

He wondered how long his father took to make his decision to abandon him. Had he paced around? Had he weighed his options at all? Or had it been an immediate breath of relief when he was able to rid himself of his son? Then he thought about his mother.

She was always softer on him, but in the end never failed to side with her husband. Steve felt he couldn't begrudge her for that, but still wished to know if she argued with him even the smallest bit when he did this.

Steve thought he had known his worth. He might not be the son his parents wanted, but he was still a son. Still a crown prince, born and raised to one day rule. They had put so much work into him. They wanted to send him away, yes, but to be trained and come back even more prepared for his future role as king. They were tossing him away like it all meant nothing.

Well they could always make anoth-

He felt the burn of tears coming on before the thought even finished. They would, wouldn't they? They'd just start over with another child. One that they'd bring up right. They would forget all about Steve. They might even go as far as to strike his name from the record. What need would they have to remember him? He had accomplished nothing under their parentage. Nothing of note to them anyway.

So what was next then? What could he accomplish here? Suppose the king wasn't playing a trick and actually meant what he said. That Steve would be under his protection. What would he be allowed to do? What could he pursue?

Well, he made a pretty good pack mule. Maybe manual labor was in his future. Steve laughed to himself at that. From royal heir, to prisoner, to humble servant. He didn't realize how long he'd been in thought until it started to get dark around him. He turned away from the window, about to start getting ready for bed when he heard a tapping and caw.

There was a raven at the window.

Its wings flapped and it was carrying something in its talons, wrapped in paper. Steve looked at it warily and then the bird cawed again in what sounded like annoyance. Steve opened the window and the bird flew in, dropping its package onto the bed. The bird nudged it towards Steve with its beak.

"You brought that for me?", Steve asked.

The raven cawed.

Steve opened it up carefully and inside was a sandwich. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten much today. He then looked to the bird. "You must be one of the king's messengers?"

The raven's expression was unreadable, but then again he supposed most birds' were. Steve sat on the bed and reached forward to pet the top of its head then under its chin. The raven leaned into it like it was enjoying the scratches.

"You can tell your master...thank you. And here." Steve opened the sandwich and took out some of the meat. "Your delivery fee."

The raven took it carefully into its mouth, cawed at Steve, and then left out of the window into the darkening sky.

This felt like another olive branch. The king assuring him that he was safe here. Steve didn't know what his role would be, what he could accomplish or pursue. But he had the feeling that he might be given the time and the space to decide that for himself.

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

The next morning, Steve got ready and was about to leave his room in search of breakfast only to find the king, fist poised to knock.

"Your Majesty?"

"Y-your Highness. Good morning. Didn't expect you to be up so early."

"I'm an early riser by nature", Steve said.

"Then you're just in time for breakfast."

Steve was led down the halls but this time instead of going towards the kitchens, they went into a different room. There was a grand table and at it Robin and Nancy already sat. There was the man from the ambush that Steve recognized but didn't know the name of. King Edward-no Eddie, his name was Eddie, wait, was Steve allowed to call him that? Safer to keep it formal for now. Anyway, the king took his seat at the head of the table.

The only open seat was at the other end, so Steve took it. Nancy didn't look too happy to see him but it wasn't so much that Steve worried about poison in his food. Breakfast was served and the other four mostly kept the conversation going while Steve sat silently chewing. They seemed to be discussing the proceedings of an event happening soon.

It reminded Steve of the festivities happening back home. People would be coming out more, having picnics, and the seasonal fruits that could be enjoyed now.

"So you're not even going to put a leash on him?", Nancy asked, getting Steve's attention.

Eddie grinned. "I'm rather certain his bark his worse than his bite."

"Care to put that to the test?", Steve asked with a raised brow.

"I'd advice against stepping into an arena with Eddie", Jeff said.

"I know I look like a wispy thing, but I can be a heavy hitter", Eddie said, twirling a fork full of egg around.

"I'll believe it when I see it", Steve said. One of the few things he was confident in was his ability to fight.

"I think your time is best spent tutoring someone less trained", Eddie said.

"...You mean Lucas?"

"You want him training Lucas?", Robin asked, jabbing her thumb toward Steve.

"Why not?", Eddie shrugged. "One couldn't ask for a better teacher than a prince."

Steve didn't think it was meant as a compliment. But something warm in his body swelled like it was. Right as breakfast finished, Nancy produced a sheet of parchment and walked it over to Steve, placing it in front of him.

"Your new schedule."

"You made me a schedule?"

"It was the only way she'd allow you free reign of the castle without a binding spell", Eddie said.

Steve had been looking over the assignments when Eddie's words sunk in. He looked up, feeling a mix of awe, confusion, and gratitude. "You're...giving me free reign of the castle?" Of his home?

Eddie smiled in a way that seemed more genuine. "I see no harm in it. Like I said, you're not a prisoner. Think of it as something like an exchange program. Princes travel abroad all the time, don't they?"

Steve looked at the schedule. He noted that each thing had someone with him, almost like a chaperone, sometimes multiple people. If Nancy was the one making this, he was sure it was intentional. But he understood. He hadn't fully proven himself as trustworthy. For the first time, Steve considered if he might kill Eddie if given the chance.

Would his father welcome him back with open arms then?

He shook off the thought, already knowing the answer. If he killed Eddie there was nothing good in it for him.

"When do I start?"

Part 13

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell @anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

[You Wish That Your Parents Got To Say Goobye, To The Kid They Adored That You Killed To Survive]

《▪︎▪︎》

Or - You were a kid once. You killed them just as you do everything.

《▪︎▪︎》

You were a kid once. Bright-eyed as you watched your mother bake, and dull as you hovered in your father's shadow.

You were a kid once. A child. Yet you sat in a war room surrounded by gods hundreds of thousands of years older than yourself. Yet you played with the chess pieces on the board like they were toys - like they weren't plans of attack; like they weren't murders planned from the start.

(You were a kid once. A child forced too young to be too perfect. A prince, in the prison of a castle. A prince, far too young to have that much weight thrust upon their shoulders.)

You were a kid once. A kid who loved their brother dearly, despite the snark you directed at him. He loved you back, despite all you did. You cared about each other.

You were a kid once. A child who'd let the mask drop when they just needed to cry; a child who'd let their mother hold and comfort them. (A child who'd melt at their mother's pet names, and a child who'd attempt to create their own for their brother.)

You were a kid once. A kid faced with the terrifying reality that you and your brother were *alone* so wholly and completely. A child faced with the realization that you now had to be the parental figure for him.

You were a kid once. One angry at the world and so willing to place the blame on your brother. You hurt him.

You were a kid once. A child again as your father stood at the door to your mother's home. He ushered you back inside, comforting your brother with quiet words while you took your current situation in. He waited until your brother had long since gone to bed to even acknowledge your presence.

You were a kid once. A child breaking down in their father's arms. (As he tells you it's not worth it; Whispers words in your ears you believe because why wouldn’t you?)

(You don't break down in his arms ever again; too scared of the words he'll say, and the weakness he'll imply.)

You were a kid once. A kid bareing their teeth at their brother; anger seeping into your words every time you have to talk to him.

You were a kid once.

The second your father leaves you don't think you are one anymore.

Maybe you are.

Maybe you weren't ever one. Maybe that blade held metaphorically to your neck forced you to grow up far too quickly - never truly letting you be a child.

Who knows, really.

All you know now is if you were a kid, they're long dead now.

They're long dead - falling and falling and falling, cliff faces always staring them back as they did so. The cliff faces turned and shifted right before you'd hit the ground, your vision going black.

They're long dead, because a child running from the law grows up and *very* quickly isn't a child anymore.

They're long dead, because they never existed in the first place.

They're long, long dead. Shoved into the deepest corner of your mind as the resets repeat over and over and over again. Killed because you don't remember them - and you never will.

Maybe, to some extent, *you* killed them. A means of survival because if you didn't, someone else would've killed them for you. (Knowing how your life went through vague feelings gives you the implication it probably would've been your father - but maybe he's the reason you killed them in the first place.)

They're long, long dead - and no one got to say goodbye to them. Not truly. Not properly.

(Maybe you wanted to say goodbye to them. Crouch in front of them and pull them into a hug as they drifted off into a sleep they'd never wake up from.)

(Maybe things would've gone better if you could've said goodbye.

.

.

(Maybe things would've gone better if your mother got to say goodbye.)

《▪︎▪︎》

[dxmoness]

─────── I WANT YOU AND YOU ALONE.

Regret.

The first feeling you feel after all you and that monster had been through. There is no doubt about it, regret shall always stay.

A foolish decision it was to befriend the crowned prince as a child as if it would spare you from his manipulative attacks... But proven otherwise here you are playing victim to his puppetry once more.

Eros had been nice enough to give you a place to stay and food and drink to live off of, but his intentions shriek at your face like a war cry. The man is a monstrous being that had now found attachment to you and you alone.

Infatuation.

Obsessive behavior had been cleared but not at the right time. You had never noticed, no. Not a single peep until your things suddenly went missing... Little. By. Little.

At first you did not think much of it until the undergarments started going missing. Suspecting that the maids stole them, you spoke with Eros who deliberately inquired the maids himself.

It doesn't take long before you found the one true culprit though. That being said, you had simply rummaged through Eros' things when you found your undergarments stained with...y'know. Horrified by your discovery you didn't dare waste a second in this place any longer.

With intention to leave, you plot a departure one cool night. All went rather well...until you blacked out that is.

Imprisonment.

Being a prisoner was far worse than being his adorable doll. You were chained to a bed in a room you cannot escape from and the only times he ever came to you was when he needed your loving touch and affection.

Imprisoned here drove you mad, but you'd rather stay than be his little doll again. His intention of you sitting still and looking pretty was a rather humiliating and pride hurting task. One you didn't have a care for.

It takes a long long while but eventually...you give in to him.

Acceptance.

You sit here on his lap being the good obedient pet you are. Eros showered you with kisses as his hands roam high and low in a gentle caress.

His lips lock with yours as you two kiss passionately.

Accepting that he is your master is everything to him. His possessiveness drove him half as mad.

His lips nibble on your earlobe as he whispered sweet nothings.

You are his and he is yours. No one will take you away from him now.

─────── TAGLIST

@yevene HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY SORRY THIS IS SO LATE

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#2: Andrey's Chamber

Guys please send in some asks or requests for writing cuz my brain is too dead and can't think of anything right now. I need some ideas, please. Anyywayssss part 2 of shackled by Royalty!!

CW: threat of harm, whip mention, future punishment, slavery, pet whump, dominating and creepy whumper, captivity, slight panic attack, stress position, knives, defiant whumpee

Previous/ Masterlist

Noah's mind whirled with a mix of panic and defiance as he found himself trapped in this nightmarish scenario. He had heard tales of the Kozlov family's iron grip over the region, their name synonymous with power and ruthlessness. And now, he was at the mercy of their heir apparent. Forced to become a slave.

The question echoed relentlessly in Noah's mind "Why me..?"

Andrey circled him like a predator ready to pounce on their prey, his gaze cold and calculating, relishing in Noah's helplessness. "You belong to me now, pet," he declared with chilling finality. "Your life is mine to command."

Noah's mind whirled with a maelstrom of emotions—fear, anger, confusion—all entwined in a tangled web of despair. Trapped in this nightmarish reality, he struggled to grasp onto any semblance of hope or escape. Noah's mind raced, trying to piece together fragments of information, to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before him. Viktor Kozlov—the name reverberated in his mind like a death knell. He had heard whispers of the Kozlov family, whispers of their influence and ruthlessness. But never in his wildest nightmares did he imagine he would become entangled in their web of darkness.

"P-Please.." Noah's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest so hard, that he might've just thought he was going insane. "I don't know what you want from me, but I-I swear.. I swear, I'll do anything-"

He heard the prince sighing as if Noah was nothing more than just a mere child unable to understand a simple thing. "Oh my dear pet.." Andrey's demeanor shifted, amusement dancing in his cold eyes as he toyed with Noah's desperation. His fingers curled under Noah's chin.

"You still think you can get away from this huh?" He spoke in an almost.. pitiful voice putting a finger to Noah's chest noticing how he almost suddenly flinched. "You belong to me.. Body, mind and soul. And I will mold you into the perfect servant, the perfect pet, to serve me and my family's interests."

Noah's breath caught in his throat, the weight of Andrey's words crushing him beneath their unbearable truth. He was no longer a free man—he was a prisoner, a plaything, at the mercy of forces beyond his control. A mere pet. Not even a person anymore in the eyes of the government and authorities.

"S-Stop! You're insane!! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE!" Noah's protest was met with a brutal slap, the sting reverberating through his skull. How many times had he been slapped today?

"You've had your chances pet. But I can't let you go around talking back whenever you want to." His face had become undeniably dark, as if he was ready to murder someone. Andrey looked at the two guards standing from the corner of his eye before he ordered "Get him to the chamber"

Noah's face paled. "W-What? WHAT CHAMBER?! STOP LET ME GO!" He struggled, kicking his legs and punching as the guards removed some of his chains dragging him to the dreaded "chamber".

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

Noah had been suspended, with his arms chained above his head. His feet were barely grazing the ground, being in an overly uncomfortable position as all his weight went primarily to his shoulders and arms. His breath was shallow and labored, a testament to the panic and anxiety coursing through him. Maybe he shouldn't have said all that... But then again he didn't really regret what he said. That bastard deserved that and more.

As if on cue, the door was slammed open earning a violent flinch from Noah. Andrey came in poised with the usual "princely type" manner. A cruel smile twisted Andrey's lips, revealing teeth like sharpened daggers ready to tear into flesh. The air around him seemed to grow thick with malevolence, suffocating Noah with its suffocating presence. As he towered over Noah, his presence looming like a specter of death, Andrey's fingers curled into fists, the knuckles white with suppressed fury.

This was different. It wasn't just slaps anymore. Andrey looked like he was about to rip off Noah's skin. Noah felt shivers trickling down his skin. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a primal instinct urging him to flee from the impending danger that lurked in Andrey's gaze but the chains on him were clearly against that.

"Cat got your tongue now?" Andrey practically hissed at Noah walking over to the varieties of tools laid down on a table that Noah hadn't even noticed yet. And he wished he hadn't. HIs voice sent shivers down Noah's spine as he looked at the different instruments and judging which one to pick silently.

Noah remained silent, knowing that any words would only invite further punishment. His eyes widened in terror as Andrey's hand closed around a whip, the promise of pain gleaming in his eyes.

But it was the sight of the knife that truly chilled Noah to the bone. Andrey's approach was deliberate, his breath hot against Noah's ear as he whispered his sinister command.

"Stay very still, Noah..."

Next

Taglist: @ash-reh @anutz1234 @miireux134 @whatwasmyprevioususername @nuriiz134 (Let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist)

[blacklegsanjiii]

i think truly the most absurd parenting scenario we could put sanji in is with Real Pirate King Buggy 🦅🦅🦅🦅

Sanji would really suit that like. commedia dell’arte venetian theatre. Sanji would make a fine Arlecchino or Tartaglia (both lover roles, but Arlecchino or ‘the Harlequin’ is often a trickster character too)

Buggy would unironically be an incredible father tho. like. i am fully confident that there is nothing Buggy doesn’t excell in despite his pathetic soppy wet cat existence. He’s a COMPETENT soppy wet cat.

Sanji growing up as an acrobat in Buggy’s circus and getting doted on by all the crew oh ya know he’d love the dramatic flamboyance of it all.

Listen.

Listen, you're cooking. And it smells GREAT! But I think we need to adjust the seasoning a bit. Buggy managed to successfully hide in the East Blue and be forgotten from Roger's crew and all his adversaries. Like Buggy has to be running a network of some sort. He probably has informants in the New World ya know? For sure in the Grand Line.

I don't really fuck with Shuggy ATM(crossguild brain rot) but like also Buggy probably knows about Usopp and Luffy and that's part of why he signed the(forged) adoption papers. Sanji is also probably skilled with all sorts of weapons? His kitchen knives are not weapons but like he has a set of knives that are always hidden on him. He probably shows Usopp a bunch of spices and stuff that are good for bombs and Nami and Robin are confused about exactly how much in universe Shakespeare, albeit Robin is impressed. Luffy just knows but imagine Zoro finds out when the cook, who doesn't fight with his hands just swallows a Marines sword to distract them right before Luffy Gum Gum Pistols them.

Rayleigh talks more about Shanks and Sanji is just looking at his nails and briefly brings up Buggy. And Sanji can't help himself when he says "at least he's not a dead beat, he didn't abandon me" which makes Robin laugh and Luffy and Usopp ask what means and Sanji is like "you both haven't seen the Redhair crew since you were in the single digits, Buggy saw me at Baratie three weeks before you lot wrecked it and he would stop by every couple of weeks normally" And the crew is shook.

Like then Sanji just proudly showing everyone his photo of the Buggy Pirates, him, and Buggy in the adoption office and then again with just Buggy and Sanji and the paper and the jolly Roger. Rayleigh is having heart palpitations as Nami, Luffy, and Zoro scream at how lame his dad is and Sanji is like "oh you guys are the reason he's in Impel Down this makes sense" and Rayleigh is losing it. Shakky is laughing so hard. Rayleigh asks if anyone is planning to get Buggy out of prison and Sanji shrugs and says the lion is in charge now.

And then after the time skip to the forming of the crossguild everyone keeps shitting on. Like imagine Mihawk and Croc walking into Buggy's tent and seeing Black Leg Sanji as a child in full clown get up sitting on his own head in a photo and next to it is the adoption photo. When they ask Buggy about it hes just like "oh yeah, I adopted him at ten. Saw him all the time after he started at Baratie. Unfortunate he's not out of his civilian phase yet." And Croc and Mihawk are reeling. "Then again I think having to relive his trauma in Germa and with Big Mom probably didn't help, oh well. I'll talk to him about it when I see him."

When they see each other is some meeting between the Hats, the Guild and Redhair Pirates Luffy and Usopp are really happy to see their dad's. Sanji is probably being passed around by Buggy's crew and petting Richie who has him pinned to the ground and Crocodile is groaning that the clown's kid did the whole Mr. Prince thing and Shanks is confused because "you didn't tell me you had a brat?"

"well I legally adopted him eleven years ago and when Garp found out he said I was a better dad than you and Roger and Rayleigh so."

[shewolfofvilnius]

There is a huge part of me that is curious about dragon age because I love BG3 so much. But idk anything about it? Also none of the characters strike me as interesting (or attractive....) Maybe you could tell me what you like so much about ? maybe talk about the characters so I can give it a chance? I want to like it! but I just don't know!

I DIDN'T FORGET

So for me the first draw of Dragon Age is the incredible lore and worldbuilding that goes on in the games and books. It's arguably just as fleshed out as a setting like the Forgotten Realms despite just being three (soon four) video games and about a dozen books/comics. There's centuries of history. Ancient ruins. Environmental storytelling for days. A little visual cue in the first game that's referenced in optional banter in the third that pays off in the fourth (FIFTEEN years apart). I really appreciate that the first game, Dragon Age: Origins, only exposes you to part of the story. The game's set in a pestilence known as the Fifth Blight, and you're the plucky young adventurer that the grizzled old veteran manages to recruit out of a bad situation just before the end. And you and your friends are all that stand between victory and oblivion. But right off the bat there's storytelling about love and loss and prejudice and honor. There's a noble character who dies, leading to a coward being killed as the stakes are built. (There's also a dog you can pet, and moments to show kindness during armageddon, like a prisoner who just wants a sandwich before he dies, he hasn't been fed.)

And the banter is funny (if some of it's aged a bit unwell), and the gameplay really encourages you to get in the head of whatever character you want to build. Yes you can be the cliche prince charming. You can also be the sibling of a prostitute to pay the bills until your sister lands a high profile john who catches feels for her. From the start it's equal measures hopeful and bleak at the same time. (And as you invest in YOUR character emotionally, you inevitably emotionally invest in your companions too.) And gradually the world gets bigger. A character whose town you watch get destroyed becomes the protagonist of the second game, and they hook you in to. They're a refugee, a very timely story, and if they're a magic user, then they're an especially persecuted refugee. But you still make friends amidst the hopelessness. More of the world gets revealed. You have FUN, somehow. Characters from past games recur, either as cameos or in one very specific case as a high profile recurring character in 3 out of the 4. And you become so glad to see them as they represent continuity of story.

It's a game about family and faith and the lack thereof and prejudice and love and how one counters the other, about how persecuted people often pay the price of things that happened before their ancestors' ancestors were born, and that tomorrow should always be better than today.

That's thematic, though. Maybe you take a shine to Isabela the Pirate and Aveline the Guard Captain (maybe Merrill the blood mage elf, too). The three women basically form one of the best depictions of big/middle/little sister trios I've ever seen in a game. What starts out as cold hostility becomes banterful compassion and love. A lot of folks fell for Solas, an elven apostate whose every word is couched in three mysteries and two half-truths but seems to know way more than he's letting on. When you find out a horrible secret about the honourable Grey Warden Blackwall, do you leave him to his fate, try to redeem him, deliver a sufficient consequence, or outright torture him.

And you won't like everyone. The odds of you liking both the spirit-possessed mage Anders and the anti-magic elf Fenris in the same play of the same game are low unless you metagame it. And sometimes the games even rewards you for someone hating your ass or vice versa, and THAT'S organic. But being mean or having a negative interaction isn't some edgelord thing either, it's just "sometimes people don't get along" or "something you just need to punch someone"

You get to laugh at the tough stern warrior Cassandra getting absolutely beside herself wanting to know what happens in a book that it's writer, another of your companions, hated writing - and that even Cass herself calls smutty literature. Another character, The Iron Bull, is faced with a choice: His found family and the freedom to be who he's become, or the belief system he's known his entire life and that expects him to conform.

Does your character sacrifice? Does your character make the streets run red with blood? Is all you want to make people feel inspired and in something bigger than themselves? Even playing three (soon four) wholly new characters, you get to truly role-play and emotionally invest in these little blorbos, maybe even more strongly in Baldur's Gate. When a character returns you weren't expecting, is it joyful or melancholy? Can your character handle a confrontation of everything they've ever known.

And in the newest game, there's a baby griffon.

I love Dragon Age. The lore is expansive beyond sanity for a franchise with it's commercial output. The characters feel alive, and the game tasks you to emotionally invest in order to reap the maximum reward and suffer the strongest heartache. Plus, in many cases, when the game doesn't tell you, say about your character? You get to roleplay and use your imagination so, so strongly.

[runawaymarbles]

some things that may or may not happen after the ending of Swan Lake

"Odette, now resigned to her existence, bids a sad, lingering farewell to Siegfried. The prince knows that she is gone forever. In utter grief, he is left alone." - Swan Lake (Kent Stowell version) summary

I. Siegfried is left alone. He will always be alone. He dies an old man at the edge of a lake.

II. Siegfried is alone. He will always be alone. He dies a young man in the middle of a lake.

III. Siegfried is alone. He is alone until the night after the party, when a swan appears at his bedroom window. He has never seen the glow of moonlight on her wings before, and the sight makes him cry.

When he opens the shutters, she settles next to him on his featherbed. She can’t cry anymore, but she bops him on the head a few times.

IV. Siegfried is alone, and he cries on the Jester’s lap. The Jester doesn’t think he’s paid enough for this. He certainly doesn’t have a joke prepared for when the crown prince accidentally declares his love to the wrong bird.

The Queen wonders if she can adopt the Jester and marry him off.

V. Siegfried is alone, officially, but he’s never truly alone because there is a swan that follows him everywhere. Anyone who wants to get any business done learns that they are not allowed to question this.

The swan is kind of an asshole, though: she’s especially prone to biting women who look at the prince just a little too long.

VI. Siegfried is alone, entirely, and intends to always be alone. “I will never love again,” he says, to anyone who will listen.

“That will certainly make a much better ballad,” his mother says, “the poets will be thrilled. But we’ve still got a kingdom to run and a dynasty to continue.”

VII. Siegfried is officially not alone, but he’s not happy about it. He has a pet swan who is also not happy about it. And a new wife, who is the least happy of them all.

“The swan stays in the marital chamber during sex,” the prince says.

His wife would find a way to kill him if she wasn’t afraid of said swan pecking her eyes out.

VIII. Siegfried is only sort of alone, and he hasn’t given up: he asks the Jester to promise to love his swan more than any other woman, on the grounds that the Jester has no sisters and has never loved a woman, nor does he intend to. “I don’t think he specified romantic love,” Siegfried says.

The Jester promises to be the bird’s bestie for life, and suddenly the swan is a woman, and there are screams from outside because the swans that have taken up residence along the roof are women now, too.

IX. Siegfried isn’t quite alone, but he isn’t happy, because the Jester promises, and nothing happens. The prince and the swan go off to cry again. The Jester asks the Queen for a raise.

X. Siegfried is alone. He changes his crest to one that shows a swan, wings spread above a blue square lake. He rules his kingdom, as fairly as one can ever be while wielding absolute authority, but spends the rest of his life watching the sky. He dies alone on a bed made of straw.

XI. Siegfried is alone. One day, a friend points out some swans to him, but he refuses to look at them.

“The form of a swan is a prison and a curse,” he says. “What if that’s not what they’re supposed to be?”

He bans all depictions of swans from the kingdom.

XII. Siegfried is alone, or he isn’t. Either way, he becomes a vegetarian.

XIII. Siegfried is alone. But he has loved, now, and he knows how to do it again. One day, he manages to move on.

He teaches his daughter everything he has been able to learn about preventing curses.

XIV. Siegfried is alone. He fucks the Jester.

XV. Siegfried is alone. A few years later, he learns that a minor noble some forty miles away has a beautiful new wife and two dozen new maidservants. Nobody is sure where they all came from.

But Siegfried knows, and he cries, and he is happy for her.

XVI. Siegfried isn’t alone. He gifts the swan that follows him around the fluffiest pillows. Demand she be paid the choicest foods. The jokes and rumors abound, but he ignores them.

Sometimes servants will hear him talking to the swan as though she’s a person. Sometimes they swear there’s a pattern to her honks, like she’s answering him.

XVII. Siegfried is alone, although he treats his pet swan like a queen. Sometimes, the servants will hear him talking to her.

“Can you still understand me?” he asks. “Odette. Please. Tap my hand if you understand me.”

The swan doesn’t move, until the prince offers more shrimp.

XVIII. Siegfried isn’t alone, until he is. Because swans mate for life, but that life is only a decade or so. When she dies, he calls for a week of mourning throughout the kingdom.

And when she dies, there’s a part of him—a part that he hates—that feels free.

XIX. Siegfried isn’t alone. Because Von Rothbart is defeated, somewhere. Maybe he cursed the wrong princess. Maybe he fell and broke his hip. All anyone know for sure is that one morning, there is a woman lying on the cushions reserved for the swan.

Salad and shellfish go out of favor, as the new queen refuses to eat them.

XX. Siegfried is alone, until a woman shows up at the castle. She’s wearing a white dress splattered with blood, and carrying what appears to be the severed wing of a giant owl. The prince mounts it on the wall above their thrones.

XXI. They live happily ever after.

XXII. Or, they don’t.

[apomaro-mellow]

He was a stray, essentially. A stray taken in by the king because his own parents didn't want him. And Eddie was no stranger to taking in the unwanted.

Tensions had risen between two powers and what better way to show he meant business than by taking the crown prince of his enemy? Eddie had been prepared for retaliation; for a strike back. He was ready to go to war. But the current ruler of the Harrington dynasty had basically told him to go fuck himself. 'Good riddance', 'thank you for taking that burden off our hands'.

They hadn't said those words exactly. But they might as well have. Eddie had actually felt bad about breaking the news to the prince that no one was coming for him. He felt even worse when Steve showed little surprise.

As the months passed, though, the guilty feeling went away. Steve went from prisoner to guest, then from guest to companion, then finally to lover. To Eddie, Steve Harrington was a goddamn treasure. And if anyone dared to take him away they'd have more than a war on their hands. They'd have a massacre.

Most of the court saw only the smallest evolution in Steve. From pampered prince to spoiled pet. It wasn't uncommon for Steve to walk into a room, any room, and settle himself onto Eddie's lap. A few of those that felt pity for the abandoned prince found themselves still sympathizing with his parents. To spend all that time raising and educating a son only for him to be so useless and unambitious.

Only Eddie's inner circle knew Steve's true depths. And that was just fine with both of them. When he woke up and got to awaken his love with kisses, he got to see a view that was only for him.

Steve slowly came back to the conscious world as lips pressed softly to his skin.

"You're up early", Steve noted as he turned from his side to his back to give Eddie more access.

"Busy day", Eddie murmured. "You gonna be here?"

Steve played with a lock of Eddie's hair. "I'll be waiting."

And wait he did. While Eddie did his job of running the kingdom, Steve had a lazy day, mostly lounging in the bed naked. A few hours later, he knew Eddie would be coming soon, finished with a meeting. He had wrapped himself in a robe but was very languid with it, allowing it to fall almost completely open.

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

Tobias had been employed in the household only for a month, but he figured he knew everything he needed to know about this place. Eddie was a king but a rather casual one. He didn't even have that many guards. Probably came with the territory of having a covenant with darkness.

He had been given a task, to relay a message to a member of the king's inner circle, specifically to his right hand Jeff. But Tobias thought, why not cut out the middle man? He had spoken to the king before. And it was said if he wasn't out and about, he was usually in his quarters, enjoying the prince he had stolen.

And if he got to take a peek at said prince in a state of undress, well...

He opened the door to the king's quarters, not a single knock or otherwise announcement of his presence. Not until the door closed behind him and he started towards the doors that led to the bedroom since Eddie wasn't present in the frontroom.

"My lord? A message for you-"

He was cut off when the tip of a sword met his neck. And there he was, the pretty, pretty gem of Eddie's crown. Right now though he looked more like a fierce mercenary than a sweet-faced lap dog.

"You're not Eddie", he growled.

"I uh, uh I-"

"Stand down, sweet thing", Eddie said as he entered the room.

Steve gave Tobias a glare before pulling the sword away. He then gave his full attention to his kingly lover and it was like Tobias had disappeared. Eddie kissed him deep and without a lick of shame.

"I heard someone come in, and it wasn't you", Steve said, his voice soft. Quite the picture when he still had a weapon.

Eddie twisted his fingers in Steve's hair, combing through the tresses. "Forgive him love, he's a new addition." He gave Steve's forehead a kiss and then shot a very punishing look at Tobias. "He hasn't quite learned his manners yet."

Steve only hummed in response, like Tobias was only the slightest nuisance. A slight nuisance he was willing to kill. Tobias was frozen on the spot. Had been since the sword had been on his throat.

But then Eddie wordlessly dismissed him with a wave of his hand and Tobias high tailed it out of there.

"You've got a hair trigger temper, sweetheart", Eddie said.

Steve pouted. "He was trespassing."

"True. Can't argue with that. But I think he's learned his lesson."

"Have you learned your lesson? You were late", Steve said.

Eddie's thumb brushed against Steve's bottom lip. "I know. Had to take care of something. Forgive me?"

Petulant, Steve bit his finger and then pulled away from him completely. He fell backward onto the bed, robe completely open now.

"Make it up to me."

Eddie smirked. "Can do, my darling."

Part B

[muffinlance]

Would you be willing to do one where the g'aang meets zuko with his dragons and is like? Wtf? Because I would appreciate the image of aang seeing thw dragons and going, can I pet em, while sokka or katara is like, can I fight dragons? No, no I cannot, and the other is going, not evil fire lord, bet. Please?

(Continued from parts one, two, and three.)

“My older brother should have had the throne, of course,” said the man Aang had come to meet. “But he was still mourning for his son, when… Well, when I think of it now, it was the beginning. My father, poisoned in his bedchambers. My wife, missing in the night. It took me years to piece together what must have happened. It was unthinkable, for a child so young to…”

Aang swallowed thickly, his hands balls on his legs. “Zuko… did all that?”

“When he was younger than you are now. There was always something wrong with that child,” former Fire Lord Ozai said, from between the ruin of his twisted lips in his scared face. Aang wasn’t sure how much farther the scaring extended, but… but he could see it creeping down under the man’s collar, emerging again on his hands. “I was not—I am not—a good man, Avatar Aang. I know that. I was like King Kuei, sheltered in my palace, unaware of the true extent of this war. A spare prince; I was never meant to rule. Neither was he. But obstacles were removed from his path, one by one, until I was the only one who stood in his way. I was not a good man, Avatar. But I would never try to kill my own father.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Aang said. “And… I accept your offer, Sifu Ozai.”

Sokka and Katara shifted behind him, uneasily. Long Feng gave no sign as to his opinion, beyond being the one to make this meeting with the Fire Nation’s rebel leader possible. But there were very few firebenders not under Fire Lord Zuko’s control. Aang had to learn from someone. And… at least Ozai understood, how dangerous fire could be.

* * *

Earth King Kuei had thrown out the treaty his advisors had spent so long negotiating, and slapped together his own private agreement with Fire Lord Zuko after only a few days; Ba Sing Se and the eastern part of the continent were left intact and under Kuei’s reign, while the western coast was handed off to the Fire Nation as tribute. 

The North Pole’s borders remained closed.

The South had been the first nation pressed into an end-of-war treaty, while the Fire Lord’s dragons watched on.

The Air Nomads… if there were any left, still hiding somewhere, they hadn’t come out for Aang.

* * *

Master Yagoda wasn’t a fighter, and claimed that one world journey was quite enough for her lifetime. She’d remained in the South Pole after Aang’s training there was complete, to help her new tribe.

Long Feng’s responsibilities as the Earth Kingdom’s own rebel leader made it inadvisable for him to place himself in enemy hands. The Fire Lord and King Kuei were close; if Long Feng were taken prisoner, he would be handed off to Ba Sing Se for a quick trial, and likely a quicker execution. 

Sifu Ozai’s injuries made it impossible for him to truly fight by Aang’s side, of course, even if he didn’t face an even swifter death than Long Feng should they be captured on Fire Nation soil.

But this was Aang’s job. He was the Avatar, so he had to do this. He had to give all the nations of the world a chance to grow, free from the Fire Lord’s enforced peace. 

“We’re not leaving you now,” Katara said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her brother mirrored her, a moment later.

They’d started as his escorts, in this terrifying new world. He’d trained under the same master Katara had; learned everything there was to know about healing, from Master Yagoda, who’d used the false peace to travel south. Healing was… it was so much better, than the training Sifu Long Feng had put him through, the precise way earthbending could be used to contain or kill. Or Sifu Ozai’s lessons, hard learned, about just how much fire it took to truly stop a fellow bender. At least Ozai had been sympathetic to Aang’s concerns, to the culture only he seemed to remember. Ozai didn’t want his son dead, either. He still loved him, even after what he’d done. He just… wanted him stopped. 

Fire didn’t kill easily. But it could definitely stop someone. And then Aang could heal him, and just… keep him in jail. The Fire Lord had a little sister, kept hostage all these years, who Ozai thought might still be convinced to join them. She could be the new Fire Lord, with Ozai as her regent. And then the Earth King’s main ally would be gone, and Long Feng could go back to reclaim his home for the people, instead of the nobility who’d grown rich on war without ever stepping foot outside of their walled inner city. 

And. And Aang could travel, and relearn this world, and practice his healing more. That was what the world really needed: healing. 

But it was like Yagoda had taught him. Sometimes a break had to be reset, before it could really heal.

* * *

It was… really easy, getting into the Fire Nation palace. They rolled Appa in soot, and came in the night. Landed on a roof. Entered through an upper window on an inner courtyard, where guards wouldn’t think to stand watch. The Fire Nation had uncontested aerial supremacy, after all.

They knew where the Fire Lord’s rooms were; they were Ozai’s old ones. They were also very empty. Which they’d been warned about, because apparently the Fire Lord did his best evil planning at night when his advisors couldn’t reign him in. 

There was the flicker of candlelight under the sliding doors to his office. And… no guards. Which led to a round of is-this-the-right-place looks shared between them, but. This was where the map Ozai had given them said to go. So they had another round of looks, with resolute nods this time, and then Katara was sliding open the door as he and Sokka ran in and…

…And a very tired looking servant was standing in front of a desk, shuffling papers around like there was something he’d missed in them. His long hair was partially tied up in a frazzled bun, but mostly down his back. He blinked at them through a pair of glasses that were almost an exact match for the ones in fashion at King Kuei’s court, like he’d gotten them from the same artisan. And also there were some ink stains on his face, like maybe he’d fallen asleep on some still-drying documents. So… maybe a scribe? 

“Where’s the Fire Lord?” Sokka demanded, club raised.

“...I can see the family resemblance,” said the servant, who had turned fully to face them, and oh. He… had the Fire Lord’s scar. And there was the Fire Lord’s crown, being used as a paperweight at the edge of the desk. 

“Does Chief Hakoda know his children are here to assassinate his ally—” Fire Lord Zuko said.

“ ‘Ally’ is a little strong,” interrupted Sokka.

“—Or do the Water Tribes have their own ‘rebel leader’ now?”

“ ‘Assassinate’ is a little strong, too,” Aang said softly, shuffling his feet, his hands tight around his staff.

The Fire Lord stared at him a moment. “...Ah. So my father would prefer that you maim me, and drop me in a dark cell for the rest of my life?” 

“Umm.”

Zuko stared, and stared, and then pushed up his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Listen. Can we just… reschedule this?” 

“Reschedule,” Katara repeated. “This.”

“You haven’t attacked me yet, so this isn’t technically a diplomatic incident. It’s just… a scheduling conflict?”

Sokka snorted, and then looked vaguely angry at himself. Katara elbowed him. Aang kept gripping his glider, but maybe a little less tightly.

“We got news of an earthquake on Shojima not even two candlemarks ago,” the Fire Lord said, sliding his glasses back down. “Which means the tsunami is on its way to the main coast by now, if it hasn’t hit already, and I need to get these out if the relief supplies are going to be on their way by morning. So we can either have a really fast assassination attempt and then I have to add ‘explain to the world why the Fire Lord killed the Avatar and a nation’s heirs’ to my schedule sometime this week. Or we can talk first, but I don’t have time for that, so can we reschedule this to…”

And the very evil Fire Lord turned away from them to begin shuffling through his papers.

“First,” Sokka said, pointing a finger at the teenager, “Aang would be more than a quick fight, rude. Second: I’m still working on the second, but seriously, rude. And third, what do you mean you’d put our fiery-death-explanations into your schedule sometime this week?”

The Fire Lord didn’t seem to be listening. But he’d apparently found his appointment book, so that was good? Except for all the flipping.

“I can do… lunch tomorrow? If you’re okay with actually eating while we talk. I’m not allowed to skip meals, or Captain Izumi cancels my appointments ‘for national security’.”

Sokka slowly lowered down his pointing finger. 

“Talking would be good,” Aang said. “I like talking.”

And then they got to meet Captain Izumi, which was a lot scarier than meeting the Fire Lord.

And then they realized that what they’d thought was vaguely tacky dragon-print paneling along two walls was actual dragon skin and this wasn’t an office it was an open-air veranda and—

“Quick fight” might have been an accurate prediction, yes. 

More accurate than Sifu Ozai’s map.

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