#shackle and chain drabbles

[nimbus-writes]

Shackle and Chain Timeline

the zelda timeline as a whole is something of a mess, and its easy to get confused trying to parse out the inconsistencies and how everything fully ties together. ive seen a lot of different interpretations and how they differ from the canon timelines supplied by nintendo (none of which ive ever really agreed with, particularly the more recent idea of having the timeline split during minish cap, but thats another topic i wont get into here), but for my story i figured id give my shot at one that makes the most sense to me. there arent too many differences, but i feel any differences from the canon example at all are deserving of an explanation, so ill get into that here (along with my kinda shitty timeline graphic i threw together in like 5 minutes)

to make things simple, ive outlined every iteration of link in a square, and listed all of their games they appear in! also, the gaps in time arent really to scale, but in general are just there to help spread it all out. this doesnt feature EVERY character that i plan on having appear in the story though (such as how ravio has already made an appearance in chapter two, and i plan on him sticking around for a while because i love ravio) but lets get into the differences! like i said, this mostly follows canon, since i find a simpler option to be better, but there ARE some important changes ive made!

first off, ive included two non-canon games! im not planning on bringing in any others aside from the hyrule warriors games, but i felt these were necessary for the timeline as a whole. the first hyrule warriors is the only way to easily resolve nintendos stupid "breath of the wild is in all 3 timelines!" bullshit, since thats not how time works. at all. but if you take hyrule warriors as having merged the timelines back into one (with three parallel worlds as opposed to three timelines), then the problem is solved! and since i included one warriors game, i might as well include the other, which leads to the second timeline split as a result of terakkos actions. (and like, yeah i COULD have added in another "link dies" timeline there, but since neither that nor the post age of calamity timeline will ever get another piece of media, i dont see a reason to explore that concept)

the next change ive made is combining what canon considers two separate iterations of link (specifically the one from a link to the past and a link between worlds). i understand WHY theyre two different links, but a lot more of the two games just makes sense in my opinion if they arent different at all (specifically how a link between worlds has the same map, characters, dungeons and themes, AND the actions of link at the beginning of tri force heroes, where he tries to hide his identity. that just makes more sense to me if hes been through a LOT more quests, including one where he was labeled a criminal, than just one quest where he wasnt ever vilified)

the last change i made has to do with four swords and four swords adventures, and this change is a hill i will die on. THESE GAMES ARE A PAIR. DO NOT SEPARATE. i KNOW the timeline has them centuries apart. i KNOW this. but its wrong! at the beginning of four swords adventures, it directly references both the hero from minish cap and four swords, but only vaguely referring to minish cap while specifically calling the hero from four swords "link", which, along with implying the hero from four swords adventures already knows what happens when you draw the four sword, leads me to believe that these two games feature only one iteration of link! but then that leaves the question of where in the timeline both games fall? is it directly after minish cap? or after twilight princess? well actually, its neither! several things featured in four swords adventures shows that the two games can only exist during a brief window of time, namely the presence of zora as an enemy, and the existence of the dark world. both of these things are only found in the downfall timeline, after link is slain in ocarina of time, meaning both games have to take place there (not to confuse the dark world for the dark realm, which only exists in the adult timeline as far as weve seen. im pretty sure they have the same origin, but the dark realm was influenced less by ganon since he was sealed somewhere else in that timeline). the dark world narrows it down the most, since it gets restored back to the sacred realm after the events of a link to the past, so the game has to take place before then. this means the two games actually fit nicely into the period of time known as the imprisoning war, where ganon is properly imprisoned within the dark world (which, to those of you who played the game or read the manga, know that this is what happens in four swords adventures!). in my opinion, not doing this is the single most aggravating thing nintendo did to the timeline. everything else i can excuse, but THIS angers me to no end.

anyway, thats the timeline ill be working with! at least, assuming tears of the kingdom doesnt have MORE fucked up time travel bullshit. ill take a look at this again once the game comes out, but hopefully it wont change anymore!

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Drabble: Kill for You

demon/doll!heeseung x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, handcuffs, blood kink, biting, death, gore, blood, knife, not-proofread, anything else lmk wc: 4.3k synopsis: when you wake up in hell handcuffed and scared, there is only one prince of hell that can save you a/n: based off this ask! this is just something quick i did and isn't my best but i have so many people asking for more tdh drabbles that i though i would cave <3 this one is not as bad as i think it is but there is a lot of blood and heeseung rips a man apart so...be warned. reblogs, likes, feedback, and comments are all welcome! (this could also be read as a stand alone?? idk)

the doll house masterlist

Your eyes flutter open, the lids heavy and sticky as if glued together. The throbbing in your head is relentless, a pounding pain that seems to echo in the very marrow of your bones. Your mouth is dry, parched as if you've been wandering in a desert, and the air is stifling, thick with a heat that makes it hard to breathe. The oppressive warmth is suffocating, pressing down on you with an intensity that speaks of more than just physical discomfort - it feels like the very essence of torment.

You try to lift a hand to your aching head, but your arm refuses to move. Panic sets in as you realise your wrists are restrained, bound by cold, unyielding metal. The sound of chains rattling echoes through the dimly lit room, a harsh realisation of your imprisonment. Your eyes dart upwards, following the chain to where your wrists are shackled to a pole above your head. The cuffs dig into your skin, a painful nip that serves as a concluding punctuation to your negative thoughts - somehow you’ve been kidnapped.

The heat is overwhelming, a furnace-like blaze that sears your skin and fills your lungs with each laboured breath. The air is thick with the acrid stench of sulphur and burning flesh, a scent that is all too familiar, a contrast between the land of the living and this infernal abyss floods back to you with terrifying clarity. You've been here before.

This is Hell.

The memory of past encounters with demons and the stark Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as adrenaline surges through your veins. Each time you have been dragged to hell it has been at the hands of Heeseung, to show you his world or try and entice you into making a deal. Yet, he has never gone as far as this.

Every cell in your body screams for release, for salvation from this nightmarish reality. The heat seems to amplify your fear, each beat of your heart a desperate cry for help.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, each one a heavy thud that reverberates through the chamber. The temperature seems to rise even further, if that's possible, and the smell intensifies, a rancid mix of decay and coal. The sound sends a new wave of dread coursing through you. You strain against your bonds, but the metal holds firm, cutting into your flesh.

“Heeseung, I swear this isn’t funny!” you shout as you hear him approach, ensuring your discontentment with his actions is conveyed.

The door creaks open, and in the dim light, a hulking silhouette appears. Much to your surprise and heartache, it isn’t Heeseung who strides through the doorway but rather someone else, a demon you presume, his eyes glowing with a malevolent light. His gaze locks onto you, burning with an intensity that matches the inferno around you. He moves closer, each step a reminder of your vulnerability, each moment a testament to your peril.

"Heeseung? Is that what he’s going by now?" The demon speaks with an uninterested sigh, his voice dripping with disdain.

The demon strides towards you in a lazy, almost leisurely manner, as though he has all the time in the world. With you locked up here, chained to a rusty pole, he might just have an eternity. Despite the terror gripping your heart, you can’t help but notice his appearance. The sight is far from unpleasant; his chiselled abs and defined v-line momentarily distract you. It’s a poor excuse, but in the face of such danger, you’re just a girl.

He stops before you, towering over your bound form, his presence overwhelming. The heat radiating from his body adds to the already suffocating warmth of the room. You can feel the tension in the air, a palpable mix of fear and fascination. The demon’s handsome features contrast starkly with the darkness of his intentions, a cruel reminder of your predicament.

"I do forget how easily impressed you humans are," he smirks, rubbing a hand over his toned stomach. "Do you like what you see? I wore it just for you."

You shudder at his words but can’t help a small, begrudging gratitude that at least his current human appearance is more settling than the hideous creature you imagine lurks beneath. In scenarios like this, you must take the good with the bad.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" The questions tumble out, driven by desperation. As far as you know, you’re insignificant to anyone but your two beautiful dolls back home.

The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns his back on you. "Don’t flatter yourself. You hold nothing of value to me," he chides, his tone dripping with scorn. He licks his lips, then twists his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes piercing into yours. "But you mean a lot to someone I need to speak with."

You scrunch your brows in confusion, his statement only adding more questions. It can’t be Jaeyun he needs to gain the attention of—no one knows about him or his should-be guardian ways. Sunghoon is just a soldier, and most people believe he’s still locked away in his cell. That leaves Jongseong or Heeseung.

The demon picks something up from a table in the room and drifts back over to you, his eyes an eerie shade of red wine. The object glints ominously in the dim light, and your heart skips a beat as you realise it’s a dagger, its blade sharp and cruel.

“You see,” he says, his voice soft yet menacing, “sometimes, to get someone’s attention, you need to send a message they can’t ignore.”

Your pulse quickens, panic bubbling up inside you. “Who do you need to speak with?” you ask, your voice trembling.

The demon chuckles darkly, tracing the blade of the dagger along your cheek, not cutting but letting the cold metal press against your skin. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. Just know that your pain will be his torment.”

The cryptic words hang in the air, each one a dagger of its own, slicing through your hopes. The demon’s intentions are clear: you are a pawn in a game of unimaginable stakes, a tool to be used and discarded. And as the heat of the room continues to rise, your desperation grows, knowing that every passing moment draws you closer to a fate you can’t escape.

There is a nauseous feeling in your body, your chest heaving with the rapid beat of your heart as the demon brings the blade to your arm, pressing deep into your flesh. The sharp pain sears through you, and a scream rips from your throat, echoing through the hellish chamber. Blood wells up around the blade, trickling down your skin and staining the metal a dark crimson.

The demon watches with a twisted satisfaction, his eyes glinting with delight. But just as he seems ready to inflict more pain, the door swings open with a casual creak, and Heeseung strolls in, his presence commanding and nonchalant.

"Lay another mark on her, I dare you," Heeseung says, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge.

Heeseung’s words exhibit boredom as if your life isn’t on the line. Yet, you know him well enough now to recognise that the darting of his doll-like eyes from your face to your injury is enough to show you he cares; he wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Instinctively, your body tries to run to the comfort of Heeseung despite his unkindness to you in the past. Even if he has instilled fear in your body, manipulating and coaxing you to do things you wish never to speak of, he is still a place of solace, your body and soul drawn to him as though he were a magnetic field.

“I was wondering if you would show,” the demon smiles widely, a stark contrast to the sadistic pleasure he showed with you moments ago.

“I’m not here for you; I’m here for my girl,” Heeseung explains casually, shrugging his shoulders. Yet, you don’t miss the tensed fists just behind his back. It makes your heart skip a beat to know that somewhere in that non-existent heart of his, he cares and will try his best to get you out of this.

Amusingly nodding, the demon chuckles lowly. “I know, this pretty little thing was the only way to reach you. She calls and you answer, how cliché.”

Heeseung's gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing as he steps forward, a slow and deliberate movement that radiates power. "You’ve had your fun. Now it’s over. Release her, and I might consider letting you leave here in one piece."

The demon’s smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers, trying to maintain his bravado. “And if I don’t? What then, Heeseung? Are you going to risk everything for this human?”

Heeseung’s eyes flash with a dangerous light. “You misunderstand the situation. It’s not a risk for me; it’s a certainty for you. Lay another mark on her, and you’ll find out exactly what happens when someone crosses me.”

The demon hesitates, the confidence draining from his face. He glances at you, bound and injured, and then back at Heeseung, weighing his options. The room grows unbearably tense, the oppressive heat pressing down on you like a physical weight. You’ll never complain about a sauna ever again.

The blood from your arm drips onto the floor with each passing moment, your eyes pleading with Heeseung to make all of this end as quickly as possible. A small smirk flashes on his face and disappears just as quickly, assuring you that he has a plan.

When the demon makes no move, Heeseung speaks up again, his voice deadly calm. “Tell me why you’ve called me here before I tear you apart.”

The demon sneers, trying to muster some of his lost bravado. "You've been so busy playing dolls that you’ve forgotten you have an army to run."

Heeseung’s eyes flash with anger, his smirk turning cold and dangerous. "So you put my love in danger because I'm not holding your hand? Are you all that fucking incompetent that you can't do your job?"

My love. You’re eyes widen slightly at the endearing term. There is a part of you that wonders if he means it, if the phrase that rolled so easily off his tongue was heartfelt or just another branch to add to his plotting plan. Hearing your heartbeat fasten with fear and adoration, Heeseung knows you registered his words and yet he doesn’t care.

“We are doing our job yet you’re fucking around with angels and bitches like her,” the man spits, holding the knife with determination. Any second now, the blade could be pierced into one of your main arteries, rendering you dead in a matter of minutes as you stay hanging helplessly against the pole.

“Call her that again. I dare you,” Heeseung snarls, walking closer to the man. His actions strike fear into you because what if one more footstep is the difference between life and death for you? 

As the demon goes to speak once again, his jaw locks and his tongue pulses as though he is choking. He suddenly drops the knife, much to your relief, clinging to his throat as if that will somehow allow much-needed oxygen to pass into his lungs.

Heeseung’s eyes flash a vibrant red, an innocent grin working its way across his cheeks. “What’s wrong? Can’t speak?” The feigned concern in his words makes your body crawl, his sinister actions unsettling you, even as a secret part of you loves it.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after this, you’ll be clear of danger and you can get out of this. Another part is pure vengeance. In hell, you feel the sins inside you heighten: lust, greed, wrath, you name it. Every bad part of you calls to be released.

Suddenly, Heeseung lunges forward, gripping the demon's throat as his fingers sink in with force until the man's face begins to turn blue. The pressure is immense, veins bulging as the demon struggles for air, his eyes wide with terror. Heeseung’s grip tightens even further, his nails piercing the skin, drawing dark, thick blood that oozes down the demon’s neck.

Heeseung’s fingers dig deeper, the demon’s gurgling attempts at speech becoming more desperate. Blood pours from the wounds, splattering onto the floor in gruesome pools. Heeseung’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. With a sudden, violent motion, he tears into the demon’s throat, his fingers piercing through flesh and muscle with a sickening squelch.

The demon’s eyes roll back, his body convulsing as Heeseung's grip tightens further. With a final, brutal yank, Heeseung rips the throat from the demon's body, the detached flesh dangling grotesquely from his hand. Blood sprays in an arc, coating the floor, walls, and over you and the Prince of hell, the metallic scent mixing with the sulphurous air.

The demon’s body collapses to the ground, twitching and spasming as it rapidly loses the battle for life. Heeseung casually tosses the mangled throat aside, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers with a look of disdain. But he isn’t finished. Heeseung’s eyes glow with a fierce intensity as he crouches over the still-twitching body. With merciless precision, he plunges his hand into the demon's chest, feeling around for the pulsating heart. The demon’s mouth opens in a silent scream, his body arching in agony.

“You’re a fool to pick a human suit, this is too easy,” he laughs, staring crazily into your attacker's eyes.

Closing his fingers around the heart and with a feral growl, Heeseung bursts the main organ before he rips it from the chest cavity. Blood gushes out in torrents, the heart still beating weakly in Heeseung’s grip. He holds it aloft for a moment, his expression one of savage triumph, before crushing it in his hand, the remnants of the heart splatter onto the floor, a macabre testament to his power and strength.

Never bring a knife to a demon fight.

Lying lifeless, a broken, bloody shell of himself, the demon remains still, finally moving on from the pain. Heeseung stands, wiping his hand on the demon’s clothes with an air of finality, his lips upcurled in disgust. It’s been a while since he got his hands dirty but he has to set an example to the other soldiers of his legions. If he starts getting soft now, they’ll eventually overrun him. 

Turning back to you, Heeseung’s expression softens slightly, though the remnants of his violent act still linger in his eyes. “What the fuck happened, Y/N?” he asks annoyed, as if you were the one that asked for any of this to happen.

“I-I don’t know, just please get me out of here,” you stutter, your mind still trying to process the nightmare it just witnessed. Watching a man be brutally torn apart before your eyes has left you shaken to the core.

Sighing softly, Heeseung’s gaze sweeps over your body, his attention fixed on the wound on your arm. With careful deliberation, he reaches out and gently takes hold of your arm, his face drawing nearer to inspect the injury.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, contrasting sharply with the violence you’ve just witnessed. The warmth of his hand against your skin feels oddly comforting, a reassuring anchor in the midst of chaos. Heeseung’s expression softens, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he examines the wound.

“I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing contrast to the lingering tension in the air. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he carefully inspects the cut.

What you don’t expect is for his tongue to run over the slit, collecting the blood that streams from it. At first, your face is horrified, the ministration causing your stomach to churn, yet, as he laps up your wound, you feel relief, his muscle easing the sting and allowing your arm to relax, even if only slightly.

Heeseung is engrossed in the taste, the sweet metallic now overpowering all of his senses, and the sensory overload rushes directly to his cock. His member twitches in his pants as it begs to be released, Heeseung’s arousal flowing through his body, so much so that between each healing lick he is moaning out profanities.

Your body gets hot as you hear him get off over the taste of your crimson nectar. There is a first for everything but you never thought one day you would be in hell, handcuffed to a pole, and have Beelzebub exploring his blood kink right in front of you.

“You taste so good, Baby,” he whispers, his attention finally drawing from your arm to your face. 

It is at this moment that he sees the perfect opportunity. You, who are so determined to never lay with Heeseung again, refusing to cheat on your precious puppies, are all tied up and in the perfect position. 

Once you catch that desire-driven look on his face, you squirm slightly, attempting to free yourself from the restraints. But what Heeseung interprets as defiance is actually reciprocation. There's an undeniable thrill in seeing him defend you, dismantle your tormentor with a ferocity that leaves him splattered in blood - it makes you ache with need, your pussy crying in lust. You yearn to break free from these confines and throw yourself at him.

"You're so vulnerable, darling. What if I hadn't answered your calls?" he murmurs, his crimson-stained hands already unfastening the buttons of your jeans. You whimper as his fingers hover tantalisingly close to where you crave his touch. “You were screaming for me earlier, do you think you could do it again?”

His question is loaded, a subtle way to ask for your consent. He wants to make sure as much as he would love to just ravage you right here without a care in the world, he understands - even as a prince of hell - that he would be no better than the dead demon beside you if he took what he wanted without asking.

Swallowing your guilt and pride, you nod, finally giving in to him after months of cat and mouse. “I’ll scream hell down,” you whisper, keeping an intense stare on him.

It’s all the go-ahead he needs before he’s yanking down your Levis and panties, leaving you bare on your bottom half. Hurriedly, the prince frees his cock, stroking it a few times. “You can take it with no prep, right, sweetheart? Or are those dolls not fucking you good enough.”

You whimper in protest, the biting metal against your skin almost painful as your body yearns to be close to his, rattling them harshly as you try to break free. The mention of your lovers goes unheard as you disregard what he's saying and any guilt you should feel. Lust and impatience pulse through your veins, overwhelming all other emotions.

His bloody hands grip your thighs, harshly guiding your legs to wrap around him as he puppeteers you into place. Despite your lack of words, Heeseung takes your mewls of need as the go-ahead to delve in without working you open. Truthfully, Heeseung’s cock is a lot bigger than Jaeyun’s or Sunghoon’s, so prepping you would have been a great thing to ask for, but as your cunt leaks onto his stiff shaft, you know as well as he does that there is no time to be wasted, both of you craving this as much as the other.

With one harsh thrust, he plummets into you, the stretch from his girth both agonising and pleasurable. The pain heightens your experience, his cock bottoming inside you, eliciting a half-moan, half-shriek. You hate to admit it but you missed his cock and how you can feel the veins drag along your walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Are they really not fucking you?” he lefts out a sharp laugh before moving his hips in a steady rhythm. “You needed my cock, didn’t you?” 

Responding with fervent affirmations of "yes," your knuckles turn white as you clench your fists, yearning to touch him, feeling his smooth, doll skin yield beneath your nails. You needed his cock more than anything, all those times of pushing him away and deflecting your desires, this was a long time coming.

He grips your hips tightly as you hang there helplessly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finds a harsh pace that sends butterflies in your stomach. He missed being inside of you, feeling how your walls hug him tight as your body overcomes with bliss. 

Suddenly, his lips meld with yours, causing his rhythm to momentarily falter until he adjusts, finding the perfect angle to hammer into you. Heeseung's tongue slips between your lips, and you taste him on your tongue, your saliva wetting his mouth as your bodies move together in an urgent rhythm.

“Fuck, Heeseung!” you yelp, your lips retracting from him as he hits a soft spot inside of you, each punch of his tip now making you see stars. From that first night you spent together in the mansion all those months ago, you haven’t had the privilege to experience anything this otherworldly, Jaeyun and Sunghoon taking you to the moon but it pales in comparison to the galaxies that Heeseung promises you.

Smirking, he bucks his hips faster. “Scream it, sweetheart, tell me you’re mine,” he coaxes, his frantic eyes trained on your closed ones. He needs to hear you say it, even if only once.

However, once he realises that no words are falling from your lips, he takes his hand and wraps it around your neck, oh so similarly to how he did the demon. “Fucking say it or I’ll end you right now.”

The fear that washes over your being heightens your arousal, your walls collapsing slightly onto his member. It’s embarrassing how much degradation, pain, and fear turn you on. Despite the tiny part of your brain with a conscience screaming out to stop you, you yield, looking him in the eyes with your glossy ones. “Y-yours. I’m yours Heeseung- Fuck!”

His fingers wrap around your airways, his rhythmic thrusts growing more insistent as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “You're a good girl, so good for me,” his voice is barely audible over the crescendo of your moans. The world outside seems to fade away, replaced by the primal intensity of the moment. If hell didn't know you were lost in this passion before, it certainly does now.

The praises mixed with the pain of his grip bring you close to the edge along with each kiss from the tip of his cock to your cervix. Between the warmth of the room, the heat radiating from your body, and the lack if oxygen passing through your lungs, you feel yourself shutting down, every sense overwhelmed by the brutal fucking.

“I’m gonna-” you warn, pulling yourself up with whatever strength you can muster in an attempt to gain some control. Typically, your hands would be raking down your partner's back, grounding you as you come undone, however, the metal doesn’t provide the same comfort that you’re used to.

“Cum over my cock, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel,” he urges, chasing his own release as you start to milk his dick, drawing out the doll's cum with fervour. 

With one loud scream of his name, you release your essence over him, your hands that were once gripping the cuffs now go flaccid, letting the waves of your orgasm take over. Your mind is not in the space to warn you that doing so would hurt your wrists but like the masochist you are, the nips from the restraints only add a sadistic pleasure to your climax.

Your embrace entices Heeseung, guiding him towards climax as he releases deeply inside you, his grip around your throat tightening briefly before easing, letting you gasp for air. His hips maintain their rhythm, driving his essence into you as if intent on securing it forever.

"Take it all, sweetheart," he murmurs huskily against your neck, teasing your sensitive spot before nipping it firmly.

The sudden rush of sensations overwhelms you, pleasure mingling with the faint sting of his bite. Heeseung's movements grow more urgent, each thrust seeming to imprint his desire deeper within you. His whispered encouragements and the rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fill the air, creating a symphony of passion.

With every surge, he drives deeper, claiming you completely in the throes of ecstasy. His touch, both tender and possessive, ignites a fire that burns through you, each moment building towards an inevitable crescendo of shared release.

As you both come down from your highs, the only sound in the room is your heavy breathing and squelching from your combined fluids as Heeseung thrusts a couple more times before slipping out of you. 

He admires his work; your worn-out body, the blood from the demon that has transferred onto your beautiful skin, and the cum dripping from your cunt and mixing with the chartreuse-covered floor. You’re a vision to him and if he was enamoured by you before, he’s just become dementedly obsessed.

Your eyes close and your legs go weak, losing their grip on his waist as you slowly begin to pass out. It’s not good for a human to be down in the pits of hell, not for as long as you have, thus, moving with a hint of urgency, Heeseung breaks your cuffs as though they were made of plastic and cradles your body against his.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. Heeseung refuses to be vulnerable but you bring out a side of him that no one has ever been able to before. He wants to protect you, to worship you, to have you by his side at all times.

And he’ll be damned if this is the last time he has you.

[lirational]

Purity and Pretense

Fallen Angel!Shalom x Reader

Note: Drabble inspired from this post by @sinful-lanterns

Warnings: Religious themes, slight prayer-blasphemg that doesn’t come from existing religions, fingering, and oral.

—

Deprivation fuels desire, emboldens curiosity, and entices even the innocent to sink into the abyss.

Purity, said to be a gift left within each human soul as the Creator sculpts them from stardust and hopes, a mirror that reflects how their souls were infused with the Creator’s wishes. With it, each human was allowed the chance to shine, to chase the sun, the symbol of the Creator, and kneel in reverence, the chance to reflect Their radiance being the only promised reward.

A gift that allows access to a reward that may well be illusionary. Perhaps it would be more fitting to call it a curse, a shackle that deprives the human soul from possibilities hiding within the dark.

As you kneeled on the stone floor, once clean clothes now tattered and stained with evidence of the sins you chose to embrace, your eyes focus on the fallen angel sitting on the stone altar in front of you, her gaze chaining you to the floor. Even though she, your master, has fallen from grace, with her wings no longer pure white, stained in graying black and glowing blue, she was still the epitome of beauty and grace, refinement and power.

“Offer your prayer, little one, or have you fallen so far you lost your reason?”

“Please, Shalom, I can’t do this anymore. I need, I need–”

Your body quivered, desire permeating each word. No longer were you able to hold onto any shred of sanity, your body begging, begging, craving for a taste of the ambrosia she would allow you to indulge as you were pleasing her.

“Offer your prayer, then. Go on, call the Creator, let Them bless and witness the pleasure of life you were about to partake in.”

Her voice drips with promise, honeyed enticement and tainted radiance that pulls– no, spurs your body to crawl closer. You were close, so close, the scent and taste of her lingering in the air just beneath her robes. A dry swallow, all from the sweet fragrance that was so close, and there, you pressed your head to the floor in reverent prayer, then, you took the final step, before you fell into the abyss.

“Oh, our Creator, ruler of the skies above,”

Perhaps it was proof that the place was once a holy one meant to worship, as each word tumbled from your lips, it echoed through the ruined halls, and Shalom drank each word, eyes gleaming in desire at the sincere plea. Despite everything, despite how she saw the human kneeling before her had almost drowned, their purity clouded with unending, insatiable thirst, the power behind the belief to the Creator still fuels their prayer, power intertwined between each syllable.

“Thy name the most sacred– ah!” Shalom had moved from her seating position, and then, a sharp pain on your ass. She had moved away from her seat, and thanks to her strike, a stinging pain interrupted your thoughts.

“I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

“-may thy sovereign rule last forevermore. From the firmament above, to–” another strike, to your unmarred butt cheek this time, and you barely remembered to continue, “-to the lands below, thy will be done.”

A cold, almost loving caress of fingers to your stinging cheeks, and your words died in your throat. She punished you with another spank, and another as you opened your mouth. “Nourish our–”

The feeling of a slap to the aching bud between your legs almost caused you to lose all train of thoughts, tears streaming down your face and seeping into the stone floors below. Again, you stopped.

“Remember my order, pet, I won’t remind you again.”

“Nourish our souls, give the traces of our marred sins a thorough cleanse.”

Shalom licked your earlobe, giving it a quick nibble. With a whisper, she reminded you, “From today, as your soul and your purity sinks to the abyss, you belong to me.”

Selfish, selfish and full of want, such was the nature of fallen angels, creatures made of light created to serve, to praise and sing and echo the name of the Creator across everything Their will reaches. After the fall, their love of worship were twisted, corrupted, and mirrored into a void of want that will never be satisfied, perhaps a manifested dark side of always being the one to give, bend over, and praise a thing that could not even bother to truly cherish the beings They claimed to love most.

“Look at me, look at me like you would look at that Creator,” she hissed the last word, full of disdain that her refined visage would have never revealed before. “Praise me, love me, and call my name, and you will want for nothing.”

“Bestow us the will,” you continued, “to for–,” a finger slipped into your sopping wet folds, stopping in time as your breath hitched at the intrusion, “to forgive, and– mmh!” another joined in, scissoring motions causing your thighs to quiver, your will scattering everywhere as the hunger for Shalom’s touch felt sharper.

“Wrong, repeat the line,” She chided, her movements stopped, waiting for you to fulfill her order.

In that moment, you had surrendered your dignity, your place, your connection to a promise that might never have seen any fulfillment, all to the true, honest, and pure pleasure that you had seen, felt, and sensed with your very flesh.

“To forgive, the way I– no, the way we all shall be forgiven under–”

A gentle, sharp press at that sweet spot had you clenching, almost stumbling in your words as you barely hung on to the order she gave you, “forgiven under the eternal grace.”

“Excellent.” Shalom was still moving her fingers in and out, her lazy movements stimulating you all the same. The pad of her thumb pressed and rubbed circles onto your sensitive nub, eliciting noises that painted the pure prayer with tainted cries. “Come, just a little more, just a little more and you will be rewarded.”

You obey, with glee, not caring even as all traces of your devotion was subsumed, corrupted into a need to worship the beautiful angel in front of you. There was nothing more to desire than to follow your angel, your goddess, even as you both sunk into the endless dark, or would it be more accurate to soar to higher heights?

After all, the pleasure mounting in your veins, gathering in your lower belly, felt as pleasing, as free as soaring on the skies.

“When desires– ah, –lead us astray, we beg–”

Unbeknownst to you, Shalom allowed herself a small smile at the irony.

“We beg for the Creator’s deliverance, as–”

“Slow down.”

You were close, so close, and it took the skin of your teeth to take a deep, shuddering breath. Shalom was teasing you, that much was clear, but every attempt to press yourself closer, to finally break in sweet bliss, was denied, replaced by the inferior pleasure of her orders and praise. “Continue, properly this time.”

“For this is thy domain, thy glory and power–”

You shivered, she was brushing close to that sweet spot again. As each word left your trembling lips, the pleasure only heightens.

“That nothing shall eclipse.”

With that final word, you shattered, broken apart as your juices dripped down from your thighs, her fingers, and splattered into the floors. With a filthy, wet noise, Shalom withdrew her fingers and took her seat on the altar, exposing her clit. An invitation to partake while she licked her fingers, tongue swirling to savor your essence.

“Good girl, now, come, take your reward,” she said in-between licks.

As you lapped at her folds, her eyes held your attention, savoring the utter obedience once reserved for gods.

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Last updated: October 31

I’m only writing for Bucky Barnes

Lots of love for my Bucky people! ♡

I do not consent my work to getting republished

My work can include heavy themes (such as sexual assault, abuse, panic attacks, death, toxic behavior, self-doubt etc). Each chapter and fic will have their own warnings, but if anything might trigger you, be cautious!

If you are interested in reading the Bucky fics I loved on this app, check out my list of fic recommendations on my other blog @buckbuckbarnesstuff

˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔ October Writing Challenges 2024 ˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔

WIP Game

♡ - personal fav

❁ - fic with 300+ notes

✯ - fic with 500+ notes

Series 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

Breaking Chains (ongoing)

Biker!Bucky x reader

Summary: Leaving behind an abusive and possessive boyfriend, and finding refuge in the hometown you once yearned to escape, certainly wasn’t a chapter you anticipated in your life’s story. Yet, eyes as blue as the sky at dusk, belonging to a mysterious biker drew you into a world of unexpected possibilities, where a job at his bar becomes more than just a means of survival - it’s a pathway to freedom and self-discovery. Though, breaking away from your past proves daunting when shackled by invisible chains.

Two-Parts 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

1. Tangled ropes [8.2k]

Sailor!Bucky x reader

Summary: A new sailor arrives at the docks amongst Captain Barton’s crew. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, or perhaps it’s the way his eyes are the echo of the ocean in color and depth. But something about him makes you want to untangle the ropes that seem to choke his spirit.

&

2. Beyond the Horizon (coming soon)

One-shots 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

Listen to your gut [2.8k] ❁

Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky is assigned on a Hydra mission. Letting him venture back in the lion’s den without backup sets a deep unsettling dread knotting your stomach. Drowning out logic and reason you beg him to stay.

Still on the list [14.1k] ✯

Frat!College!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the infamous frat guy, known for sleeping around and throwing parties left and right, constantly invites you, out of all people, to all of them. His intentions though remain a mystery to you. Following a troubling event that leaves you shaken and anxious, Bucky is there to pick up the pieces. Stolen glances and exchanged smiles gradually blossom into a connection that goes beyond what meets the eye.

Casual Sweetness [2.3k] ♡ ❁

Roommate!Bucky x reader

Summary: You seek out your roommate and best friend Bucky for comfort after a girls night out leaves you shaken up.

Two [6.2k] ♡

College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Your friends Wanda and Nat drag you to a corn maze event at night. After a rather unpleasant encounter with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, you want nothing but this night to end. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to find the exit first.

Latte (He)art [7.8k]

Barista!Bucky x Coworker!College!Reader

Summary: Your sweet coworker at the café you work at part time is the only thing able to brighten your day. So it’s only practical that he always ends up in the same shift as you.

Ocean’s claim [5.9k]

Lifeguard!Bucky x Amateur!Surfer!Reader

Summary: Seeking a thrill, your friend Natasha convinces you to go surfing during stormy weather conditions - a bad idea as you come to experience.

Pirate Nights and Pumpkin Lights [1.7k]

Modern!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and you take Morgan, Billy, and Tommy trick-or-treating on Halloween.

Drabbles 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

Paranoia [1.4k]

Avenger!Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky comes home to an unlocked door - his mind convinces him something horrible happened to you

Learn his way [1.5k] ❁

College!Bucky x College!Tutor!Reader

Summary: Bucky is more interested in learning about you than biology

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”

- Edgar Allan Poe

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

heyo bro, it's been a bit since i requested anything, so, first off:

how are you? hope you're doing well ^^

secondly, could i possibly request a drabble about julian and mc getting arrested for something and portia (and/or mazelinka) having to come bail them out?

have a good day, my bro :D

~ @dumbfxck00 no idea if this is the direction you wanted this to go in, friend, but I hope you like it! ~

"She's going to kill us, isn't she."

It's phrased like a question, but the doleful words coming from the lanky redhead shackled next to you in the stone cell sound a lot more like a factual statement. A very depressed, slightly melodramatic, decently self-pitying statement. You draw your knees up with a slight shiver in the damp air as you weigh your options.

"I could always try calling Asra -"

"God, no -"

"You're right."

"At least Pasha could forgive me. She's a good sister, after all," He lets out a long-suffering groan and hangs his head, "and what a failure of an older brother I've been."

"Hey," You scoot in closer with another shiver, mainly in an effort to comfort him but also in the hopes of getting a little more warmth.

Julian lifts his head at your movement. You watch all the confidence and charisma rush back into his bearing as he notices your plight, reaching his not-chained hand up to whip his coat around your shoulders as he scoots closer to you. You end up glued to his side with his legs over yours, face pressed to his chest, as he wraps you up in the heavy black cloth and tucks you in tight.

"Rather chilly in here, isn't it?" He gazes down at you fondly, his warm grey eyes only a few inches from your face. "This is morbidly romantic ... seeking each other's warmth in a prison cell ... brought closer by our love than the shackles that bind us ... despite the crimes I've hardened my heart with ..." His expression falls. "and here you are, an innocent ... suffering alongside me, a murderer ..."

You huff against his shirt. "You're not a murderer, Julian. And your heart is still plenty warm."

He perks up again. "You can feel it, can you?" He leans in closer, his mood lifting once again as he leans in for a kiss. "Can you feel how it beats for you, even chained as the criminal I am now?"

"ILYA I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY -"

Julian winces and jumps. You snuggle smugly into the coat as Portia comes storming down the corridor with a concerned looking Nadia behind her. Portia slams her hands against the iron bars, rattling them with a ferocity that, really, you can't blame her for at all.

"WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?! TELL ME TO MY FACE!!"

Your lover cowers, grief-stricken. "Your brother's a murderer, Pasha, I've taken a life -"

Portia turns her gaze on you and you give a deadpan response, ready to leave the cell and not willing to risk her wrath. "He accidentally dropped a kid's new goldfish into a canal when they asked him to hold it, and an eel ate it before he could jump in."

Julian winces, his voice coming out much smaller as Portia turns her unimpressed stare back at him. "I failed them ... I'm supposed to save lives, not lose them -"

Portia groans. "And how did that lead to you and MC in a cell?"

"A mistake!" His melodramatics kick up again, the chain rattling as he springs to his feet. "They're innocent, I swear! Do with me as a murderer deserves, but don't let them suffer on my behalf!"

You snuggle further into the coat and idly wonder if there's any way she'd invite you to dinner at the cottage if you cooperated sweetly enough. "He felt so bad he turned himself in to the nearest guards on a murder confession and asked to be arrested."

Portia's eyes go dull. "And you?"

Now you start to feel a little silly. "And I didn't want him to go alone."

Behind her, the Countess is quietly laughing into her hand. Portia reaches her hand out for the keys to the cell and opens it with a loud squeal before storming in and yanking for the chains attached to the wall.

"I can't believe you two. You're really perfect for each other, you know that? Two idiots competing to see who's smarter and tieing for third place." She reaches a hand out to help you to your feet, ignoring her brother's feeble protest as he's left to follow on his own. You give her and Nadia a grateful smile.

"Thanks for getting us out."

"I knew when I was informed that a certain 'Dr Devorak and company' were arrested that there must have been some mistake," Nadia hums, "I'm grateful to Portia for responding so promptly, or I would have been forced to contact your honorary grandmother."

Julian audibly gulps behind you. You make your best effort at looking penitent, but your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. Portia bursts into snorting giggles and turns away before you can apologize.

"I'm going to get dinner started. It's your choice if you stay behind."

[aquaquadrant]

Was rereading the first chapter, and: "Predictable, repeatable patterns he’s unconsciously memorized- even now, he’s absentmindedly counting down the seconds until the next potion is dispensed."

Do you think, even after ten years, Tango can still time exactly two minutes in his head? Do you think sometimes he finds himself tapping his fingers absently, and realizes there's exactly a second between each tap, stopwatch-perfect, like his hands are still expecting to feel the wither-cold pain of the roses? Do you think someone notices, and they jokingly call him a human metronome, and he has to laugh and pretend it's not because of the months he spent in constant agony?

"After that, his reflection showed that the tips of his ears had darkened- along with his feet and fingertips- and his wither-black tears left permanent stains under his eyes, persisting even after respawn."

Do you think his friends think the black marks are a blaze hybrid thing, but then they meet another blaze hybrid (maybe in MCC) and start to wonder? Do you think they ask? Do you think he makes an excuse about individual variation, or evades the question, or mumbles vaguely about the wither effect and changes the subject?

"He’s spent so much time with the wither effect- grown accustomed to it, even- that he can’t tell right away when it’s starting to overcome him."

Do you think that later, once he's out, he's fighting wither skeletons or even a wither (secret life?) and he nearly dies from the wither effect, because he didn't notice until it was almost too late? Do you think someone, a hermit or a teammate or even a soulmate, scolds him for being reckless with his health, but in his head he's back in Hels again, withering and healing and withering and healing and withering and healing for eternity?

"The chains- well, they seemed to have snapped when he respawned away from them, leaving just a few links attached to his shackles."

Clothes respawn with players. Do you think that's why the cuffs came with him, even though they were attached to the wall? Do you think that after the "training" mentioned in the comic, he considers them a part of him, to the point where his own code does, too?

"Tango inhales deeply; he hadn’t realized he missed the smell of fire so much."

Do you think that even now, he associates fire with freedom and relief and finally, no more pain? Do you think that after flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks, he sits by a fire and reminds himself that it's not real, it's been years, he's free? Do you think someone finds him, and sits with him, and he realizes that free doesn't have to mean alone?

And in the most recent drabble: "what if the only thing stopping him from reverting back to his old ways is the illusion of control maintained by these shackles?"

Do you think that when he's in the nether, when he sees a fortress, he thinks of the wither skeletons? Do you think that just for a moment, he almost considers withering himself on purpose, another illusory layer of control, to make sure he stays good?

ohhhkay, ok i’m normal about this, i promise. HM. YEAH. suffice to say, this is an amazing ask, but to avoid making it too long or giving too much away i’ll provide very brief answers (to each respective question) below.

yes, yes, and yes. a lot of things from his time at hels tek have stuck with him even after all these years.

yes, yes, and the first one (“that’s just my own unique personal flair!”). luckily this came up at a time when he’d gotten better at lying.

yes and yes, for the first few times he encountered wither skeletons and/or the wither after escaping to hermitcraft. impulse was very concerned.

yes and yes. surely this won’t be relevant in the future…

yes, yes, and sorta- he’s still working on that.

yes, the presence of wither skeletons is one of the main reasons he dislikes the nether (aside from it reminding him of hels). and actually no; before now, the cuffs have been enough for him and he hates the thought of being withered again.

[kaeyx]

Yandere!Chuuya drabble

Warnings: kidnapping

Notes: Reader is gender neutral. Proof of concept more than anything else, a sort of overview of what I think it would be like for Reader to live with him long term. Feel free to come ask about the concept, or offer input of your own!

He never lays a hand on you.

His home is gorgeous, a penthouse far larger than you could ever imagine, somehow managing to look honey despite the fact that it looks like something out of a catalogue. Trinkets from all over the world and books of poetry line the walls of his room, and the sheets of his king size bed often have vibrant colours or nice patterns. The shackle sort of shatters that coziness though. No matter how hard you tug, how much you scream and scrabble at the manacle around your ankle until your skin bleeds, it doesn't move an inch.

You look up from your folded hands, from the solved Rubik's cube in your lap, out the floor to ceiling windows and over the city. You'd never imagined you'd see the inside of an apartment like this, much less live in it. You'd never imagined you'd do anything to get out. The chain is infuriatingly, mockingly long, long enough that you can go to the ensuite bathroom and even open the door and step into the hall if he doesn't lock the door. The shackle around your ankle is also loose -not enough to let you slip your foot out though. It doesn't stop you from struggling and tugging at it though, even though he always looks disheartened when he sees the long scratches and reddened skin around your ankle. He always offers to clean you up, if he notices. Looks at you with the eyes of a man defeated and asks to help you in a tone so much softer than what he was known for. You refuse him each time, sometimes with spite, sometimes just retreating into yourself. He never pushes, never forces you.

Chuuya always looks a little sad now, whenever he slides the deadbolt and opens the door to his room to bring you food or gifts, or a new book. You don't know why you're in his room, or why he doesn't take advantage of the situation and shares the bed. His fiery halo of hair seems duller somehow, his strides less quick and self assured than you remember from before. It seems like an age now, when you knew him as a loud, intense, deliberate person; a man who liked his expensive wine and expensive clothes and his family and job as an executive. There's always a spark missing in his eyes now, a quirk missing in his brow. He used to nod or smile at you as he walked by even though you weren't his subordinate, and now he can barely look you in the eye.

You don't even ask for explanations anymore, you don't plead for him to let you go. You did, once. In the beginning. When you still had hope that this was all a horrible prank or a nightmare. It had shifted to rage eventually, and some vindictive, animal part of you had taken savage joy in seeing the hurt in his eyes when you yelled at him and berated him, and how all his usual bright emotions would fall away and leave a man who was carefully quiet and solemn, never rising to your baits, never joking or complimenting or attempting to reach out to you. Eventually you ran out of hope though, and with no hope you also ran out of motivation. You couldn't escape, you couldn't fight him, you had nobody to come looking for you. He wasn't letting you go.

The view of Yokohama is breathtaking, buildings and sea glittering under the sun, completely out of reach. Your hands reach for the cube and, with a sigh, you start to shuffle it again.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 81: Carver

Cullen x Trevelyan | Hawke x Trevelyan | DAI | Epic | Multiship | Slow burn | Fast burn | Complications While Saving the World

Chapter Summary: Everything goes to shit at the ritual tower

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

A pair of pale blue eyes rages at me. “Who the fuck are you?” 

I yank at his shackles in search of the lock with one hand and fumble for my picks with the other, shoving my tensioner into my mouth. We both flinch against a block of stone sailing over us.

“Someone—” I pluck the pick from my lips, slip it into the lock and grunt a response. “Someone trying to save your arse.”

Under normal circumstances, lockpicking is second nature, but with flame and rock and arrow suffusing the air around us, with my blood slickened left hand, I can’t seem to crack it.

“Maker’s sakes. You’re as bad as my brother,” he moans, rolling up to watch.

“Get down!” I cry, chunks of crumbling ruin hurtling toward us. With a clanking jerk, Carver tugs me flat against him. Erimond picks himself up from where I’d sent him scuttling with the anchor, his eyes flashing that same terrifying violet, summoning more objects into the air.

“Oh shit,” I breathe, scrabbling for my picks against the stone floor.

“Your hand— it’s— Maker your her, aren’t you?”

“A pleasure to meet you too,” I say through gritted teeth, prying at the tumblers in his right shackle. 

In a swift jerk, Carver rolls me to the left out of the path of a stream of flame. I tumble out of his hold, panicking as Erimond charges another spell. “Enough with the bloody lockpicks, woman. Kick me that sword.”

I catch my foot on the guard of longsword and drag it to him, fishing with a free hand for the first grenade I can find. Antivan fire sloshes in its glass ampule. As Carver Hawke finds his feet, I lob it at Erimond, the sticky fluid splattering all over and burning in a perfect orb around the man’s barrier. 

“Fuck!” I cry, pulling my bow off my back and scooting on my arse out of the onslaught. Erimond sends another levitated chunk of ritual tower hurtling toward Carver, knocking him back against the very block meant for his blood. He recovers, gripping the sword in a hand still bound to the other, throwing off a staggering Venatori archer with a potent elbow. He catches another in the chains that hold him and wrenches their head sideways with a disgusting pop.

Read the rest here | Start the fic here

DAFF Tag List

@about2dance | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @blarrghe | @bluewren | @breninarthur

@crackinglamb | @delicatefade | @dreadfutures | @effelants | @exalted-dawn-drabbles 

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[shywhumpauthor]

Lessons

Okay I know this is a very typical trope but I’m in a mood. This is the first long drabble I’ve written in a while woah

Cw: torture, kidnapping, captivity, restraints, collars (power inhibiting), blood, creepy/intimate whumper, multiple whumpees, there’s a character referred to as “Youngest”, but they are not a minor, noncon touching (nonsexual), noncon partial stripping (nonsexual, just a shirt), knife, references to past torture/abuse

“Well, Leader, how lovely it is to see you again,”

Heavy boots fell hard against the concrete floor, crossing the room in a few long strides. Leader glared up silently, shifting up straighter, trying to appear as sturdy and authoritative as they could in such a vulnerable position. Bound on their knees, their arms twisted above them with shackles biting into their wrists, shoulders straining with the stress of the position, there wasn’t much they could do to help themself except hold their chin up.

“Mm, not much to say? That’s alright, I’ll do the talking for now.” Whumper grinned, stopping just in front of them, their hands resting casually in their pockets.

Leader’s jaw clenched, their teeth gritting together. They couldn’t get mad. They couldn’t speak out. They couldn’t spit and curse and demand to be released or holy hell Whumper will regret this-

Their eyes flicked past Whumper, looking back to their team for just a moment. Against the opposite wall, Healer was restrained in a similar manner, blood dripping down from both their nostrils, staining the front of their shirt. Whumper’s henchmen hadn’t exactly been gentle when escorting them to the cell.

Leader was sure the setup was intentional. One of them against each wall. Teammate to Leader’s left, Youngest to their right. The door was against the corner between Teammate and Healer, shut and guarded by a henchman.

“Ah, ah Leader, eyes on me.” Whumper chided, snapping their fingers to draw Leader’s attention back to them. “We have some matters to discuss now, don’t you agree?”

When Leader didn’t answer, Whumper’s smirk didn’t falter. They crouched down in front of them, clasping their hands together as they rocked back onto their heels.

“I must say, you’re looking much better than when we were last together. Did you get your hair cut?”

Their hand lashed forwards, fingers raking roughly through Leader’s tangled hair, their fingers twisting in the locks and wrenching back their head. A small gasp of air passed through their teeth before they could stifle it, small sparks of pain lighting across their scalp. Whumper chuckled, their fist wounding a bit tighter as their other hand raised, their fingers brushing across Leader’s bared throat, dipping down to the base of their neck. Hooking under the metal contraption and tugging, making Leader hiss.

“You know where I got these beauties from?” Whumper murmured, their eyes sparkling with a cruel light as they admired the collar, tracing their thumb over the little red light that indicated the power inhibitor was functioning. “I got them from you, Leader. Your agency’s own creation. I must say, whoever came up with this is quite the genius.”

Whumper chuckled when Leader tried to twist their head away, wrenching their head back and leaning even closer. “Oh I’m sure you’re missing your phasing right about now. How easy it would be for you to just slip out of these chains and free your team.”

Whumper’s fingers danced to their chin, tracing a faded scar along their jaw, a reminiscent smile curling their lips.

“I remember this one,” They hummed, giving Leader’s cheek a light slap before standing back up straight. They stepped back to the center of the room, turning in a slow circle as they surveyed their captives.

“Teammate, stunning as ever,” they commented, and Leader felt something in them twist. Teammate didn’t respond, their head hanging forwards, slumped down. Blood matted the side of their hair, streaking all the way to their temple. A dark bruise crept across their cheekbone, the colors just beginning to set in. Their chest rose and fell in small dips of breath, the only indicator they were still alive.

“Healer, has anyone ever told you how dashing you look in red? It really is your color,”

Whumper turned, their hands falling to rest against their hips as they looked over Youngest. Aside from a few shallow looking scratches along their face, they thankfully looked unharmed. Leader had heard them cry earlier, right after Whumper’s henchmen initially attacked, and they had been scared the kid had been hurt. Just shock from the attack, Leader thought with a sigh, feeling some of the tension in their mind release.

“Hm, Youngest, I presume? I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’m honored you could join us today.” Whumper dipped their head, a twisted greeting. Youngest luckily had the sense to bite back their response.

Shit, they shouldn’t have even been there. Neither should Healer have. It was just supposed to be Teammate and them, a quick mission, in and out. Undetected, if they did it right. Healer had insisted on coming along because god forbid, either of them got hurt, and when Youngest heard that of course they didn’t want to be the only one left behind. The conditions were stay in the van, stay low and hidden. Healer was told explicitly that if something were to go wrong, to hit the gas and get the hell away.

They hadn’t even gotten that chance. It had been an ambush the moment Leader stepped out of the vehicle.

“You’re all so quiet, I’m sure Leader taught you well. Is that right, Youngest? Has Leader ever taught you how to act in a captive situation?”

No, they hadn’t. Why the hell would they have? Youngest had only joined the team a month ago, fresh out of the agency’s training course. The only missions they had been on were civilian cases, petty thefts and grocery store robberies. The only thing Leader had told them even remotely relating to such a topic was that if they were ever in trouble, call for help, don’t play the hero.

Whumper clicked their tongue after a moment, when Youngest remained silent. Their eyes met Leader’s, and the most the later could offer was a small shake of their head.

“Clearly not. That’s alright, I can teach you. It’s just not fair to put you in such a situation without any prior education. Don’t you agree, Leader? I’m sure you can sympathize.”

Whumper’s hand dipped into the pocket of their jacket, reappearing a moment later with something small clasped in their palm.

Leader didn’t miss the hitch in Youngest’s breath when Whumper flicked open the blade.

“I planned to have this talk with Teammate first, you know, cause they and Leader seem pretty close, but I don’t think they’re lucid enough to truly understand the lesson I’m trying to convey. Healer, I’m sure they already know, so that would just be redundant,” Whumper spoke with a light tone, their voice flowing and carefree, voice of any sort of urgency or fight. If anything, they seemed content, without a care in the world.

“Has Leader ever told you about our history?” Whumper asked, flipping the switch knife over in their palm with an experienced sort of comfort maneuvering the blade. “No? I’m not surprised—you should really ask them sometime, or maybe I’ll just tell you later, there’s some good stories buried down there.”

Whumper gave youngest a smile, one that may have been reassuring if not for the cruel glint in their gaze as they turned towards Leader, steadying their grip on the handle.

“For now, though, I’ll just show you.”

Whumper stepped towards them, and it took everything in Leader not to flinch as they knelt down in front of them, one hand tugging at the collar of their shirt while the other sliced away at the fabric with the blade. They had already been stripped of their jacket and their under armor, leaving them in only a long sleeve, similar to the rest of their team, which Whumper cut through with relative ease. They tore the shirt down the center and then ripped the sleeves, letting the tattered fabric fall discarded to the floor besides them.

Heat pricked at the base of Leader’s neck, but they refused to let any emotion other than stoic indifference betray their expression. Their chest, arms, abdomen, back, decorated with scars. Nothing their team hadn’t seen before. They’ve all seen it. Leader had never given them the details of the tortures so clearly displayed across their skin, and they had never pried. What they had once hid, indifferent as anything else.

But now with Whumper in front of them, grin full of sadistic pleasure, they felt their chest burn with a bitter humiliation they hadn’t felt in years.

“I always hated how messy this was,” Whumper commented, dragging the tip of the blade across a jagged line that split down Leader’s stomach, putting just enough pressure behind the knife for it to scratch but not draw blood. “Nothing to do about that now.“

They stood up and stepped away from Leader without another word, humming a single note as they returned to stand in front of Youngest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save the worst of the lessons to deal between Healer and Teammate. As for you, well, I suppose we need to figure out where to start above anything else.”

“No,” Youngest grit out, the first words spoken by anyone other than Whumper since the capture. Their voice was small, raspy and cracking with fear they tried so hard not to let break into their expression.

“Well then, first—why don’t we call this ‘Lesson one’? Be sure to remember it, there might be a test later,” Whumper chuckled, lowering themself to one knee so they could reach the hem of Youngest’s shirt, taking their time as they cut away the fabric. “When you’re in a hostile environment, the best thing you can do is stay quiet and compliant. Follow the rules so you don’t put yourself in a worse position, keep your mouth shut so you don’t give anything away. Simple enough?”

Youngest’s shirt fell and they cringed away, the chains that bound their wrists clinking as they pressed back into the wall. A deep red bruise bloomed against their ribs, and Leader felt something in their chest wrench.

“I’ll make this really easy for you, Youngest. I won’t ask you to tell me anything confidential. We’re just going to practice being quiet, alright? It’s fine if you cry, but I don’t want you screaming. You can do that, can’t you? I’ve heard you were extremely gifted with your performance with the agency, so this should be easy,”

Leader’s blood boiled inside their veins, hands curling into fists above their head. Nails biting into their palms, if looked could kill Whumper would have already been buried. That was all they could do. Look. Make eye contact with Healer, shake their head to try and convey the message of be quiet, and bite their tongue.

They didn’t want to look. They didn’t want to watch, but they felt like they owed Youngest that much. The comfort of knowing they weren’t alone, that even though Leader couldn’t reach out and offer them the physical assurance, even though they couldn’t call over and tell them that it’ll be alright, they were still there.

A hot anger boiled in their chest as Whumper slowly, tauntingly brought the knife to Youngest’s chest, tracing from their collarbone to their sternum, smirking as Youngest flinched under the touch like it was burning hot.

“I’ve always had trouble deciding what to do with a new canvas. The pressure of it all, knowing that with one little mistake, it can all be ruined,” Whumper’s voice was airy, lips curling into a grin as they flicked the knife across Youngest’s abdomen, making a small cut just below the bottom of their ribs, shushing them when they gasped.

“Remember what I said,” was all Whumper warned, watching as a bead of blood welled from the scratch. “Now, what do you think would look better on you… some sort of pattern, maybe? Maybe a mandala? We’d have to do that in a few sessions though, I doubt you could take it in one. Leader, doll, what do you suggest? Perhaps something floral?”

Leader clenched their jaw, their neck burning with shame as Youngest’s wide, tearful eyes rose to them, terrified and pained.

“Leave them alone, Whumper,” Leader’s voice was tight, a bit ragged. “Do it to me. Hurt me, however you want, not my team.”

“Oh leader, it’s cute that you think I still want you. I’ve had my fun, and your screams just don’t… entertain me in the way I’m looking for. But none of that answers my question, so I guess you forfeit that choice. Hm… how about my symbol? Oh yeah, right here would look nice.”

Whumper grinned as they poked the knife against Youngest’s midriff, taking their cry as a yes.

“Isn’t it great, Youngest, you get to be special like this? Leader only ever got my initials.”

And so, the first lesson began.

[moodymisty]

hey! Just wanted to say I really enjoy reading your works! I’ve joined tumblr to put in a request, hope I’m doing this right lol. I was wondering if you’d have any headcanons for tech x female jedi general reader? It’s purely self indulgent for my self insert oc, lmao. But I’d love to hear what your thoughts are on how tech would be in a relationship with a general. Thanks so much!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: You're doing just fine, and welcome to tumblr! It's a mess but it's ours. I love self indulgent OC's so hopefully these little HCs of mine (and a little drabble because it was cute) will tickle your fancy.

Relationships: Tech/Gn!Jedi General!Reader (it just so happened I wrote it without any specific pronouns used)

Warnings: None, unless you consider clone/jedi relationships something to warn about?

Tech would at first, probably be a little bit at odds with a Jedi; Not in a hostile way, but his very '1+1=2, logic is superior' sort of brain competes with someone who trusts in something so vague as the Force. He doesn't enjoy the lack of concrete answers when it comes to the Jedi.

It's an even more prevalent if you're the 99's official Jedi general.

Tech and the Batch are already grappling with the feelings of finally being shackled with a Jedi, after having avoided it for so long. They didn't feel like a Jedi would fit in their squad, no matter how you might be. It's not the easiest hurdle to jump for sure, especially with Tech.

He's cold at first; You can tell he's displeased by your presence, but is attempting to be amicable. It's when you try your best to mold into their group rather than change them, when Tech ends up realizing that maybe this wasn't as bad as he thought.

You both find a common ground, and Tech even comes to enjoy the more historical side of Jedi teachings, even if he doesn't really get all of it.

He often times finds himself tinkering in the same area you're meditating in; He finds it relaxing in a way he can't explain. He makes sure to be quiet and not disturb you.

But it's actually Tech that's the one to make a move in upgrading your relationship, surprisingly enough- once he realizes his own feelings for you go far beyond how his brothers think of you.

He's extremely blunt; He enjoys spending time with you and would like more, but he knows that clones aren't exactly the pick of the litter. You vehemently reassure him that you'd love nothing more. It's not as if he's the only one who's feelings had been morphing over time, as you'd very much grown to enjoy being around him.

I think that Tech would be the least likely, besides Wrecker, to treat you being a Jedi as a 'big deal' in a relationship. Hunter and Echo would probably hesitate due to a fear of chain of command issues and Echo being used to Jedi more, while Crosshair has a sort attitude towards everyone including Jedi. Tech knows that the Kaminoans cannot find out, but beyond that, you being a Jedi is nothing intimidating to him.

If you ever gave him permission, he would love to tinker with your lightsaber(s). Acts of service are Tech's way of showing he likes someone, and to improve something that means so much to you would make Tech extremely happy. He also would love to see the inner-workings of something so integral to the Jedi order. Lightsabers aren't exactly something you get to mess with every day.

Has a spare robe of yours he wears uses as a blanket sometimes. He got yanked at the collar by Hunter once, when he was wearing it and almost left their barracks without realizing.

You can hear out far to your left, outside the shell of the Marauder, that someone is working on one of the LA-AT's with a high powered drill. Someone else is pulling a fuel hose across the hanger, as it drags across the ground with a consistent, sliding noise. Somewhere else is the yelling of a captain disciplining his troopers. It all fades to the background relatively quickly. The metal of the Marauder is cool beneath you, piercing the rough fabric of your robes.

There isn't much room in here to meditate, especially without any interruption, but the Batch and you have come to a sort of solution. There may not be much space between the cockpit seats, but it's enough, and you can seal the door if you need an extra bit of quiet.

It works. If anything, you've come to enjoy it. There's a familiarity about it. In the way that the Jedi temple has a comfortable feeling of home, as does the Marauder.

-CLANK-

Something small and metal hits the ground; A screw, you think. Judging by the way it bounces a few times before it starts to roll across the floor. You pay it no mind, palms shifting ever so slightly as they rest on your thighs. The sudden sound took you out of your meditation for a moment and the noises outside the ship came flooding back into focus, but soon enough you manage to slowly push them out again. Back to a state of peace, each sound being filtered and muffled as if dunked in water as you once again fade away into-

-BANG-

"Tech..."

You open one eye, looking up to your left and watching him look over the arm of his seat trying to spot where his tool went.

"Apologies."

It hit your foot, and so you open both eyes and grab it- with a grunt getting up from your cross legged position and handing it to him. Once you do, both of your hands rest on the arm of the seat to support yourself.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to get anywhere with this noise anyways." His eyebrows raise behind his goggles and with both hands gripping his current project, he makes a motion as if going to get up from his seat.

"I could do my work elsewhere, if you require complete sile-" You quickly lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek, close enough that your lips brush against the corner of his mouth.

"It's not you. The noise in the hanger keeps throwing me off." Tech looks out the side viewport to see a groups of clones working on various starships, and he notes how loud the sounds actually are. He's just gotten used to it, he guesses. He's slept in far louder places.

"I like having you here when I meditate, actually." You see the way his eyes light up a bit, both from the loving nature of what you'd said, and the curiosity of wanting to know why.

"It's nice knowing you're here. And ok." You reach up and adjust the light on the side of his goggles so it isn't pointing upwards. Tech doesn't seem to even notice that you doing so.

"Nothing is going to happen on a Republic base," He says, before taking note of the way you roll your eyes at him.

"I know, I just like the feeling." You squeeze his hand that's holding his screwdriver, and while he can't hold yours back, you note the way his eyes watch the gesture keenly.

"Once I finish this, I can promise you complete silence." You smile before he kisses you on the lips, feeling the way you gently sigh against them.

"Take your time. I'm just going to watch."

Join the taglist here: @simp-legend @nekotaetae @chad-something @coffeyorky @merkitty49 @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @notthatfanfictionwriter @lucyysthings @jennrosefx @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana @coraex @anxiouspineapple99 @bobaprint @wolffegirlsunite @sleepingsun501 @crosshairlovebot

[anony-man]

Chubformers extended drabble #2!

Based off of #60 for IDW Overlord, this is the drabble written into a 2k fic! Feel free to read it on ao3 or under the cut!

Original drabble: #60 for Overlord (IDW)

Word count: 2,046

(TW: vore, implied fatal vore)

It was bad manners to play with his food, he’d been told, but there was something so alluring about watching his freshly picked captives shiver and squirm in his presence. What could he say? Their palpable terror always added to the flavor to every dish, even before he swallowed them whole.

Speaking of swallowing them whole… Overlord was pretty sure tonight’s choice of a meal was one of the biggest to date. He was no prude when it came to size—the bigger the better is how he saw it. Still, the fat Decepticon could hardly wait to have such a hunk of a mech lodged in his throat. It was almost arousing, dare he say.

The poor, terrified thing had been quiet nearly the entire night. His fellow Decepticons swore the mech had been cursing up a storm, blaming Megatron for the failure of their kind and calling up gaping maws from Primus himself to break open the core of their world and swallow the nasty scum of a faction whole.

Oddly enough, there was no sign of the fiery, passionate spirit now, not even a drop… not even a word.

Well, Overlord couldn’t toy with everyone. Sometimes his food seemed to liked to sit pretty and wait for the inevitable as opposed to putting up a struggle, and he supposed that was just fine. The flavor was in the fear, after all, and oh, did tonight’s guest reek of it.

Painted blue lips curled into a cruel smile before opening wide for the next bite of his first course. The Autobot across from his was silent as ever, his optics wide as he quivered against the table.

This was always one of his favorite parts, just below getting to swallow up his prey. It was tradition for Overlord, forcing his evening’s captive to sit and watch as he prepared himself for the final dish. Struggling bots never felt so good in his tanks like they did following a big, hearty feast, and Overlord loved setting them up for a cushiony fall into his well-fed belly.

"Delicious," the fat Con said as he swallowed, reaching down to the table to grab a napkin.

The mech across the table flinched away, a gasp of fear escaping him. It was as if he expected those cruel talons to close around his throat at any moment, Overlord could tell. Lucky mech, getting to live for a few more minutes in the confines of the delightful dinner before them.

“Mm... I've truly outdone myself tonight,” Overlord continued, delicately wiping at the corners of his lips. “But I worry about you, you poor, poor soul. Aren’t you hungry?”

The mech didn’t respond, save for another shudder as Overlord dug his fork into the meat of his dish. Another delightful moan worked its way around the bountiful as he shoveled it past his lips, and this time Overlord did little to hide his satisfaction at the outcome of his meal.

Delicious as usual, he thought with a lick of his lips. Even so, it was nothing compared to the dessert that awaited him.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said between a few extra dabs at his lips with the napkin. “I never did ask if you wanted something to eat. Please, help yourself.”

The bot didn’t move, and he hardly breathed. The room fell silent for a time, save for the clink of chains and the tremble of the mech as they hid their face behind shackled servos.

Overlord frowned at the sight. The poor creature looked absolutely pitiful, all curled into on himself in a desperate attempt at appearing small against the grand display of foods laid out over the dinner table. Still, there was a script to follow if he wanted to enjoy every last second of his evening’s entertainment.

He waited patiently until the mech had gained the courage to glance up from the spaces between his fingers, his optics bright with fear. By then the air had begun to stink from their panic, and Overlord loved it. He took in a deep breath and sighed, a contented smile replacing the agitated frown he’d worn prior.

Oh, this was starting to become a positively scrumptious night.

"Enjoy yourself," Overlord pressed. "It would be selfish of me to keep you from having a bite, don’t you think?"

Overlord slid an empty plate across the table to where the mech sat. A small, delicate pastry was plucked up from its display between sharp fingers and dropped onto the porcelain platter. Overlord watched as the mech's gaze drifted to the offered treat, then to him, then back again.

It was risky, accepting the kind morsel. Without fail, though, his captives always accepted. It just took time is all.

“Go on,” he urged, plucking another bite off of his own plate as he waited for the mech to give in. “I’m playing nice tonight, I assure you.”

The mech hesitated, his servo outstretched. It certainly looked appetizing, and he couldn’t deny the way his tanks groaned for food…

"There you go," Overlord said, clapping his servos together as the shivering mech finally took the bait. "That’s a good mech."

One bite quickly turned into two as the mech eased into the flow of stuffing his face. No longer satisfied with the simple dishes available for snacking, Overlord settled for sipping at his glass of engex as he watched the mech gorge himself on as many foods as he could reach.

The frantic, desperate need to keep his mouth full and his belly fuller was almost as entertaining as the climax of the dinner’s final course. Overlord sneered behind the rim of his glass as the pathetic bot slurped and groaned, too caught up in the temporary bliss of a free-for-all feast made just for him—and for Overlord, of course.

“Eager thing, you are,” the Con mused, his frown twisting back into an amused smile at the way the mech stopped to scoff at the ridiculous statement. “Have I made enough to satisfy your appetite?”

It would be such a delightful reward to stuff his belly full with such an obnoxious Autobot. The cowardly terror that had kept him frozen in place was beginning to wane, and the more the bot ate the more he seemed to grow comfortable in his enemy’s presence.

“I’ll say,” the bot said between mouthfuls. He wiped at his face with the back of his servo. “Got enough here to feed a fraggin’ army if you ask me.”

“An army of two, perhaps,” Overlord said as he sipped at his engex.

His evening’s prisoner was getting far too comfortable for his own liking. A little snark was always welcome, but Overlord could hardly stand the shift from shivering fear to cocky and comfortable. The spread of cakes and dishes had been a good appetizer, but the entertainment was coming to an end, and Overlord's patience was running thin.

“I apologize for being so abrupt,” he said, slowly rising from his seat, “but I’m afraid it’s getting a bit late, and I’m dying for dessert.”

The mech’s optics practically bulged from his helm like an earthen creature once he finally looked up from his plate. Overlord was an imposing sight from the start, and the tons of mesh that hung in rolls from his frame merely added to the terror.

Beneath the rumbling purr in the background of Overlord's throat, his belly roared with hunger as he leaned across the table to pluck the terrified mech out from his seat. The dinner was nice, but he was still hungry—hungry for more than just a few little oil cakes.

There was only one solution to his ravenous appetite, and the shrieking mech that fought to flee from his grasp seemed to know it.

“No no no no no!” the mech squealed. “Please, no! I—I can help! I can… I can find a way!”

Playing with big prey meant dealing with a bigger struggle, and Overlord was almost straining to drag the Autobot across the table and into his lap. Dishes clashed and plates broke, the silverware and feast crashing to the floor as the mech sunk his claws into the bunched tablecloth in a feeble attempt at saving him from his fate.

It didn’t take experience to know exactly how this was going to end. Most Autobots who survived a visit with Overlord had heard plenty of horror stories about dining with the Con for the evening.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Overlord said as he held the struggling bot up in the air. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal just as much as I’ll be enjoying mine.”

The squirming, screaming mech kicked and flailed, but to no avail. Painted blue lips opened wide, revealing a gaping maw, pearly fangs, and the rumble of a needy gut. Before he could make any further attempts at an escape, Overlord was lowering him down atop his tongue and swallowing against the intrusion of kicking legs.

The mech was immediately engulfed by sticky, hot air and a saliva-coated tongue, his attempts at screaming for help and begging for release silenced by the threat of being chewed up and swallowed. Overlord toyed with the whimpering mech for some time, delighting in the wails that would escape every time his gentle nibbles became too much for the delicate shell of the bot’s chest.

There was no room for speaking when half of the bot was already bulging in his throat, the slick walls working to work him down into the starving, bubbly pits of his tanks, but Overlord did his best to moan his approval around the bot’s frame as it slid over his tongue. He took his time in swallowing, allowing his systems to do most of the work as he suckled against his fingers and licked at the trembling bots frame.

The scent of fear was palpable again, and almost intoxicating. The fat Con’s free servo immediately drifting down to grope and pinch at his rumbling belly, his frame growing hot from the mere thought of digesting another Autobot alongside the delicious meal. His engines purred and his tanks growled as the bot’s helm slid into his throat before quickly slipping past his bobbing throat and dropping into his bubbling tanks below.

The bot sat heavy amongst the spread of dishes Overlord had indulged in that night, but the stretch of overstuffed tanks around the struggle of an unwilling meal made his final course twice as delicious. He leaned back with a groan, both servos rubbing at his massive belly now as he felt for the firm outline of the bot inside of him around the half-digested foods.

He was unconscious now, Overlord could tell. The squirming and whimpers had ceased for the moment being. Still, digestion took time. If he was patient and waited for his prey to reawaken, then—

There was a gasp from across the room. The choked, startled sound caught Overlord by surprise. He wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight. Upon lifting his gaze from the swollen, stuffed dome that spilled out over his lap, the fat Con met the gaze of a small, terrified looking minibot.

He hardly had to look for the obviously placed Autobot insignia on the bot’s chest to know the scared thing was another one of their prisoners. How he’d managed to escape past the rest of the Decepticons was unclear to him, but Overlord was hardly about to let this prime opportunity go to waste.

“Oh, hello there,” Overlord said. “Fancy running into someone like you so late in the night.”

The minibot didn’t respond, his attention fixated on the mess of a dining table left from the previous victim’s struggle. Overlord made a dismissive gesture with one servo as he reached down to straighten out the table cloth, then beckoned the bot forward.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said. “I’m quite known for my unruly table manners… you know how it is.”

The minibot seemed hesitant, but there was no backing out now. Not now that Overlord had seen him. The fat Con’s face split into an affectionate smile, and beneath the table he soothed the rumble of awakening prey with a servo against his belly.

“Come,” he said. “Have a seat.”

[no-shxme]

there's this one talsett premise i drabbled a lot in private and i still think about it bc its so fun. i'm gonna ramble about it at length under the cut bc... idk... its basically the full summary.

the basic premise was canon runeterra where sett learns about some sorta magical artifact from some dude at the pit that grants a wish. apparently its somewhere deep in the ixtali jungle. sett hates how sad his ma is about his pa leaving, so he decides to make a trip over to wish her pain away.

so he makes the trip over and gets pretty immediately captured by demacian soldiers that are camped out at the start of the jungle (south of piltover) for some reason.. sett doesn't get it, but either way he's interrogated bc demacians are going after this artifact too apparently, (it only becomes available once ever xyz years or smth, some sort of time crunch.) the demacians are led by lux's aunt, tianna crownguard, but sett doesn't know who any of these people are ofc. one of sett's arms is locked in a petricite handcuff and the other end is locked to another captive's arm. and of course it's talon.

talon has been sent to retrieve the artifact on his own, after failing another one of the general's errands. he also got captured (bc really who would expect a bunch of demacians all the way out here) and has tried and failed to escape twice now. then because sett's so big and hard to miss, they're handcuffed together to be each other's ball and chain. sett hates noxians, talon likes personal space, and they both want the same thing. this will be a problem.

they do escape with the help of sett's strength and talon's ability to lockpick doors one-handed and thus begins a mad scramble into the jungle, running from wild animals, demacian soldiers, and other hazards.

problems they encounter include:

the fact that petricite is notoriously impervious, and neither of them can get their cuff off short of cutting off somone's arm. (talon isn't opposed to this.)

the fact that talon can't MAKE sett go anywhere, even at knifepoint, because he dwarfs him in size, weight, and strength. But Sett can drag him wherever he wants, through tall grasses and uphill.

speaking of which, sett drags talon through a river at the end of day 1 of being together, in which talon nearly drowns bc he can't keep up and afterwards that's pretty much talons limit where he has a panic attack bc he just NEEDS some level of control like this is a fucking nightmare. this is also the first time sett feels pity for him.

sett and talon learning to compromise in some ways (also known as talon climbing a tree and hanging on until sett caves to his demands. (his arm is sore.) sett learns that talon has been assigned to steal the artifact on his own, which seems kinda crazy for one lil guy, and sett explains his own reason for finding it. he thinks that his reason is clearly 10x more just and noble but talon's not responsive and it pisses sett off.

they encounter random other champs. kayn (with scythe rhaast) are also looking for the wish, but they part ways more amicably. they also meet neeko just tooling around having a grand time.

sett asks neeko to transform into talon and she does, and then he asks her to smile and is immediately weirded out bc 'talon' smiling like that looks unnatural lol.

talon slowly reveals more information about his father and sett decides he sounds like a fucking asshole.

sett getting ticks on his ears that talon has to cut out bc he's freaking out.

sett carrying talon like a bag of sand over his shoulder.

eventually they reach qiyana's kingdom and i honestly can't remember why they get to live but they do, and they FINALLY get their shackles removed and also a bath. by now they've gotten pretty good at working together, though the problem of who gets the wish boils over. sett gets pissed off bc talon still wont concede the fact that he should totally get the wish for his ma. talon is still adamant that he needs it, and sett tells him he's stupid cause his dad's an asshole and talon snaps that he knows that. and sett realizes that talon actually just wants the wish for himself because he sees it as the only way to 100% escape his abusive circumstances. his dad just sent him to the jungle after his latest failure, basically dooming him to a wild goose chase with no real chance of success.

there's a little backstabbery at the end. a race between talon and sett (now uncuffed), and kayn and the demacians. (tiana crownguard wants to wish her niece's magic away, since she'd discovered lux's secret and wants to do it for her own safety). at the very end sett tries to make a deal with talon to help him get away from his father but talon doesn't trust him and instead sticks him with some natural paralytic (doesn't kill him) and goes on without him. sett recovers quickly due to size and natural resilience. by the time he gets to the spot, high up in a perilous cliff-side he's basically in the thick of it. the ending conflict forces him to make a choice between saving talon from falling to his death even though he betrayed him, or getting his wish. and ofc he ends up saving talon. he's learned to empathize with him. kayn gets the wish (and rhaast gets his own body.) and sett ends up taking talon home anyway like he'd offered to, even though he betrayed him. demacians just lose lol.

that's basically the whole thing. my god this was long sorry. i decided not to write it bc i dreaded writing the environments and i knew itd be long, though i did write some scenes from it. i just love the premise of sett and talon handcuffed together so bad. if i ever have the chance to sneak it into another fic i totally will.

[veronyxk84]

Spuffy Fic Recs — July

Missed last month’s recs? Check this tag to catch up!

Find my Fic Recs on Dreamwidth as well

I present a list of 5 Spuffy fics I’ve read in July. They’re all complete and all published to Sunnydale After Dark during the past month (NOTE: some may have been published earlier elsewhere).

Listed from oldest to most recent

The reviews are taken from my own comments left for the stories. I tried to make them short and not spoiler-y.

Boring by honeygirl51885 [PG-13]

Summary: Buffy and Spike are an extreme power couple to everyone who knows them. But how do they appear to total strangers?

Review: I had never read a fic with Spuffy seen from a different POV, it’s a clever angle, and in this case also amusing! I couldn’t stop laughing with (original character) Jessica being progressively more wrong about them with her every guess. Poor soul!

A Thousand Grains of Sand by myrabeth [PG-13]

Summary: Buffy and Spike find moments of clarity outside Sunnydale’s city limits.

Review: Great snippets of their separate journeys, showing that they never were completely separate, but somehow interconnected. I love it that the titles make it easy to link each drabble to their respective episodes.

Shattered by Geliot99 [R]

Summary: Without Harmony there to distract him Spike realises his love for the Slayer much earlier. A heartfelt confession by an entirely drunk Spike.

Review: Spike’s drunken voice and demeanor are quite enjoyable, along with Buffy’s confusion and frustration. So good! I can totally imagine him smashing empty bottles around the crypt and then getting injured with the shards. Mixed memories and backwards thoughts are a brilliant touch.

No More Games by Geliot99 [PG-13]

Summary: Crush missing scene. Spike carefully manoeuvres Buffy into her shackles to the soundtrack of Dru’s rambling.

Review: This is a quite interesting missing scene for an episode that always makes me roll my eyes at Spike. I loved the touch with Dru’s “vision,” courtesy of the pixies. The care he shows to have for Buffy even while he’s chaining her to the walls for his half-assed plan is endearing. In the end, we still know he’s doing it all wrong, but seeing things from his delusional perspective feels like a whole new journey.

Hello Kitten by Geliot99 [G]

Summary: Instead of a bent box of chocolates Spike arrives in the middle of Buffy’s birthday party with something significantly livelier.

Review: I almost can’t cope with the amount of cuteness here! Take Spuffy, throw a couple of adorable kittens in the mix, and you have the perfect “How to melt into a puddle of swooning goo” recipe. Spike’s choice for the names is brilliant, especially for the last scene where the kitties are fighting and they are the perfect parallel to Spuffy.

[zapreportsblog]

Hi loveee! Can request a drabble where Taehyung is a mafia boss and he has an arranged marriage with reader? (can she please have freckles?🥲)

Oh why hello there! A Drabble? I’ve heard of it but I’m not necessarily sure what one is, is it like a one shot story? A short story or? Well whatever, I can definitely do this request but can someone explain what a Drabble is in the comments or in my inbox please, thank you lol

↱ an unwanted arrangement ↰

➘ summary : Taehyung as the next heir to his fathers mafia - soon to be his, must have a wife. It’s tradition after all

➘ taehyung x reader , bts x reader

The opulent office was shrouded in shadows, the air heavy with tension as Taehyung faced his father, the current head of the formidable mafia clan. His gaze was unyielding, his jaw clenched, as he listened to the words that threatened to reshape his future.

His father's stern voice broke the silence, delivering a decree that Taehyung had never expected. "Taehyung, you are to be wed to (Y/N), the daughter of the Park family—the alliance we've been nurturing for years."

Taehyung's fingers tightened around the armrest of the chair he occupied. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. An arranged marriage? The idea was archaic, an imposition on his autonomy and his aspirations.

He scoffed, his voice edged with defiance. "Father, you know I have no desire for a woman who'd be content as a housewife. I have ambitions, goals that extend beyond what you might envision."

His father's gaze remained unyielding, his voice a low rumble that brooked no argument. "This is not a matter of desire, Taehyung. It's about the legacy of our clan, about ensuring our power endures. The alliance with the Parks is paramount."

Taehyung's nostrils flared as his temper simmered just beneath the surface. He knew the importance of alliances and maintaining the family's status within the criminal underworld. Yet, the thought of being shackled to a life that went against his very essence was suffocating.

"I won't be bound by an archaic tradition," he retorted, his voice dripping with a rebellion that refused to be quelled.

His father's eyes hardened, his tone colder. "You're bound by the responsibilities of our lineage. We've given you the best education, the finest training—everything you need to step into the role of the next head."

Taehyung rose from his seat, his chest heaving with a mixture of anger and frustration. "And I will step into that role, Father. But I won't be tethered to a woman who will be nothing more than a shadow in my life."

His father's gaze remained unflinching, his words slicing through the air like a blade. "You will marry (Y/N), Taehyung. It is a command."

Taehyung's fists clenched at his sides, his emotions warring within him. He knew his father's authority was not to be challenged, yet the weight of the decision felt like chains dragging him down.

"Or what?" he challenged, his voice a defiant growl. "What if I refuse?"

His father's eyes bore into him, a look of resolute determination that left no room for negotiation. "If you refuse, you will leave this family and never return. You will bring shame and disgrace to the Kim name."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, Taehyung's heart torn between his own aspirations and the duty he owed to his family. As the silence enveloped them, he realized the gravity of his choice—whether to defy his father's command and forge his own path or to submit to tradition and accept the fate that had been handed to him.

In that moment, as the weight of his decision pressed upon him, Taehyung knew that his life was about to change in ways he could never have anticipated. The echoes of his rebellion reverberated within the walls of the office, a testament to the clash between tradition and the desires of a heart that longed for freedom and authenticity.

As the time for the wedding approached, Taehyung's agitation only grew. He had been thrust into an arrangement he had vehemently opposed, and the lack of control over his own life gnawed at him. The thought that he had never even met the woman he was supposed to marry, (Y/N), filled him with frustration.

He stood before the grand altar, his tailored suit a stark contrast to his simmering emotions. The weight of tradition hung heavily in the air as he awaited the moment he would lift the veil that hid his bride's face. The knowledge that this decision had been made for him, without his consent, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

As the music swelled, the murmurs of the gathered guests reverberating in the ornate hall, Taehyung clenched his fists. He reminded himself of his butler's cryptic words—that (Y/N) wasn't like his "typical housewife." What did that mean? Could there be more to her than he had initially assumed?

The moment arrived, and Taehyung stood facing the veiled figure that represented his future. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they curled around the delicate fabric. With a deep breath, he lifted the veil, his heart pounding in his chest.

And then he saw her.

His breath caught, his eyes widening in surprise as they met (Y/N)'s mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes held a depth that seemed to hold secrets of their own, and her hair, (long/short) and styled in an intricate traditional manner, framed her face like a work of art. But what captivated him the most were the tiny freckles that danced across her skin, creating a constellation of beauty that seemed to tell a story of its own.

For a moment, time stood still. Taehyung found himself lost in her gaze, his anger and frustration momentarily forgotten. There was a fire in her eyes, a sense of strength and individuality that defied the expectations he had placed upon her.

As they exchanged vows, Taehyung's gaze never wavered from (Y/N)'s. The words he spoke felt sincere, and he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—a vulnerability, a hint of defiance, and perhaps a touch of curiosity. He realized that he had underestimated her, that there was more to her than met the eye.

As the ceremony concluded and they were pronounced husband and wife, Taehyung held (Y/N)'s hand, his grip gentle yet possessive. As they turned to face their guests, he felt a surge of determination. He might not have chosen this path, but he was willing to uncover the layers of (Y/N)'s personality that defied convention, that set her apart from the typical housewife he had imagined.

After the wedding ceremony had concluded, Taehyung and (Y/N) found themselves in a private room, preparing to change into more comfortable attire for the wedding reception. The air was charged with a mix of tension and uncertainty, both aware that the life they were embarking upon was not of their own choosing.

Separated by a changing holder, Taehyung couldn't help but overhear (Y/N)'s voice, soft and tinged with regret. He listened as she spoke words that touched him deeply, words of self-doubt and an apology that resonated with his own feelings of being trapped in an unwanted situation.

"I'm sorry that you had to marry me," her voice reached him, laden with sorrow. "I'm not a good wife, Taehyung. I can't cook all that well, and my cleaning skills are decent, but not as good as my sisters'. They married me off to get rid of me, you know. They always said I was... lacking."

Taehyung's heart ached at her words, his own earlier frustrations melting away as he realized the weight of her situation. The realization that she had been married off as a burden rather than out of genuine affection struck a chord within him. He couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt for having judged her without truly knowing her.

With a sense of determination, he spoke up, his voice firm yet empathetic. "You're not lacking, (Y/N). And this isn't your fault. You deserve better than to be treated as a pawn in someone else's game."

There was a pause, a moment of silence that hung between them. And then, he continued, his words carrying a vulnerability he rarely showed. "And I... I wouldn't make a very good husband either. I've always been more focused on training, on preparing to take over as the head of the clan. I've never been involved with... females."

(Y/N)'s voice carried a mixture of surprise and understanding. "So, we're both in the same boat," she said softly.

Taehyung nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "Yes, we are. But maybe we can try to be the best versions of ourselves together."

There was a moment of hesitation before (Y/N) spoke again, her voice tentative yet hopeful. "You really mean that?"

"Yes," Taehyung replied earnestly. "Let's not let our circumstances define us. We can navigate this path together."

He could almost hear her smile in her voice. "I'd like that."

As they changed into their wedding reception attire, separated by the changing holder yet connected by a newfound understanding, Taehyung felt a sense of relief. The barriers that had initially kept them apart were slowly crumbling, replaced by a shared determination to rise above their circumstances.

As they stepped out of the changing area, a hint of blush tinted (Y/N)'s cheeks, a sign of the newfound connection that was blossoming between them. And as they faced the world as husband and wife, they carried with them a promise—to be the best versions of themselves, to support each other, and to create a life together that defied the expectations placed upon them.

[crystalrabbit246912]

Random TWST Drabbles

I wanted to get a good writing flow, so I took a random word generator and did this.

detail~

Jamil always took care of all the details, down to smallest possible dangers. He always arranged rides ahead of time, prepared for the slightest possibility of harm coming to Kalim, and brought along precautions for everything. He made sure to keep an eye on everyone around them, looking out for threats and making sure that Kalim didn't run off.

Despite his hatred for the Asim heir for the chains he had been shackled to all his life, his shoulders still tensed and he got an uncomfortable feeling in his gut when he couldn't spot his carefree and oblivious charge.

He blamed it on the fact that he would get into trouble if he lost one of the most important people in his life, even though he knew that it was worry for his pseudo-brother that made him scan the area around him with worried eyes.

What else would it possibly be?

Jamil was a very detail oriented person, but he locked away that detail of himself much like he did his hatred and resentment for the chains that bound him for all his life.

wrong~

Riddle didn't like to think back on the time before his Overblot. His memories of the days leading up to it were somehow both clouded in murky black, like the blot that had tainted his magestone, and clear as day.

He didn't like to think about that fact that he had been wrong, that everything that had been ingrained into him from a young age was wrong. He didn't like to think about the fact that Mother was wrong and maybe both of them had always been wrong.

He didn't like to remember that the life he had lived before everything began to spiral and crash was wrong.

Where had he begun to go wrong?

When had Mother begun to go wrong?

If they had both been wrong the entire time, what was all of it for?

preference~

Cater didn't have a preference for who he loved liked. He knew that most people swung one way or another, but he didn't really care. If he thought that someone was cute, if he wanted to let his walls down around someone only to have his heart shattered again, that was up to him.

Other peoples' opinions didn't really matter here, like they did in every other part of his life.

He was good at seeing other people's preferences as well. He knew that Ace and Deuce both liked the same gender as themselves, he knew that the Prefect didn't care for romance (if only he could be that lucky), and he knew that Riddle didn't know his preference yet.

Trey was still a mystery to him, though.

appearance~

Azul cared a lot about his appearance.

While it may not appear that way to an outside observer, he knew that the Twins knew as well as he did that his appearance was one of the most important parts to his attitude.

And his attitude was what kept him from becoming the weak little octo-punk at the back of the class again, so he had to maintain it and keep it perfect so that he didn't become weak again, didn't get called names and beat up every day lost his reputation.

Having frazzled hair and wrinkled clothes was a far cry from the suave, confident Azul Ashengrotto the school knew, which was why he had to keep his appearance and reputation as perfect as possible.

(He ignored the fact that a lot of his reputation was from people speaking badly of him after they failed to meet the conditions of their deals.)