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the-lonelybarricade · 1 day

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A Blaze in the Dark - (12/14)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

CW: Mentions of child abuse / violence against children

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A large free-standing clock sat in the corner of Lucien and Elain’s bedchamber.

It was weight-driven, its pendulum perpetually swinging back and forth, driving the gears of the clock so that the hands ticked forward at an ever-constant pace. Unlike the mechanics of Lucien’s prosthetic eye, which also clicked and whirred, the clock was the product of careful, precise science. Not magic.

Magic was unpredictable, steeped in ambiguity and nuance. Two people could mix a potion with identical measurements and yield entirely different results. Magic was tied to the soul, the very being of the person using it.

And yet, Lucien found the steady science of the free-standing clock to be the more unreliable. Magic was perplexing and inconstant, yes, but Time was far worse.

In the company of his wife, it moved rapidly—passing by before he could blink, or scramble to relish his newfound happiness. His and Elain’s honeymoon officially ended weeks ago, and yet he couldn’t fathom that he’d had her to himself for months. It felt like seconds, like grains of sand slipping past his fingers.

And now their time was up, and as Lucien untangled himself from her, he could hear the distance between each steady tick of the clock slowing down. Time stretched into eternity, and he felt each second brush against his body like it were an open wound, agonized to not be touching her, to be standing from the bed and saying, “Quickly, go with Vassa to the West Wing. That’s where you’ll be staying for the time being.”

Elain sat up. He could feel her wide, startled gaze on his back as he rummaged through their drawers for something acceptable to wear. “What?”

She sounded hurt. Of course she would be. They’d only recently begun sharing a room together after all of his foolishness, and now she was being relegated back to her role of the secluded wife.

If he turned his head, he swore he’d find the pendulum frozen mid-swing behind the glass casing. He wondered if this was how it felt to stand in line for the gallows—to feel the weight of time pressing in, knowing that as each moment crawled to the next, he was slowly becoming a passenger to his own doom.

In another circumstance, he would have sat down and explained the intricacies to her with all of the gentleness she was owed. But there was no gentle way to explain: my father is a monster and you are a pawn in his game. You were meant to be my greatest torment and instead you’re my true love; if he sees how happy you make me, he will do everything in his power to ruin it.

His lips parted. He wanted to tell her. He was dying to tell her. If not all of it, then at least the most important piece; You’re my true love, you’re my true love, you’re my true love. But they had minutes until King Beron arrived, barely enough time to reach the other end of the palace. A sharp fear was coiling in his gut and he knew she needed to leave now or she wasn’t going to make it.

Lucien didn’t want to rush this. He didn’t want to say it at all if he couldn’t tell her properly. And he was terrified of what his father would do if he somehow discovered the truth. Could she hide it if she knew? Would it change too much between them?

“Hurry,” he begged, pulling her undergarments from the drawer and tossing them towards the bed. As he began shrugging on his own clothes, he tried to reassure her. “It’s only temporary. But until my father leaves, I want us to pretend that we’ve never overcome our resentment of this arrangement.”

Elain’s brows furrowed. He worried he would need to be firmer to coax her out of bed, but after a moment of staring at the undergarments, she pushed aside the blankets and began dressing. Demanding only, “Why?”

“Our marriage was supposed to be a punishment,” he said, buttoning his undershirt with little care. “My father will not be happy to learn his plan backfired, and I intend for him to never find out.”

“But the servants—”

“Are loyal to me,” he asserted with more confidence than he felt. When he took over the estate, he had each of them vetted. He increased their pay, offered them housing, promised a better life than they’d received working for his father.

But loyalty could be swayed, especially by a cruel King, renowned for resorting to violence if necessary. If Beron plucked one of their servants and threatened their lives or families in exchange for information, Lucien couldn’t trust they would holdfast. And he wouldn’t expect them to. His hope was that if he and Elain were sufficient in their ruse, Beron wouldn’t see a reason to examine them any closer.

Elain was silent for so long that Lucien turned to look at her. She was holding the front of her stays to her chest, causing her breasts to swell around the neckline of her chemise. In the morning light, the bruises he’d sucked along her collarbone stood out sharply, and he was caught up in the sight, his mind already departing from the urgency of their situation as he recalled the way she’d come undone for him last night. It was just as well that she turned, revealing the back of her stays and forcing him back into the present.

It was instinct to go to her, grabbing hold of the laces and threading them through the metal eyelets without being asked. He would miss this routine they’d fallen into. There was no indication of how long his father intended to stay, but even a day apart would be excruciating.

“So I’m to play your resentful wife,” she said. Her voice was quieter than usual, harder to sift through for the emotion she usually wore so plainly. “Will we be denying that we… have we—”

“Consummated?” he asked with a laugh that was more breath than humour. “Yes, though it would be too improper for anyone to ask. You needn’t stress, Elain. He’ll look at you and see exactly what he wants to see.”

“And what will he see?”

“A wife who is far too perfect for the likes of me,” he said, pressing her shoulder gently to let her know he was finished. He wanted to see her face. To kiss her before she left. “He’ll fill in the rest himself—that I must be helplessly in love, and you must feel trapped.”

It was the cycle of King Beron’s own marriage. A man who held on too tightly and a wife who withered beneath his obsession.

“So I have to pretend to hate you?” she asked, sounding wary.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult, given how insufferable you insist you find me.”

She didn’t laugh. And he noticed she still wasn’t turning to face him.

“Elain—”

“I understand why we’re doing this.” She drew in a deep breath. “But I hate it.”

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Hadn’t he just promised Elain that he would endeavour to make her happy? He bowed against her, dropping his forehead to her crown. With his nose buried in her thick brown curls, he tried to inhale without making it too obvious. She smelled of jasmine and honey—the same as his true love. How many signs had he missed, so blinded by his own self-pity?

“I hate it, too,” he murmured against her hair. “If I had it my way, I’d keep you in our bed and never let you leave.”

Elain huffed. “We’d get bed sores.”

“Oh? Is that your only protest?”

An elbow jabbed into his side, knocking the breath from him in what was mostly a laugh.

But a knock at the door quickly sobered his humour. Vassa called to them, urging them to hurry. He realized he’d made the fatal flaw of touching his wife, and time had quickened pace once again.

Elain took another deep breath. “I need to go.”

He wished she didn’t sound so scared, just as he wished he could reassure her there was no reason to be.

Instead, he kissed the crown of her head and promised, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep him away from you. Their visit will be over before you realize it.”

Watch the King closely, Vassa had instructed. You are only permitted to eat while he is eating.

Elain thought she’d been exaggerating. When her governess had taught the etiquettes of dining, which of course had been confined to the etiquettes of the Southern Kingdom, the focus had been on ensuring that the Archeron sisters understood the importance of curbing their sharp tongues and hot tempers during mealtimes.

Their governess insisted that so long as a lady held her silverware properly and drew no explicit notice of herself beyond polite mingling when convention prescribed, she would be prepared for any occasion.

Elain did not feel prepared for this one.

No one was speaking. She’d been taught that at a formal gathering, the hostess would begin mingling with the person to their right for some indeterminate period, and the rest of the table would follow suit. But Elain puzzled over the imposed social hierarchy. In her own home, she would ordinarily be considered the hostess, but surely she should defer to the Queen?

She turned her head, hoping to acquire guidance from the older woman, who seemed kind, if a little distant. But her hopes were quickly dashed at the sight of the Queen’s russet eyes, riveted to her untouched plate with such vacancy that Elain believed she could run her hand in front of the woman’s face and elicit no response.

The men were no help, either. Eris Vanserra on one end of the table, smirking as though he found this all quaint and terribly amusing, and King Beron Vanserra on the other. He was glaring at his meal like the roasted game was terribly beneath him. Lucien sat to his father’s right, doing his best to look anywhere but at his wife, it seemed.

Was it quiet because she hadn’t spoken? Or would she be breaching conduct by attempting to speak out of turn? Surely, surely if she was expected to, Lucien would look at her, would give her some form of indication—

“Were these peasants caught on your grounds, brother?”

Elain withheld an exhale of relief that Eris was the first to break the silence.

“As of this morning,” Lucien answered with a nod.

The Crown Prince smirked. “Did you hunt them yourself?”

“Not on this occasion.” Lucien’s voice was thin, edging towards warning

Eris angled his head. “Are you out of practice?”

“I’ll remind you, I was on my honeymoon.”

“Ah.” Eris’s attention slid to Elain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucien stiffen. “What a devoted husband you are, then. I expect most men become stir-crazy during the confinement.”

“Most men do not live in palaces.” Lucien plucked his wine from the table, staring as he swirled the liquid within. A peculiar look crossed his face, as though he wished he could dive beneath the surface and escape this conversation entirely. “I wouldn’t reduce the luxury of this estate as confinement.” Then he looked up, at last dragging his eyes toward Elain, and added as though in afterthought, “Nor the company of my lovely wife, of course.”

It was absurd, the way one single glance could plunge her into flame. His gaze lasted hardly the space of two quickened heartbeats, before he pretended to find the bottom of his goblet more interesting.

“Of course,” Eris echoed, making no effort to sound convinced.

Elain dropped her eyes to her plate, hoping no one took any notice of the heat building in her cheeks. If they did, they would ideally assume that she saw through the veneer of her husband’s words—that she was embarrassed. Even so, Elain dug her fingers into the fabric of her skirt, fighting the urge to seek Lucien’s face, to reawaken the heat already lifting from her skin by the minute as the table once again delved into cold, stilted silence.

With a sneer, King Beron at last lifted his knife and began the elaborate task of cutting his roast into small, precise pieces. The Queen shifted, edging as close to Elain as the wooden armrests would allow. Elain tried not to indulge in conjecture, but her anxiety got the better of her, and she couldn’t help but wonder—was it the sight of a weapon in his hand that made the Queen nervous? Had she witnessed him employ that same precision on tasks far more cruel, more gruesome?

When the King finally took the first bite of his meal, permitting the rest of the table to begin, Elain found she’d lost her appetite. All she could think about was Lucien and how he’d lost his eye. How the man responsible for the scars on his face was sitting at their dining table, close enough to hurt him again.

She felt any lingering warmth inside her smoulder into ash. Into something black and dark. And angry.

All of the ladies in her family had short tempers. Elain knew this, and she understood that she was no exception, though she worked much harder than her sisters to contain the predilection. She’d always associated that anger with heat, like it was a fire she could douse with a bit of water, or stamp out beneath her shoe. But this was cold, slow-seeping like ice spreading across a lake. It was violent, in a way that was different than when her sisters used to yank on each other’s hair ribbons.

Elain wanted Beron Vanserra to pay for what he’d done to Lucien.

It was not the thought that startled her, more so the depth of its conviction. She might have spent longer dwelling on it, had there not been a commotion outside the dining room. At first, the Vanserras seemed intent on ignoring it, with only a cursory glance from Lucien towards the Housekeeper, who immediately scurried off to settle the disturbance.

The King huffed, pausing with his meal long enough to lob a scathing glance toward his youngest son. Elain couldn’t decide if he was offended by the interruption or simply disapproved that Lucien didn’t exert firmer control over his estate. With the way servants quivered in the King’s presence, Elain imagined the residents of the King’s palace were too terrified to risk disturbing his mealtimes.

Outside, the shouting became louder as the Housekeeper slipped back into the dining room. She wavered at the entrance, throat bobbing, before she scurried straight for Lucien.

“Your Highness.” She bowed. Her knuckles turned white where she fisted them in her apron. “I apologize for interrupting your meal. You’re needed in the foyer.”

Lucien set his napkin on the table. “Has someone arrived?”

“No, sire.” The Housekeeper hesitated, glancing nervously towards the King. “There’s been a dispute.”

“I shall handle it,” Lucien said, already rising from his chair.

But the King had set down his silverware and fixed his razor-sharp eyes on the Housekeeper. There was something predatory in the way he angled his head, an air of calculation that raised the hairs on Elain’s arms.

King Beron leaned forward, and it was like watching a snake curl around its prey. His voice was dark and rumbling as he asked, “What sort of dispute?”

The Housekeeper dropped into a deep bow. “A.. a p-poacher, Your Majesty.”

Every line and divot on the King’s face twisted into rage. “A poacher?” He demanded, voice rising. “Of whose land? Ours?”

Ours, Elain wanted to snap. But the distinction didn’t matter. Poaching on any land was a capital offence, never mind land belonging to the Royal Family. Who would be so bold to even dare, especially when the King was visiting?

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The Housekeeper’s voice was weak, warbling over every syllable as if they were notes being plucked by an amateur musician. “A young b-boy. The guards caught him moments ago with a rabbit.”

“A boy?” Elain couldn’t help herself from speaking, and she noticed Lucien jerk at the sound of her voice. “How old is he?”

The King slammed his fist on the table, jostling their dining ware and causing the dark wine in his goblet to splash over the rim. “Foolish girl! It doesn’t matter how old he is.” He rose to his feet, seemingly incensed by her womanly concern. He pointed towards the Housekeeper. “Let me see this criminal.”

“I can handle it, Father,” Lucien said. “Please. You should continue enjoying your meal.”

The King offered his son a withering look. It was clear he had no intention of removing himself from the situation, but perhaps he fashioned himself as giving Lucien a chance by asking, “Do you intend to deal with the boy as our laws command?”

Elain covered her mouth with her hands. The penalty for poaching was execution. As far as she knew, there were no stipulations regarding age.

Lucien levelled his shoulders. “First, I intend to assess the situation. It may be a misunderstanding.”

An unsatisfactory response. It was clear the King would settle for no less than the boy’s death, regardless of the circumstances. Ignoring his son altogether, Beron turned towards the guards at the door and ordered them to bring in the poacher.

“Father,” Eris protested, sitting up in his chair, “Perhaps this could wait—”

The doors to the dining room were pushed open by two armed guards, each hauling the elbow of a snivelling child who couldn’t have been more than eight. He was so slight that his bones would surely snap from how tightly the grown men restrained him, and as he lifted his head to see the royal family, Elain was met with a pair of wide, watery brown eyes. Ones that she recognized with dawning horror.

Somehow, the sight of the trembling boy did nothing to subdue the King’s anger. He moved closer to inspect the child, his expression hardening at the sight of the dirt on his threadbare clothes. “What were you doing on our lands?”

The boy flinched, then immediately hitched into a sob. He screwed his eyes shut, blubbering, “I—I… M-My…”

“Out with it!” The King snapped.

Each of the boy’s attempts to speak were strangled by sobs or sharp, hiccuping breaths. The King raised his palm, stepping forward like he intended to beat the answer out of him, when the Housekeeper at last interjected, her voice little more than a raw, broken whisper.

“He’s my boy, Your Majesty.”

That small declaration must have been a mallet to her composure, because the Housekeeper’s expression immediately crumpled. She dropped to her knees, pressing her head to the floor. “Please,” she sobbed, shoulders heaving. “Please take mercy on him. He’s just a boy.”

At this, the King directed his outrage towards Lucien. “You’ve employed maids with children?”

“She is our Housekeeper,” Lucien said, voice lethally calm. “Mrs. Laurent does good work. And her boy has not been the cause of any trouble before this day.”

“Nor beyond it.” The King’s declaration cracked through the room, so sharp that Elain glanced towards her dinner plate, half-expecting the porcelain would begin to splinter. “The boy is to be sent to the gallows the same as any poacher would.”

Elain raised a hand to smother the cry rising in her throat, knowing it would pay the boy no favours if the King believed he was being undermined by her sympathies. But Lucien noticed the noise, and the distress that was plain on her face, and stepped protectively between the child and his father.

“Surely, the boy isn’t deserving of such a severe—”

“He is a thief,” the King spat. “If we enact mercy due simply to his age, what’s to stop poachers from sending children to steal on their behalf?”

“Poaching has rarely been a problem on our lands,” Luicen reasoned.

“Because we have never allowed it to be. Leniency threatens order. It demonstrates weakness.”

“Mercy is not a weakness!”

Every head in the room swivelled to Elain—even the guards, who, until this moment, had managed to coax their expressions into neutrality. Now, their careful stoicism morphed into horror. Elain wished she could claim she didn’t know what came over her. But in truth, she knew exactly what it was: it was the child, with snot and tears running down his face, crying for his mother while adults debated whether or not he deserved to live. And their Housekeeper, who was still on her knees not two paces away, pleading for her child’s life.

Not that Elain’s outburst counted for much. She was a woman, royal only through a marriage of convenience, and she could see the moment her words were discredited as hysterics.

Beron curled his lip at the sight of her tears, then turned to his son. “My point precisely. If you adequately punished your wife for speaking out of turn, she would know her place, the same as this boy. Your clemency weakens your control.” He clicked his tongue in disgust. “Perhaps you are not fit to run an estate.”

Eris, who had been watching this unravel through the rim of his drink, set his goblet down and rolled his knuckles over the wooden table. “While I agree, Father, perhaps there is a better-suited punishment for the child than death? The villagers may view the penalty as too severe, and it would be unwise to sow dissent before a potential war.”

“Death has always been the punishment for poaching,” King Beron said. There was a finality in his tone that threatened to escalate into violence should he be pushed further, but Eris persisted as though immune to his father’s wrath.

“Those poachers have invariably been grown men.” Eris gestured to the boy, whose sobs had quieted to small, sniffling whimpers. “They will view a child’s execution differently. That’s not to say the crime should go unpunished.”

The King shifted, folding his arms behind his back as he contemplated his son’s words. “What did you have in mind?”

“The boy could enlist in our army,” Eris suggested. “If we send him to the front lines, he could at least die in service of our Kingdom.”

There was no emotion in his voice, Elain noticed. No remorse for a child being sent to war before he was old enough to support the weight of a gun. No sorrow as he spoke about the child dying in battle. This was purely strategy to him, a death better served in his favour.

Elain was horrified to see Beron was considering it. He began pacing in thought, each of his steps ringing through the room like a death knell. The child attempted to scramble away at his approach, but the guards held him still, not struggling in the least against the strength of a child.

Beron examined the weeping boy with an intent that made Elain’s blood grow cold.

“Lucien,” he said, turning to his son. “Do you find this suggestion acceptable?”

Was it a test? Lucien looked as though he were wondering the same, glancing between the boy and the Housekeeper and the King who demanded their anguish in the name of a rabbit. As if their dinner table wasn’t piled with untouched food.

Lucien’s throat bobbed. “Yes, Father. I do.”

The Housekeeper immediately began wailing, which only renewed the boy’s terrified cries. Elain tried not to feel betrayed by her husband’s answer. She knew it was a better outcome than sending him to the gallows. In the army, he at least had a chance to survive. Perhaps the other soldiers would take pity on him, and would rally around the child to see him through any upcoming conflict unharmed.

“Good,” said the King with a nod. “As do I. But he will need to be disciplined in the interim. Twenty lashes by your hand should suffice. Guards—remove the boy’s shirt.”

Even Eris looked disturbed.

“I—” All the blood drained from Lucien’s face. Elain wondered if he was going to be sick as he watched the guards grab and yank at the flailing child. “You want me to whip the boy?”

Beron’s smile was the vile, poisonous sort. “You wanted him pardoned from the gallows. Do you withdraw your conviction on the matter?”

Lucien didn’t say anything for a moment. He was staring at the child, who had been spun in the opposite direction, his back now exposed as the two guards held him taut. The boy was thin enough to count the notches on his spine. But other than the sharp indentations of his bones, the boy’s skin was smooth and unmarred—unlike Lucien’s, which was littered with scars in odd, criss-crossing shapes that Elain now understood the origins of.

One of the servants came forward at the King’s request, producing a whip that Beron held out to his youngest son. And Lucien dragged his eyes away from the child to stare at the whip in his father’s hands. She thought she might have seen him flinch before he accepted it, clenching his jaw tight as he unfurled the rope.

Eris finally stood from his chair. “Perhaps I should escort the ladies somewhere more—”

“They will stay.” The King looked directly at Elain. “Witnessing the boy’s punishment may help them gain clarity on the ways of the world. And the importance of knowing one’s place.”

The emphasis of his words weighed heavily on Elain. Was he making Lucien whip the child because of her outburst? She ducked her head as he continued to stare, unable to stomach the perverse gleam in his eye—it seemed to be the most the King was enjoying himself all evening.

Meanwhile, the servants standing watch on the far wall shifted, turning their heads away. Even the guards holding the child seemed to avert their eyes. No one would relish this injustice. Least of all his mother. She’d lifted her head at the sound of the rope slapping the floor, and her pleads became silent, trembling shapes on her lips.

Elain couldn’t stand it anymore. She pushed out her chair, intending to go to the woman, to at least offer comfort while she was made to endure her son’s pain. A pale hand grasped her arm to stop her. Startled, Elain turned to the Queen, whose grip possessed surprising strength, given her slight figure.

“It will only make things worse,” she said. Quietly. Firmly.

Her russet eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and beneath them, Elain could see a depth of sorrow she could never hope to wade through. Fear, helplessness, grief—each of them wedged and threaded between Elain’s ribs, drawing her chest in tighter, until she was certain she couldn’t breathe. If the Queen couldn’t do anything to stop this, what hope did Elain have?

Realizing that the Queen was waiting for a response, and no longer trusting her own voice, Elain nodded her understanding and slumped back in her seat. Satisfied, the Queen released her grip on Elain’s arm, but instead of withdrawing completely, she reached over to clasp Elain’s hand.

Lucien glanced over at the movement, studying his wife and his mother, the tears on both of their faces. And Elain thought she’d never seen him look so conflicted.

“Someone get the child a bit,” Lucien said. His voice was unrecognizable to Elain—as if someone had squeezed it through a cheesecloth, straining all of its warmth and vibrance, leaving only a dilution of the man it belonged to.

She thought it must be exactly what Beron wanted, grinning to himself as he watched a guard slide a small piece of wood between the child’s trembling lips. He wanted Lucien to betray his kind heart, to forsake the good nature he’d somehow managed to preserve despite the years of cruelty he’d endured. Elain thought the King wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d broken and moulded his sons into his own mirror image.

Lucien drew back the whip with a haunted expression, as if he was recalling each moment he’d been on the receiving end. Did his scars sting as he raised the whip over his shoulder, mourning the pain he would inflict, knowing precisely how it would feel, that he would be the first to leave a mark on this child’s skin?

The rope cleaved the air. Elain ducked her head before it struck. She couldn’t watch, she couldn’t bear it. Even the child’s strangled scream through the wooden plank was too much. The Queen offered Elain’s hand a tight squeeze, but it wasn’t enough.

At the second strike, the cries of the mother and child rose and blended until they became a single, distant resonance. The details of the tablecloth were becoming blurred, the candlelight arcing in her vision. Elain pressed a hand to her mouth, turning in her seat so as not to hurl her supper into the Queen’s lap.

It was then she met a pair of amber eyes, watching her with none of the pleasure she’d seen from King Beron. Eris’s hand was clenched around his goblet and he slouched in a way that spoke of indifference, but all of the blood had drained from his knuckles. He took one look at Elain, seconds from spilling her dinner over the floor, and set down his goblet.

Then slid it across to her.

Elain peered over the rim of the glass to see that it wasn’t wine, but rather a deep, caramel-coloured liquid with a strong odour that made her stomach curl. She doubted it would keep her from losing her supper.

But Eris nodded, as if to say, Go ahead. Drink it.

She remembered what Lucien said when he discovered she’d caught the fever, how he’d accused Eris of giving her something at the wedding. If Lucien suspected his brother was capable of poisoning her, she would be wise to heed his caution.

That thought was dashed away by the third strike. Even Eris flinched at the child’s agony.

“Someone control her,” the King ordered.

For a moment, Elain thought he was referring to her, until Eris wiped his thumb across his lower lip, gave Elain a final nod, and stood up to collect the hysteric Housekeeper, who was being restrained by a pair of male servants.

“I’ll handle her,” Eris volunteered.

After a moment’s consideration, the King consented, and Eris directed the servants towards the far door, which led into the scullery. Elain didn’t want to consider how one might handle things in there. Would he have her tongue removed for protesting? This was the same family that had their youngest son’s eye removed for wandering outside his approved consorts, after all. If that was how they punished their sons, how brutally did they punish their servants?

Elain looked at the goblet. Her fingers stirred, moving toward the stem before she could think better of it. She had seen Eris drinking from the goblet. By that reasoning, its contents couldn’t cause her any harm. But he’d passed it towards her for a reason—could it have truly been out of kindness?

Her stomach jolted at the next crack of the whip, and that was all the encouragement her fingers needed to latch onto the goblet and down its contents in a single gulp.

Elain’s head was spinning when she lifted it from her pillow the next morning. And the light ripping through the curtains was far too pervasive, near-blinding her as she fumbled her way to her bathing and retched into the toilet until she’d emptied her stomach.

She longed to return to her bed, but possessed neither the strength nor the will to get back to her feet. Elain settled for collapsing on the tiled floor, relishing the cool press of tile against her flushed and clammy skin.

That was how Vassa found her hours later.

“Your Highness!” She exclaimed, dropping to her knees beside Elain. She pressed two fingers to her neck, exhaling when she could feel a pulse. “I’ll go fetch Prince Lucien—”

“No,” Elain grasped weakly at Vassa’s elbow. Her stomach lurched at just that small movement. Bile climbed the back of her throat, threatening to flood her mouth as the world violently twisted and spun. It was an effort to shake her head. “I don’t want to worry him needlessly.”

Not when he’d warned her they needed to maintain distance, and certainly not after what he’d been forced to do last night. She could imagine he was anguishing over hurting the child, and the last thing he needed was the burden of caring for her as well. Especially when her illness was the direct result of her own foolishness.

Vassa looked as though she disagreed, but she nodded all the same. “Would you like help getting back to the bed?”

“No.” Elain was certain she’d be sick again if she tried to move. “Actually, Vassa, if you could… would you be able to fetch Prince Eris instead?”

“Prince Eris?”

She grimaced at the shock in her companion’s voice. “Yes. Whatever ails me, I think he may know the remedy. Do you think you would be able to ask him—discreetly?”

Vassa drew back, pressing her lips together. Elain could understand her discomfort, especially in the wake of last night’s events. Everyone in the palace would be on edge, hesitant to call much attention to themselves lest they earn the King’s wrath.

Seeking Eris for assistance and asking that it be done discreetly… even if Vassa believed the request was innocent, they both knew it would not be interpreted charitably should word get out. Never mind how Lucien would feel to learn this had been kept from him.

It was an unfair request. Elain was already retracting it, prepared to weather the illness on her own, when Vassa stood up and brushed the skirts of her dress. “I’ll be back soon, my lady.”

Then she disappeared from Elain’s line of sight in a blur of red curls and swishing skirts. Elain dropped her head back to the floor, inwardly fretting at the thought that Vassa might return with the Prince while she was in such an undignified state.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to battle the sensation of the world spinning. But the moment she lost sight of the bathing room, she swore the ground slipped out beneath her, sucking her down into the epicentre of a whirlpool that spun and spun and threatened to drown her beneath its surface.

Opening her eyes allayed the illusion but introduced its own set of difficulties. Any amount of light was too much, and in the white-tiled bathing room, it was everywhere, leaking in shades of blushing rose from the stained glass of the large circular window. Ordinarily, that light was soft and soothing, but at present, it hurtled upon her in shards, piercing behind her eyes and temples.

Uncertain which was more unbearable, Elain weathered the piercing light and violent twirling in increments—opening her eyes for a time, then shutting them. With no presence of mind to count the passing seconds, it was easy to lose track of time, and she hadn’t the slightest idea how long she laid there before the bedroom door clicked open.

“Vassa?” she called, though she doubted it carried far enough to be heard.

“My, what a sorry state the blood spice has made of you.”

Elain stiffened. That wasn’t Vassa’s voice. She lifted her head weakly, meeting the sharp amber eyes of Eris Vanserra.

Despite the amusement in his voice, he wasn’t grinning.

“Is that what you gave me?” She asked, uncurling from her fetal position in an attempt to sit up.

To her surprise, Eris kneeled beside her to place a steadying hand on her upper back. “Well,” he mused, guiding her into an upright position with a gentleness she didn’t know he possessed. “It was partially mixed with brandy.”

Elain knew imbibing in too much brandy could result in sickness, but she’d never had such a strong reaction. Wary, she asked, “What’s blood spice?”

“A powder,” he said cryptically. He drew his hand back, wavering it behind her as if testing whether or not she would collapse back to the floor without his support. Once he was satisfied she wouldn’t fall over, he reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a small vial of a blue liquid. “This should alleviate its adverse effects.”

He uncorked the vial with a soft pop and held it towards Elain, as if expecting she would blindly drink anything he offered her.

Elain wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. She flinched away from the vial, and lobbed him a disapproving look. “What kind of powder?”

“The kind that makes the horrors of last night slightly more bearable.” At her beseeching look, he sighed. “It’s a powder that aids in… let’s say forgetfulness.”

“Forgetfulness?” Elain blinked. “But I remember last night perfectly well.”

Eris raised a scarlet brow. “Do you? Then pray tell, how did you get back to your room?”

“I…” Elain blinked, searching the swirling reservoir of her mind. She was certain she’d be able to find the answer as soon as her every thought stopped melting into a shapeless puddle.

“What happened to the boy?” He pressed. “The Housekeeper? Your own husband?”

“You took the Housekeeper away,” she said confidently. “And then Lucien…”

What had happened to Lucien? He continued administering the lashes at the King’s behest. And afterwards, surely, he must have retired to reconcile with his guilt.

“Lucien tried to convince Father to let the boy stay overnight,” Eris said, filling in the gaps of her memory. “But Father insisted on sending him to the regiment without proper care. Lucien saw that the boy was delivered to the camp and returned earlier this morning with the enlistment papers to prove it.”

“He didn’t even get to wish his mother goodbye?” Elain asked, blinking back renewed tears for the child.

Eris shrugged. “Such is the way of the world.”

It was such a callused response that she couldn’t help but recoil. He wasn’t Lucien, she reminded herself. He didn’t possess the same kind heart that would have accepted her grief and mourned alongside her. It would be unwise to speak freely with him, but the words pressed down on her tongue and she felt her lips curling back, begging to fling her criticism towards him.

The Crown Prince read her expression and laughed, tilting his chin like he was indulging a child. “Go on then. Regale me with your box seat morals.”

Elain’s mouth popped open. No one had ever spoken to her in such a condescending tone. “Excuse me?”

“You stand so strongly on your beliefs, but you’ve never been in a position to have them tested.” His eyes narrowed. “You can ridicule me for sending the child to war, but it saved his life.”

“I’m not denying that it was an impossible choice,” she said, affronted. “But I am disturbed to see that it grieves you so little—”

He cut her off with a sharp laugh. “I don’t trouble myself with grief. And as a Vanserra, neither should you.”

“But it’s integral to being human,” she protested, clutching her chest. She could feel her heart hammering beneath her shift. “To having a heart.”

Eris smiled. It didn’t meet his eyes. “Oh, Elain,” he said, almost like a chiding. “No one has ever accused me of having such a thing.”

He held out the vial with a gravity that said if she didn’t accept it now, she would lose her chance entirely.

“It’s an anecdote for the blood spice,” he explained. “Drink it or don’t, the difference hardly matters to me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she stiffly wrapped her fingers around the smooth glass. It was still warm from his pocket. “Will it draw forth the memories the blood spice suppressed?”

“Yes,” he said, rising to his feet. “Hence why magic always comes at a price.”

Elain wondered at his meaning. How often did he endure the nausea and headaches to repress the worst of his family’s cruelty?

He made it a step towards the door before she called, “Eris?”

“Yes?”

Her throat tightened. “Why were you drinking a forgetfulness powder to begin with?”

It seemed to amuse him that she had the courage to ask. With a shrug, he explained, “Its effects have dulled on me over time. At that dosage, I think of it more as providing numbness.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He inclined his head. “May you feel better soon, lady,” he said, before slipping out the door.

“You have lovely penmanship.”

Elain lifted the tip of her quill from the parchment. The ink was fresh, still lifting off the page in delicate lettering that she re-examined with fresh eyes. She’d never been complimented on her handwriting before. Compliments from her governess had always been reserved for perfection, which she insisted that Elain and her sisters rarely achieved.

“Thank you,” she said, placing the quill into the ink pot to stretch her fingers. She’d been writing invitations all day, and her hands were beginning to ache from the strain. “My governess ensured I practiced each morning, though I doubt she ever imagined I’d be writing letters to such important people.”

A not-so-small voice in her head still wondered who she was to be writing letters to princes and dukes and viscounts. Growing up she’d been assured she would be able to marry anyone she wanted, but she always assumed her husband would be a lord at most. Now she was inviting foreign royalty to a ball in honor of her marriage.

Lucien’s mother offered her a tight smile. In the week since she and King Beron arrived at the estate, Elain had yet to see her mother-in-law offer a full smile. “I understand what you mean. Like you, I never anticipated marrying into royalty.”

Questions burned on Elain’s tongue. She wanted to ask more about the Queen’s past, but as she turned to look at the older woman, her eyes caught on the slight discoloration around her neck. The large floor-ceiling window in the library meant the space was well-lit, and there was nothing to disguise the powder dusted over her throat, just a shade too light to blend seamlessly into her porcelain skin.

When Vassa was helping Elain get ready that morning, she’d shared that a healer had been called to the Queen’s bedchamber the night before. She was staying only a few doors down from Elain in Western Wing. King Beron was supposedly staying on the opposite end of the palace, nearer to Lucien. And though Vassa didn’t disclose the details of the Queen’s condition or its cause, she did give Elain a firm warning:

Make sure to lock your door at night.

Elain didn’t need the specifics to know the Queen’s story wasn’t a happy one. She swallowed her curiosity and instead offered a polite, “I would never guess. You’re well suited to it, Your Majesty.”

Another false smile, this one warmer, edging closer to sincerity than the others. Elain decided it was a small victory.

She felt compelled to lighten the Queen’s mood where possible, if only because she looked so much like Lucien that Elain couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. She had the same striking features, though her red hair was more muted, her russet eyes a bit duller. And her complexion was deathly pale, as if she’d been deprived of sunlight for years. It caused Elain to wonder where Lucien’s warm, rich brown tones had come from. Certainly not Beron—who was equally ashen and didn’t resemble his youngest son much at all.

“Are you excited to see your sisters?” The Queen asked, drawing Elain from her musings.

“Yes, very much so,” Elain answered. “I’ve missed them terribly.”

It was the truth, though Elain had been weary of inviting them. She knew their attendance was the very purpose of the ball she was hosting at Eris and King Beron’s behest. Allegedly, they were being encouraged to celebrate the marriage of Prince Lucien and Princess Elain, but all that truly mattered was the attendance of Feyre’s husband, Prince Rhysand.

By writing this invitation, was she being complicit in some horrible scheme? Would they try to harm Feyre to get Prince Rhysand to comply? She tried to reassure herself that Prince Rhysand was clever and capable of assessing any threats against him or his wife. If he thought it would be dangerous to attend, he wouldn’t.

Unless he thought that Nesta and Elain were in danger, that small voice whispered. Maybe Rhysand wouldn’t care, but Feyre would. And if he was her true love, maybe he would do what she asked even if it was against his own intuition.

Her stomach tightened with guilt, but with the Queen watching over her shoulder, and Beron’s royal attendants standing watch by the wall, she had no choice but to snatch up the quill and finish the remainder of the invitation.

“It must have been lonely moving to this palace after growing up with sisters,” the Queen said. There was a weight to her voice, and Elain guessed she understood the pain of having a distant husband more deeply than Elain could fathom from the short period she and Lucien vowed to live separate lives.

Elain clamped down on the instinct to assure the Queen that her son kept her from true loneliness. It was the response a mother would surely wish to hear, that her son was kind and attentive, even when he swore he would not act as her husband. But Elain was meant to be wearing a mask of resentment, and it caused her to fumble for the correct response.

Even a resentful woman would dress up her anguish with pretty, painted lies.

She tried her best impression of the Queen’s forced smile. “It’s a beautiful home,” she said. It was the sort of deflection a polite lady would reach for, a truth that didn’t quite answer the question. “But I do look forward to seeing it filled with guests.”

The Queen nodded. “Of course. As do I. The ladies in my court will be arriving tomorrow. I look forward to introducing you to your peers.”

There was no true excitement on the older woman’s face, and that told Elain all it needed to about her peers. She imagined they would be vultures eager to circle a princess still finding her feet in these new social circles. She’d previously been excited by the prospect of meeting her mother-in-law’s court, but now the thought filled her with as much dread as she felt pressing the quill to the bottom of her letter.

They would all be watching Elain. Her sisters, the Queen, her court. Eris and Beron Vanerra. Lucien. She felt distinctly as though they were all pieces being laid out on a chessboard, and she was the first pawn to move forward.

With a heavy sigh, she scribbled her signature across the page.

Your sister,

Princess Elain Vanserra

#Remember when this was going to be 7 chapters? 🤡#ABITD #A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elucien fic #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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salswisteria · 5 months

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Cryin' about the fact that Imp!Darlin will forever see themself as a monster and as nothing but someone that causes harm and hurt to people around them inevitably even when they don't want to and they'll always blame themself for everything that happened to David and the pack and for everything that wasn't truly their fault but they're convinced it is and they should take the blame cause they're always the problem right? and they'll forever be so so so deeply rooted in self hatred that they'll never think of themself as someone lovable or even someone who deserves it let alone human.

(this poster is a very big believer in "Imp!Darlin is still alive" theory.)

#redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redacted audios #redacted headcanons #redacted darlin #redacted imp!darlin #redacted imperium #imperiumverse #i am genuinely sobbing about this rn btw #like im just thinking about the constant flood of self deprecation that must go through darlins brain every day on a regular basis #and they genuinely believe all of them #in their eyes they are a parasite #a monster that ruins and hurts everything #and anyone #wether they want to or not #they're an infection #“My Love Is Sick”#at least that how i see it

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forcedjuggalofication · 7 months

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narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real narcissistic abuse isn’t real n

#vent/rant in tags #some people are JUST ABUSIVE.#i’m not gonna lie - it hurts so fucking bad to have done so much work all by myself - untreated - unmedicated - no resources -#just guesswork - just to have it not fucking matter because people discard me the SECOND they learn about my #TRAUMA BASED fucking disorder.#it’s not my fault. i was a CHILD. i was a CHILD who should have been cared for - not neglected - isolated - and abused.#i’m sorry that maybe some people take that and repeat the cycle - but everything about that told me that i HAVE to be BETTER -#i CANNOT repeat those same fucking behaviours that wounded me so deeply and ruined my fucking life #IT IS NOT MY FAULT.#and you know fucking what? my biggest abuser had NPD - and i rejected my diagnosis for YEARS. because of terms like narc abuse.#and because people demonized him on the basis of being a narcissist instead of on the basis of being an abuser.#rejecting my diagnosis only hurt me more - and hurt the people around me more.#i am so tired. i’m just a person. i am just a human being. i try so hard - i don’t even want recognition or praise for trying -#i’m just tired of being thrown away - i’m tired of being treated like my abuser just because of my diagnosis #he quite literally tried to murder me - believe me if you want - i don’t care - i was a child and he tried to murder me and i still think #that there is no excuse to demonize NPD just because he has it.#fuck all the way off - go die - i don’t care #none of my friends would ever know i have NPD because i’m not a fucking stereotype - i’m not an evil monster - i don’t want to hurt anyone-#the way i’ve been hurt - i NEED to be the best - i NEED to be as good as possible #stop demonizing my disorder - please - i am begging #screaming into the void #NPD #narc abuse #narcissistic abuse

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sensitivegoblin · 1 year

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Lol I HATE my sisters boyfriend

#guess who almost said the R word at a stupid video game #and then he defended AND got butt hurt over me ‘preaching’ about it #now I’m sitting here having to finish the game with him #i fucking hate him he ruins everything by being his stupid way #i wish the purge was real I wanna kill him the rest of his stupid family and runaway to take care of his niece #i just #fuck #he seems to have a talent for making me miserable #i told him the R slur isn’t like bitch or c-nt #does he care?#no because an emotionless monster who should be fuckin put down #fine don’t wanna fix yourself I’m therapy? let me drown you.#i wish he could read my mind to know how disgusting and worthless I think he is #if I d-xx myself can one of y’all stab him for me?#i seriously fucking just hate him he has zero compassion #he’s such a fucking idiot he thinks he’s so smart cus he’s emotionless #i wish I could hit him with a pot I swear I’m so seething mad right now #IM TIRED OF HEARING PEOPLE SAY THE RSLUR #i hope anyone who says it today gets a sharp pain in their chest that lasts hours #I’m so disgusted rn that word literally makes me physically I’ll #ill *#he’s now pulling a brat routine where he’s just playing in silence #YOU hurt other people and you’re punishing US for it???????#I’m gonna be off and on tonight I dunno

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spade-club · 2 years

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Was it really leading you on if I also let you down? Or do you really just hate the idea of me being happy without you? /not at you

#im getting angery about things from almost two years ago again haha oops #but honestly. you cant just fucking traumatize me and expect me not to be pissed???#just tell me I'm a monster and you hate everything I am.#like. do you know how hard it is to be going through someone sexualizing you constantly no matter how much you ask them to stop #and have your best fucking friend yelling at you because you're such a monster who's going to ruin this poor boy #and have her tell you she tied her self worth to your capacity to like men??#like. cool. okay. fuck you I guess.#its so bullshit #like. I'll admit I didnt treat her great. i let her believe she had a chance with dating me #when ultimately that was probably never going to happen again #but also like. I just like having close friends I flirt with. thats how I do relationships. and I made that clear.#and I even toned it down and we talked about it all the time #so maybe actually I didnt??? idk #point is its still fucked up that she would honestly tell me how much I suck as a hostile way of attacking me for not dating her #and THEN a few months later managed to get mad at me again for.... being triggered by something she said #so anyway uh. when you have someone in your life and you know how mean they can be #dont tell yourself its okay because they arent hostile to you. they could just as easily be hurting you the moment their rose glasses fall #if you dont want to be on their bad side. do you really want to be on their good side?#sad posting #<- not really but its personal and I'm scatterbrain thinking #soz if it doesnt make a lot of sense I'm. strugglebus #I might try to explain better later because those moments have really lodged their way in my brain and it sucks

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lesbiten · 2 years

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sorry i was reflecting on the whole thing about ford moving to gravity falls because he feels like the only place he belongs is among monsters and the paranormal and it made me sad

#not to talk abput fiddleford but like this is also like. why their whole thing fucks me UP #fiddleford is the only proof ford has (at this point) that he ISNT a monster who hurts everyone he touches #he has someone who loves him for who he is he has someone who would drop everything in his life to help him out #and he fucks it up. he ruins fiddlefords life #he did it again he destroyed everything he touches!!!!!!!!! can you believe it #simon says

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stupiddog678 · 2 months

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i dont have anyone to comfort me anymore

#if he was here hed tell me it was going to be okay and that im not a fuck up #why do i ruin everything i try to do #no one reads what i put my soul into #no one asks me how im doing anymore unless its to make themselves feel better #people only message me to yell at me or call me horrible things or if they need something #i have family and i love my sisters but #theres just some things i cant tell them #and there are things i cant tell my friend #i keep thinking im going to do something great but then i just ruin it by being depressed and im just so tired #i wish he was still here. at least i could believe it when he told me it was okay and i could do something else with my life #but its not like hes here anymore.#hes gone because i fucked it up with him too #and im too scared of others judging me because im a horrible person #and ive done horrible things #he was the only person who didnt make me feel like a monster #but i hurt him too #i dont wanna sound edgy and say i deserve it #but i deserve it #im going to fail my junior year of college and no one is going to love me the same way he did ever again #its stupid to say this but i think he was supposed to be the one for me #but i ruined it #i always ruin things #i ruin my own life because im so stupid and i feel like im not even real half the time #i wish he was here

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ectoplasmer · 1 year

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clarification because i swear i don't practice favoritism (i so do sometimes but shhh): i think about marrying all the others just as much as I do ryou but he just so happens to be the one i talk about the most so sjjfdsh

#and i also realize that it usually sounds like i'm seeing yb in a bad light whenever i talk about what ryou has been through #and i'm not saying that what he did was okay #but i am saying that they've both changed and grown and have been working together to better balance out each other #yes bakura obviously hurt his host and no i don't think that is something that is going to be fixed easily #i see ryou still get somewhat uncomfortable whenever the subject is directly approached and i don't think he's completely forgiven yb yet #and that's completely okay. i don't expect him to do that and i don't think bakura does either #but bakura has been trying to change and be better even if it's in small ways #he doesn't completely control ryou's life anymore. he doesn't try to use him as a means to an end #he doesn't see him as *just* a host body anymore #ryou had absolutely no reason to give him a second chance when the ring ended up with him again but #he still did. even after everything #i don't know why. i don't try to push for the answer because i know ryou will tell me whenever he's ready to #but whatever the reason was it's gotten them this far. and i'm very happy about that <3 #they've both grown a lot within the time i've known them #if we were to get promise rings or whatever #and either of them wore it #it'd be a symbol that they've both changed. that they've both been able to grow and be (somewhere) better #and that makes me even more lovesick for the both of them <3 #(sidenote: in my personal interpretation of canon; i think most of the injuries yb caused were out of impulse rather than malicious intent.#especially with monster world i think that was more of a defensive response to avoid having his plan ruined xP #like it's mentioned very vaguely and momentarily but yb cares for ryou!! even if it's in a very backwards and misguided way #over here collecting the souls of his friends because he said he wanted to play with them forever.#he's got the right intentions VERY WRONG EXECUTION!!! anyway #i. love them but they both need help i think skjhhkjsa #proud of them both though <33)#spooky ghosts #four of spades

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spicyhamsamson · 2 years

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I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

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gojonanami · 6 months

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ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: aka nanami is totally fine and alive. after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. ✴︎ contents: hurt/comfort, fluff, spoilers/discussions of what happens to nanami in shibuya, and of course he survives, he's fine (copium), nanami being a girl dad (b/c you know he would be the best dad - i mean he is already). ✴︎ wc: 1,469

Refusals came first when it came to Kento.

“Ieiri can take care of it—”

Especially when it came to taking care of him.

“But I want to, Kento,” you say softly, burn kit prepared by you and Ieiri in hand, your fingers curling tighter around the handle, “I don’t want to push you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, but I want to help,” for all of the times that you couldn’t.

It has been a month since Shibuya. A month since Gojo had been sealed. A month since all hell had broken loose.

How has it only been a month?

And it had been only two weeks since Kento had been allowed home, to rest, allowed to be extracted from Shibuya from Shoko’s treatment area. His eye was unsalvageable — destroyed in that octopus special grade’s domain, and his body — burned severely by that volcano special grade. He would have to wear an eyepatch for the rest of his life. And reverse cursed technique only did so much, but they couldn’t heal burn marks.

Half of his body is wrapped in bandages — if you hadn’t been lucky enough to get Kento out of that situation with the curse you now knew as Mahito — you don’t know what could have happened.

You were lucky. Lucky to have found him after being split off. Lucky you knew how to get to Shoko quickly. Lucky that she was able to save him.

Luck. Luck. Luck.

Was this really luck? To make it out half burned and half alive? Was it luck that you saved him or would it have been kinder to leave him? But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You were selfish — you needed him, you wanted your future with him, you wanted him to live.

You couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

It wasn’t time. It wasn’t his time.

He only sighs at your words, “Okay,” he relents, sitting up on the bed.

“First we have to remove your bandages, and then I’m going to inspect the burns to make sure they haven’t been infected or—”

“You don’t have to tell me everything, sweetheart, I know what you have to do,” he says softly, and you swallow thickly, nodding.

Your fingers are gentle as you undo the bandages, first starting with his hand and arm, before moving to his shoulder, and then finally his face. Nasty raised burns marred his skin, raised and ruined marks that clawed over his smooth flesh. The marks ravaged half of his body — the other half he was barely able to protect with cursed energy.

You hid your frown as you looked at them — why was it him? That question kept replaying in your mind. It was pointless to ask. It was asking why tragedy struck one person rather than another — it was chance, it was happenstance, it was fate.

But you wished fate had chosen another — hell, you wished fate had chosen you.

Your hands are washed and gloved as you examine him for any signs of infection — discharge, abnormal discoloration, and the last sign — warmth, “I’m going to just check some areas of your skin for any warmth — okay?” and Kento nods, his gaze downward. Your fingers are gentle — a featherlight touch as you check, fingers tracing his hand and up his arm, across his shoulder blade and back, until you reach his neck and face. Your fingers end up caressing his face, cupping it as you stare at him.

He’s so beautiful.

Each scar is a reminder of how hard he fought — even against monsters beyond any of any sorcerer’s imaginations, defended his comrades, protected students, and somehow had never given up. Even when it would have been understandable to do so. He still stood on his two feet, unwavering in his determination to live — and it wasn’t even for himself. Sorcery was an individual sport, sure, but sorcerers pass the baton all the time, and they choose to fight for one another, as well as themselves — if only to make the next fight easier for their fellow sorcerers. And you knew he was fighting, fighting to come home to you.

How did you ever get so lucky?

“I understand,” Kento says, drawing you from your reverie, “I understand if you feel differently about my appearance — it will be harder for me to be mobile, the burns could constrict me and my eye as well. I understand even, even if it changes how you feel,” his tone was forced evenness, but he couldn’t hide the slight waver from you — Kento only ever wavered when it came to himself.

You pause for a moment, “It does change how I feel,” and his eye slides to meet yours, hardened and accepting, “it makes me only love you more,” and Kento blinks, ocean blues filled with water, “Kento, these scars, your injuries, they show how much you fought to come back to me — how much you fought to protect our students — how much you sacrificed just to keep fighting,” your voice cracks, “how could I ever see you as less than for that? I love you so much, Kento — I just wish I could have done more for you,”

His fingers find yours, curling around them, “Done more? You saved my life—”

“Did you want to be saved?” and your question makes him pause, and your words tumble out of you, a confession you never wanted to make, “Yuji heard you — heard you say how tired you were — asking yourself if you’ve done enough, did I just put you in more pain by making you stay—”

And he’s covering your mouth gently with his palm, making you stop, your tears streaming across his knuckles as you cried, “I never wanted to stop fighting to come home to you. I’m grateful you saved me,” he said softly, “every moment of pain is worth it, worth it because I get to be here with you. I get to have more time with you, with Itadori, with Ino, with everyone else,” he gives a terse chuckle, “I am tired, tired of jujutsu, tired of risking my life, tired of seeing those I love risk my life — but I came back for a reason, and I came back for you,” his lips curl into a smile, “and you, I could never be tired of.”

You can’t stop crying now, tears falling from your eyes, as you wipe them, “I’m going to have to change my gloves now,” and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand.

“Change them, I’ll be here,” and you have to hold yourself back from hugging him — you need to put his ointments and lotions on and then bandage him up, and then — then you could hug him. But for now you settled with pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then cupping it.

“I love you,” and you didn’t know, but he knew, he knew then, more than ever, that he wanted to marry you. And he would ask — but not now.

So he smiles instead, “I know, I love you too.”

“We’re going to be late!” you wait outside, arms crossed, “Kento?”

“Don’t worry, we’re here,” and he’s stepping out, daughter in his arms, as you raise an eyebrow, “Mio wanted me to carry her.”

“You’re going to spoil her rotten,” you roll your eyes, walking over to your husband and one year old daughter, “she’s going to be daddy’s little princess at this rate — aren’t you, baby?” you kiss her cheek, as Kento watches you.

“Like mother, like daughter,” and you gape at him, as his lips curl, as he carries his daughter to the car to strap her into her carseat, “are you coming?”

You step over to the car, standing as he finishes buckling Mio in, and he turns to face you — the scars on his body remained, but healing with each day — his other eye hidden away under an eyepatch, but he still looked just as handsome the day you met him at Jujutsu High for the first time, if not more so (it was definitely more so, you often teased him, that emo haircut was definitely not attractive).

“Sweethe—” he raises an eyebrow, before you lean up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and he melts into the kiss, brow furrowed as you pull away, “what was that for?”

And you shrug, “Just because, now come on,” you climb into the seat beside your daughter.

“If we’re late for this meeting at Jujutsu Tech, it will be because of your kiss,” he warns, catching your eye with a smile in the rearview mirror as he starts the car.

You only grin back, as your fingers find Mio’s tiny ones, “Don’t worry, we have time.”

And you did — you had all the time in the world.

✴︎ a/n: so this is some hardcore copium that @laneysmusings claimed i owed after the five times nanami fic. and who am i to deny? but also nanami is fineeeee. just a little scratch.

✴︎ tag list: @ghost-with-a-teacup, @itsseaberri, @himboelover, @sampam0260, @tiredkitten, @angelltheninth, @kateshappyplants, @neon-crow, @akaashi-todorki, @juniperjunpei, @what-the-stories-have-foretold, @purplecandygerl, @trenchcoat-idiots, @crimsonstarrr, @tirouxdreemurr, @dazaifungus, @the-apple-rose, @just1nee, @weirdanddorkyrambling, @goatlings-world

#sab [mlist]#kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami kento x you #nanami fanfiction #kento nanami x y/n #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami angst

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

Text

Nature vs Nurture (monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

The new world order - monsters on top, creating the perfect dystopia for humans. You are nothing but a pet to them, a breeding mare for their perverse desires…and now you've finally been claimed by their colonel. Good luck.

Tags and TW: Dub-con, monster fucking, size kink, power imbalance, dumbification, pet play, dystopia, obsessive Konig, tentacle monster Konig, oviposition, breeding. AO3

It was supposed to be a supply run. Fast, quick, stealthy. In and out, the ruins of the abandoned store not so far from your hiding spot. Whatever you could find, some canned food – maybe, but not realistically. Some rubble and garbage that could be exchanged for food for triple the price it was – possible. Realistic.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run. Like a rabbit out of her hole – but not really a rabbit, not even having the courtesy of strong legs and long ears that could spot anyone from a mile away. No, of course not – the universe wasn’t feeling particularly merciful when you were born a human in the age before monsters decided they didn’t want to be servants anymore. You think you remember going to the store like a normal person. Picking up a cart, hauling anything you could afford – not bothering about a lot of things.

There are still stores, you think. Remesances of capitalism, working only for monsters – whatever crude economy they were building, it stayed in the cities. In the military bases, were filled with monsters even before the uprising. Not here, in the wasteland – it belongs to humans, as little as there were left.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run for you and your friends – but you were dumb, but you were careless, but you grew accustomed to being the only one here, you didn’t even spot a patrol. Nasty fuckers, getting humans off the abandoned streets – you tried to fight and it didn’t work. Tried to run, and they were faster. Always faster. You should have been quicker, you shouldn’t have been a human – but you are, your soft self still not hardened by the life on the run, so you weren’t put out of your misery as you saw some other humans who got caught. Monsters took pity on you – or, perhaps, your submissiveness finally paid off. You were shown off the corner of a store – a human store, as you read, the words burning in your mind. You heard the stories about humans – attractive, soft people, mostly weak and obedient – who were snatched off the streets to do god knows what. Monsters can’t breed on their own, you remembered.

You can hear the voices coming somewhere in the hallway, a good few meters away from your cage. You force yourself to stay as far from the bars as possible, not wanting to attract attention. Not even want to bother yourself with trying to see what your captors look like – monsters can take on human appearance and you’d rather live without seeing a human pet trader looking like someone who could have been your neighbor before the uprising. You curl in a ball, hugging your knees. Sobbing softly, quietly – knowing that there is no way out of here now. Not even other humans would help you now. “Just got new batch, colonel. Doesn’t look like a resistance member” “Ja, I heard that the last time. Schlampe killed all the hatchlings the second they were born.” “W…we didn’t know, sir! I promise, it was a…” “You can’t even breed them properly. There wasn’t any new humans in months, wolf” “Humans are…delicate, sir. They don’t want to breed in captivity.” “Make them then.” You hear something heavy shuffling around. You hear heavy footsteps that are making the flimsy flor of your cage shake. Even monsters have their disputes – but you can’t bother with caring when you hear footsteps approaching. Large shadow casting down on you. Making you feel even more small and miserable than you did before. Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. Your everything hurts.

Someone is staring at you. You see…someone. Humanoid silhouette – too big to belong to a human, at least 7 feet tall and broader than the entirety of your cage. You whimper when the creature tilts its head to the side, a surprisingly boyish tone of his voice grasping on your panicking mind. It isn’t the one that captured you but, for some reason, you can sense that he is even more dangerous. There is something on his uniform – some decorations, you think. Soldiers from the age before the uprising are all have quite high ranks in the new society – if they are monsters, that is. Large, droopy red tentacle falls from the guy’s hood. Definitely a monster.

— Come closer, human. You whimper, trying to get up – only to get as far away from him as possible. You’re terrified, but he only hums in acknowledgment. A group of tentacles rising from under his hood, pushing you towards him through the bars. You were never more thankful for being locked away.

— Disobedient. Or just dumb?

— I d…don’t…

You cry, not wanting to give an answer – too disoriented, your nostrils are filled with the smell of sea and blood. You feel light-headed, dizzy, you’re hungry and dehydrated and you don’t know how could you even proceed to resist when one of his tentacles goes through the bars of your cage. Caresses your face, surprisingly gentle. Smearing cold slime around your skin, but even this is a welcoming feeling – you’d take everything that isn’t damp air of the human compound and the old sweat tattering your skin. You’d give anything for a bath right now. At least a few wet wipes, to wash the grime off your face – to stop feeling like an animal even though you know you’re already been reduced to one. — Just dumb, then. Gut. Monster caresses your face for a while, admiring your features. Salty tears feel like heaven on his tentacles – you can’t possibly see him, but he is grinning under that weird hood of his, adoring how obedient you are. It might be just exhaustion, but he missed humans like this – broken and abandoned. Soft and adorable, crying at the brim of a hat. König is going to have a lot of fun breaking you in – you couldn’t possibly be worse than the last wife he took. He wants to see you round and filled with his eggs. He wants you to see you cry for his cock, begging him to fill you up like the dumb, pathetic human you are. He wants to lay in the nest with you, pressing his body against yours – stealing the coolness of your body, covering you with his tentacles like a perfect chewing toy. He wants to… — Ah, sir. This is the new one. Just took her yesterday.

A merchant smiles, slimy face spreading in a wide grin. Tentacles retreat from your face and shoulders immediately, only leaving a small trace of liquid over your features. If you were dumb enough, you could have sworn the monster was affectionate – but you don’t want to be dumb. Can’t survive in this world only on silliness, unfortunately. — I will take this one. — B…but it isn’t properly domesticated yet! You know how wild strays can be, colonel… — I thought you said all pets were properly obedient?

— W…well, of course, sir, but… — I don’t need a trained slut to carry my eggs. This one would do nicely. Consider this your sacrifice to the order, ja? Before you know it, the merchant showed you in the hands of a giant man. Colonel, as you heard – not knowing proper military ranks, you wonder how high it can be. Or low. Monsters only value power and personal strength – and the merchant was fucking terrified of the tentacle creature who was holding you right now. Perhaps, you should have tried your chances of running away and being killed. Perhaps, you should have slowly died of hunger instead of coming out for supplies. `You’re held high in the air – too high for your liking. The monster presses you against his chest like he expects you to run away any second now – and you want to, really, nothing you’d love more but to simply jump off and run for the hills. But you’re too exhausted, the hunger sitting deep in your empty stomach makes you think that, maybe, for whatever reason this monster bought you for, he’d at least feed you. Maybe turn you into a pet – this is why there are stores for captured humans, right? Humans were treating their pets nicely, maybe the monster wouldn’t be too far off. Tentacles are swirling around your legs, around your hands – now you can’t even move your neck properly, cheek squished against a warm chest. This monster is a weird one – it’s like he can’t stop his tentacles from touching you, the cold tips of his tendrils spreading slime on the dryness of your skin. His body is warmer than any human would be, and his tentacles are cold – the contrast against your naked skin, barely covered by your torn clothes, is making you crazy. Making you think about weird things – like the monster reproduction again. Like your empty tummy, like the friends you left at the compound when you were supposed to go for supplies. Not getting captured by one of the monster higher-ups.

— You’re soft for a human. You weren’t even sure he was talking to you at first. You’ve been walking for a couple of minutes before you could finally hear some traces of civilization. Roaring vehicles. Gunfire. Laugh and groans – moans, too, to your surprise, not all of them very pain-induced. Your face is still pressed in his chest, you can’t see anything meaningful – but he stops in some corner, you think, covering you in his arms like a package he needed to deliver. You aren’t sure if you remember what the word “package” means. Something naughty, you think. — Quiet, too.

You still don’t answer, and he hums. Pushes you on the ground, suddenly – you fall on your ass, yelping in pain and surprise as you lay on something softer than a concrete floor. It’s a pile of mattresses, you realize. You’re in a room, you realize – still too dizzy after everything that’s happened, you didn’t even notice when he entered the building and pushed you away from the sounds of life you wanted to hear so much of. You’re sitting on your ass on the pile of soft, rotten mattresses – a faint smell of decay builds up in your nose, but you can’t even concentrate. The tentacles are spreading your legs suddenly – you cry and whimper, your walls breaking down to reveal a soft center because the monster tears away your pants with ease. Your clothes weren’t much, to begin with, dirty and torn after the capture – still, you don’t want to be naked in front of him. You don’t want to be naked in front of anyone.

— Spread your legs, human. You don’t want to, but you obey – you don’t wish to give him an opportunity to pry your legs open, to use force and make your life even more miserable. You know that being so obedient is kind of pathetic but, honestly, you couldn’t care less at this point. If being pathetic would save you from a broken leg, you will spread yourself open. Place each ankle on the side of the rotten mattress, not even caring that the thing fabric of your clothes – whatever little is left there – is slowly whiskered away by the tentacles. His hands are worse, somehow. He pushes your legs a bit wider, making you hiss from the stretch – and then he tears off your underwear. Not even letting you a chance to save your dignity – before you could cover yourself with your hands, at least, he is already launched at your cunt, smaller tendrils swirling around your core. You’re dry, obviously – and the monster tilts his head to the side. Acknowledging. Looking. He isn’t soft in his movements and the prying attention makes you embarrassed – if your legs weren’t in hid hold already, you’d try to close them. To save yourself. His motives are obvious, his intentions are clear – still, you sob and whine i his hold when his hand slowly presses on the button of your clit. The colonel – you try to remember this, it’s probably important – is somewhat slow – he pushes your inner lips, spreads your hole as much as you can with a meager amount of fluid from the slime of his tendrils and, somehow, you find yourself getting aroused. Maybe, it’s his attention – he isn’t laying his eyes off you, and it almost makes you blush too much. He is adorable in this way if a monster of his regard can even be called this – and you’re freaking terrified when he goes closer, looks at you even more.

His hand is making squelching sounds as your cunt becomes wetter by the second – it’s the first time in forever you had this kind of attention, and surviving the monster revolution didn’t exactly help with getting the edge off. You’re desperate for anyone to touch you – and the monster has beautiful hands. Big and burly, with tendrils sometimes running around to add even more lube – you know you’d never get anything like this with a normal human. — Need to check you first, Maus. The merchant keeps sending me infertile ones. You don’t know what he is talking about – but his hand lays flat on your tummy, putting you in place, and the larger tentacle – big, slimy one, with uneven structure with little bumps that made you wonder how it’s even going to fit inside – slowly creps to your sloppy, wet opening. It doesn’t hurt, you’re wet and open – something in the lube he extracted made you dizzy, dumb, you don’t even know when you spread your legs a bit more and welcomed the intrusion. It feels right, it feels wrong, it feels like the thing to die for – it feels like something that could kill you. He laughs and it sends slow rumbles right to the tendril penetrating your pussy. The pressure on your clit is too much – and your brain is to foggy to think that it reminds you more of a medical exam than actual sex. The tentacle inside is vibrating, twisting and turning, pressing on your cervix – it should feel painful, it can’t be this good but, somehow, you welcome the feeling of being this fucking full. You don’t buck your hips, but you cry and moan – and it’s enough of an indication of your pleasure. Monster laughs, his other hand goes to lay on your face – a surprisingly gentle gesture. Short-lived, but you could still feel the warmness lingering on your tattered skin. It’s hot and cold with him – you aren’t sure what comes next, but the tendrils are sliding in and out, probing at the entrance of your womb and, despite everything, you feel the knot in your stomach untying. The orgasm is a quiet one – build up is slow and small, and it doesn’t make you black out – but you whimper nonetheless, the tight embrace of his hands on your body feeling more like a cage than a normal hug. He is too powerful, probably not sure about his strength – you feel him squishing you like a fruit. The slime is leaking from your empty pussy, clenching around nothing. — Obedient. You’d be a good vessel for my eggs, human. You whine, turning away from him. He chuckles, pressing you in his arms again. Like a child with his favorite new toy – you feel squeezed and touched in various places, his tentacles having a mind on their own. Not an inch of flesh getting ungroped. — Ar…are you going to kill me? — Ach. You can talk after all. — Are you going to… — No. Have a much better way to use you. He chuckles in your hair, pressing his face in it. Inhales the scent – if he has nose, of course. This stupid hood conceals everything, not letting you know anything besides his rank. Which makes you think about…

— What is your name?

A stupid question, really. You shouldn’t care about the name of a monster who bought you – still, you don’t want to refer to him as just “a monster”. This dumb part of your brain wants closure. — König. Remember it, little human. Oh. So his name is König. Somehow, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #monster!konig #yandere cod #tw: monster fucking #cod x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere male #yandere

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nothomegal · 7 months

Text

"Nothing, just (Y/N)"

(Pyramid Head(s) x GN! Reader NSFW)

Minors do NOT interact!

Summary: wondering through abandoned semi-ruined places is great to hide and get lost, and in your case the latest happened. But don't worry! Because you were lucky enough to bump into your lover... Or not. Whoever, or whatever this is, it really looks like your monster, yet it's different at the same time... Huh, I wonder what will happen when these two do meet face to face... Huh, I wonder what verdict awaits you.

Warnings: non-con touches at first, brief mentions of nipple play, oral (Pyra receiving), references to double penetrations (but you can interpretate it differently since the reader is gender neutral).

Word Count: 3.9k

This idea popped up after I remembered that Pyramid Head has two different designs (one that appears in DBD and Silent Hill 2, and the other one from the movie and Silent Hill Homecoming, y'know where he has a more pointy helmet and exposed torso)

I usually describe the DBD/original version (though my dummy self been using gifs with the other design hashsha). But still, why don't we present our lil' (Y/N) the other one? 🤭

They’re lost. (Y/N) let out a long tired sigh as they keep walking through the long dark hallway of what appears to be a school.

They begin to regret their decision of going deeper, it probably would’ve been smarter to just chill in one of the classes until the ‘newcomers’ leave the area, buut… Uh, last time they hid in a room they ended up kidnapped by the group they tried to avoid so yeah… Not really a fan to repeat that experience.

The school was dead silent most of the time, apart from the sound of their footsteps or the occasional shuffle or hiss from a Creeper. For anyone new, this would be an unnerving place, but for (Y/N)? Oh they’re chilling with the peace n’ quiet around them. Sure, silence is not always associated with safety and there is always the possibility of something lurking in the dark and waiting for the perfect moment to attack. But in (Y/N)’s case it’s not possible, no creature is dumb enough to even get close to them, not to mention hurting. They can’t help but to chuckle to themselves, they’ve been in this place for quite a while, probably months, maybe even a year! Or two? And no matter how much time passed or will pass, they still can’t believe the fact that one of the most fearsome creatures of Silent Hill took them under his wing, keeping them safe and making them feel something more than just a piece of flesh to use or kill.

Sigh, they probably have the dumbest lovesick face they’ve ever made, like some teenager thinking about his crush, but can you really blame them? Who the hell wouldn’t get all giddy with a creature like Pyra? And speaking of him, they probably should find an exit faster before he gets tired of looking for them and just tanks his way through the building-.

Or maybe not, because the sound of metal scraping the old tiled floor of the school and the erratic heavy footsteps resonated from one of the hallways. Huh, each day they start to believe that they somehow summon Pyra just by thinking about him for long enough.

With a little smile (Y/N) makes their way towards the sounds, happy to have their lover back with them after him completing his hunt and punishment.

–”Hey big guy! Sorry for the trouble of having to look for me in here. Just wanted to avoid the incident from the last ti- ”–

(Y/N)’s voice died and they froze in place when they met the source of the sound. Yes, it was the known pyramid headed beast, but… It wasn’t their pyramid headed beast, it wasn’t Pyra.

The monster in front of them was different; his vest, which appeared to be stitched, was only covering everything below the waist, leaving the torso completely exposed. The helmet was different too, it was more… Pointy? The edges were sharper and the shape was more triangular and detailed with additional metallic pieces.

This other beast and (Y/N) remain completely still, staring at each other in heavy silence, the monster’s metallic breathing being the only audible thing. (Y/N) gulps nervously, both confused and afraid. What the… Who is this creature?! Why does it look almost like Pyra?! Is this another executioner? Wasn’t Pyra the only one? Are there more monsters like him? Then why did they never see it before?!

Their internal freak out paused then the other beast let out the familiar low metallic rumbling, which wasn’t as low and deep as the one Pyra emitted, but that fact didn’t make the sound any less intimidating, especially when the monster seemed to grip the handle of his large knife tighter.

–”W-Wrong executioner, m-my bad!”– you peep out before taking off running.

They sprint down the hallway, their adrenaline skyrocketing when they hear the known bulky footsteps and scraping noises behind them. They haven’t felt this much terror since being chased by Pyra himself. Sure the group of shady men was scary too but their demise was inevitable. In the case with Pyra… Well, if the executioner chooses you as his target, there is no chance to escape your fate, only delay it.

But- But this time it will be different, right? Their Pyra is still somewhere around, right? It’s unclear what they're hoping for, or what they want to happen when both beasts face each other. All (Y/N) knows is that the true safety has always been in Pyra’s arms, and they have no other option but to go there if they want to have the slimmest chance to survive this chase.

Despite trying to find the exit, it feel like they only get themselves deeper into the building, all hallways and rooms appear to get darker and more rotten, it's like they're decending deeper into hell, closer to their demise, further from their salvation...

But the light of hope was recandled when while turning a corner (Y/N) bumped face first into a firm and broad torso, which didn't even budge at the impact while they already had landed on the floor right on their butt. They rub their nose after the impact and shoot their gaze up, their heart almost jumping through their rib cage after recognizing the known pyramidal shape of the creature’s head, thinking that the beast chasing after them somehow outsmarted their panicked brain. But when the creature kneeled down they instantly relaxed as relief flushed through them, despite the monster’s large form menacingly towering over them and engulfing their smaller frame with its shadow.

–”Pyra!”– you exclaim both happy and relieved as you scramble right into his arms.

The monster instantly wrapped his large arms around (Y/N), his own body tensing up, as if feeling the distress of his human and knowing they’ve been chased by something, fact that clearly angered him. When the sounds of metal scraping the floor and slow heavy footsteps began to resonate from afar, (Y/N) tensed up even more.

–”Th-There it comes… It- That thing, it looks like you!”– you warn him as you grip his vest tighter.

Pyra remains still for a moment as the noises get closer. After a while, he slowly stands up to his full height, lifting (Y/N) with him and putting them back to their feet to then gently push them behind him. The mentioned person carefully peeks from behind his large form, both afraid but also curious to see if it’s really another creature like Pyra and it actually exists or they just officially went coconuts and somehow imagined it all. Their doubts were dissolved once the other creature appeared from around the corner, his pace slow and unhurried. The monster froze in place as he stared at them, Pyra froze too and stared back. The atmosphere suddenly turned… Weird, not tense and heavy as one would expect, just odd and bizarre.

Still, (Y/N) didn’t feel at ease at all. There is a reason humans fear the unknown, and that’s the main factor that keeps the mentioned person on high alert. They have absolutely no idea of what to expect to happen next, are these two about to fight? Will the other creature turn around and leave? Will it somehow change Pyra’s mind and he will kill them? Are they in danger? Should they run? Wait? Pray?

A breathless gasp escaped their lips when the other creature began to move, slowly making his way towards them two. What freaked and confused (Y/N) even more is the fact that Pyra doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, he remains still in his place with absolutely no intent to stop the other monster.

When the second beast got way too close for their liking, and Pyra was still doing nothing about it, (Y/N) let out a shaky breath out and stepped away from their lover to then begin to back away on their own.

–”No. N-No stop, that’s-...”– you swallow nervously as you shoot a pleading glance to your beast. –”Pyra…”–

But he doesn’t react to their pleas, he doesn’t even look at them… And when the other beast was right next to him is when he finally does move, slowly turning around, and just like the other executioner, he begins to slowly walk towards (Y/N) in the same menacing manner, not like they’re his lover, but another victim to punish…

This scene broke (Y/N)’s heart into numerous tiny pieces, is… Is that it? Is Pyra really going to just… Kill them here and now? After all this time they’ve been together he… He’s just going to throw all that away like it’s nothing? Like they are nothing?... Silly them, of course he will, he’s Pyramid Head, the executioner, an immortal and eternal being created to punish and kill. Who are they to him?... They are nothing, just a little meaningless human… Just (Y/N).

The moment their back collides with a wall, their survival instincts kick in. Even though deep down they knew that their fate is practically written on their forehead, their mind was focused on the most primal desire that a human can have in case of facing danger; run away.

And so they do, they obey their instincts. When they notice an opening between the other monster’s large body and a wall to squeeze through, they bold forward with no care in the world and miraculously dodging his arm that attempted to grab and stop them from escaping. They let out a breathless chuckle out of shock that they actually managed to dodge that by ducking, such a silly maneuver actually wor-.

Suddenly something gets a hold of the back of their shirt and yoinks them back, right against Pyra himself. He holds them tightly against his chest, one arm being more than enough to keep the panicked human in place despite all the desperate struggles to break free. (Y/N) is beyond terrified now, they feel Pyra’s arm tighten around them while the other one gets so close that he ends up pressing his body against their front. Now being basically sandwiched and completely immobile, (Y/N) is feeling like passing out at any second. In any other occasion they’d be so flustered and aroused by this, but now? Oh their poor mind is being flooded with terrible images of how the two executioners will end them, the newer thought worse than the previous one. They’re shivering like crazy, eyes shut tightly, waiting for the wave of pain to come as the monsters will begin to skin them alive…

But after nothing happening for a solid minute, (Y/N) gathers enough courage to finally open their eyes and see what’s going on and why these two beasts are not doing anything. The instant they peek up, the two monsters let out that famous amused rumble, which due to the closeness, made (Y/N)’s whole body vibrate, super weird (and kinda pleasant) feeling.

(Y/N) was about to yell in anger, thinking that these two are seeing their fear and pain of the betrayal as something funny, but such chance was lost the moment they began to feel big hands roam around their body, caressing and feeling every curve through their clothes. The gesture wasn’t aggressive or mocking, but affectionate and loving, just like Pyra’s actions towards them on a daily basis.

Now (Y/N) is confused and quite dumbfounded. Didn’t these two have the intention to murder them? Why is this other monster suddenly so docile? Are they truly safe? Wha-

A shiver ran through their body when the executioner in front of them managed to slip his hand under their shirt, tracing the rough yet warm skin of his bare palm through the softer skin of their abdomen and chest. They let out a surprised squeak when the hand reached higher and brushed against their nipple, the contact causing (Y/N)'s body to shiver, and it only got worse when the beast began to rub it as it let out an amused purr. Another whimper escaped their mouth when Pyra’s hand made its way through their inner thigh, squeezing and rubbing their flesh gently until it stopped right between their legs, his movements getting progressively bolder and suggestive with each little sound that left that pretty mouth of theirs. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they realized what the two monsters are trying to initiate.

–”Wa-Wait no-! I- I’m- I’m n-not ready for th-this!”– you stammer nervously as you try to clumsily wiggle out their grasp, face already red and flustered. –”You- You two s-sto-!”–

They have no chance to even finish the sentence as something warm and wet suddenly entered their mouth, making contact with their own tongue, which suddenly turned the action into some very sloppy kiss. Their struggles also lead to nothing, both monsters only squeezed them tighter against each other, reducing (Y/N)’s mobility even more. This continues for a couple of seconds, until the "kiss" finally stops and (Y/N) is finally allowed to breathe again, their mouth completely wetted with their and Pyra’s saliva. As they pant like a dog, trying to recatch their breath, they feel Pyra’s hand travel up to their face and wrap his hand around their face, rubbing their cheek lovingly as his tongue playfully wiggles in front of them.

(Y/N) suddenly gasps shakily as they feel something hard being pressed against their front and back, and by the way both monsters growled, they knew exactly what it was and what’s about to happen.

They shouldn't want this, they should try to get away and put a stop to this, they really should… But it’s hard, it’s hard to think straight when their mind has been poisoned with their own arousal and lust. Their logic side is saying no, but their whole body and most of their mind is screaming yes.

As if reading their mind, both monsters made a pleased sound and the next thing they know is that their body was swung over Pyra’s shoulder and taken somewhere... But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t get completely blown up in a moment, and Pyra’s big hand squeezing their ass and thighs is a reminder of that. They’re then brought into one of the classrooms of the school and their body is placed on one of the tables, just like the little delicious treat they were.

From their spot, (Y/N) stares at the two beasts with half lidded eyes and lovesick gaze. It’s like being under some sort of spell whenever things get heated between them and Pyra, and now that there are two of them? Oh, it’s like being hypnotized to act like a slave of their own lustful desires.

The two monsters were kind enough to actually undress (Y/N) (instead of destroying their clothes). And now, fully exposed and being in all fours, they silently observes as both executioners position themselves. The other beast is right behind them, one hand placed on their hips and the other one pulling down his vest, revealing an already fully erect and hard cock, tip brushing along their skin, making them shiver in anticipation. Pyra was right in front of them, vest fully opened and pants pulled down too, his cock just as erect and needy for his sweet lover, one gloved hand placed under their chin as his thumb rubs their cheek and lips lovingly, as if saying “you’ll do such a good job drear”.

The calm lasts for a couple more seconds… And then the whole world goes down without a warning. The beast from behind slams his whole length almost and ones, barely giving (Y/N) time to adjust to his size. Pyra also nearly choked them when he pushed the tip and part of his cock into (Y/N)’s mouth, but he was kind enough to wipe their tears of pain and pleasure.

This was both a torture and a treasure, the roughness and feral neediness of these monsters made (Y/N) feel a certain type of way. The knowledge that two powerful beings craved for them, THEM, so so badly made them feel both very special and flustered, just what did the executioner see in them to make him want their body and soul so much? Crave for them both sexually and emotionally, want nothing but to be close to them and keep them to himself, not just like a trophy or a pet, but as something worth to worship.

And they did, they really felt oddly worshiped despite being absolutelly destroyed by them. Feeling the one from behind dig his fingers into their flesh as he pushes into them, trying to bring them closer to his own body with each thrust and the distorted rumbles and groans he makes when the contact between their skins is missing, even for a brief second, only proves how much he wants them close. Pyra was too showing the effect they had on him, saliva actively dripping from that little hole in his helmet where the tongue would come out, hand placed in the back of (Y/N)’s head as he fucks their mouth and throat, and the fact that he’s not thrusting with more force also proves the care he has for them. They both could be rougher, they both could be more selfish, they know they totally could destroy them if they really wanted to… But they actively chose not to, because even in this feral and lustful state they’re in, they care for them, they care for their little sweet (Y/N).

The action doesn’t last too long, as (Y/N) is barely holding themselves back from coming ,and eventually it got too much. The second the monster from behind felt their release, he let out a growl and quickened his pace. (Y/N)’s body began to shiver, wobbly limbs barely supporting their own weight due to the overwhelming feeling of fullness and the lack of oxygen, air they can hardly get since Pyra’s pace got faster as well. When they eventually collapsed, their body miraculously remained in place and it all thanks to the beast behind them, who caught them and held them up with a single large hand placed on their chest.

It was hard to keep up, hard to keep themselves from coming again, but they must refuse, must holdup, must wait for the two monsters fucking their brains out to come before allowing their own sweet release again. And just as they reached their absolute limit, so did the two beasts. The taste and the sensation of their release drunken (Y/N) completely, eyes rolling as they let out a weak muffled moan as they're sent both to heaven and hell at the same time, their inside burning and their skin shivering under the cold sweat.

Once done, Pyra takes his still hard cock out of (Y/N)’s mouth, allowing them to take all these needed gulps of air as the white liquid drips from their mouth and down their chin, even after trying to swallow it they still got messy, a picture that their lover absolutely adored.

Though (Y/N) was quite tired, they know this is not the end, this is just the beginning˜.

They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly lifted and their back is pressed against the solid and warm exposed torso of the beast behind them. The table they were previously on had been flung across the whole classroom with great force and the next thing they know is that they’re completely immobilized again by Pyra’s body pressing their form against the monster behind. And soon enough, (Y/N)’s mind is being turned into mush again when the beasts begin to move again, their thrusts strong and hitting all the sweet and most sensitive spots of theirs.

Their movements were unnaturally coordinated, knowing exactly when to thrust and how to move so their helmets won’t collide. It was both freaky and fascinating to see, which left (Y/N) thinking if Pyra is really as simple as they initially thought, or is he the embodiment of something way more sinister-.

Their thoughts melted into a mass of letters and blurry shapes at the sensation of the rough fingers of the beast from behind rub their sensible nipples again, sending violent jolts and shivers with the mildest movements. Now (Y/N) was a complete panting and moaning mess, though their sounds were slightly muffled by Pyra’s broad chest, even slightly suffocating them at times with how close he got (not like they mind it). They always cringed at how vocal they can get during sex but they also knew better than to try to quiet the noises after learning the hard way how much their monstruous lover adores to hear them.

This fucking continued for a good ammount of time, (Y/N) already lost count of how many times they came, they have absolutely no clue! All they know is that they’re like in heaven, seeing stars and impossible colors of light flash before their eyes with each release just to then fall back into their mortal body and suffer the consequences of all the overstimulation and the generally overwhelming sensations. How are they still awake and breathing? They have no idea, but it did kinda boost their ego to know they’re tougher than they thought.

Eventually, the thrusts come to an end after the two monsters came one last time, causing (Y/N) to hide their face deeper into Pyra’s chest as they sink their fingers into his flesh and scratch his scarred skin with their nails. Even after coming and filling them up real' good yet again, the executioners remained in place, not pulling away from (Y/N) and still holding them against each other.

After regaining part of their breath, (Y/N) pulls back and their eyes wide at the sight of all the marks they left along Pyra’s broad chest and abdomen, both scratch and bite marks. The executioner from behind also received some lovely scratches on his body as well, when did they even manage to make these? None of the monsters seemed bothered by the marks though, and their hands roaming over (Y/N)’s body is a clear confirmation of that, showing just how pleased they are with their performance, even if they didn’t really do anything.

Now that the heat is slowly dying (Y/N) should feel cold, yet the warm skin of the beasts keep them perfectly warm and comfortable, their big hands traveling around their body, soothing the growing soreness in their muscles and worshiping every inch of their soft and tender skin, despite it being covered in sweat and drops of their load.

(Y/N) wanted to cry, but not out of pain, but of how loved they felt in that moment. The surprisingly gentle and affectionate caressing, the soft purrs and rumbles that at times resembled praises, and the overall atmosphere among them three felt so overwhelmingly comforting and loving, nothing like the heated lustful air from moments before.

Tiredness and exhaustion made itself known and they began to slowly doze off. Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about having a pillow, the chest of the two monsters were a perfect replacement, so warm and kinda soft now that their bodies and muscles relaxed a bit.

Unknowingly to (Y/N), a little smile formed on their lips. Yes, they're still pretty much nothing compared to a creature like Pyramid Head, but the fact that this same creature, or in this case, creatures, are all over them, a simple little human, makes (Y/N) feel this alien thrill and warmth.

They're still just (Y/N) though.

Their (Y/N).

Ţ̴̡̤͕̝̱̙͎̗͓͎͔̤͍͍̺̖̣̥͇͔̺̖̬̑̅͆̅ͅͅ ̷̨̢̢̡̡̡̧̨̬̲͈̹̦̤̻̬̳͎̳͔̬̘̤̤͚̮͇̪̗͍̺̟̦̯̙͇͔͓͈̫̾̾̂̂̚͠H̸̪͇͚͙̫͇̯̆̚ ̵̧̜͔͎̙͈̦̥̣̥͕̅̆́̆̑͗̈͛̇̓̾̏̇̌͛̾̓̉̀͛̓͆̈́̇̃́̄́̑̊͐̎̍͊̂̈́͆̕̚͘͘͝͝Ȩ̵͈̟̜͓̥͙̣͙̲̤̰̫̟̭̲̪͔͖͇͉̩̗̩͕̮̲̳̼͖̜̳̙͗͒̓̀̊̊͋̿̉̿͜ͅͅ ̷̘̦̜̻͓̒̽͛̚͝Ì̴̡̧̡̧͓̭̝̥̱̻̦̻͔͙̜̳̘̣̘̻̗̫̮̬͖̝͕̬͕͕͐͋͋͆̔̂̍͌͑̏̌͌̚̚ͅ ̵̨̜̻̬̲̬̩̤̹̩̮͈̮̭͈̙̦̪͕͕̭̠̝̝̀̿̓̀̌̌͊̅ͅR̶̫̯̬͚͚̝̦͋͌͒͐̀̄͌̃̓̌̈́̉̄͐͆

#nothomegal fic #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head #slasher x reader #gn reader #pyramid head smut #nothomegal smut fic

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