bakerstreet | the mutual captivity dependency (romance) meme

the mutual captivity dependency (romance) meme

the mutual captivity dependency (romance) meme

No matter how hard you fought, how subtly or overtly you rebelled, or how many times you tried to escape, you ended up at this point all the same: you're a prisoner. Perhaps you're just a regular, run of the mill captive, perhaps a hostage, a science experience, a weapon to be used, yet, no matter what, you're not free.

But you're also not alone.

There's someone else confined along with you, who you met through your mutual imprisonment. The only thing you two may have in common is that you're both trapped here - and that's enough. The two of you grow close (it seems you're closer to them than you've ever been to anyone, but that could just be the situation); soon, something begins to start between you, tiny and delicate. You can't speak to what that something is, not in a place like this, but you know you want it to last. They are another reason to keep going.

Captivity, of course, has a way of stripping everything from you, including reasons to live. Surely, it is only a matter of time before this small - and still somehow world encompassing - comfort is taken from you...

...no. Not this time. They've taken all you have, right down to your freedom, and it stops now. You won't let the person who's become most precious to you in this hell be stolen away.

No matter what.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character and preferences. Are you open to AUs and assumed CR? What are your limits? Given the subject of the meme, there's likely to be triggering material here. Do you prefer very dark fare or a light at the end of the tunnel scenario?
There's one prompt that could be smut, but feel free to play it in others if you're open to it. However, I'm going to be posting this as a smut meme on TLH later this week.
Reply to others. RNG.

PROMPTS

Prisoner of War: Who's side were you on? Or were you just an innocent civilian caught in the mire?

Hostage: Take heart. You're worth more alive than dead.

Scientific Experiment: What an interesting specimen you are. You will have to be tested.

False Charges: One or both of you are here because of lies told against you; eventually, though, you may begin to believe that your worth is truly that low.

Do the Dirty Work: Your powers are useful, maybe even enough to use you as an unwilling assassin.

For Different Reasons: You're imprisoned for different reasons, and you still draw close. After all, does it matter when you're both stuck?

Most Unforgivable Sin: One of you is a prisoner in the most basic of senses: hostage, slave, what have you. The other? Well, it's much more complicated. The other is a person forced against their will to be a lover, spouse, or sex slave of those in charge. What if that other does find someone they actually love? It could cost you both your heads.

Equalized: Maybe you were in different social strata before, but now, you're both common dirt.

Should Be in Charge: One of you has a higher ranking in the system. Will you use your power to manipulate them or to skew things in their favor.

Beneficial: You both have something the other wants. It's a mutually beneficial set-up, and that's all it needs to be. At least, that's how it starts.

Love at First Sight: You never thought you'd see someone like them here, and maybe it's because you've been cut off for some long, but you're feeling so smitten, even if that's usually not you.

Needy: You're not cut out for this. Almost immediately, you reach out for anyone who can offer to take you under their wing.

Won't Fall: To you, it's all to keep yourself sane. You won't actually fall in love, not in a million years.

Traumatized: It's hard to care for someone so broken, someone who's seen such terrible things, but you do it anyway.

Brainwashed: Before you met them, you never doubted your masters. But now...

Flower of Hell: Such a beautiful ray of light should not belong here in this darkness. Cruelty will snuff if out. You don't want that to happen.

Kindness: They showed you an unprecedented act of charity and selflessness. You feel drawn to them.

Tend to Wounds: It's easy to get hurt while captive. At least you don't have to wait for your wardens to fix you up. You have someone kind or dedicated enough to tend to you and you alone.

Anything to Protect You: They can't protect themselves, so you'll do it for them in any way you can.

Using Them: Really, you don't care for them. You just want their protection and their help. At least, that's what you keep thinking.

Burned Before: You had another prisoner before that you loved, and they were sent away or killed. You want let down your guard again.

Human Contact: You've been deprived for so long, you crave any attention.

Can't Touch: You're in cells, kept apart. You can never touch.

Barely See You: There kept away from you and everyone else for most of the day, but you still have feelings for them.

Separate: They're to be taken away, perhaps even to another outpost. What will you do?

Frustration: How long has it been since you've been with someone? You may take any opportunity to get some privacy.

Have Hope: You don't want your partner to lose faith, so despite your own beliefs, you'll stay positive.

Promises: You keep telling them things, swearing that you'll follow through and you'll both be okay. Inside, a part of you may fear it's all hollow words.

Escape: You're going to leave, but not without them.

Punishment: For your crimes, both of you will be punished. How much will your affections mean then?

Forced to Torture: Not only does your closest person have to be tortured, but you're the one who has to do it.

All a Sham: The truth is out. They were only playing you. In fact, they may

Turncoats: Your captors have pitted you against each other.

Fight: You may argue or even come to blows, yet soon enough, you'll be wanting to forgive and forget because there's no one else to look out for you.

Jealousy: They're all you have here, so you're not inclined to share.

Taken by Another: Someone else captured here with you all saw what you had and decided they would steal away your significant other.

Know How to Break You: Your tormenters know they can't hurt you with torture, but if they hurt the one you care for? That's another story.

Death: There's no need for prisoners who won't keep on the straight and narrow. You've pushed the envelope too many times, and now, execution is the easiest option for your captors.

Finally Free: The two of you have finally made it out alive. Suddenly, in the light of day, things seem different. Was all of this, all of these feelings...were they true or out of some desperate need?

WILDCARD

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[m/m preferred for shipping but absolutelt ota for gen. Very open to crosscanon/medium, and I haven't ~~started~~ finished Inquisition yet :V]

Edited 2016-11-01 11:08 (UTC)

Cuba had been a disaster. Oh, he'd gotten his revenge. Shaw is dead--his coin and telepath made damn good sure of that. He just hadn't expected... well, no, he had expected the humans to turn on them all. He'd predicted it, in fact; however, there'd still been a hope, deep down, that Charles was right. That things could end differently.

Alas, even the ties between he and Charles are frazzled now. Fighting on the beach. Him destroying part of the ships that had fired upon them. Being thrown into a prison of concrete and plastic. The list continues, an endless number of items that merely add to how disastrous Cuba turned out, and Erik's found himself with an obscene amount of time, now, to mull over each and every item.

It's not as if his cellmate wishes to discuss it.

He grunts at the thought, casting Charles a dark look between his next set of pushups. When he'd awakened, it was to these white walls and glass ceiling, and the only other pop of color was Charles himself. As if nothing happened, their fight had continued. Except now--days? weeks? months? he cannot tell anymore--Erik has no connection to metal. And it is terrifying, for he's not only at Charles' complete mercy in here, but also the guards, who wear no metal on them, as well.

"Sulk a little louder. I'm sure you'll penetrate the walls that way."

Whatever they did to this prison, Charles has to commend them. No thoughts penetrate the glass walls, nothing. It's like a bubble. Sometimes he hears an echo when they open the door upstairs to bring them food. It's a complete and utter silence.

Except for Erik, of course. Erik is still there. Erik's thoughts, his feelings, his fears and hopes and anger.

His continuous, distorting, petty, irritating anger.

Charles has tried to ask their captors why they're both here. He merely tried to keep Erik from murdering everyone on the beach. But there's been no answer, no explanations as to why they're locked together in this white space where they have nothing else to do than to take it out on each other.

And they have.

For the first couple of days, they did little else.

After a brief spell of trying to work their way out of the prison. But once they realized that it wasn't happening, it all came crumbling down around their ears.

Erik's voice makes Charles bite his teeth together, annoyed, his jaw tightening. Forget meditation then. "As if your childish little tantrums do something more."

((voice testing!!))

OOC: Hello, I am here, and I random rolled a 3! Down for some sort of regenerative experiments? (As well as any other numbers you might be interested in tying in).

It took fifty-four days for another of his soldiers to show up in the facility he had been kept at. Snake kept track in the usual cliché manner, with scratches on the wall which he made with an edge of the manacles they kept him in. By now he had callouses on both wrists and ankles and the sound of dragging chains didn't grate any longer. He had long ago forgotten what having warm feet felt like. Snake's new uniform was a pair of pale scrubs, and every time he tried to use either trousers or shirt to strangle one of the guards with, he had to slowly earn the privilege back to have any clothes at all.

Fifty-four days and twenty-one escape attempts thus far for him. The first few had been well planned and executed but the longer he was in here, the more desperate and fleeting those attempts became. With this new arrival though, maybe a better plan could be formed. Maybe Kaz could come through for him once again, like he always did. Snake pushed himself up to stand as they brought Kaz in to his cell, that had nothing more than cement walls, floor and ceiling with one wall being the bars and door.

The intent gaze of his one eye went down to the stunted arm, then down to the limping leg which looked off in shape under the fall of the identical scrubs to his own. Snake felt hope and also confusion. He understood the experiments they were doing with him, but why would they do them on Kaz too, he wondered. Not that Kaz wasn't a great soldier or anything but he wasn't Snake. There could be other experiments going on here than just his own, or maybe this had to do with something else entirely.

Snake wasn't self-conscious about the bruising all over his neck and arms, the obvious track marks from countless injections, or the subtle burn marks on his temples from electrodes being attached for too long. Neither was he even self-conscious about being here; only, perhaps, was he discontent about not having escaped yet. "Kaz," he said the name and the roughness of his own voice surprised him slightly. Just how long had it been since he'd spoken aloud?

The anger is justified, and not something Charles needs to worry himself with if he'd just learn to butt out. He's never attempted to think loudly before, except for those petty moments where the telepath's passive aggressiveness drives him to a fit of temper, and then, all bets are off. His neatly compartmentalized mind fizzles away, until he's pressing thought after distracting thought to the surface, allowing each to flitter through his mind, each concentrated as if they were honed into sharpened daggers.

And then there are the majority of moments where he spends in meditation, corralling those thoughts and fears, settling into a state where he can hone his focus to a knife's point. Erik may not have metal, but he has his mind, and keeping himself sharp means he'll have even better control when he does escape.

"Duly noted. Next time I fall to a fit of temper, I'll be sure to use your body as the punching bag, instead of the wall." Back to pushups. He'll punish his body until he's hard muscle and nothing else. It isn't as if he has much else to do down here. "Perhaps that will be more satisfying in the long run."

Taking a piss? Miserable. Showering? Inconvenient. Wanking off? He'd be petty and broadcast that as well if only he weren't such a private person. Though it's doubtful he gets away with the motion with Charles so close by. Nevertheless, that is one activity he saves for when he suspects the telepath is fast asleep.

Kazuhira Miller woke up in a cement cell fifty-three days ago. His last memories were of issuing the order to intercept a force invading the R&D platform. But then it was the inside of a cell, stripped of his carefully chosen uniform, even his sunglasses. The light harsh and unbearable in his eyes.

He was kept with minimal food and water, delivered to him in paper cups and on paper plates, nothing that he could use to cobble together an escape with. Especially with no prosthetic leg to stand on, no resources he can disassemble to use to start those disposable products on fire. Nothing he can make a lockpick from or a weapon. Not even a decent bed to sleep on.

On day fifty they moved him.

To him, it was hell. He was jammed into a cell beside of a man he couldn't stand. The one who took everything Kaz did for granted, all of his sacrafices, and left him in pieces. He was left in hell, basically, where no matter how silent they both were, Kaz was utterly aware of his presence.

On day forty-seven Miller snapped. He yelled between the cells, told him that he hated him, but their captors gave him a sedative before he could finish his tirade. Afterwards he couldn't even remember what it was that he said. It didn't even matter though. He didn't know if that discarded home still existed, he didn't have the resources or the physical means to escape, and he didn't know what they had in mind for him.

On day thirty-eight someone took pity and brought Kaz an extra set of blankets. That night he shoved one into the cell of the man next to his.

The next morning was another escape attempt. They both lost their priveleges.

A week later Kaz wordlessly removed his top and shoved it through the bars, another tool for a potential escape. It was used. It failed. And they were both punished again.

He didn't complain to Snake because he genuinely didn't believe Snake would care. He couldn't stand that idea, to be dragged back to his cell every day, feeling like his skin was on fire, and then finding out that the only person he knew didn't care if he was hurting or not. But the way he'd curl up on the floor, tucked into a corner until the burning started to ebb, said enough.

He didn't understand why they dragged him into Snake's room five days ago instead of the cell he had. And every day after that, returned to the same cell. And he always, always tried to hide the hurt.

He did notice that they both wore the marks of the studies being performed on them.

Today something was happening. When his burning body was dropped onto the floor in their shared cell, the fire wasn't ebbing, and he held his tongue until their captors had left. His only response was a tired, "Yeah." Yes, he was willing to talk. No, he wouldn't snap at him. The fight had been worked out of him for now, and he hurt too badly to care about anything else.

Usually Charles keeps a rigorous control over his powers. But he hasn't bothered since the walls of the prison keep him from the rest of the world in any case. He likes getting a warning of Erik's moods in any case. Sometimes it's hard to read Erik without looking into his head and why would he bother honestly?

It has gotten a little out of hand, though. Because there are times when it's hard to tell where his own thoughts end and Erik's begin. He's even reflecting the anger toe to toe.

And unfortunately Erik's little wank fests do not go undetected given that they invade Charles' dreams. Like clockwork, he ends up having the worst raunchy dreams about a certain cellmate of his. At first it was driving him up the walls with irritation and nervous energy. Now it's just something that phases his days. Good thing Erik is as predictable about his self-love habits as he is about everything else.

Charles hasn't said anything about it, though. But that doesn't mean he hasn't paid back. It's hard not to broadcast when he's giving some attention to himself in the first place and after he figured out what happens with his dreams, he gave up on even trying. Why should Erik have peaceful dreams when Charles can't have them?

"How completely unpredictable, Erik. Violence. That's what it comes down to, isn't it?"

Charles is on his feet and pacing. He pauses in the middle of the cell and stares up at the glass ceiling.

"If you want to hit me that badly, you should just get over it."

…Ţ̧̢͉̪̭̘̙̼̮̐̓̿͂̌̊̓͒̋̚ḣ̨̛͚̪̫̲̗̺̤̥͑̋̍̄̀͛́̚ͅȅ͍͔͇̬̬̳̦̰̬͕̈́̈́̂̐̿̓̋͋̀r̞̝̳͔̩̪̝̞̣̩̊̑̅̃̒̂̅̐̾̍e̢̦̰̝̳̹͕̙͉͛̀̇̈͋͐̎̕͠͠ͅ ͚̹͈͉͕͚̦̫̫̘̃͗̾̉̊͊̿͐̐̚â̢̧̼̻̻̺̭͚̖̓̇̊̈́̏̎̃͘͠ͅr̘̣̯͍̯͖͚̖͖͉̿̈́͂̌̓̈̽̑̽͝ę͈͕̯̣̬̰̱͉̬̾̈͆̍̐̈̀̍͑͂ ̧̫̠̠͇̯͇̤̩͔̋́̓̎̍͑͐̈̉̕d̡̦̳̱̻̟̻͓̞͔̅̈́͆̌̀͑͊͘͠͝ą̹̬̹͈̙͇͎͉͈͌̍͊̓͋̂̉͑̊͠ŗ̛͉̖̭͖̪̙͉̫̼̀̊̀̌̏̈́̒̉͘ķ̥͚͚͎̰̠͔͔͇͋̒͋̇̓̈̍̅͗͝ņ̱̻͈͙̤͍͚̤̇͑̇̿͂̽̀́͝͠ͅë͎̼̱͕̺̣̙͖͉́͛̓̇͛͛̕͜͝͝͠ş̡̯̺̺̜̜̱̼̹̃͆̽̏͂̃̀̓͘͝ş̗͚͉̣͙͈̙̲̘̀͌̿͊͊̇̓̓̓̾e̢̺̜͉̞̗͍̠̣̅̓̀̆͂̀̌̚̚͜͝s͚̩̫͇̠̘̭̟̺̙̀͊͐̍̅̍͒̊͘̕ ̛̼̫̹̺̗͎͙̺̼͌̂͂͒́́͗̆͘ͅi̢̛͚͕̹̳͚̰̠͔̝̿͊̇̈́͆̔͌̚͝n̢̘̠̯͔̝̤̩͖̓́̾̈́̈́̆̿̀́̈́͜ ̧̧̛̛͎̣͖͔̳͍̹̓̓̍̉̂͑̊͠ͅļ̛̹̩͉̦͖͔̬̪̀͋̓̋̐͐̔͂͘ͅi̡̛̺͎̘͕̗̥̘͇̙͋̆̅͋̆͆̃̊̚f͓͍̣̪̙͔̳͎̫̞̉̈́͌̂͌̓̾̈́͠͝e̤͈͍͔̩̫͕͖̙̹̽̉͋̇̀̌̽̒͘͝ ͙̜̖͕͎͕̮̗̜̟̀̓͗͂̒̀́̏̚͝ȃ̬̣͍͕͎̗͉̪̫̹͛̌͛́͒́̐̿͛ñ̡̡̨͉͔͔̣̱̖̘̈́͐͆͌̃͑̒͊̚d̢͔̳͚̪̪͕̱̼̟̂́̑̀͑́̇̓̐̚ ̧̢̢̛͈̙̻͇̰̥͓̅̍̀͑̇̑͆͝͝t̢̬̭͖̫̩̤̩̻̟̅̇̉͊̀̍̾̓͘͝ḩ̛̭̘͍̟̻̦̪̬̱͛͛̐̏͗̿̌̈́͗ẹ͙̱̟̪͇̣̺̣̈́͋͑͌̆́̿̾͘͝ͅŗ̭͕͚͕͇̯͇͙͊̀͑́͐̏͛̀̎͜͠é̙̩̫͖̭̬̻̗͕̪͆́̅͛͊̀̊͆͋ ̟̠͍͔̭͕̮̦͔̗̏͋͑́̉͛͊́̚̚ä̢̛̯̗̪̬͍͉̟̘̳́̽̑̈́̋̆͋̂͝r̡͎̤̥̺̻̩̹̺͚͑͛̽̽̅̀̏̓͑̀ĕ̡͙̭̙̲̩̩̤̬͐͆́̃̊͌̔͛̕ͅ ͇̱̬̼̘̩̺̯͖̣͗̌̐̆͑̋͘̚͝͠ľ̢͓̣̖̟͚̱̙͚̒̓̆̏̐́̒͜͠͝i̡̢̦̘͙̻͎̞͇̣͗̈̀̽͊̉̈̍̾̃ĝ̢̢̛̤̰̘̼̮̮̝̽̽͒͛̾͒͝͝ͅh̨̟͉͖͉̟̘̳̙̬̍̔͊̄̏͗̒̕͝͠t̛̜̠̻̱̫̳͉̲̦̥̋͐͆̌̐̀̾̎̚s̡̨̘̮̩͍͙̫͚͒̆̍͐̄̆̅̀͜͠͠,̤͚͍̤̟̬̠̪̩͙̈́̀̿̓̾̋͋̽͗̃ ̡͕̠͈̠̝̠̬̽̆̅͊́̈̐͒͜͝͝ͅa̧̡̤̪͙̩͙̥̲̱͌͂̇̑̓́̀̈́̕͝ņ̦̳̝̟̻̫͓̽͊̅̏̌̐͑̅̕͜͝ͅḑ͚̪͓̬͉̬̟͓̋͋́̀̿͌̓̈́͘͝ͅ ̨̛̮̤̰̩̳͖̪̭͑̊̐̅̈̌͋̏̋ͅȳ̨̢̛̤͎͚̹͇̜͓̝͆̄̒̓͆͆͗͝ǫ͚̫̦̗͔̭̰̲͐̅̾̾̽̆̏͋̇̀͜ư̢̨̯̮̮͔̳̙̰̔̓͌̍̐̓̓̈́͐ͅ ̨̨̻̬̺̝̘̟̻̘͛̒̀̋̈́̔̕̚͝͝a̧̟̙̞̹̫̦̘̺̬̅̎̏͑́̿̆͘͝͝r̢̯̜̗̣̟̼̩̣̍̀̏̌̓̉̐̕̕͜͝e̢͕͚̮͈͉̱̝̮̦̅͗̅͗̅̽̀̑̕͠ ̢̡̛͕̺̖̳͉̺̪͉͐̓̒̅̈́͘͠͝͠ȍ͔͚̬͎̞͚̝̹̗͓͗̓̽̒̈̒͌̕͝n̛̮̥̬̪̭͎̱̹͇̫̈́̈́̂̒̋́͒̚͠ę̛͉͍̣̰̲̘̬̱̲̓̄́̀̃̀͘̚̚ ̧̡͈͙̞̜͎̥̬̠̂̾̽̀̌̈́͂̔̉͘

t̢̬̭͖̫̩̤̩̻̟̅̇̉͊̀̍̾̓͘͝ḩ̛̭̘͍̟̻̦̪̬̱͛͛̐̏͗̿̌̈́͗ẹ͙̱̟̪͇̣̺̣̈́͋͑͌̆́̿̾͘͝ͅŗ̭͕͚͕͇̯͇͙͊̀͑́͐̏͛̀̎͜͠é̙̩̫͖̭̬̻̗͕̪͆́̅͛͊̀̊͆͋ ̟̠͍͔̭͕̮̦͔̗̏͋͑́̉͛͊́̚̚ä̢̛̯̗̪̬͍͉̟̘̳́̽̑̈́̋̆͋̂͝r̡͎̤̥̺̻̩̹̺͚͑͛̽̽̅̀̏̓͑̀ĕ̡͙̭̙̲̩̩̤̬͐͆́̃̊͌̔͛̕ͅ ͇̱̬̼̘̩̺̯͖̣͗̌̐̆͑̋͘̚͝͠ľ̢͓̣̖̟͚̱̙͚̒̓̆̏̐́̒͜͠͝i̡̢̦̘͙̻͎̞͇̣͗̈̀̽͊̉̈̍̾̃ĝ̢̢̛̤̰̘̼̮̮̝̽̽͒͛̾͒͝͝ͅh̨̟͉͖͉̟̘̳̙̬̍̔͊̄̏͗̒̕͝͠t̛̜̠̻̱̫̳͉̲̦̥̋͐͆̌̐̀̾̎̚s̡̨̘̮̩͍͙̫͚͒̆̍͐̄̆̅̀͜͠͠,̤͚͍̤̟̬̠̪̩͙̈́̀̿̓̾̋͋̽͗̃ ̡͕̠͈̠̝̠̬̽̆̅͊́̈̐͒͜͝͝ͅa̧̡̤̪͙̩͙̥̲̱͌͂̇̑̓́̀̈́̕͝ņ̦̳̝̟̻̫͓̽͊̅̏̌̐͑̅̕͜͝ͅḑ͚̪͓̬͉̬̟͓̋͋́̀̿͌̓̈́͘͝ͅ ̨̛̮̤̰̩̳͖̪̭͑̊̐̅̈̌͋̏̋ͅȳ̨̢̛̤͎͚̹͇̜͓̝͆̄̒̓͆͆͗͝ǫ͚̫̦̗͔̭̰̲͐̅̾̾̽̆̏͋̇̀͜ư̢̨̯̮̮͔̳̙̰̔̓͌̍̐̓̓̈́͐ͅ ̨̨̻̬̺̝̘̟̻̘͛̒̀̋̈́̔̕̚͝͝a̧̟̙̞̹̫̦̘̺̬̅̎̏͑́̿̆͘͝͝r̢̯̜̗̣̟̼̩̣̍̀̏̌̓̉̐̕̕͜͝e̢͕͚̮͈͉̱̝̮̦̅͗̅͗̅̽̀̑̕͠ ̢̡̛͕̺̖̳͉̺̪͉͐̓̒̅̈́͘͠͝͠ȍ͔͚̬͎̞͚̝̹̗͓͗̓̽̒̈̒͌̕͝n̛̮̥̬̪̭͎̱̹͇̫̈́̈́̂̒̋́͒̚͠ę̛͉͍̣̰̲̘̬̱̲̓̄́̀̃̀͘̚̚ ̧̡͈͙̞̜͎̥̬̠̂̾̽̀̌̈́͂̔̉͘

ờ̡͍̻̤̹̠̪͈̮̺̽̎̋̓͊͊̕̚f̨̫̪̠̠̲̯̞̐͆͊́͂͂̋̏̈́̑ͅͅ ̧̤̠̠͍͕͎̦͕͙̈́̏̅͊̿̑̕͘̚͝ţ̧̡̤̥͇̗̻̰̞̅̉͐͆͂̇̎̅̌͠ḩ͚͈̰̬̟͙̰̘̺̇͐̏͊͊̈́͐͘̚͠e̘̥̱̮͙͔̣̤̤̅͊̔̎̐͛͑̾͒͝ͅ ͔̹͔͚̖̖͎̝̱͚̊̀͌̊̈́̈́̑̔͒͝l̨̠̯̜̤̮͓͍͍̿̆͗̇̍̈́̋̚̕͜͝i̥̼͖͚͖̦͖̙̙͎͊͌̄̇̈́̅̂̈́̕͝g̢̮̹̫͚̗͖̖̳̀̂̈́́̆́̉̌̌͝ͅȟ͕̹̺̘̼̼̝͙́̑̀̃͐̏͆̈́͜͜͠t̨̧͔̯̣̩͔̮̦̮̑̆͋͋̆̉͌̊̔̐ş̘͓͎͉̥̩̼̬̝̑̔͌̿͑̒̈̅̂́,̧̼͚͎̻̘͚̙̗̯̋̓͐̽̀̍͒̅͑̀ ̼̟̱͙̤͎̖̘̟̫̊̿̈́̀̈́̐̃̈́̚͠ţ̧̡̘͎̺̖͔̹͓̾̔̒̃̄͋̓͘̚͝h̤͉͈̞̹̟̖͎͕̓͛͑̇̓̈́̊͒̕͜͝e̛̗͚͎̬͚̭̝̼̳͌́̇̑́̅̈́̓͠ͅ ̨̢͉̗̦͕̣̫̹̹̉̏̓̈́̌̃͌̂̍̚ļ̛͖͓͈̯̩͔͚̱͆̎̾͌͋͌̄̎͘͜i͓̖̞̣̦̳̯̙͇̜͑͐̍͐͐̅͒̓̕͝g͚͍͔͉̯̟͙̥̙̲͐̑̓̅̏̓̊̓̍̅h̯͈̹̝̙͈̼̺͇̦̀̉̋͊̉̒͒͒̂͠t̡̻͙͉̻̟͖̻͍̎̅̉̿͋̈́̽̋̕͝ͅ ̡͈̜͙̪̦̫͈̣̌̓̉̉̀͋̾̇͂͠ͅő͓̜̮̺͎͓͕̲̞̻̔̾̋̿̂̂͐̽̚f̢͙̞̭͓͔̟̠̿̽̈́̿͊̄̎̉̚͘ͅͅ ͉͕̥̭̩̦̜̖͙̟͋͑̅͑͊͆̈́́̆͠a̧̨͉̬͙̮̟͒̽̑̎̅͐̃͘͘̕͜ͅͅl̢̡̖͍̝̩̠͚̩̋́̅͂͌̆̐̎̚͜͠l̨̢̳̗̘̮̱̱̰̤̋͑͌͆̋̾̀̿͝͝ ̢͇͈͚̟̮͇̼͇͇͋̐̉͒̑̐͑́̽̕l̨̬̪̪̙̗̮͙̘̯̐̒̂̀̉̆̈͆͘̕i̡̮̘͚̲̲͎̖̗̠͆̾̎̽͗̓͒̚͘̕g͍̥͓̠̲̘͖̻̖͇̈́̔̿̋̾̾͐̆̉͗h̨̻͙̰̖̭̱̰̞͗̈̑͊̂̿̏̓͘͜͝t̘̘͕͍͚̳̟̼̯͓̎́́̒͗̐̓͝͝͠ș̢͕̲̻̮̙͈̯̐̎̂́̊̈́̎̉̿͘ͅ.̡̨̠͙̥͖̲̣̝̀̉̃͛̈́̈́͊̕͘̕͜

He wasn’t aware of too much, in the state he was in, but what little he could feel was a sensational burn that itched at his flesh. Though he lay within his coffin pale and grey, thin and his head nearly bald. He was not his usual appearance, he was not his usual monstrous-self, he was not use to this powerless-life. With the growing age, the growing time, the humans have evolved into something far more advanced to adequately deal with his old world magic. Their fears and suspicions have worked up quite the imagination and creation of horrid and unavoidable constraints that sought the likes of his kind out for centuries.

It started with the rumors that seeped out of his Kingdom and impregnated fear into the hearts of mortals. From their hearts bled a legacy, his legacy, and each year that passed the tale of his horror grew and he became recluse. Until some years ago when they found his coffin and captured the beast. For decades past that fateful day, they’ve restricted his intake of blood and weakened him to this state of thin flesh and bones.

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the mutual captivity dependency (romance) meme

Wanda Maximoff | mcu

Elliot Alderson | MR ROBOT

Charles Xavier | X-men movies

Wesley Gibson | Wanted

Pyrrha Nikos | RWBY | OTA

Rey | SW: TFA | OTA

Stahma Tarr | Defiance | ota

Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf - M/M

Charles Xavier | X-men Trilogy |OTA

Alistair | Dragon Age | OTA

Daniel Rand | Marvel (616 or MCU) | ota

Edward Nygma | Gotham | OTA

Fenris | Dragon Age

Alec Lightwood | Shadowhunters | m/m

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Naked Snake/Big Boss | MGSV | OTA

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jeremy fitzgerald; five nights at freddy's

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Elle Mel Marta | Tales of Xillia II

hello I have arrived with a less embarrassing tag.

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