Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC's, whom are loosely based off of either real people, or characters not my own.

A/N: You guys are rocking my world with the messages and support! Let's keep this puppy rolling. I take requests for fandoms, and pairings/triads btw!

The Ice King and the Glacier: His eyes were hungry like the wolf, but he could not strike the sheepling. His loins ached with a need never satisfied.

The Master and the pet: "Ouchie! Pickle, you amnest never do when sayings three."
"Trust me this, mah good laddie, it hurts a hellova lot less when yer not expectin' it."

The Slave: Like so many times before, he was alone; the true cursed, tortured child. Harry Potttwat could suck his dick.

The Puppet Master and the Princess: "Welcome home, Princess."

"Yes Daddy. It's been such a long time."

The Rage and the Fear: "Oh Jesus Fucking Christ CHARLES GODDAMN OFDENSEN YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" His hands clenched hard enough to snap someone's neck, screaming at the ceiling, face turning purple. Princess shrank away, close to tears.

The Truest Sadist: In the depths of the dungeon, oiling his floggers and chains, Charles Ofdensen let out a low, deep, satisfied laugh.

…

Nothing was ever really the same after that day in the Spring. Their bodies barely touched, but they danced in the waters, and spoke of old days. It was a place of peace, and of solitude; the Ice Bear was sharing his den with a doe-eyed fae kind. The Swede would be bitter until the end of his days, and hating everything about him, but he perhaps hated her a little less than most.

Words he didn't plan to speak to anyone, ricocheting about his skull at rocket speeds; words he could never spit from his lips, lest they strike, bullet holes ripping away at the soul. Pussy shit, this was. A Goddamn load of it.

Thora trailed in front of him, the sky marking the Fourth hour. Their mounts were contentedly grazing down the way by the stream that ribboned through the countryside. Mounting Uværsskyen, with a hand from the Norseman, she caught the light in the most brilliant way.

Setting rays haloed her damp, dusty crown, her eyes brighter than Arctic dawns. She smirked as his face flushed, in anger, that he had kept eyes on her for so long. He was over this shit, let's be real. Mounting himself upon Mörka Vindar, he galloped off without looking back, working his stallion into a sweat.

Thora picked her way home, watching him disappear in the distance. Toki would be worried by now, she was sure. She hadn't left a note, but they all knew she had taken to riding as of late. Uværsskyen nickered happily as the 'Haus came in to view, with the sun dipping down below it. For the first time in a long time, the Wartooth girl was at peace, and pleased. Things were alright.

…

Hours later, Princess was contentedly curled up in the lap of the Frontman, damn near purring in contentment. Nathan read a book that He rested atop her shoulder, quietly stroking her hair. It had taken exponential forces, i.e. Pickles and Princess, to soothe the rioting giant. This was one of the cruelest moves that The Robot had subjected Him to; Princess.

She came from the North East, a rescue from abused parents. She was originally a Gear, but was not suited for the sort of servitude expected from the Klokateers; Her service was a different sort. She couldn't tell them her name, so they had all called her Princess. She'd left at nineteen, after spending a year in the clutches of the 'Haus.

A Madame, one who happened to own one of the most extensive Dungeon Services, had become so fond of little Princess when She visited Charles one stormy afternoon. Madame Rikaelyn had bought her, immediately. Nathan, who was the fondest of their little pet, was made to prepare her for play, and to be her bodyguard during Madame's test drive, per order of Ofdensen.

Suddenly, she was being dumped back in His lap, His little girl. It was a trap, he knew. Charles was going to want something from Him, and God could only guess what that was. Nathan, surely one of the smarter members of His band, had trouble keeping up with The Robot and his hidden agendas. It was always a game, always a hustle. It was always bullshit.

The sleepy-eyed darling stretched, and yawned in His lap, letting a smile grace his lips. It had been four years, and He was certain every bleary-hearted dream splattered across His crying eyes had been the only time He would see her. A text, vibrating across His lap, as she sat up, and stroked his hair.

Drop the bunny with P. Come and see Daddy.

It took all the self control Nathan had to not explode; it was always a game, and he never won.

…

Charles was tap tap tapping away at his keyboard, focusing on getting a new Marketing Director in for Dethklok. The last one had met an unruly end, courtesy of William and his exuberance. Ah, the axe incident; always something to cringe over.

The door BANGED open, crashing the doorknob through the knob stopper. Charles jumped, and growled. He really needed to get Nathan-proof walls.

"The fuck is this?" Nathan slammed the door shit, shattering a window pane in it, and slumped heavily into a chair; cue the sulking.

Charles snarled. "We don't get to walk into my office like that, shitstorm."

"You don't get to play with me like this. Take her away, or give her to me, but GODDAMNIT CHARLES JUST CHOOSE!" The explosion from his vocal chords leveled well on his musical talent.

"I get to do what I goddamn want when I goddamn want to, puppy dog. Papa picked you and the other strays up from the depths of Hell. We lost Magnus, but then Papa adopted little Toki, and brought you a little Princess pet, and then, the little Thora kitten." Charles' voice was more dangerous than Nathan cared for, but the smaller man didn't scare him.

"I can go somewhere else, fuckwad. I don't have to be here."

"And where are you going to go, Nathan Albert, is it? You're thirty three; not to mention, no one would scorn me like that. If you wanna eat, and you wanna live, this is where you'll eat and live, as a member of one of the world's leading economical forces."

"This isn't living." Nathan muttered. He lowered his face into his hands.

"My grandfather was a Chief." The raven-haired menace snarled.
"And my people gave your people blankets. We see how that ended. Save me the sob story, pussy."

Silence filled the office. Charles went back to click-clacking away, typing up a new contract.

"Tell em what you want, Sir. Tell me what you need from me. I want to keep her."
"Will you feed her, and love her, and clean up her messes?" The Robot was cold-hearted, as the group had claimed time and time before.

"If it pleases you." His voice was defeat.

Charles had snatched Nathan from a bad run-in with Meth. When Nathan didn't behave, Charles slipped LSD, or some decent oxi doses in his food, until the withdraw was so bad, he complied. Charles had been loving, this was his first boy.

"You were my first, Nathan my sweet." Charles rose to smooth his midnight locks. "You're my best boy, you know that. You're gonna take over this empire on day, Nathan. Help me out, huh? And you can keep her your whole life."

Charles smiled, lying though his teeth. Princess was bought and paid for, owned by a woman, but Nathan didn't need to know. He had his uses first.

"All you have to do, my strongest bull, is make your way into Our Lady Wartooth." Crude, blunt, shaking. "Take her, and show her she belongs here, with us. Show her how we can love her here. Find out how I can keep her safe with me, huh my Nate?"

By safe, he meant controlled. He didn't need a wildfire here with these arctic hearts.

"Nate?"

"May I think on it?"
"Yes, pup. My dog of War. Go and play with your bunnyrabbit this evening, and see me when the week is done." Nathan sighed in relief, but Charles cold, accusing finger tilted his chin up. Jade met crystal, and the volcano bubbled. "But, my Nathan. Do not fail me on this, or your little secret about being a Daddy's Boy will hit the pages, and then where will you be?"

"I'll be a good boy." The mountain of a man mumbled as Charles tucked a lock behind his ear.

"MY little dog of war. Go fight the good man's fight."

The good little soldier marched off, to bury his face in the soft down of his Princess. He would do his damnest to keep her this time. She deserved him, and his love, but he didn't deserve the bat of her lashes. A Dog was not fit to love a Princess.

…

A/N: Plot development, y'all.