#'cause harm will befall them

[rayofmisfortune]

SO TODAY'S SAMS EP??

BLOODMOON FRIGGIN STAY AWAY FROM THE BOYS I SWEAR TO GOD YA'LL MAKE LIKING YOU TWO SO HARD *SOBS*

[acid-ixx]

that's my type! (again &. again drabble)

ft. yandere john constantine x gn! neglected reader w/ the batfamily

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

absolute shitpost, but i keep thinking in my series, again &. again, the awkward tension of having to reject all your suitors right in front of your family.

they don't explicitly force you to tell anyone off – suddenly, bruce believed in the means of gentle parenting after your abduction – but you can tell with their expectant eyes and damian's harsh glares or cass' fighting stance against the small crowd, that if you don't play with their whims, there might be more than broken bones and sore bodies after, compared to simply rejecting them as nicely as you could.

it's kind of like a peace treaty, a silent agreement between your side and theirs to ensure no harm befalls anyone you're close to, if you think about it.

you're still too considerate for your own good, after all.

"... sorry, haha... i'm not interested in dating any one of you right now," your voice is faint like the ghastly whispers of the hallways you're once subjected to, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, eyes downcast in fear of watching their reactions churn out.

if you don't take kindly to the past rejection of your family, then what of them?

imagine the silence that ensues first, then the short celebration after from your family's side. steph shoots your love interests a harsh glance, shooing them away in her high-pitched mockery paired with a mean grin and a tongue sticking out at the heartbreak plastered all over their faces.

there's a brief, "hn," on damian's side. despite the short reply and his still-crossed arms, you can tell it's a tone of satisfaction with just how his lips quirks up at the corner of his mouth.

you look away when your eyes meet his.

at first, you braced for the blinding shame that overcomes your being, these were people precious to you after all. yet the more you think about yourself even further, the more the cup spills with overwhelming anger instead.

anger at just how you allowed your sardonic, dictatorial family the belief that they could just control who you should and shouldn't spend your years of romantic pursuits with.

it's your dating life, not theirs! and you're a full-fledged adult, mind them!

no! this shouldn't be their moment, you shouldn't lose your dignity and reputation, seen as someone in the public eye allowing the very same people who estranged them the delusion of control over your emotional autonomy to romantic feelings.

you don't allow the time to stretch even further, touching your precious amber necklace when you're sure nobody's looking. it's gifted by someone special, and you hope your beloved on the other side, in another dimension, could hear your distressed signals.

there's an unsound churn, a melodic beat akin to the thrum of a heart that plays mechanically at the pattern your fingers run on the shiny crystal. a warm, intangible glow encases your body like a hug, he'll be here for you soon.

then before the celebration ensues, before dick could explode with absolute joy, praising his baby bird about how he's so proud that they're prioritizing themself or any other patronizing bullshit he wants to splurge, or before bruce can come over to you to give you a pat on the head, possibly even an awkward sidehug, and one of his rare smiles; you breath heavily, then with all your heart, retort with:

"— in fact," your voice booms with a sudden assertiveness that shocks even you, commanding everyone's attention on your furrowed brows and tired glare at the nuisance they're causing. once their eyes are looking expectedly on you, you continue with no hesitation.

"...i'm- well... i'm actually into older men...

— hell, i'm dating one right now..."

a magic circle appears right behind you, encasing your form in a sheer, yellow glow. goosebumps erode from across your body, both from giddy anticipation and the dramatic entry of wind that kisses your skin cooly.

after a momentary beat, alongside watching your wide-eyed crowd, john fucking constantine steps out of the space, his arms already wrapped dangerously close to your hips to be considered not intimate. you turn your back, head meeting his chest, and bring your arms to envelop his shoulders.

he smells of booze and pride.

"miss me already, darlin'?" john laughs and sweetly kisses your sweaty forehead, you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his shaved beard hovering above your head and the faint scent of cigarettes hitting your nostrils.

"oh, more than you could ever know, babe."

his lips find their way to your mouth in a quick peck, as your nose nuzzles with his. there were no other sounds surrounding you other than your shy laughter when his hands explored further below your hips.

after a moment of love-filled gazes, he turns his head to the crowd and offers them a bemused smile, the expressions of those watching makes your shameless pda all the more worthwhile.

alfred's jaw drops to the floor, the tray on his hands cluttering on soft, velvety capets, poor him. even your father couldn't even believe, in all his years of living, that this man had the balls of steel stealing the heart of his precious child.

he doesn't even have the contingency plan for- for this...!

cue the absolute shitshow that plays in everyone else's mind, as you try to convince your boyfriend to get you both out of the place because sloppily making out with you and fondling with the sensitive parts of your body in front of your suitors and family isn't the best course of action if he wants to lose all his limbs.

jason already got his guns out, damian his sword, and duke wouldn't waste a beat triggering his metahuman powers— you know your man, constantine, is a capable lover and fighter with years of experience, but against a crowd of metahuman love interests and a literal house full of trained combatants, you don't want him to sore his body out protecting you before the real fun begins in your shared bed.

all that trouble, when he's capable of teleporting you both away into a safer area, a different dimension where it's just you two. and, you know...

his hand playing with the fat of your ass is already enough to cause a heart attack for all of them, anyways.

a/n: woah, my writing style fluctuates a lot. as i've stated, the more i become invested with the dc fandom, the more i want to branch out with other characters too. i also want more creative plots ngl. this is inspired by my own fic, just a taste. please leave comments below, it's my main motivation bec i'm an attention whore (slash jay) and my works have been flopping lately LMAO. i hope you guys become as feral as i am for this british man.

[lustlovehart]

Okay, so, I was reading your Reverse Monster!Twst AU (AMAZING btw, how do you even come up with so many good ideas?) and a thought occured to me:

Since Rollo is a kind of "helper"/"partner" to us in the original Monster!Twst AU, why can't he be one for Monster!Reader too? Because the rest of the cast kept their roles as being against us, so of course our dear work husband should keep his role, too!

Maybe he was abandoned by humanity, shunned, forgotten by it, but Monster!Reader saved him, showed him mercy no one of his own kind did. Maybe because of that he now hates humans as much as he previously hated monsters.

I'm not sure, I just thought it was fun to think of Rollo and Reader being partners in crime in both universes

AHHHHHHH this is so cute (and thank you 💖) <33 (￣▽￣) Rollo going from Monster!Reader’s #1 hater to their number #1 supporter is so adorbs. I kept his hate for monsters in Reverse Monster!Twst simply because I like the idea that the 2 Rollo’s in the au would be drastically different from the way they treat you, but him also abandoning his original morals is so fun!!

Maybe maybe! Rollo came from an esteemed family of monster hunters, only for his parents and his younger brother to be found slaughtered. Of course, from the nature of the job, everyone in Sage's quarter assumes the doing to be a monster looking for revenge, unknowing of the fact their oldest came out alive.

The problem is, he… doesn’t seem to wanna say anything. They’re sure he’s traumatized. He’s been old enough to start monster hunting, however, so there’s no doubt he’ll enact revenge on the rest of the vermin populace! Except, none of them understand he’s silent, because his family’s assailant, in reality, was the same as him.

A human.

And the real reason he’s even alive is the fact you saved him, a beast. His silence is from the conflicting morals within. He used to hate your kind, yet look at him now, thinking of the way you pulled his body into the shadows and shielded him from view… When he looked at you, there was a striking familiarity. He’s dreamt of you before… Though you didn’t have those monstrous features. In another life perhaps?

The townspeople eventually grow less sympathy and more fear when they notice his new profound interest in you. He doesn’t seem to want to kill you… This is what eventually has the people talking behind him, wandering how an upstanding citizen like him could fall interested in such a dangerous foe. He hasn’t seen you since, and as time passes he seems to stare at your wanted poster longer and longer.

Truly… He thinks he’s starting to hate humans as much as he did monsters, and it’s all your doing.

It isn’t until he’s collecting flowers (all of them different colors of your features) to arrange, does he finally see you after so long… Pinned to the ground by a cruel monster hunter… A faction leader no doubt. He’s quick to run to you, entirely ready to do what you did for him. But he swears the sight of you looking back at him has his breath hitch. He feels his body give way, ready to fall to the floor, but his eyes remain trained on you. In the blink of an eye, you’re gone, leaving nothing but an angered hunter in your wake. For a moment he believes his need to see you has him hallucinating.

Until he feels hands pulling him into the shadows, and once again, he’s reminded of what you did for him. The both of you can feel the frustration that wafts in the air from that killer. When he’s finally gone, your hold on him weakens, an obvious sign you plan to leave entirely once again. Before you can though, he’s harshly grabbing onto your wrist, the most determined he’s ever felt since his family's death.

No words are exchanged, but he knows you understand when he feels himself grow lighter and his body disappearing with yours too.

Marking the moment, where you exist to cause the occasional civilization panic, and Rollo silently plots the end of humanity so no harm will ever befall you from those filthy hunter’s hands.

I’d like to think the first month he’s trying to have you slowly open up to him, as it’s a little disheartening you haven’t said anything… Through the second month, the same dynamic Reader and Rollo have in Monster!Twst finally starts to show, with him diligently taking care of all your tasks (some lighthearted, and some… worthy of the title monster), and you depending on him, along with the occasionally playful interaction. But… you still haven't spoken.

It’s only when the third month rolls around, and he’s arranging a bouquet (once again in your colors) as you lay your head on his shoulder, does he hear a whisper. Initially, he believes it to be his imagination, but it’s only when he hears you say it louder does he realize what’s finally happening.

“Like… You…!”

…

He’s sure he could end all of civilization right now.

[i-cant-sing]

Thinking about my own grandpa and how he'd comfort me with sweets/icecream whenever i had the slightest inconvenience and i just dream of whether he'd still do it to me as a 23 year old, ruffling my hair, letting me cut his birthday cake, scolding my parents when they got mad at me (yes i snitched on my parents), wiping my fat tears with his handkerchief, showing me his drawings of airplane engines as cold air blasted through the ac, letting me eat food from his plate that my mom made me bring him lol.

and like it grandparents are sooo sweet man. they couldve been okay-ish parents to their own kids, but then they get grandkids and they're like a whole different species *sniffle* theyre so precious.

and now my mind goes to that yandere todoroki clan au (i think it was the bullied series) where at the end, reader dies because of rei, and the whole fam loses their sanity. then one day, reader is reincarnated (its her quirk) as dabi's baby and dabi shares the news with his siblings because he needs to restore their sanity too (cause he feels responsible for them too, the "eldest kid" syndrome).

anyways, after you, his daughter had died, enji lost it and killed rei and then just vanished into the mountains to mourn his loss. years later, for whatever reason, he finds out about you. he's standing there, watching toddler you looking at him with curiosity. you stumble towards him, and Enji's on his knees at this point, he's in shock. your scars, your marks from your previous life dont even register to him until later on, all he can focus is you- its you, his baby. his daugher. his child that he swore to protect and failed.

your legs give out when you reach him but your hands reach for him and enji's already lifting you up, bringing you to his chest. his eyes are filled with tears as u look at him and babble, your hands grabbing onto his shirt, touching his face, big doe eyes staring at him.

he hugs you, silent sobs wrecking his body as he gets a whiff of your head. you- you smell just like her- like his daughter.

It really is you.

he doesn't let go of you, even when you eventually fall asleep in his arms, rocking you gently as he stares down at you in awe and disbelief. he doesn't let you go even when dabi tries to take you back, even when dabi insists that he won't keep you two apart, that you need to rest in your bed as he explains everything.

he finally let's you go when you wake up and reach for your dad (dabi), crying when enji doesn't let you leave his arms. but he relents, enji relents when you cry- it hurts him so bad, he's reminded of all the times how you used to cry before, how you used to beg him for help, beg him to save you. his heart breaks to see you like this, in tears.

enji's only partially conscious of what dabi is saying to him, explaining to him that you're now "his" daughter and enji's "granddaughter" and that's how things will be if they need to work. But enji doesn't care whether you're his daughter or not, all he cares about is that he's in your life because he needs to- he will keep you safe. He won't make the same mistakes again. Never.

i can just imagine the siblings and enji all sitting down together to make decisions about your life in extreme detail so that they ensure that no harm befalls you ever again, and if by some extreme badluck you die, they need to make sure that you reincarnate back to them.

they plan your every day, they make sure that at least one of them is with you at all times, and most importantly, they make sure youre safe and happy. when you start going to school, you're taken to school by Shotou because Dabi (who went back to working as a chef) has to go to work early. then at school, your teacher is more than likely Fuyumi (and if she's not your teacher, then she still works at your school). then after school, you're picked up by Enji who takes you out for ice cream (always, he doesnt care if its before u have had lunch. he needs to make up for all the times he couldnt give u ice cream because of rei) and also buy you any toys u want. enji is just enjoying you padding away and pointing at things that catch your eye. at home, natsuo has returned from his shift at the hospital and then starts heating up the food dabi had already made for you, before letting enji put you down for nap time. when you wake up, natsuo takes your vitals and a basic medical check. by dinner, dabi is home and you welcome him by launching yourself at his legs with a thud. he laughs, picks you up and pecks your cheek before taking you into the kitchen with him to make dinner while you tell him all about your day.

[rin-sith]

Let's talk about "Monster" ... and one of Odysseus' criminally underrated traits: his lack of judgment.

I was re-listening to "Monster" the other day and it kind of just hit me... Overall, that song isn't my favorite (it's somewhere in B tier; the lyricism is great, and the part after "So if we must sail through dangerous oceans..." absolutely slaps, it's just not one that I go back to frequently.) But there are some things I genuinely adore about it because I adore the way it progresses Odysseus' character arc as clearly not a "corruption" and how this is conveyed through the way the song is set up and presented.

First of all, I simply have to yap about how Odysseus isn't justifying his foes' actions the way that I have seen some people falsely assume. He's describing what they did or do and essentially saying, "They aren't letting themselves be stopped by guilt from doing what they think they have to do, so why should I?"

Polyphemus doesn't overthink whether it's right or wrong to kill some people because they harmed him or his sheep.

Circe may deep down feel guilt but isn't letting that stop her from turning men into pigs to prevent any more harm from befalling her nymphs at their hands.

Poseidon isn't losing sleep over drowning a fleet because that is what gods do to retain their infamy and status.

Odysseus and the rest of his soldiers didn't use the Trojan horse tactic out of malice or bloodlust, but out of pragmatism. It was the most efficient way to win a war that would have only cost more lives on both sides if they hadn't ended it then and there.

You look at that and you may think, "That's all very fair, but that doesn't mean any of those actions are justified" ... and you'd be right. None of the actions above are actually right or justified.

But the thing about "Monster" that I love so much is that it's specifically NOT something like, "These people I've encountered are all evil and ruthless and they are right and justified in being that way; I'll be the same." It's actually, "These people I've encountered act with ruthlessness; it clearly aids them in achieving their goal, and they seem to have figured out how to not feel guilt over their actions. I want to reap those benefits too. So far, I've been acting with mercy, which seems to have disadvantaged me. If they can do it, I can and should do the same to level the playing field."

Odysseus isn't saying that their actions are right, wrong, or justified. He's simply exploring why these people act the way they do. And he does so entirely without judgment.

I'm not surprised about him not judging Circe; while she was still wrong since she went overboard and struck preemptively against people who were not guaranteed to ever cause harm, she was pretty much redeemed in the end and her point is the easiest out of these to understand.

But the rest? Polyphemus killed his best friend. Poseidon drowned his whole fleet. The Trojan horse? It never comes up anywhere else but since he mentions it here, I think it's safe to assume that Odysseus feels guilty for using a tactic such as this. And still... Odysseus talks about his foes' actions with understanding and an open mind. He acknowledges their points of view—all of them, even if none besides Circe ever acknowledged or understood his.

The only time we genuinely see Odysseus act out of resentment is when he tells Polyphemus his name... After that, he never shows anything of the sort ever again. If he ever held any resentment toward any of his foes, I feel like this is where he lets it go for good.

Hell, even Poseidon, whom he would have by far the most reasons to resent, Odysseus doesn't actually judge or resent. I wrote a whole mini-essay on why the Vengeance saga proves that Odysseus doesn't actually seek or want vengeance on Poseidon. One might argue that he sounded like he was avenging his crew in "Six Hundred Strike" but it's important to remember that he offered Poseidon forgiveness one song earlier. He didn't lead with vengeance or resentment, but he rekindled his anger when Poseidon rejected his mercy.

My point is that Odysseus doesn't judge or resent any of the people who attempt to stand between him and his home... which shows incredible character strength in and of itself. This occurs later, but he acts similarly toward Calypso in "Not Sorry for Loving You" as well.

This is such an underrated trait of his, especially considering it fits perfectly with EPIC's themes, which revolve around seeing every perspective and balancing between ruthlessness and mercy. Honestly, I don't think those themes would even work with a protagonist who isn't so open-minded.

Coming back to "Monster," as we've established, Odysseus doesn't pass judgment on his foes. Similarly, he isn't saying that his decision to embrace ruthlessness and "become" a Monster (read more to find out why I put that in quotation marks) or any of his future actions as this Monster are justified.

I genuinely despise it when people call his arc a "villain arc" or "corruption" because that's pretty much missing the entire point. He isn't actually becoming a monster, corrupting, or genuinely changing his personality—hence why I put those quotation marks earlier. He is deliberately choosing to embrace a certain ruthless way of acting, fully knowing that it is not actually right or justified. "So what if I'm the Monster?" is self-gaslighting. He knows it's not "so what?" But he's doing it anyway because he has seen this way of acting aiding his foes. He literally says, "I must become the Monster / And then we'll make it home." He is convinced that this is what he must become because he keeps being told this by everyone.

From the top, his values or person isn't actually being corrupted. He's not really internally changing. He's merely adapting a way of behaving because he thinks it's the only way he'll still get home, and only because of that. It's really f*cking sad actually. Especially because he is wrong; his not being ruthless is not actually the problem, as we find out later.

Genuinely, his monster act lasted exactly 3,5 songs; in the second half of "Mutiny" it's already all gone because he is so afraid for his crew and what they're about to do to themselves that he instinctively goes back to wanting to save them despite how they just led a mutiny, despite how they don't listen to him regarding the cows.

Odysseus' entire arc can be described as, "He tries out mercy, and it doesn't get him home. He tries out ruthlessness, and it doesn't get him home either. In order to get home, he needs to learn balance, in Hermes' words "Every trick in his domain"." And that is also, as I believe, the main theme of EPIC: Neither ruthlessness nor mercy by itself is the solution. Both have their place; one needs balance. Or: treat people as they ask to be treated.

Only by the time of the Vengeance saga does Odysseus seem to have finally figured this out, and that's where he genuinely starts succeeding.

So no, Odysseus is no longer "The Monster" by the time of the Vengeance saga, no matter how much the visuals in "Six Hundred Strike" try to convince us otherwise. But he isn't "Just a Man" either. Did anyone besides me notice how he stopped calling himself this or justifying his weak moments like that in "Monster" and how he doesn't go back to it even after dropping the monster act?

And here we have the perfect segway into an essay I haven't written yet that might answer the question, "If now he's not a man and not a monster, what is he then?"

Well, technically Odysseus told us himself that one time he acted out of resentment... "Neither man nor mythical." But that's an essay yet to be written... I'll get to it soon, and there we might answer what actually happened in "Six Hundred Strike" and why the line "If you dance with fate I know you'll enhance your state", that I see is mostly overlooked, matters so much more than we probably all think.

Until then, know that I am not actually the first one to address the "Neither man nor mythical" significance. Credit goes to @glisten-inthedark; coming across her post on this matter genuinely enhanced my understanding of what happened so much and I need all of you to read it because it's a truly brilliant conclusion. I'll write my own essay on this topic soon, I promise. But without that post, I would've probably not come to this realization for a long while.

Either way, we end this essay with words that I will never tire of repeating: Stop villainizing Odysseus, y'all. It's not cool, not only because it's undeserved but also because it pretty much shows that you have successfully missed the point and core theme of this musical.

... See you when we inspiration for another essay strikes me. In the meantime, have a brief introduction to what that essay will cover in meme form because I can.

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Six

Series Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - mentions of pain, mentions of death, mentions of torture, angstttt, sadness, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

It had taken 17 hours for y/n to stir.

17 hours of Azriel sat at her bedside hating himself for allowing her to venture from the cabin alone and picturing himself grabbing her hand at the last second to stop her from leaving him.

17 hours of verbal beatings which would have been physical if it weren’t for his refusal to leave her side.

Aelin was furious, her wildfire blazing as blue as her eyes across each one of her limbs.

Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word, but his eyes didn’t leave Azriel for one moment, and he hadn’t unclenched his fists from the moment he had stepped foot into Prythian and scented the direness of the situation at hand.

Lorcan and Aedion also refused to move from the room, being her bloodsworn they had a duty to protect and serve her, and they felt as if they had failed in a sense.

Then there was Manon, the gold eyed witch queen with talons so sharp that they had drawn blood from Azriel’s arms when they coiled around him and demanded to know what had happened with a voice so venomous that he was sure she would drink his blood if she could.

In short, everyone despised him, and even Rhys was reluctant to offer a safe hand to his brother. Azriel understood, Rhys had only just gotten his sister back, and was feeling like a failure in his own way for sending her in the first place. Rhys was so ashamed of his request that he had allowed Aelin to preside over y/n’s care with Yrene, as well as the scouting missions she had ordered Rowan and Manon to embark upon to ensure that no attack would befall the city whilst y/n was injured and vulnerable.

The last 17 hours hadn’t been kind to y/n. Black poison poured from the bandages secured around her chest and abdomen, which meant that Yrene had to change them more often, and a fever so damning had taken over her body, causing the Queen of the Erilean Fae to sweat and shake uncontrollably whilst her body fought an internal war to win back her life. It was horrible to watch, and it all could have been avoided if Azriel had been there, flying below her and ensuring no one could pick them out of the skies, or if Rhys hadn’t sent them to begin with.

Azriel could picture it. A fond and vivid image of y/n flying above him. The rain would cause her raven black hair to stick to her skin, but it was the thin wisps of baby hair that stuck to her forehead that made the faintest of smiles to appear on Azriel's lips. Y/N seemed so unbothered up there, so... at home. Much like he found solace in the shadows, she found songs in the storms. A peace that could never be tainted.

That's what he willed himself to see when he looked upon her pallid, fever-stricken face. He willed himself to see the version of her that she would have wished. One where she was happy. One where she was plagued by serenity.

None of them could pinpoint how Hybern had known that y/n was in Prythian, or how they knew that she even existed in order to create the only poison that could be used to weaken and fatally harm her. Even Yrene had uttered that the ingredients were sparse even within Erilea. It meant that someone had spent valuable time collecting and crafting in order to inflict the pain onto y/n. Azriel swore to himself that whoever it was would die for it in the most curdling manner his mind could fathom.

It was within the thirty second minute that she stirred, her kaleidoscope orbs appearing beneath her fluttering lids and a small groan of torturous pain emitting from her lips. Azriel moved from the chair beside her to the mattress in a matter of seconds, disturbing the peace by shouting into the void for Lorcan and Aedion to call for Yrene, and the healer came quickly at their demands barrelling down the halls.

Yrene was closely followed by Aelin and Manon, the latter of which growled once she spied Azriel’s marred flesh tainting the purity of her queen. The red cloak of Manon swept against the stone beneath her feet, her claws were retracted but her teeth were poised to rip the throat out of anyone who got too close, Azriel included. Not wasting a moment, Yrene crossed the room whilst fastening her apron at her back, reaching out to lay her hand on y/n’s forehead and stealing it back with a hiss and the scent of burning flesh. “How are you holding her?” Yrene asked, perplexed, holding her burnt hand to her chest.

To Azriel, y/n felt hot, but not searing, not burning. From the beads of sweat that teared down her pallid cheeks, he knew that she was struggling to fight off the poison and the infection that came with it.

The Shadowsinger didn’t answer.

Instead, he kept his hazel eyes upon her face, tracing the slow beat of her eyelids and the quaking of her gasping lips as she attempted to form a word. “Y/N,” Azriel cooed gently, causing y/n to stop trembling for a moment, “To me,” he told her, pulling her darting eyes from the ceiling and to his face, “You need to save your energy and rest. Close your eyes and sleep. Let Yrene heal you.”

It wasn’t as much as a command as it was a plead, but she listened, shakily nodding her head and shivering into slumber, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

He felt the golden eyes of the witch queen on the side of his face, Manon couldn’t understand how y/n hadn’t noticed her at her side, she couldn’t understand how y/n’s eyes found Azriel instantly over her own. Azriel moved his gaze to meet those orbs of gold and speckled black, refusing the back down even if he did find her terrifying. “She needs Doranelle,” Manon spoke, not to Azriel despite him being in her eye line, but to Aelin who stood behind her, and to Rowan who was propped against the doorway.

“We’re stuck here,” Aelin reminded her, making it clear that she had already thought the same but knew it was impossible without y/n’s power to rip open the fabric of space and time to take them there. Aelin dropped to her knees beside y/n, the fire coursing through y/n’s veins battling against her own, and she ran her fingers down the side of her face, worry clear and fear prominent. “This King,” Aelin spat, “Knows what he has done. Your war will be coming sooner than you think, and he’ll seek to destroy her along with it.”

“I won’t let him,” Azriel growled, tone low and threatening, and eyes peeking through the thickness of his lashes whilst his hand kept entwined with y/n’s like he was her link back to the land of the living.

Aelin honed in on Azriel, drinking in the dark possessiveness in his eyes and the way his shadows flitted over the skin of her dearest friend, almost as if they were trying to shield her from the world.

It wasn’t like Aelin truly blamed the Shadowsinger for what happened to y/n, she knew first hand just how difficult she could be when it came to anything she felt determined to do. In all honesty, Aelin blamed Rhys the most and had told him plenty of times of the fact. Y/N was Rhys’ sister, he knew how important she was to other worlds let alone his own, and he willingly put her in danger. Such motions threatened the survival of Prythian, and by extension, Erilea.

The feelings of Aelin were probably why Rhys had stayed away, waiting for the rest of them to leave for the evening before spending the night at her side, reading and telling her stories of their father and sister to then only leave at the break of dawn when Lorcan and Aedion would arrive. Azriel was the only one who stayed every minute of every hour, refusing to be anywhere else, out of guilt or desperation Aelin would never truly know, but part of her was thankful for it.

Do you see it?

Aelin craned her head over her shoulder to find Rowan’s orbs fixated on the pallid body of his friend and former princess, a woman he had spent centuries protecting and training. His sight pulled from her to Aelin and he nodded, eyes flickering to Azriel who had turned all of his attention back to y/n.

Yes.

The yawning of Aedion who was sprawled across a chair in the far corner halted Aelin from probing Rowan further. The unimpressed guise of the chamber fell upon him, “Tired, Cousin?”

Aedion shrugged, motioning to Lorcan with a wave of his hand, “She’s funnelling our energy through the bond. Forgive us for feeling a little lethargic, Aelin.”

“What do you mean? She’s funnelling your energy?” Azriel asked, brows furrowed and trying to grasp the meaning in his mind.

Sighing, Aelin explained, “Y/N is incredibly powerful,” she smiled upon y/n sadly, “There are aspects of her power that she refuses to use, abilities of the darkness that she inherited from her mother, Maeve. She can absorb strength from those sworn to her and from those who offer their power to her,” Aelin nodded toward Aedion and Lorcan with her eyes softening, “Y/N is absorbing the strength and energy from Aedion and Lorcan, they are her bloodsworn, and her body is in such a bad way that it seems the dark spots of her power are grasping onto anything they can to keep her alive.”

“It’s happened before?”

Aelin smiled thinly, trying to offer some comfort to Azriel who was beginning to understand the pain inflicted upon the woman before his eyes, but before Aelin could reply, Manon’s voice echoed between them. “Once. She was in a much worse state after she destroyed Maeve, her power was drained for the first time in her life, and she was severely injured from what Maeve did before the battle. All of that put her into a state of comatosis. It took her weeks to wake.” From the heaviness of Manon’s recount, Azriel knew just how close they were, all of them, so he understood why they blamed him, hated him.

“I’m sorry that I let her leave the cabin. I’m sorry,” Azriel spoke, staring right into Manon and trying to decipher whatever emotion lay within those cold golden orbs.

Rising to his feet, Aedion crossed the room, nudging a lingering Rowan on the way, “It’s fine. Y/N is a stubborn thing, she’s pulled the wool over all of our eyes at some point.”

“Like when she sacrificed herself to secure my freedom?” Aelin asked with a smile, leaning to run her fingers along y/n’s arm.

“Or when she trailed the ilken following Elide and I and slaughtered them all without us even realising it?” Lorcan huffed with amusement, creeping closer to the bed with humour in his eyes and his arms firmly folded over his chest.

“Then there’s Skull’s Bay,” Rowan almost sang, the words being the first noise he had made since he had arrived in Velaris and the room hummed in fond remembrance.

“And we won’t ever forget how she took possession of that burst dam and swallowed Maeve along with it. She saved us all that day, even when she was barely alive,” Manon spoke softly, a speckle of humanity shining through her soul shrouded in stone, “She’s family,” was all the witch queen said, an olive branch of sorts, an explanation as to why she had been so difficult.

Noting the concern in Azriel’s eyes, Aelin lay a hand upon his shoulder, gentle but unyielding, “She’s survived worse, Shadowsinger. Don’t underestimate her, you won’t survive the humiliation.”

Silenced followed after that, well, silence for Azriel at least. Whilst he traced the contours of her face, the rest of the room spent some time reminiscing, talking fondly of Erilea which Azriel somewhat listened to but didn’t engage with. All he could really wonder was what place could be so worthy of someone so perfect, and part of him wanted to walk the streets of Doranelle for a moment so that he would be able to understand it.

Only when Yrene would periodically swim by would Azriel lift his eyes to give her a thankful smile that she would return with an unspoken warmth. It seemed as though y/n had a family of her own, just like he did, a family not of blood, but of unbroken bonds and unyielding wrathful friendship. They’d all die for one another, it was something Azriel could resonate with.

After an hour, the doors to the chamber opened and Feyre stepped in, fumbling with her fingers and eyes floating through the room until they landed on Azriel and Y/N, and she found her heart fluttering at the way he looked at her, it reminding her of how Rhys’ gaze embedded itself into her at all times.

The expectant void of words caused Feyre to float back into the room, “Rhys would like a meeting. We should discuss next steps in this war and in y/n’s recovery. Yrene can stay with her, it won’t take long.” Aelin rolled her eyes but stood, muttering something about a false king under her breath which caused Rowan to chortle a laugh as they passed by Feyre. “You too, Az.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Yrene told him softly once she realised the reluctance in his eyes and the way his fingers curled tighter around her hand, “If anything happens, I’ll call for you. I promise.”

Stiffly nodding, Azriel stood from his seat that was imprinted with his frame, he pressed his lips tenderly to the pallid and slightly bruised knuckles of y/n before laying her hand softly upon the mattress and following after Feyre, stealing one last look at the fussing Yrene as her glowing hands floated over y/n’s torso yet again.

Azriel trailed behind the group, lingering at the side of his High Lady as they all sauntered through the halls of the House of Wind. Whilst pacing through the fortress, Azriel couldn't help but allow his gaze to float between each one of the other-worldly beings. Beginning with Aelin and tracking how her arm slid around Rowan's waist, to Rowan who placed a tender kiss upon her brow, to Aedion and Lorcan who were bustling shoulder to shoulder, clearly being too large for the width of the halls, and then there was Manon, red cloak swaying at her back and moon-white hair braided over her shoulder whilst her eyes darted past every doorway like she could see beyond them.

Yes, Azriel was very sure of y/n's safety being almost a guarantee.

With all of his watching and observing, he didn't notice the eyes of Feyre drifting over his face with a quirked smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, "You don't leave her side. Why?" Feyre asked quietly, catching how his eyes thinned slightly as he searched his mind for an answer that would appease her.

"I feel guilty," he tried to say, but the heaviness of his voice betrayed his words.

Feyre gently slipped her arm around his, resting her fingers on the indent of his elbow and pulling him into her side softly. "No. I don't think that's why," she gave him a pointed look, one loaded with knowing, "You feel something for her, despite only knowing her for a few days. What draws you to her?"

A more adequate question would be what didn't draw Azriel to y/n?

"I wasn't sure at first. If you had asked me why I couldn't concentrate at the High Lord's Meeting then I would have told you the truth. It was because of her. Not because she was new, or because I thought she was a threat..." Azriel trailed off, his voice softening and shoulders falling lax, like all tension had floated away, "It was because looking at her made me feel like I was finally home. There is a warmth within her, and a darkness that mirrors my own. She is fierce and tortured, but gentle in ways no one would ever be able to begin to understand. Y/N has spent her life fighting, being used for what she can offer but not being appreciated for who she is, and I think that I understand that."

"So, you seek to protect her?"

"No," Azriel sighed, looking to Feyre with a sparkle in his eyes that she'd never though she would ever get to witness, "Well, yes. But I seek to give her a life free of torment. A life of love and one void of the restraints of her station. I seek to be her freedom, Feyre."

The High Lady of the Night Court found herself blushing from sheer excitement. Feyre had noticed it the moment y/n had waltzed into their lives, limbs exposed and hair flowing, eyes glowing with the light of a thousand storms; she had seen something spark, a cog falling into place after so long tumbling around without purpose.

"Does it help that she is the most beautiful thing to walk the universe?"

Azriel scoffed, "Her beauty is incomparable to what lies beneath it," he told Feyre, glancing sidelong with a smirk, "But I suppose she isn't half bad to look at."

Feyre tried to conceal her chuckle behind her hand as they both entered the dining room that Rhys had converted into a meeting room for the sake of convenience.

It was clear that sleep had escaped him, and what was even more pristine was the fact that Aelin could not have cared less about it as she took her place at the head of the table, further solidifying her position as leader of their little merged group. Rhys didn't contest, instead he simply moved to the opposing end, motioning for Azriel and Feyre to take a place either side of him.

A usually convivial dining table now swimming with discontent from two sides.

Aelin assumed her usual position. Legs propped against the tabletop. Arms folded over her chest. Dagger gleaming in the pale lights and reflecting upon the ceiling. A warning. A dare.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Aelin's head curled to meet Rhys' sight, "Have you figured out how this world knew of her and the only thing that can weaken her?"

Silence consumed the room like thick onyx poison, drowning and dimming all forms of barely there happiness. Rhys shuffled in his seat. He had to send himself on such a mission since he knew that Azriel refused to leave his sisters side, and he had come up empty handed.

The location of y/n's downfall had been left void of any traces of armies and magic, the only sign of this incident occurring being the blood soaked earth where Rhys had stood for an hour cursing himself for even thinking about sending her away when he had only just gotten her back.

If he could, he would go back and rip the order from his mouth. He'd carve out his own tongue to keep her hidden.

"No," Rhys spoke roughly with a throat that hadn't been quenched by water in what felt to him like days. "I assure you that such knowledge has never reached Prythian. I sent word to Helion and Thesan, enquiring if such a poison were in any of their libraries. There isn't."

Lorcan scoffed and glanced to Rowan who had his lip curled upward into a snarl from his place beside Aelin, "And you believe them?"

Sprinkles of magic littered the air, casting a faint shimmer that filled the spaces of the open arched windows whilst the faint sound of laughter from the mouths of little ones echoed upward to the House of Wind.

"I do," Rhys gulped. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a hand down his face that was soaked with exhaustion. "Helion and Thesan aren't only High Lords of Prythian. They are friends of the Night Court, and their lives have been dedicated to research and healing. They would never withhold such information."

"Forgive me for not believing a word of it," Aelin muttered, fingers tracing along the hilt of the dagger on the table. "Your enemy knew that she would come. He knew she would come looking for him, and he knew exactly how to ensure her death. If it weren't for that last burst of power that brought Aedion and Lorcan to her position, she'd be gone." Aelin leant forward in her seat, feet falling flat against the ground and venom laced in her words.

"You foolish man. Sending not only your long lost sister but our queen into the belly of a beast without being able to ensure her safety. Your world isn't the only one at stake here. If she cannot recover from this then your world will perish, and our world will have lost its fiercest warrior."

Manon chuckled, pulling the attention of the room to her, and Cassian who was placed beside her leant away from the talons she was running the pads of her fingers down lazily. "In other words, if she dies here, we'll ensure that you do too. Or well, I will," Manon flashed her iron teeth at Rhys, causing Feyre to shift uncomfortably in her seat as her fingers became entwined in his own, allowing her power to ebb and flow from her essence in response to Manon's threat.

Remembering his position, Azriel's eyes manoeuvred over Manon, then Aedion and Lorcan whose fists were clenched but possessed tired eyes, before landing on Aelin and Rowan who were struggling to contain themselves. Tendrils of shadow scattered over his shoulders, dancing wildly in a brisk wind from an opened door, sauntering up and down and shaking in rhythm with a silent, reverberating thumping that was grasping at and rattling his bones.

"I think it would be wise to refrain from talking to my brother like that," the room collectively snapped its gaze to the doorway, and Aelin rose to her feet instantly.

Before them all stood a pale but healing y/n. She was grasping at her side but walked forward with a pride Aelin had never seen before, not in someone who was hours ago so close to the grave. There was something dark about her, the power itself or the contrast of her hair and eyes against her whitened skin Aelin wasn't sure. But what was clear was that she knew something, the truth and ire dancing in the dimness of her eyes. Something that could change the course of all of their fates.

Y/N's silver skirt kissed the ground as she stopped at Rhys' side, laying her hand atop his shoulder and squeezing it weakly, "I can understand being protective," y/n moved her eyes around the room, slowly raking over each one of her Erilean family, "But don't be mistaken into believing that threatening my blood is big or wise. I decided to take to those skies alone. It is my doing and mine alone."

Azriel felt his heart stop when her eyes finally found him, and he stood instantly, offering his arm and seat and feeling a sense of completeness when she accepted his touch and found comfort in the sensation of his presence behind her.

"Y/N-"

"I'm not finished," a voice of dread and death cut through the plea that fell from Aedion's lips, a voice of a ruler, a voice of one of the most deadly beings the universe would ever know. Inhaling deeply, y/n closed her eyes for a moment, as though she was preparing herself for something, and in sensing her discomfort and hesitation, Azriel lay his hand at the top of her spine, allowing every emotion and ounce of pain to wash through his veins.

Y/N visibly relaxed.

"In my sleep, the attack played in my mind over and over again, not like a nightmare, but in a way to make me see the truth. To push me to see beyond the pain," her eyes were downcast, but she moved backward into Azriel's hand, feeling a blanket of certainty and warmth coiling around her frame. "When I was flying over their camp, I felt the power of the cauldron. It was a drowning feeling, it made me feel confused almost, and I felt a certain type of dread. I was scared."

Y/N's eyes dragged down the table, settling on Rowan with eyebrows tight and fear visible within her irises. "There has only ever been one form of power that has ever made me feel like that. Maybe I was too wrapped up in what was happening to realise it."

"What are you saying, y/n?" Rowan urged, knuckles turning pale from his grip around the arms of his chair.

Without thinking about it, y/n's fingers faintly traced over the scar that had held Azriel's attention in the cabin. A morbid reminder.

"Dorian and I had a theory. That souls from our world didn't pass on into the afterlife but rather fell through the plains separating Erilea from other worlds. It had only ever really been a theory, but it was something that we couldn't stop thinking about. It haunted us in a way."

Because they had both lost a parent.

"But being here now with a poison in my veins so putrid and complex that no one from this world could have ever known of it. I realise what is happening." Aelin leaned forward, gaze flickering over the face of her friend until their eyes met. "There is only one person who knows how to make it. Only one person who would find joy in seeing me dead. Only one person who would seek to ensure the upmost pain. Only one person whose power terrifies me."

Aelin's eyes blew wide. "No," she spoke a hush above a whisper, "It can't be. She's dead. You killed her."

"What's going on?" Rhys entwined his fingers with those of his sister, feeling her fear bristling against the walls of her mind like a battering ram, splintering and wrecking the cage of her consciousness.

Realisation was floating about the room, to all those bar the Inner Circle. Rowan's head hung low, his eyes closed and nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale, and Aedion couldn't lift his eyes from the tabletop.

"Maeve is here. My mother has come to punish me by devouring your world. Only when you're all dead will she kill me, and then can she conquer Erilea for the final time. Who knows, she might even keep me alive long enough to watch Doranelle and Terrasen burn." Y/N turned to Rhys, bottom lip almost wobbling, "I'm sorry. This is happening because of what I did."

Rhys dropped to his knees before her, taking her burning face in his hands and stroking his thumbs along her cheekbones. "We'll face it. We'll face her. And may the Mother grant her some mercy when I get my hands on her." He read the depleting light in her eyes, knowing that whatever energy she had been granted was wavering. "Let's get you back to bed. We can face this tomorrow. We still have time."

The High Lord of the Night Court went to hook an arm beneath his sisters arms, but she wrenched herself away to the side, still under the touch of Azriel, and looked upward to him. It was a silent plead, the widened watering eyes and a gentle shrug that lifted her shoulders.

Azriel moved instantly, scooping y/n into his arms and hugging her tightly into his chest, propping his chin on the crown of her head as he wordlessly carried her away.

Author's Note

I know it's been ages and I'M SO SORRY

Taglist

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[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS: THE PROLOGUE

TRIKARANOS is a comic about Crassus until it isn't. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read (in the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to make it through Patreon!)

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the Public Domain [as per the Met's Open Access policy]

🍊 The Abduction of the Sabine Women, Nicolas Poussin 🍊 Obverse, a Terracotta neck-amphora depicting Aeneas rescuing his father, Anchises, during the fall of Troy. [description taken from the Met] 🍊 compositional study for The Lictors Bringing Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David 🍊The Battle of Vercellae, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo 🍊 The Capture of Carthage, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

UNDER THE CUT creator's commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn't need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it's a comic and a story first and foremost, but it's here if you're curious and want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

so! there are a couple of accounts about the return of Marius and Cinna, I've chosen Appian's account for the primary source of inspiration, although I've cut the cast down to it's barest essentials because I want the claustrophobia of violence to really eat itself.

Cinna now began to despise his enemies and drew near to the wall, halting out of range, and encamped. Octavius and his party were undecided and fearful, and hesitated to attack him on account of the desertions and the negotiations. The Senate was greatly perplexed and considered it a dreadful thing to depose Lucius Merula, the priest of Jupiter, who had been chosen consul in place of Cinna, and who had done nothing wrong in his office. Yet on account of the impending danger it reluctantly sent envoys to Cinna again, and this time as consul. They no longer expected favourable terms, so they only asked that Cinna should swear to them that he would abstain from bloodshed. He refused to take the oath, but he promised nevertheless that he would not willingly be the cause of anybody's death. He directed, however, that Octavius, who had gone round and entered the city by another gate, should keep away from the forum lest anything should befall him against his own will. This answer he delivered to the envoys from a high platform in his character as consul. Marius stood in silence beside the curule chair, but showed by the asperity of his countenance the slaughter he contemplated. When the Senate had accepted these terms and had invited Cinna and Marius to enter (for it was understood that, while it was Cinna's name which appeared, the moving spirit was Marius), the latter said with a scornful smile that it was not lawful for men banished to enter. Forthwith the tribunes voted to repeal the decree of banishment against him and all the others who were expelled under the consul­ship of Sulla.

Accordingly Cinna and Marius entered the city and everybody received them with fear. Straightway they began to plunder without hindrance all the goods of those who were supposed to be of the opposite party. Cinna and Marius had sworn to Octavius, and the augurs and soothsayers had predicted, that he would suffer no harm, yet his friends advised him to fly. He replied that he would never desert the city while he was consul. So he withdrew from the forum to the Janiculum with the nobility and what was left of his army, where he occupied the curule chair and wore the robes of office, attended as consul by lictors. Here he was attacked by Censorinus with a body of horse, and again his friends and the soldiers who stood by him urged him to fly and brought him his horse, but he disdained even to arise, and awaited death. Censorinus cut off his head and carried it to Cinna, and it was suspended in the forum in front of the rostra, the first head of a consul that was so exposed. After him the heads of others who were slain were suspended there; and this shocking custom, which began with Octavius, was not discontinued, but was handed down to subsequent massacres.

Appian, Civil Wars I, 70-71 (trans. Horace White)

Plutarch's biography of Marius also recounts the same event, but I was leaning more on Appian for this.

ALSO! the choice to use Giovanni Battista Tiepolo's painting The Capture of Carthage as a backdrop to Octavius: it's because Cinna and Octavius were co consuls for a minute and Rome and Carthage are twin cities (instar Carthaginis urbem babyyy), and I do love the doubling/twin-ification of a thing. which is what co consuls are to me. we're overlapping the themes, in addition to the overlapping of violence, which is what all iterations of Rome are founded on.

Textual Monuments: Reconstructing Carthage in Augustan Literary Culture, Nora Goldschmidt

the chapter cover is my own illustration of an Etruscan kantharos because Crassus may or may not have had some kind of Etruscan heritage. YMMV but for me it's fun to think about

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward (& the citation!)

[melancholiania]

DESCENSO

[yandere! king magnifico x reader]

summary: snippets of king magnifico's love with you, his darling, a bright light in a kingdom he is rapidly losing control over.

[you assume queen amaya's role in this fic, but this is a gn!reader fic and there is no reference to reader's gender.]

warnings: THIS IS A YANDERE POST/FIC. read at your own risk. pretty tame, but watch out for auditory hallucinations, aggressive behaviour and the like. one mention of blood, and one mention of murder.

word count: 3.6k+ words

a/n: so...wish was low-key ass (asha deserved a better movie). but magnifico is one of the few highlights of the movie, and he is so ripe for yandere potential!!! a traumatised man who clings to the people's wishes out of his own skewed sense of right or wrong and his descent into madness (as poorly as it was done)? ooh baby!!! so for my writing comeback, enjoy this fic! (i'm also taking a lot of liberties with the wish system and overall lore because the way they explained it was irritatingly confusing with so many plot gaps, so if there are any inconsistencies please forgive them haha)

please reblog and reply! would love to see your comments!

✵ When his homeland was ravaged and his parents were murdered in cold blood by bandits and thieves, Magnifico, having just barely come into his own as a man, in his grief, swore he would never cause harm like this to befall any home he would find ever again. He would run, and run, with only a tattered tapestry being the last reminder of the birthplace he knew would never exist again.

✵ His gift of sorcery was, despite his innate talent, not an easy one contrary to popular belief. Years of blood, sweat and tears were spent pouring over tomes and scrolls filled with the whispers of strength and potential. He would travel all across the Iberian peninsula, seeking out and absorbing knowledge to protect himself. He travelled often, collecting books and tomes to keep for himself (especially one rather large book unexpectedly given by an odd stranger that he never dared to open), and never settling down in fear of danger befalling him and anyone he would meet.

✵ That is, until he met you.

✵ He'd never have known today was going to be any special. The sky is clear, a light breeze flowing through the ports, with grand sailboats almost flying across the Strait of Gibraltar. Magnifico reads his notebook of spells by a small cathedral, the only place he had been able to beg for sanctuary. As he angrily scratches out the wrong glyphs with his stylus, a leaf, its hues of midnight blue and green rich and fresh, casually falls onto his notebook. Irritated, he looks up.

(In his older years, he would realise it was a mere coincidence that a simple leaf, serendipity, let him discover you.)

✵ You are a vision as you pick oranges from trees by the cliff overlooking the docks, hands skilled and adept. Despite your simple garb denoting your lack of status, you are stunning. Magnifico swears he can almost hear your sighs of exertion as you drop a hefty basket of said oranges. His hardened heart sinks, but it is not a bad feeling, not at all.

✵ His...infatuation feels like he's drowning in marzipan, a sweet, beautiful sight for him to consume and devour, gorge on until he cannot eat anymore. It feels like drinking rosewater, or even like the feel of lavender oil, a soothing balm in his soul he cannot bear to let go of. He shakes his thoughts, palms suddenly sweaty and ruining the ink of his spellbook as he decides, for the very first time since the massacre, to bear his heart to someone.

You.

✵ And it all started with a simple "Are you alright?!" As he haphazardly shoved his book into his rucksack and rushed to help you on that fateful day.

✵ Years pass after your fateful meeting and eventual marriage. Building the kingdom of Rosas with you as his beloved partner is a dream that Magnifico has nearly completed in full earnest. The people adore him and you...you are loved too, yes, but you prefer to be more in the background, wanting to support your husband, yet your reserved nature not being the best suited for public speaking.

(A small, tiny, itsy bitsy little part of Magnifico, tucked away beneath his glossy veneer of a royal persona, secretly prefers it this way.)

✵ By now, the wish-granting is in full effect. Every new resident of Rosas is told of the miracles their king provides (often with great enthusiasm by its citizens.) You willingly petition to give up your wish to the king during court, in exchange for your utopian life in Rosas, and King Magnifico will grant it in front of the entire kingdom, a spectacle of light and wonder.

✵ To be truthful, Magnifico loves the power to help his people. It feels euphoric, granting their wishes as his power flows from his very essence to aid the world. The way the people's faces light up when he gives them their heart's...no, their soul's desire, it strokes his ego in a way little else can do. The hypnotic allure of power flouncing through his fingertips is a tempting feeling for reasons he cannot describe with common words.

✵ But, unbeknownst to the general population, he saves his most powerful magic for you, his darling, his star that fell from the heavens, the one he loves with every fibre of his mortal flesh. You are that little else who matters more than actually granting people's wishes. Your wishes are more important to Magnifico. And that is especially true today...

.

.

.

The sun is rising as you peer over your documents in your personal study, with trade agreements and decrees that make your head spin. Magnifico has little interest in these matters, so as the second half of the royal couple and the ruler who actually bothers to worry about these matters, you have to take on the bureaucratic duty.

The golden hour casts streaks of sunlight all over your spacious chamber, and the ceiling sparkles with accented gold paintings of constellations replicating the night sky above Rosas (Magnifico had instantly conjured them there when you lamented over the plain white stucco on top). You hear your door open.

“My love?”

You crane your neck and smile as the white-cloaked figure of Magnifico saunters in with a restlessness that belies his stormy blue eyes. He seems rather nervous, hands already twitching with sparks of sorcery that make you eye him fondly. He always acted much younger than his slowly graying dark hair would have one believe.

“¿Mi rey?” You soften your gaze. "What's wrong?"

Magnifico sits on the armrest of your chair, leaning in to inhale the scent of the nape of your neck as he sighs in relief. He seems rather apologetic suddenly, arms hugging himself as he eyes you with those same blue eyes, lightening just a bit so they seem like circles of roiling seawater and not storm clouds crying in anger.

“It’s your birthday today, my love.”

You raise your eyebrows, relieved that it is nothing more than a trivial matter. "Oh, who cares about that nonsense? You know I never truly celebrate my birthday publicly, Magnifico. Just you and I—"

“My...Our people have not made celebrations in your honour.” You tilt your head at his rather matter-of-fact statement, your brows furrowing in concern as you realise Magnifico has become rather upset.

“Magnifico, I—“

“Rosas should be celebrating YOU LIKE I DO! I would create miracles for you, destroy mountains, reshape forests for you, my love. The least my people can do is to acknowledge that you even exist as my spouse and consort!”

You sigh and ruffle his hair, soothing his heaving breaths as you gently wipe his glimmering eyes. “No, Magnifico...all I need is you, mi rey. You, the man I love, with me by my side.” Magnifico leans into your touch, chest slowing as he calms down.

"I just wish the world saw how much I adore you, my light," Magnifico mutters as he pulls off you and gets off the armrest. He turns around in a flourish of his shimmery cape to face you, left hand outstretched as his magic conjures a small figurine of your visage, made of glittering, mirror-like crystal. You chuckle. "You are such a hopeless romantic, mi rey." "Only for you, my love." He then leans in to kiss your forehead, eyes half-lidded as he watches you with adoring eyes.

"Only you."

✵ Rosas is no exception to the rule of time, so years pass as is the natural order of things. The kingdom has only grown in scale and vibrancy, people slowly but surely filling the kingdom with every day that passes. You and Magnifico settle into your roles as King and consort, Magnifico's magic allowing you both to last longer than your people could ever imagine.

✵ And, well...Magnifico begins to grow resentful. ✵ Wish-granting is becoming more of a chore than a true display of his powers for the common people to admire and sing their praises for. Week by week, day by day, he must grant wishes to the people who seem utterly ungrateful, only waiting for their turn at a chance for power, opportunity, or some other useless wish that Magnifico, for lack of a better term, could not give a rat's ass about. And they have begun to take his sorcery for granted.

.

.

. "¡Joder!" You startle as Magnifico sends his tubes of potions flying, clattering, shattering onto the polished marble floor with a CRASH!, the purple liquid seeping out onto the tile. Your husband is not like himself tonight, all anger and no lighthearted smugness, no kindness at all. He heaves, arms crackling with pale blue energy, fingertips craning as if they were claws. You had come here to bring him to bed, the moon having risen long ago and the lights of Rosas dimmed for the night. He had recently become more irritable and gruff, but you had been assuaged with honeyed words from him assuring you it was alright and he was just having an off-season. When you had opened the mirrored door to his private laboratory with a wave of your hand (only he trusted you with the gestures), you had not imagined it would be this dire. "¿Mi rey? Please...come to bed. You seem unwell, and experimenting all night is not good for your health, even if you want—" "NO!" He angrily circles the laboratory, furious as he crunches the glass of the broken test tubes beneath the sole of his boots. His pupils are contracted, and his breaths are constricted, as if he needs to explode lest he causes something truly harmful. "My people....they take and take and they take, with no thanks or gratitude for me! I take care of them, I clothe and house them out of the kindness of my own heart, and all they want is their wishes!??" He sends a bronze cauldron flying with his magic, a burst of pale blue that makes the cauldron clatter next to your feet. you step back, and the squeak of your slippers alerts him, his head snapping at you. He is on you in an instant, arms wrapped around you like a vice as he gasps and snarls hefty breaths, chest rising up and down in rapid succession. He breathes your scent of orange and cinnamon, and his heartbeat slows to a simmer, and he quietly murmurs, voice tired. "I'm sorry...sorry, so sorry, my love. I just...I cannot keep giving and giving and seeing n-nothing given back to me from my people..." Magnifico's voice is chock full of exhaustion, a pain he cannot let you truly feel. "Our people are a demanding bunch, are they not?" Your attempt at a joke makes Magnifico huff with mirth, a rare occurrence these days. He pulls back and brings his hand to caress your cheek, and you lean into it. His magic, now much less volatile, manifests as small glittery specks around you both. "They are. they really are," your husband replies. He looks at the glitter surrounding you both and brings his other hand to reach out for them. You watch him do this and quirk a small smile. "You do not need to bow to our people's wills every single day. You are only one man." You push in for a kiss on his soft lips, and he clearly wasn't expecting it, his blush hot and red as you pull away, turbulent blue eyes brightening like clouds parting on a sunny day.

The soft linen of your night clothes swishes as you begin to exit his laboratory, and you turn your head to utter one last thing. "Tell me when you are struggling, please. I'll always be here for you, Magnifico." As you head off, Magnifico places his fingers on his lips, tracing the remains of your lips on his own, heart racing once more with a longing that threatens to consume him. He looks up to the high ceiling of his observatory, the dark austerity of the structure calling to him. Wait.

Yes. Oh, yes, he finally knows how to fix this. "Thank you, my love. Thank you, so very much."

And with a flourish of his cape, he puts on a manic grin as he levitates the broken glass with a flick of his hands. Time to put his plan into action.

✵ Another few decades have passed, and it is currently the present day. Rosas is a flourishing, robust kingdom, a place that most other countries would consider a utopia, all thanks to King Magnifico and his consort ( ). In the years leading to now, Magnifico has only grown in skill and power, thanks in part to his new form of wish granting that has eased his own suffering. ✵ Every month or so, Magnifico takes the people's wishes when they turn of age, the most important wish, the one that powers one's being. He takes care of them in his laboratory, and on the same night, he grants one person's wish, which of course, he does with his usual penchant for spectacle. ✵It's so much easier. No more begging, no more exhaustion, no more fear of handing power to the wrong person's hands. After all, only he trusts himself with this power he worked so hard to hone and maintain.

(What he fails to mention to his people is that their wishes are of no benefit to him, not anymore. He has lost any true care for them, for his new system is to only prevent them from trying anything. He only cares for the one closest to him now.) ✵He has you to thank, after all. His smart, gorgeous, talented, beautiful ray of light, who allowed him to even think of this new system, and who stayed after his outburst that should have scared you off. And he does thank you, by pampering you as much as he can. ✵ He conjures the finest clothes for you, pieces of cashmere and silks and taffetas. He makes (forces) the cooks to cook for your every whim and desire. On public tours of the kingdom, he makes a reminder for any citizen who even inconveniences you just once. ✵ And later on, if people forget the miscreants even exist...well, that is not his problem to care for.

✵ Magnifico needs a new royal apprentice, as the last one blew up part of his front-facing study. He could have easily fixed that with a wave of his hand (and he did, all while glaring daggers at his very terrified apprentice), but he fired the man nonetheless. Frankly, he felt good getting rid of him. He was completely useless at making even the simplest potions anyway. ✵ Sure enough, after a soul-sucking set of consultations, the last hopeful, Asha from the village of Hamlet, arrives. Magnifico sees you talk with the young girl as you two ascend the Sisyphean number of stairs leading to his study. His heart flickers with a sense of paranoia once he sees Asha; something about her bothers him. ✵ He's been recently having similar bouts of suspicions and delusions, all green-tinged scenarios of you leaving him and the kingdom he worked so hard for falling into chaos. The little vegetable seller by the sea during your royal tours could be an assassin to kill you. The little child who you greet by the palace could be a plant from a neighbouring kingdom set out to kill you. The royal kitchen could poison his beloved's meal and you would choke out and pass in his arms. ✵ Whispers cloud his mind, his ears fine-tuned to the haunting words they serenade for his ego. They tell him that this girl is someone who will destroy him and all he loves.

✵ Everywhere, he sees your death. And every time, he vows to prevent those ideas from ever reaching the light of day.

✵ But for now, as you introduce Asha to Magnifico at his doorstep, he quietly grits his teeth and forces his lips into a smile. Maybe this Asha girl will be helpful for him, and not spell the kingdom's downfall he has seen in his visions.

✵ A Star was ripped from the sky. ✵ A. Star. Was ripped. From the sky!!!! ✵ This is not good. Not good at all. Magnifico was specifically reminded of this in his visions. A star falling out of the sky, destroying the kingdom of Rosas and dragging you into the depths of darkness, leaving him forever alone. .

.

. Magnifico paces around his study, you sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, eyeing him with concern masking your wariness. A worried Magnifico is a reckless Magnifico, and as he throws a sacred tome to the fireplace, it raises alarm bells in your heart.

You immediately get up a second after when he reaches towards the locked Book of Spells, ignoring his buzzing blue sting-flies as they leap from the glass case as a defensive spell. His hands begin to be ravaged, but he ignores the pain and blood as he pulls the book out, ignoring the bottle of obsidian oil as he opens the pages. "Mi rey, forbidden magic is not the answer, you know this!" You yank his arm away from the Book, and Magnifico's eyes lock with yours, eyes narrowed in a desperate glare. For a moment, you swear they flash an unnatural green. "You should do well to not test me, ( )." You frown, upset. Magnifico does not threaten. He whines like a child at times, yes. He even yells if he's truly tested on a bad day, angry and petulant. All of that you have seen in your decades of marriage to your beloved. But to threaten you? You fear something has gone terribly wrong, even as you convince him to put the book away. As you both gaze over the kingdom from his personal balcony, his arm around your waist has never been tighter than it has been today, bloodied fingers gripping you as if you are a doll he cannot bear to let go of. He whispers in your ear.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I just...you are the only thing I want to keep safe anymore. Tell me that you understand. Please." He kisses your hand with an adoration that feels heavy and oppressive. He gazes into your eyes, and they are back to their crystal blue, reflecting the bright blue of Rosas' morning sky. "I am so lucky to have you," he whispers once more. You wonder if you feel the same.

✵ In hindsight, you should have convinced him more effectively. ✵ The minute you had seen the centre of his study already opened, stairs leading a downward spiral into the depths of darkness, you feared the worst. And you were right, much to your exponentially increasing terror. ✵ Your husband, still dressed in his white robes, is hunched over his worktable, inhaling audibly as he pulls out a staff of crystal, sleek and sharp, from the cauldron bubbling with the same unnatural green magic you swore you saw reflected in his eyes. ✵ You know you are outmatched once his laughs of excitement deepen and stagger into maniacal wheezes that fill the dark chamber, the green consuming the background as he turns to face you. ✵ "Daaaaarlinnnng..." ✵ So, the only thing you can do is try and reason with him.

.

.

. "So you side with her, then? That traitor?"

The way he speaks Asha's name with such disgust coating his words already adds to the mountain of warning signs your heart is screaming at you. But you press on. "No, Mi rey, I—" The sharp end of his staff lands only inches away from your neck. Magnifico tilts his head to the side in a mockery of innocence, and if this was a different, much less terrifying time, you'd admire the way his eyes filled with adoration and the way his white hair was slightly dishevelled, his smile wide like a hyena's. "You know, I've realised a few things." He saunters closer to you, staff back at his side like a knight with his sword. He hugs your waist, eyes gleaming green with adoration.

"No one matters to me. It has been this way for a long, long time. Not the kingdom, not my cavalry, not my staff or my alchemists. Not anymore." He gently places a hand on your chin, and you resist the urge to scream and push him away. "But I love you. And me, of course," He adds with a humorless chuckle and continues. "But all this time, I've loved you so much. I built this cursed kingdom for you, I studied sorcery to provide you the best life I could give with my heart and soul. Every bit of anger, every bit of sadness, every bit of happiness, I feel for you." You try and reach for a ceremonial dagger that is only inches away, hanging on the dungeon wall. You're so very close to it, but you miss Magnifico's eyes shift quickly to the left and notice. "So when I see you conspiring...with that STAIN on our happiness..." He grabs your hand, crushing it like a thumbscrew would, and you realise your hopes of escape are dashed. "...I get, well, a little upset." Magnifico grits his teeth, shards of crystal-like mirrors blasting up from the dungeon floor, and you finally scream as he grabs you close, the dungeon ripping into itself as you both rise up on a small platform made of black glass. Now back in the grand study, you can only watch helplessly as he slams you to the floor, staff pointed at your injured form. The mirrors only grow higher and higher, surrounding you both as he laughs the most sinister laugh you have ever heard from him, oily, layered like a crowd of Magnificos are laughing along with him, revelling in your fear. His eyes are acid green, and his smile is wistfully manic as he speaks his final words in a sing-songy tone.

"After all, if I can destroy myself for you and you don't even want me anymore...well, we can't have that, can we?" His perfect white smile is hellish.

"I'll keep you safe here where no one else can harm you...all to myself."

gif by @/picsani border by @/enchanthings-a

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

What a Lovely Way to Burn~

La Squadra x femme fatale!reader

MDNI

Content: Poly, Mother used as a nickname for reader, slight mommy kink for Melone, suggestive, casual relationships, implied sexual content, canon-typical violence

Intro

Part 1:

-relationships with each member-

“When you put your arms around me

I get a Fever that’s so hard to bear”

They’re your only companions at this point. The only human connection you get is through them, hence why you’re pretty physically affectionate with them. The only hands ever allowed to touch you are the ones that belong to your assassin co-workers.

-Formaggio calls you “Lil Mama”, a nod to his stand ability and your nickname as a founding member of the team. And he thinks he’s funny. “I said I’d take care of it, so relaaaax lil Mama~”

So cheeky…he purposely uses it when you’re in a bad mood too, just to irritate you further. He does actually respect you, but he’s always got a laid back and comfortable demeanor around you. You guys aren’t in any sort of official romantic relationship, but also a bit too cozy to be friends. You’re comfortable with him touching you, his lap is the perfect size for you and you’re happy to joke around with him since there is a level of trust between you. Sometimes when you get cold, instead of asking for a jacket you’ll let Formaggio very gently prick you with his stand and slip you into his shirt pocket instead. You both think it’s funny.

Sometimes you’ll stay at his place, or him at yours. He’s the guy you most frequently borrow clothes from, since he has the most normal wardrobe out of the group, and you like how large and casual most of his shirts are.

He’s one of the guys you’re happier to go out with, since beyond his sadism in his private life, he’s social and easy to get along with, and doesn’t usually cause trouble in public like some of the other boys might.

-Illuso uses “Mom”, and occasionally “Big mama” when he wants to be playful with you. He just rubs you the wrong way, he feels even cockier than the others, and no matter how often you humble or correct him he never learns and always keeps that smug smirk on his face. How often do you have to threaten to light his nice hair on fire before he learns to LISTEN?!

You know he wants your attention. Of course you’re part of the same team so you’d never go so far as to actually wish for any permanent harm to befall him (unless he was really, REALLY asking for it), but he’s at the bottom of the list of favorite co-workers. He’s the only member of the team strictly not permitted to touch you. You do not find him pleasant or enjoyable company at all, and Risotto knows to not send the two of you on missions alone, lest you finally snap and stick your flamethrower down Illuso’s throat. Though sometimes it’s a bit of a fun game to deny him the pleasure of a reaction. His turn to get annoyed when you just dismiss him instead of getting angry.

You’re beginning to realize he likes any type of attention, no matter if it’s positive or negative.

-Prosciutto: Considering how he often he uses “mammoni” as an insult, it’s not surprising he doesn’t use a variation of “Mother” as a nickname for you. He’d look like a Hypocrite and he would NEVER hear the end of it. He has a reputation as one of the meaner members of the team, so when he does decide to use it, it’ll be with a negative connotation. He tries to rein it in around you, but you’re not immune to his snarky comments and general rudeness. He likes when you’re tougher on some of the more unruly members of the team, like Melone and Ghiaccio…but he wishes you’d keep them all on a tighter leash. He considers himself responsible for teaching Pesci, so you need to stay on top of all the more experienced members. You’re too nice to the ones that don’t directly annoy you, even when they make fools of themselves. You in turn don’t know where he gets off telling you how to lead as second-in-command.

The two of you have a sort of rivalry. It might even be subconscious, but you think he believes deep down that HE should be the second-in-command, and not you. You do enjoy a good debate with him, he’s cute when he’s all pissed off at you, trying to correct your leadership style or whatever you’ve done that upset him this time. Often these arguments end in angry make out sessions, his grumbling still audible even while he’s definitely enjoying your lips passionately pressed against his.

He shuts up for a minute afterwards, suddenly at a loss for words…but he’ll inevitably complain about the lipstick stains you left all over him.

There always seems to be Some Sort of tension between the two of you.

He’s too rough, you don’t love when he touches you since he holds you too tight or comes off way too aggressive when he tries to invite you on a date.

You will be physically affectionate with him, but only when you’re either upset with your more preferred partners, or they’re not there at the moment.

He’s frustrating to deal with, so you’d never tell him how comfortable he is to snuggle with. He’s a bit tense, but his chest is almost always exposed, and super fun to rest your head against.

-Pesci: Of course you’re nicer to Pesci, he’s got a much more tolerable personality than the rest of La Squadra. Calls you “Mama L/n” like it’s actually a title, with time you’re able to convince him he has permission to use your first name instead. As much as you don’t love Prosciutto’s “tough love”, you know he has a point about how Pesci needs to toughen up to keep up with the rest of La Squadra.

But, well…a part of you likes that he’s the only one who doesn’t just kill without hesitation when someone superior snapped their fingers.

Though he’s a little Too timid most of the time for you to have fun with him. But you know he can get serious when a scenario calls for it.

Pesci has a lot of respect for you, as you’re a senior member of the team, and your tough but fair personality when you dealt with him.

Of course the others notice you’re kinder to Pesci than them, but they’d really be stupid if they didn’t see you just found his personality easier to get along with.

You often went on missions with Prosciutto and Pesci, not with the intent to protect the younger brother from his much too harsh older brother; you know Pesci is much tougher than even he knows. You actually go along to supervise the elder brother and that indiscriminately destructive stand.

Pesci is free to touch you, but he pretty much never initiates. It doesn’t help that someone seems to have told him you’re only being nice to him as a joke. What an asshole…you’re guessing it’s Illuso or Melone being jealous but it would be much more productive to just try and communicate with Pesci than beating up whoever’s trying to start some drama.

-Melone: GOD Melone gets on your nerves, of course he’s weird about you. It doesn’t matter how often you kick his ass or scream at him either because he LIKES it.

You still remember the first time he begged you to let him use his stand on you, he said something weird about how your “delectable, ideal assets” made you a suitable Mother for Babyface-

But he said it in front of the rest of La Squadra and [Everyone Disliked That] and you thought for sure after that verbal (and maybe physical if you’re Prosciutto and Ghiaccio) berating from literally all of his teammates he’d smarten up and control himself around you but…

You’re the ONLY woman he gets to be around frequently, AND you don’t run away from him either, so how is he supposed to be normal around you?! And you know he means it in a kinky way when he calls you “Mommy”…but you’ve learned how to use his pathetic behavior to your advantage.

You make great use of him, he completely bends to your will like a desperate simp. Often times he’s the one kneeling in front of you eagerly sliding your heels on your feet or painting your nails and even massaging your shoulders after a long, irritating day. He’ll do whatever you ask, because it means he might get to touch your skin and smell your hair and be close to you. You feel a twinge of disgust at the way he practically drools over you, and his comments about how wonderful your body is while he licks his lips often invite smacks or kicks from you, which only makes him more excited and insistent that you would be a PERFECT mother for a murder machine.

You can handle him though. As irritating and invading as he is, he has never crossed a line where you actually felt the urge to set him on fire. He has this weird fixation on your legs, so only when you’re in an especially good mood or don’t feel like fighting with him you’ll slide your legs over his lap when you’re sitting next to each other on the couch. You let him poke and prod and salivate over you as he pleases until he pisses you off or gets too excited.

-Ghiaccio: You understand him on a deeper level than most of his other teammates try. He’s angry because it’s the only emotion that gets results in his eyes. You get it. Sometimes the only things people pay attention to are yelling and violence.

You won’t catch him calling you any of those “Mother” nicknames, he finds it asinine and disrespectful. (“IF YOU’RE GOING TO REFER TO HER BY A NICKNAME BASED ON HER POSITION AS A SENIOR MEMBER OF THE TEAM AND THE SECOND-IN-COMMAND WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU USE “MOTHER”?! SHE’S AN ASSASSIN NOT A HOUSEWIFE! IF YOU REALLY HAD TO USE A NICKNAME FOR HER USE SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE CONTEXTUALLY! I MEAN HOW HARD IS IT TO CALL HER “MA’AM” OR “SIGNORA”?!?”-Ghiaccio.) Everyone kinda tones him out when he starts yelling about it, and you can try talking to him about how you don’t mind the nickname at all and EVENTUALLY the rants will go down in frequency but he will probably always tense with irritation whenever someone calls you “Mother” in any way.

Your stands are opposites of each other. His is a shield of ice. Yours is a weapon of fire. At first there was a lot of doubt over your compatibility on missions, but the two of you are a deadly duo. There’s something truly elegant about how you splay out along the back of his car, scorching to a crisp anyone bold enough to chase the two of you after an assassination.

You get along with him well. He rants, you listen. Your soft voice gently chiding him for overreacting actually calmed him down, much to everyone’s surprise. And if you have a problem, he’ll fix it for you, one way or another. There’s no hiding that he has anger issues, but he makes an active effort to keep himself more under control when you’re around.

You try to be physically affectionate with him, but it’s kinda awkward given how little relationship experience he has, and his general insecurity he feels around you.

He runs cold, he’s lean and sharp, and he cannot sit still for the life of him; whether he’s bouncing his leg or drumming his fingers against something or simply can’t find a comfortable way to sit. As soon as you try to lean up against his side you’re usually met with squirming and trembling, and he is SO tense. When he does try to hold you back, he squeezes too tight and for only very short amounts of time before he huffs and gives up and distances himself from you.

You assume he just really dislikes the physical affection, so you try to back off, since you value your relationship with him.

And that just makes him freak out. You’re not making efforts to snuggle or get close anymore…he worries he’s ruined a good thing, and he has no idea what to do about it.

He would rather die than try to verbally express how he feels to you, even though the embarrassment he’d feel if he found out he was completely misreading your relationship this entire time would kill him anyways.

So for the first time since you know him he tries to initiate some physical affection to try and rekindle whatever you had before. It’s awkward, he looks the complete opposite way from you the whole time because eye contact makes him uncomfortable as he slides his hand along the couch towards yours, clumsily tangling his slim, cold fingers around your much warmer ones. This was a good compromise. Hand holding worked out perfectly for you two, even though he found it So embarrassing to do in front of the others. They won’t tease too much though. Since he can kick most of their asses very easily.

-Risotto Nero: If you were the “Mother” of La Squadra, he was the “Father”. The two of you have known each other the longest; none of the others saw the progression of your relationship since it was from before they joined the team. If there was anyone who would really be referred to by the title of “boyfriend” it would be Nero despite nothing ever being said officially.

The closest thing to your actual lover, you and Risotto share an intimacy that almost came off as a couple that have been married for years: not particularly passionate or romantic, but you have a deep understanding of each other. Similarly to how you can calm down the other members of the team, he is the one who can calm you down. He’s not a fan of PDA (I mean. Just look at him-) but you’re an exception, so as long as you don’t get carried away and try distracting him with kisses in front of the others, you’re free to wrap your arms around his neck or sit on his lap whenever you want (within reason). Don’t expect him to always feel like touching you back though.

You don’t think anything of it anymore since you’re so used to it, but you are kinda a wife to him when you compare how your relationship looks with him than your other on again, off again “boyfriends” of La Squadra.

You’ve spent quite a few nights in his bed, his apartment is always open to you so you’re welcome to come and go as you please. If he comes home and you’re randomly in his bed he won’t be bothered at all, and just scoot you over a bit after he slides off his jacket.

He’s the only member of the team you usually sleep with as of right now. Sure you might kiss and snuggle a few of the others, and maybe you’ve shared some intimacy every once in a while with them, but what you have with Risotto is the most serious. He’ll indulge you occasionally, but honestly you’re just happy to have a companion at night, a familiar figure beside you in the darkness of the bedroom.

The other members have to wonder what it is about Risotto that does it for you. He’s so. Stoic. Maybe you like that lack of emotional intelligence? The truth is you always feel like you have to present yourself in a certain way in front of the others and in public, but Risotto? You can be more vulnerable with him. He never overreacts or judges. He’s a good listener, honestly. And he trusts you with serious tasks and classified information more than anyone else. You don’t let him down, so he’ll support you in turn. You both appreciate the equal costs and benefits nature of your relationship.

[argisthebulwark]

All Emotion Dripped Away

summary: skyrim men and their red flags <3 gn reader, no gendered terms or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Cicero, Mercer warnings: some unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Brynjolf's inability to commit is maddening. The worst part is that you understand exactly what led to him acting this way - losing Karliah and Gallus at such a young age, Mercer effectively ruining every positive moment they've shared, thinking that he's lost you. You can understand his aversion to committing himself to another person but the knowledge doesn't make it any easier to handle. "Must we put a label on it?" He groans, dragging your chair closer to his. He leans closer, lips only a few inches away - he knows exactly what he's doing. It's his most common maneuver - kiss you until you can hardly think, distracting you from anything deeper. "It's difficult to think with you so close." You breathe, attempting to resist his charm. "Aye, as you've said." "Don't you want more?" You ask, allowing his fingers to creep under your armor. "Why ruin a good thing?" His kiss is full of heat, a promise for more to come if you're willing to forget this conversation.

At first, Miraak's protectiveness was sweet. He accompanied you on missions far from home and fought at your side. Losing Mora's power had only caused him to become more focused on retaining the skills he had. Over time, it grew. You noticed him tagging along on shorter trips, soon finding that even a quick visit to a nearby village for supplies was a two person job. You'd faced dragons and giants, climbed High Hrothgar and aided in the resolution of a Civil War - yet it seemed you couldn't be trusted to walk a few miles from home. "I don't want to risk you, my love." He insists, falling into step at your side. "What if you were harmed? What if you're hurt and no one is there to aid you?" You don't like this almost childish way he seems to view you - once he'd doted on you, though now it almost seems as if he doesn't trust you to walk without some grievous injury befalling you. He's coddling you.

As an outsider, Vilkas had always appeared confident, headstrong, willing to tackle any problem. He's strong and intelligent and well spoken, of course he can handle things. As a partner, you've been surprised by his avoidance. When you were a recruit he had no trouble voicing your many faults, even as his Harbinger he's been critical - but not his partner. Those problems remain firmly within his own mind. You know he bottles them up, stewing on these emotions until he talks himself out of being upset, rationalizing everything. "If you don't tell me what it is you need, I cannot give it to you." You've pleaded with him, desperate to make this work. "I love you more than I can say - please, all I need is for you to talk to me." "There is nothing to talk about."

Farkas' recklessness had saved your ass on many occasions, but as his spouse it left you a nervous wreck. He'd often laugh off your worries before leaving for days, unable to communicate due to clearing out some bandit camp. His lack of self preservation reduced you to a mess of nerves, trying to work through it but unable to stop your eyes from wandering each time a door opened. "It's not a big deal." Farkas pouts, kneeling before you. His armor's all strapped into place and a pack of supplies hangs over one shoulder - he's about to leave again. Your heart kicks into overdrive, fingers shaking when they clasp the sides of his face. "I always come back safe, dear." He reminds you, that easy grin on his face. "Do you not trust me out there without you?" "I'd feel quite a bit better if I were at your side." You admit, staring pointedly at the sword slung across his back. "We do work well together." He agrees, a kiss planted on your cheek before he stands. "But you're the Harbinger, you have more important duties." Of course you did - your duties included paperwork and worrying, both of which were beginning to wear on your nerves.

You can't fault poor Cicero for his inexperience - he spent far too many years alone, no one but the Night Mother to keep him company. Isolation had changed him, left him lacking the knowledge many others took for granted. Of course you love him, you'd fallen head over heels for the fool and never looked back, but your relationship didn't come without it's own trials. He'd never learned the common things to do in a relationship; little things many couples did like dates were nonexistent and he had no clue how a normal relationship was paced. Falling for each other was easy, why hold back? Why not go all the way? It didn't help that his relationship with the other assassins was strained at best - some were friendly, others shut him out entirely. You were the only one he could turn to, the only one willing to share a meal and a laugh with your beloved Keeper. "Listener, will you teach poor Cicero how to love you?" He coos, gently combing the hair away from your face. Your first instinct is to refuse, to tell him that it's too much - but the peaceful smile melts your heart. "I want to love you the right way."

Often, you find yourself what Mercer likes more - being with you or keeping secrets from you. He omits things that don't even matter which only heightens your anxiety on the topic; if he's willing to lie about something as trivial as who went on what job or which client he's meeting with, what else could he be hiding from you? You tell yourself that it's nothing, just a survival trait he's picked up over the decades of leading the Thieves Guild, but it's impossible to ignore. He doesn't seem to enjoy the jealousy it incites within you but you can't quite puzzle out what he gets from it. In the end, it's easier to accept that he merely enjoys keeping secrets. Only the gods knew how long it had been since he'd last opened up to anyone and you were afraid that prying would make him snap shut the little window you've carved out in his heart.

[authorautumnbanks]

Stranded With A Demon Lord and the Strongest Sorcerer (10)

Read Chapter 9

Satoru drums his fingers on his knee as he sits on the floor with his legs crossed. He's not sure what the deal is with this Yami dude, but what he does know is, the demon- half demon—better stop looking at Kagome like that before he breaks his fucking teeth.

Just because Yami looks like a kid doesn't mean he is one...so yeah, he can get all the smoke if he doesn't fix his face. Satoru turns his head ever so slightly to the side and observes Sesshomaru.

No reaction. No emotion. Nothing. Sesshomaru gives nothing and everything away. He's just as pissed-if not more so- as Satoru.

He chuckles to himself and goes back to watching Kagome.

"Ebeelx, is it possible for us to have a room to sleep in? I think we'll be staying around here for a bit longer if you don't mind," Kagome says, rubbing the back of her neck.

Is her neck bothering her?

Satoru stops drumming his fingers and gets up to move closer to her. He places his hands over her shoulders and massages the muscles.

"Oh, thank you." She flashes him a smile before turning her attention back to the goblin. "If not, we could find somewhere else to camp for the night. We wouldn't want to put someone out or make things uncomfortable."

"No!" The goblin throws their hands out in front of them and shakes their hand. "My lady! No! Please do not rest somewhere else. We are more than capable of providing lodging for you...and it shall soon rain. We would hate for you to be out in the rain and then have to dry your clothes."

"If you don't mind..." Kagome tilts her head to the side. "Right there. That's been bothering me all day."

Satoru presses his thumbs and kneads the tension.

"Are you two fucking serious?" the green-haired demon, Yami, complains. "Just kill me now. No one is trying to watch this shit." He sits off to the side, closer to Sesshomaru, with his arms bound with rope and chain. Earlier, Kagome pressed a hand to the rope before Sesshomaru tied the demon up. Satoru isn't quite sure what Kagome did to the rope, but Yami was fuming because of it.

Sesshomaru lifts a hand and sprays poison in Yami's face, knocking him out.

"Sesshomaru! You can't keep knocking him out every time he says something you don't like," Kagome lectures. "We might need his input."

"This Sesshomaru has not killed him at your request. That is mercy enough."

"Okay, but if you keep doing that, then he just might build a tolerance for your poison."

It's subtle, but Sesshomaru's lips twitch as if the mere thought is laughable. He glances at Yami's slumped over form and then at Ebleex. "Goblin, what do you know of the half-breed?"

Ebleex falters and then straightens their back, attempting to appear larger than they are, but their shoulders give way and drop before they can even mutter a word. "If there is a Chosen One, then there is always a Foul One that soon follows. The Foul One should have caused destruction first, but we are indeed lucky in that the gods saw fit to bring the Chosen One to our village before any harm could truly befall us." Ebleex places their hands on the floor and bows. "I thank you my Lady."

"Now—"

"This Sesshomaru grows tired. Get to the point."

"I—I," Ebleex clears his throat. "The Foul One is told to be a monster that does not fit in with anyone being. They bring destruction and despair wherever they set foot, destroying lives for the sport of it. They do not care about customs or for the well-being of others. The Foul One will bring death to the world unless they are reformed."

Reformed?

"So, we can kill him?" Satoru questions.

"Death is another way of rebirth, I suppose," Ebleex agrees. "The tale never specified if it were through death or through other means."

"Tell me, are there others like Yami? You know those that are a mix of two different species?"

"Yes... but they are shunned out of fear they will become the Foul One. We have none in our village as we are-were- a goblin community until the centaurs made peace with us." Ebleex lifts his head, but keeps his eyes downcast. "Argol is a warrior, and thus, he may have traveled further than I. He may be more of use to you."

"No," Sesshomaru says.

"No?" Kagome sighs. "If there are others like Yami—like InuYasha—then we should probably start there. Sounds like the discrimination here is awful." Kagome mutters under her breath, something along the lines of: stubborn dog.

"Alright, so what you're saying is everyone in this world shuns those that are a mix of two different species because they could be the Foul One in this tale... if that is the case and it is so ingrained in your beliefs, why even procreate with one of another species?" Satoru asks. What parent would want their child subjected to that? He doesn't really get it. Satoru presses his lips together and then glances at Sesshomaru.

Okay, if they look like Sesshomaru, or like Kagome, then he gets it.

"The Foul One has worshippers. Some desire the downfall of the world, for they believe it will bring them salvation." Ebleex lifts one shoulder and shrugs. "I am but a simple goblin that only hopes to keep his village intact; the desires of world domination are foreign to me."

In other words, Ebleex doesn't know shit.

Satoru rolls his eyes.

"Well, I'm not okay with fighting Yami while he is a child. That feels morally wrong," Kagome says. "So, I guess the other method is to try to change his heart." She flashes a smile at Sesshomaru. "Let's try getting to know him."

"He wishes to follow in Naraku's footsteps," Sesshomaru deadpans.

"Okay. Okay. But! Naraku, or the heart of Naraku, was relieved to be free of that anger and despair. If Yami is a half-demon like InuYasha, then maybe we could appeal to his human side..." She shrugs out of Satoru's embrace and stands. She plants her hands on her hips and leans forward.

Satoru swallows.

"This is clearly a tale of the power of friendship."

Sesshomaru pinches the bridge of his nose. "Priestess. We are not befriending the half-breed. He has attempted to kill you several times and will not hesitate to do so again."

"You tried to kill me, and look at us now."

Satoru stiffens. "Not a good example."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Because you're fucking him."

Kagome turns and grins. "Are you saying with the power of my magical..." she trails off and then grimaces. "Never mind. I wanted to tease you, but now I'm disgusted with myself." She shakes her head. "I still maintain this is a tale of the power of friendship. He just needs to be shown that there is more to life than having to look over your shoulder all the time. I mean, if I could get Koga to stop eating humans, then surely Yami can be shown people and demons discriminating against him are more reflective of them and not him."

Sesshomaru holds up his hand, inspecting his claws. "This is one of your many terrible ideas."

"Keep it up, and only Satoru gets cuddles tonight."

"The half-breed may travel with us."

Satoru chortles. "You folded so fast!"

"Watch your mouth."

Satoru snorts. "Or what?"

Sesshomaru grins.

Something in Satoru snaps. A warning. He runs his tongue over the top of his teeth and forces himself to remain seated. There's something... well... demonic about that smile. He didn't even feel this uneasy when he got sealed.

"I'm going to put a barrier around Yami for now," Kagome says, breaking the tension. "Oh, excuse me. Ebleex, is this where we will be sleeping for the night?"

"Y—yes, my lady! Please stay here. You may use my lodging as you please." Ebleex places a hand on their leg and then stands. "We will have a feast tonight, and I will continue to gather the information you requested." Ebleex bows once more and then scurries away.

"What was with him?"

"His nose is more sensitive than your own," Sesshomaru says. "The goblin must have smelled the cursed one's arousal."

"Kagome was damn near bent over in front of me."

"If that is the lie you wish to tell yourself."

Satoru frowns, slightly put out. Damn, can he get anything past Sesshomaru?

"Anyway, we should go back to that area and see if there is anyone from my world."

"This Sesshomaru detests backtracking. Priestess."

Kagome blinks. "Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming." She laughs and then turns towards Satoru. "Since we're hoping it is someone from your world, let's make sure they come face to face with a familiar face. I just need some of your hair." She plucks a couple of strands from his head before he can fully register what's she asking. "Thanks."

"... You're welcome?"

Kagome places her hand over her palm. It glows a soft pink. What is she doing with his hair? He should be concerned, but surprisingly, he's more curious than worried. Kagome opens her hands, and five human-shaped papers emerge where the hair strands were. They jump down and then stretch, slowly morphing into... him.

"Okay, Shikigami Satorus, can you find your way back to the area we arrived at and look around for anyone that might be from your world?"

The shikigami army nods slowly and then walks out of the hut.

Satoru blinks several times, trying to wrap his mind around what just happened. "Did you just summon five of me?"

"Well, they aren't really you, but yes. I figured that way we can cover more ground and Sesshomaru hates backtracking, so we can keep moving forward while they cover any areas we missed."

Satoru wets his lips. "Can you make copies of yourself?" His mind flashes with images of being surrounded by nothing but Kagome.

"I could..." She laughs. "Nice try, but we aren't having a shikigami orgy."

"A sorcerer can dream," he says with a wistful smile on his face. "Not gonna back me up, Sesshomaru?"

"Place the barrier," Sesshomaru says, moving from his spot by the wall. He walks until he is in front of Satoru. The hairs on the back of Satoru's neck and arms rise. The air is charged.

Satoru cocks his head to the side and flashes teeth. Is Sesshomaru picking a fight with him? He stands and smirks down at Sesshomaru. Between the two of them, he is taller. Kagome's energy rises and then falls. She must have put up a barrier.

"I put up two," she says. "Now, this is Ebleex's home, you two. Don't destroy it."

Not like there is much to destroy in this small hut. There's a small cot off to the side, and in the middle of the room is a place for cooking.

"Good bitch," Sesshomaru says, but he looks at Satoru when he says it. "On your knees."

Oh.

Sesshomaru's demonic energy surges. The pressure is too much. Too heady. Against his better judgement, Satoru sinks to his knees. He grits his teeth, determined to put up a semblance of a fight, but then Kagome's energy mixes with Sesshomaru's and Satoru is a goner.

"Fuck!" His breath is ragged. "Warn a guy next time," he wheezes out, trying to get himself under control.

"Sorry," Kagome says, but there's not a hint of sincerity in her tone. "I didn't want the barriers to fail. Sesshomaru's energy is harder to contain than others." She walks over to him and sinks to her knees next to him. Her hand caress the back of his head. She threads her fingers through his hair. "No one can see or hear us."

Sesshomaru unfurls his cock from his pants. "Suck," he commands.

Satoru's upper lip curls back at being commanded to do anything, but then Kagome touches him. He closes his eyes, breathing in Sesshomaru's scent. His nose may not be as strong, but the word that comes to mind is power. Sesshomaru smells and exudes strength. Satoru opens his eyes and meets Sesshomaru's gaze.

Sesshomaru narrows his eyes.

"If you're not going to—"

Satoru opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Sesshomaru's length. He grunts. How the hell did Kagome take this?

Sesshomaru pinches Satoru's nose and smiles. There's something utterly devastating about that smile or it would be if Sesshomaru wasn't trying to choke him. Satoru's eyes sting as he sticks his tongue out further.

"Good bitch," Sesshomaru murmurs. "My bitch."

Satoru curses Sesshomaru in his mind. It feels like an eternity when Sesshomaru lets his nose go, and Satoru can finally breathe again. He pulls off, coughing and trying to suck in oxygen, but Sesshomaru is relentless. He grabs Satoru and drags him back on his cock. Sesshomaru works him as if Satoru is nothing more than a cock sleeve. It should piss him off, the utter disregard but...

Fucking hell.

"How does his cock taste?" Kagome asks, rubbing his back.

Satoru grunts.

"I'll take that, as it tastes too good to be true."

Sesshomaru pulls away and comes on Satoru's face. He tucks himself back into his pants and then holds a hand out to Kagome.

Satoru's eyes twitch. That mother fucker.

"Oi!"

"Clean my semen off like a good bitch," Sesshomaru says, wrapping an arm around Kagome. He bends ever so slightly and whispers something in her ear. Kagome's face flushes pink, but she nods.

Satoru glances at his hands. He could wipe it off, but something tells him that will tick Sesshomaru off. Kagome kneels in front of him and grabs his face. His ears burn. Kagome licks his face, cleaning Sesshomaru's come off.

Oh. He thought—

Kagome kisses him, wrapping her tongue around his, sharing Sesshomaru's come. His heart is as loud as thunder. If it beats any harder, he might fall over.

"Kagome," Satoru says, voice strained.

"There, now he's all clean." She kisses him again, this time pecking his lips.

Satoru reaches down and tries to readjust himself. They cannot be serious. He's dying here, but Kagome darts out of his reach and back to Sesshomaru's side.

"W—wait!" Satoru's nostrils flare as he inhales. "What about me?"

Sesshomaru smiles.

Oh, fuck him and fuck that smile. Satoru closes his eyes. He wishes Sesshomaru just fought him instead.

"Is that a no?"

"Come, Cursed One, we have a feast to get to."

Satoru grits his teeth.

Yeah, Sesshomaru should have just kicked his ass instead. This is much, much worse.

***

A/N: "Will Sesshomaru be known as Sesshomaru Gojo?" - Man would Satoru get a kick out of that lol

"Will there be more jjk characters in this world?" Yes, I'm still brainstorming who it will be. Okay, I have an idea of who it will be but I'm trying to figure out how I want to approach it.

Thanks for reading! Wishing you a wonderful and productive week ahead. I hope you were able to relax this weekend. Make sure to get plenty of rest and drink your water! Next update will be How To Tame. Might make it a longer chapter since we'll have the wedding and then Satoru is for sure gonna want to have 'wedding sex' or whatever he wants to call it lolol.

[everypigeondeserveslove]

I think Liliana's "Did she know?" wasn't about her, it was, "Did Imogen know that bombing me would also kill these children?"

Well, I just don't think that.

But on the theory of Lilianas being upset about children having died and questioning Imogen's involvement in it, I have a few thoughts

The idea that children were actively target and/or murdered is very presumptive of the fandom. It feels like someone whispered this theory into the fandom wind and now it's in my inbox.

If it were about the children, I still think she a hypocrite. In fact I'd say she's a even bigger hypocrite in that scenario because why the fuck where there children there to begin with. Liliana who was going around Imogen's dreams telling her to run, was also brining children into this cursed environment. The Ruby Vanguard is just not a place for a children. Hot take the moon should be childfree, not every place should accommodate children.

Also on the topic of children being there, they are child soldiers. Liliana is not a running a orphanage on the moon, she is a GENERAL. She is quite literally a general of an occupying force, the general with the most influence over Ludinus, who is being actively targeted by a native rebel group. She is actively training these kids to aid the Ruby Vanguard's cause. And once again, she is doing all of this while actively telling Imogen to not come to the moon. I am of the belief that the general who is recruiting child soldiers should shoulder most, if not all, responsibility for the harm that befalls those children.

Now I don't have access to rewatch the episode right now but I don't think the explosion came from Rashinna's group. The way it was described, being all pink and stuff, I presumed the explosion was a result of Liliana reacting to the assassination attempt (assassination attempts notoriously stressful for all parties involved). All we know of the rebel group is that they had some devices that were intended to hinder Lilianas powers and I don't think they said anything about them exploding.

And another thing.... I think this episode ended on a cliff hanger and people are doing olympic level gymnastics to justify anything that could reflect badly on Liliana.

[agerefandom]

🧸 Hannibal?

Oh Hannibal is big caregiver energy!

I like it when people flip the script and write him as a regressor, but he's sooo settled as a cg in my brain.

Three Headcanons:

1- Hannibal is almost never protective of people, and that is intentional: the world shapes them and that is the process that fascinates him. I think that a regressor would cross that line: he would want a lot more control over what happens to them and how it impacts them.

That's not to say that he wouldn't allow harm to befall them, but he would want to be the cause of the harm, and be there afterwards to put the pieces back together in the shape that suits him best.

2- Hannibal would absolutely thrive on putting together a wardrobe for a regressor: all the little touches that reinforce regression (buttons that they can't do themselves, so he has to help: the clothes a little too big in specific spots to make them feel physically smaller)

3- he would want to Know so much, it's overwhelming to consider: he would want to know all the regression triggers, positive and negative, even the ones that the regressor isn't aware of themselves. He would want to know activities that make a regressor comfortable, and ones that make them feel vulnerable but not enough to push them out of regression: the memories that they associate with regression and the ones that they've repressed. He would want to know every inch of someone's childhood and their journey into regression before he'd met them. A vast expanse of knowledge that he can use to push in the smallest and most subtle ways.

send a character and a 🧸 and I’ll give you three random agere headcanons!

[moltensmusings]

So feel free to correct me if I'm wrong but I think there are some players misunderstanding the interaction between Tyrone (Cloak) and Strange in regards to strange being able to help fix Ty and Tandy's current situation.

From what I see a lot of players are thinking he means it in regards to their normal lore where fixing ty has all to do with making him not so reliant on Tandy for basic survival. When in marvel rivals it fully has to do with him and Tandy effectively being fused together, hence the need to swap between them in combat.

It's not that Ty doesn't want to fix his need to devour light to survive, instead within the lore we find out Tandy interacting with the dark force dimension has warped her in a bad way and made her far more brutal and cruel. I do wish her dialogue in game would reflect it more because I think it helps with the misunderstanding, but Tandy is now the one actively trying to kill anything that's a problem while Ty essentially takes on the role of the merciful person who doesn't want more harm to befall people than necessary. He's sympathetic to Vampires because he understands their drive isn't something they can control and it's a very interesting dynamic.

They did get separated but Ty essentially caused them to fuse again because he so desperately wanted to protect Tandy from dying that he'd rather her be angry and alive then dead. I think part of him not wanting Strange to fix him and Tandy has more to do with him both finding comfort in how close they are and this misguided belief that maybe if he's tied to her he can sway her more easily into better choices and a less destructive mindset.

Now does this make things better in terms of how they're written? I don't know. But I think it adds more nuance to things than people are thinking about.

Again I will say: I don't think the write Tandy's interactions to be in line with what the lore says for the game as much as I'd like them to. But I am hopeful maybe they'll add more as time goes on.

[altocat]

So I just discovered this thing

Here’s the source

I’m gonna go cry in a corner brb; I had a feeling this is what Lucrecia chose. It makes so much sense with her complex character too.

I STG Lucrecia is an extremely complex character who is VERY easy to understand and sympathize with if people actually took the time to empathize with her situation. You don't have to like her--she makes consistently stupid decisions. But she is not a malicious character. And she takes action out of guilt, not out of the desire to cause harm. You can have a morally flawed character who still does not deserve the fate that befalls them. And you can pity them and wish the best for them while still recognizing the harm they caused. Fiction is GRAY. Lumping things into categories robs the story of nuance--especially when it's over something as petty as whether or not Lucrecia hooked up with the guy crushing on her. Some people hate her SOLELY because she didn't choose Vincent. And they never stop to think WHY.

I really wish people would just be kinder to her. There are people unironically gung-ho for letting characters like Genesis, Sephiroth, and the Turks--ALL mass murderers btw--completely off the hook. But not Lucrecia. It's ridiculous.

[fluffywings13]

Abuse of a Binding Vow (Yuuji uses Sukuna as a means to an end like Sukuna once used Yuuji as a means to an end)

(Sukuna does not appreciate being used as a means to an end very well.)

“I can’t–! I cahahahahan—Kuhuhunaaa!”

Their new Binding Vow didn’t pertain to any forceful usurping of Control between them, no magic word that tore Yuuji out of the metaphorical drivers seat without the ability to reclaim it, the details are quite simple but without any room for potential abuse of loopholes.

One; Sukuna had the right to yank him down into his Domain whenever he pleased, so long as Yuuji was in a safe location to be rendered Unconscious, whenever he was feeling particularly restless and/or a sense of irritation that needed to be cured without a more physical approach.

Two; Yuuji was only required to hand total control over their Vessel retaining the ability to coexist in that metaphorical drivers seat. (Sukuna taught him how to manage that feat–guy was a surprisingly decent Sensei when in a mellowed out state of mind)

Three; Sukuna was required to step in if something or someone Yuuji was not suited to handle on his own or with his partners to ensure he remained unharmed (healed if unavoidable harm did befall him) without complaint or an attempt to mutilate the other two bratty students. Control was to be given back upon assurance the threat was neutralized completely unless the child was not capable of handling control at the moment. In which a suitable location must be found with haste to allow control to be returned while the boy recovered within his domain.

Four; Yuuji could summon Sukuna into the physical plain just as Fushiguro could summon forth his Shikigami if the need arose, Sukuna was tied to remain within a specified distance to the boy at all times, and could only cause harm to whatever reason he was summoned forth. (Again, Sukuna taught him how to perform this particular technique because though akin to his friend’s ability it was starkly different in the finer details of the act)

“You most certainly can. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Take it, you brat, this is your consequence for summoning me for such frivolous reasons.” Sukuna rakes his nails, sharp as ever, up and down the bratty child’s abs. Taking in his howling shrieks of laughter as one would a much needed tonic or such. “Let’s go over them, shall we?” With the child hanging over his lap, bent at the back over his knees, legs anchored at his hips as he rests contentedly upon his Throne as usual. Sukuna made sure that the bend of the boy’s back would not cause discomfort, legs spread open only just to ensure the skirt of his kimono cushioned his position, his head resting upon the tops of his feet. “Summoning me to assist with your daily chores , I think not , they’re your chores to complete not mine.”

Yuuji screams and jolts at the sharp pinching spider crawling of fingers racing over the sides of his tummy, the sensitive belly surface spasming with the intensity of his peals of squeals, no regrets for summoning the Curse forth for stupid reasons. Arching his back as they come around to knead and scribble over his lower tummy, bursting with a loud shrill squeal, the most lighthearted sound to ever ring within this typically dismal place.

“I don’t mind you summoning me to assist with your studies. I know you struggle with sciences and history studies. That I won’t punish you for. I’m, dare I say , happy to be of assistance in that regard.” Sukuna tugs the hem of the brat’s lounge pants down enough, a discovery made upon the very first torturous endeavor, a rather ticklish waist. “However, the same can’t be said when you summoned me to assist in folding your laundry.” He watches in content as the boy screams and bucks, head lifting from the cushioning his feet provide him, as his claws scratch lightly over the sensitive waist. “It never ceases to humor me that you lose all hope with something as simple as me lightly scratching your waist.”

“Pl–Pl eeaaasseehehehhehehshshahahahahah nohohohot theheheheere! Nonononononoahahahhahahhahahaha I caaaaaahan’t! Anywhere but theeheheheheheheere!”

Oh, how the sounds of his pleas always falling short of their desired outcome are music to his ears. “Perhaps I’ll stay right here for, I don’t know, ten minutes– longer –how would you like that, hmm ?” Sukuna feels the boy’s legs jolt against his hips and grins. “If you kick me, no matter if it’s accidental or not , I’ll bring you to absolute tears kid.” The strain of those little feet just under his elbows, toes flexing in agony, is so harsh it’s felt . “Don’t you dare . You asked for this, daring to abuse our Vow for your own childish gain, something you should have considered was this being your atonement for using me to your whims.”

When that right foot, bare and warm, so very small compared to his own, makes contact with his hip Sukuna follows through on his threat. Yuuji wails at his misfortune and shrieks in surprise when he’s yanked up into the Curse’s lap entirely, nothing more about his position changes, legs tugged up to curl comfortably over the man’s shoulders the apologies he spews are met with deaf ears as far too knowledgeable fingers attack his inner thighs with a viciousness that has shrill screeches mixing with great loud shrill squeals and cackles.

Kicking and bouncing, Yuuji can’t find the mental capacity to form actual words for further pleading and apologizing for the unintentional assault, fingers wander down kneading and clawing vicious as ever to the spot that started the exploration of his thighs in the first place. Drumming his legs, careful not to kick the Curse King again, his head whips around as his hair messes completely as he pushes himself upwards with his feet against the backrest of the Throne they reside on.

“Oh, little one, you didn’t say you wanted me to get that particular spot .”

He didn’t! Yuuji did no such thing! Fingers far more gentle than they’ve ever been return to that insanity inducing spot just under the curve that would be considered a groping of his rear end. Collapsing in a fit of guffaws, fingers leave that life altering spot to race up his sides again, the teen writhes and twists as they race back down. Up again, shrieks and squeals, down once more, twist and turns like a cackling little worm. Up. Down. Up. Down. You get it.

Tears slowly begin to entice his eyes to burn, laughter becoming a tad hysterical, as one set of fingers continue to race up and down his side as he tries to curl sharply away from them and the other set claw up to his defenseless armpit.

Sukuna’s cruel. Obviously. Worming one finger under the clenched arm. Then two. Three. Four. All five . Yuuji feels those tears threatening to burst as he succumes to the horrid tickle torture as comeuppance for kicking the man who gave him fair warning. Clawing and vibrating in his sensitive pit, the pinkette’s laughter slowly falls to silent crackly cackles, tears soaking his cheeks.

Then it stops . Giggling deliriously, gulping frantic breathes of much needed oxygen, the aid of a warm large hand rubbing his sore belly in a manner that could definitely be taken as tenderness helps him settle far quicker then one typically would. “Don’t you ever kick me again.”