#To gain some power in the food chain?

[onemorestrangeronthestreet]

There's been a lot of talk about Oscar and Morris lately so here's an idea for you to speculate (I don't know if someone's already talked about this i cannot remember for the life of me??) :

What if Oscar and Morris were newsies when they were younger, maybe even stayed at the Lodging house/were in good terms with the others?

And that's why all the current newsjes and the Delanceys have so much beef, cause the newsies are pissed/mad at the brothers for joining the "bad side" ?

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ MOVEMENT ✦ SATORU GOJO.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ Satoru Gojo decides to make the last session of this contractual relationship memorable for you, by doing what he does best, that is, bending the limits and breaking the rules and in that process, he hurts more than one heart.

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⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ non-sorcerer au + bdsm au, bdsm terminology, contractual sex, explicit sexual scenes, mutual pinning, hurt and angst with slight comfort, bondage ( shibari ), Gojo is domme here, sub!reader, mention of safeword and sex toys, slight age gap, gojo is in his pushing thirties reader is twenty-five, tattoo artist!reader, aftercare, angst and fluff; 5,6k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. + cross posted to ao3. |

Perfection is a stage that every creature strives to achieve. A witch tries to devise an evergreen spell for immortality, a lion tries to hunt for an elephant, a bird tries to fly during rainstorms, and an alchemist tries to create a philosopher’s stone— there is no end to it. It is always the most impossible, the oddest feat to achieve. 

So, Satoru Gojo believes that perfection is nothing but a state of mind; to think about achieving something impossible, but that is not where it ends. 

Achieving the impossible is not the end of the road toward perfection, there is always a price that one has to pay. In most cases, it is either the slow painful death or death at an unexpected moment of life, if not death then the skill of achieving perfection is stripped off and now, the creature stands amongst others in shame and sadness, for instance, a witch might lose all her powers after receiving immortality left with eternal desolation and abandonment at the end, a lion might die while hunting for an elephant despite being at the top of the food chain, a bird might lose its feathers and an alchemist might lose their sanity in the pursuit of perfection. Despite such irrevocable loss at the end of such a bumpy and rocky road, people still pursue perfection. They are all chasing nothing but a mirage, how silly!

Satoru Gojo does not understand the idea of a perpetual flow of zeal to achieve such greatness. He never tries to do the impossible, he just does what he is capable of and that alone earns him every bow of a person that he has ever come across, and applause from people with puny ambitions. They think Satoru Gojo is perfect. The cacophony of such praises makes his head ache because, in the end, they are all for nothing but hollow, laced with some ultimate gain underneath. But at the same time, he can not deny the idea of the existence of such perfection either. If he were to deny this slightest possibility of such perfection, he would deny someone’s existence.

Satoru is lying on the bed with half of his body hanging outside the bed. His feet are on the ground while his cyan galactic eyes just stare at the starlight ceiling of this room. He is more than capable than most other men to make someone see stars yet you specifically moved into his house only on one condition, that is, to have a starlight ceiling. What a stinging mockery! His teeth find refuge in the inner flesh at one corner of his lower lip as a vision flashes in his mind. You, laying on your back on this same bed but hands tied together with just his tie and resting at the belly button while his deft fingers push a vibrator inside you. Fully dressed in a pearly white sundress, under the blue lighting, you look nothing less than some fairy god. If such a being were to exist he would say you looked perfect that night.

His phone chimes. Twice. Two different notifications. He jumps out of bed at the second walking towards the side table to check his phone. He is not supposed to be here, according to the rules of his contract with you, in your room. But Gojo has always been the breaker of rules; not all but the rules of which one is the most unaware. For instance, you would not even know that he has been in your room while you are not here, while you are busy with your day. But he is here for a reason not because he wanted to break some grey rules. He unplugs his phone from your charger.

‘One week before the contract terminates’

Satoru turns off the lights and saunters out of your room. One week. Seven days. One sixty-eight hours out of which he can only see you during nights, and play with you only at weekends. This arrangement has been going on for almost two months now; this is the last week he gets to spend with you and the last weekend for his play with you; after that, he will ask you to meet at some cafe to discuss the extension of this contract. Everything is going to be perfect. He does not want to admit how perfect you are in every way simply because he might end up doing something detrimental to this contractual relationship. It shocks him, sometimes terrifies him how you are exactly the person he concocted at one corner of his heart. That is what he liked most about you: you were fearlessly flexible.

Satoru’s jaw dropped when you said you were okay with him if he kept another sub or even a lover. At first, he thought you were bluffing but with a man like him tricks never run out of stock and not once he sensed jealousy in you. Talking with you was liberating be it on the phone or in person. You never invaded his space, his life yet asked the questions that you needed to know as his sub. Sometimes he would think about what it would take to make you feel uneasy, feel vulnerable, feel that everything was crashing down like a centuries-old castle as you desperately needed something to hold on to, someone to cling onto. It is too soon to let a sub like you go. So, he definitely wants to extend his contract with you: no second thoughts about that. Everything was perfect before, being with you, spending time with you, sending you surprise gifts, hearing your squeals of happiness— everything was perfect, what could possibly go wrong? And even if it does, he can handle it. There is nothing that is beyond the grasp of one of the richest bachelors of Tokyo.

It is half past eight and you will be here around ten o’clock. But before that, he needs to check his playroom, set everything right, and prepare dinner. Satoru makes himself busy in the kitchen. He revisits his memories of you, searching for what you like to eat and what you do not. For the past two months at weekends either you cooked along with him or ordered via takeout or had a chance for takeaway. So, he never got a chance to show how good he was with his hands in the kitchen. A low humming escapes his mouth as he starts to gather the ingredients; at first, he needs short-grain rice, vinegar, salt, sugar, and water. He sets the rice for it to cook and meanwhile, prepares the other set of ingredients for the filling. The clock strikes nine, the doorbell chimes and Satoru’s eyebrows grow closer. He walks towards the main door to check the screen and the line of confusion on his forehead vanishes. Both of your hands are full of bags and other accessories. He wonders how you even ring the doorbell before opening the door.

“You are early,” Satoru remarks as he holds the door letting you walk inside his house. You look around and steadily walk towards the kitchen. Satoru follows you a little bit offended from not getting any response from you. Keeping a packet on the counter you wash your hands. “What's this?” he asked standing near the counter.

“Food.” You supply making yourself comfortable on one corner of the counter. Satoru rolls his eyes. 

“You are early,” He repeats. This time more emphasis on ‘early’ to hear the explanation you are to give, that is, if there is one. He has this habit of repeating his sentences, sometimes a word to assert dominance but he never says sorry twice; at least never with you.

“Ummm, thanks to your friend who cancelled the tattoo appointment at the last minute” You open the lid of the pot and smell the aroma of fresh cooking. “Otherwise I would have been quite late.”

“What friend?”

“The one and only, who told you about my tattoo parlour, what was his name again? Geto. Getou-san.”

“You forget the name of a guy like that?” He hands you a glass of water. It is half-chilled. A peal of laughter echoes in the kitchen. 

Satoru’s jaw relaxes, half in confusion and half in worry. He does not know why. “What?” he asks. You compose yourself and answer him. “You keep scolding me about my bad habits yet never fail to keep up with those.” You take a few sips of water, finally locking eyes with him. His mouth is half-parted trying to form any sort of defense to deflect the grave accusation you just made, that is, he is paying attention to the tiniest details even though they are deadly to both of you. 

He has always told you how having cold water is bad for your health, especially when you just come home. He is not a great fan of having meals at any time of the day ordered online, nor your habit of smoking but if you were to lit a cigarette now he would slide an ashtray from somewhere. Satoru drinks the rest of the water from your glass and keeps it in the sink. People generally love this kind of attention but it becomes a little bit hopeful in cases like these and for you, it is just tightening the knots of rope that Satoru has weaved around you these past two months. You are not here to get his attention nor guide his deep-rooted attachment tendencies towards you; you are here because of the contract.

“I need to talk to you about something.” You say holding a cigarette in between your teeth and searching your pockets for the lighter.

“Can’t it wait?” Satoru gives you a lighter, plucking it from one of the pockets of his loose boxers holding the fire for you. His upper body is naked. Even if you have seen him naked enough times to get used to it still you find it distracting. You inhale one full elongated stream of tobacco saying, “Oh sure it can.” He slides an ashtray taking it out from one of the cupboards magically. You scratch your temple out of frustration because the thing is, Satoru Gojo does not smoke. He hates that burning bitter aroma of tobacco yet every room in this house has an ashtray and a lighter. 

“You know what? I’ll just say it right now. It has been bugging me since yesterday.” You start and Satoru effortlessly drags you closer to his body, spreading your legs apart to stand in between them. “What the hell?” You screamingly gasp at such a sudden vicinity.

“Can’t it wait?” This time softer, voice husky but a whisper, a prayer. His toned muscular arms are now wrapped around your waist. “If you are really not tired, shall we go to the playroom or — he trails his hands from the column of your throat to your belly button and then plays with the hem of your skirt. His eyes follow and then halt.

“Playroom.”  You earn an enquiring glance from him. He hums. You jump off the counter and tactfully slip from his arms walking towards the playroom. “Would you prefer me naked, clothed or— you turn to see if he is following you or not only to find he is standing there like a statue gawking at you and drinking you in. “Umm. . .Satoru,” you call and then a flash of teeth sparks from his mouth. He walks towards you, grabbing you by your upper arm he leans towards you having his head in the nook of your shoulder. His lips move. You can feel it. It opens with a pop. You think he is going to say something, maybe something lewd but instead, the soft skin of his lips touches the base of your earlobe.

“No. You look perfect in that dress.” A rasp, a horse whisper, like casting a spell he gently kisses your neck and withdraws. “I’ll be there in five minutes. You can go and wait for me.” You nod unable to look at him. Sometimes Satoru invades your bones and veins through the gaps that you did not even know existed in you. 

“Look at me,” He orders, voice nothing mellowed like before. He notices you swallow before you turn your face to look at him. “Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna kiss you — on your lips —” he tugs at your hair curling one of the strands around his index finger “— you know that is totally off limits.”

Your pupils slide down onto his lips. “Of course not. I know you hate smokey kisses and breaths. Besides, I’m not very fond of breaking rules like you.” And you look up again at him to check his eyes. “Sir” you quip. Mmmmm. He definitely thought of kissing on the lips just now. 

You enter the playroom and as you turn on the lights you notice a vibrator, a blue rope kept on the bed, and a giant teddy bear with red ropes tangled all over its body. He has been practicing. You sit on the edge of the bed and wait. You wait since that is all you have to do now, no changing of clothes or stripping them off. You remember that before coming here you went in your room to keep your belongings and get a quick bathroom refresh but the fact that you found the charger head warm is bugging you more than it should. You would not have known if you did not have to put your phone on charge. Plus, you never keep the switch on when the charger is not in use.

The door opens with a ‘clank’ and you jolt as you turn.

“God. It's just me, Eve.” Right Eve. Eve and Adam. Adam and Eve. He never fails to remind you of the embarrassing story of how you two met every time he is in the playroom with you. You watch him keep a ball gag and a few free love balls. He is gathering toys, moving from one end to the other so fast that you have not had the proper chance to see him and why would you not? He is fully dressed. He looks inexplicably elegant when dressed this neatly. He drags the table towards the bed where you are seated at arm's length of his.

“Now,” He starts grabbing your hands and guiding you beneath a specific lighting. You look up to notice various extensions and slots for hanging bondage. “Today I will not be using a blindfold on you.”  He says and turns towards you. You tilt your head in shock and fear while his hands tie yours in the hanging bondage. In all previous plays, you kept your eyes closed with a blindfold. It is not against the rule of your contract to play without the blindfold but to think he would do it like this was beyond your calculations. You have added this rule, “Blindfold on” against his “No kiss on the lips.” rule but omitting such clause for the sake of play is not your hard limit, the emotional turmoil that comes after is enough to make you feel suffocated. 

“I want you to know everything I do to you today since this is our last session. I’ve tried on myself first but you must know that, by now I know how to just touch you, how tight to make your ropes, and how hard to make each hit.” He continues explaining. Your hands are now hanging tied by the wrist. He takes a step backward standing with his hands tucked over his waist. “And I’ll only do what you have agreed to.”

“Any questions?” You nod and exclaim with a firm tone, “No, Ser Adam.” He cocks a brow and turns around. You watch him put a black mask over his eyes. Grabbing the prussian blue rope he starts to tie it around your upper body. It does not take him long to have you under the tangled form of beautiful knots. Your breaths have already started to become heavy. He puts the ball gag around your mouth as he speaks about another crucial point. “For today's session, I want you to maintain eye contact. I know it might be difficult for you to keep up at first because in our previous sessions, you requested to keep the mask on your eyes but today we are doing something different,” He takes two free love balls from the table.

“The ball of your gag is edible. Since you can’t use your safe word in this session, not while having a gag on your mouth. Just bite it and I’ll immediately stop.” He walks towards you close enough to let his breath fan over you. You look up. Curiosity courses through your veins and you lick the ball. It tastes sweet. Of course. “ However, if you eat it just out of curiosity, then I’ll have to punish you. And we both know you are not very fond of those,” 

You can't help but smile at how he can read your thoughts. “I was late to the playroom because I went to change the ball to an edible one.”  Now he is giving you an explanation of something that you did not need to know. Seeing your eyebrows pinch, Satoru asks, “So, shall we start?”

You nod. He sits down and removes your underwear. Lacy and white in colour. His gaze finds you telling you to get out of your underwear. You have no idea how perfect your outfit is for today’s play. He had bought a set of crop tops and a skirt for this specific play that he had in mind but seeing you walking in a knee-length medium skirt and off-shoulder top made his heart flutter. The skirt is too long for his taste but it will do. Besides, he can take it off anytime he wants.He stands up and puts your panty in his pocket and your eyes dilate at his act. You have come across certain forms of the behavioural pattern of several dommes. But sometimes, Satoru fits in that and sometimes, he breaks it. As the contract is coming to an end, he is breaking more than fitting into them.

He encircles you one time running his hands over your clothed body making you twist and turn your head in shivers of pleasure. Standing behind you he holds your waist, quite firmly and places one of his shoe-covered feet aligned with yours. He slips his foot in between the gap of your feet and spreading them apart he cups your vagina. “Oh don’t be so wet already. I have not even started it.” He runs his fingers through your folds a few times before extending them in front of your face to show you how turned on you are. Then, he holds two metal small balls in between his fingers. It was like a magic trick when he flicked his hands and those turned up. So, that is why the outfit, the mask.

“The same rules apply as before. I’ll put them inside your pussy and if you manage to keep them while I play with you, I reward you. If you do not, I — he pauses rolling the metal ball from up your nape down to your spine and then over your ass — “I get to fuck you.” he says pushing a ball into your hole. “I’ve four of them.” he whispered those words into your ear creating shivers down your spine. He changed the last part. In earlier sessions, he always said that he would punish you. Now, if you can not manage to hold up without dropping any of them he will fuck you, but if you can he will reward you, he said. 

Satoru walks around you to face you. You look at him, at his eyes as he pushes the second ball into you. Taking out other love two balls out of his pocket, he sits down again and pushes them inside. He kisses your nipple while looking at you, retreats to gather saliva in his mouth, and then sucks off hard enough to leave a wet patch over your nipple. He repeats the same on the other nipple as you try to close your legs to keep those balls inside you.

“You are doing a great job. Impressive.” He praises as he ties another spreader bar to the ankle of your legs keeping them apart and making it hard for you to hold the balls inside you. “Oh do not look so displeased my Eve. . . The main trick is still up my sleeves.” He walks back toward the table and grabs the vibrator. Safeword was at the tip of your tongue and heart at the bottom of your throat. But you waited. The sound of vibration alone creates goosebumps on your skin but as he starts to touch it all over your body, you fail to keep up with your senses. Satoru watches your palms turn into fists, twist and curl as he places the vibrator over your belly and then onto your nipple again. He would love to see how you would keep up if he were to put the vibrator over your pussy. It would not hurt to try, would it now?

“Let me know if it's too much.” He whispers into your ear before dragging the vibrator over your spine and holding it onto your inner thighs. You whimper and squeal as your vision clouds. Squeezing your eyes shut, tears trickle down your cheeks. A smile spreads across Satoru’s face as you exceed his expectations. He increases the vibrating limit by one unit as he holds it over your wet pussy. Saliva has started to accumulate inside your mouth. It is so hard not to bite onto the ball and if you bite it too hard the shocks of pleasure will cease to flow. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples as he increases the vibrating limit again. Two more switches to go. 

You arch your head backward, body squirms as he detaches his mouth. You can feel the metal balls slipping. They might drop if Satoru decides to remove the vibrator. He watches your lips, your eyes, your body, and all movements of pleasure that he is causing you right now. Dragging the vibrator up your vagina to your belly button he starts to suck against the column of your neck.  His teeth sink into your skin at different spots giving birth to several bruises while he pushes the head of the vibrator inside your vagina. It is too much. You feel like you are going to explode or melt. Fuck, you do not even know which is it. The sound of the vibration fades, but the intensity does not rather it increases. Your eyes feel heavy, breaths irregular, and full of moans. You feel like you are going to faint but then you hear a voice, his voice. 

“Bite the fruit.” You turn your head to meet his gaze. Blue crystal clear eyes meet your cloudy ones. You drop your head finding that your ankles are free from the spreader bar. “Bite it.”  He demands as he pushes half of the vibrator inside you. All your senses are lithe, your teeth bite the ball into half and the other half is gobbled up by your dom. He pulls out the vibrator with a swing, throwing it on the ground making you cum. The balls fall one by one making noise as they hit the wooden floor but none of you seem to care as his lips wrap yours. His hands involuntarily find their way toward the hoops of the handcuffs so as to unbuckle them as his kiss intensifies. Tongue making its way, lips alternatively sucking and biting as he lets your arms fall. You curl them around his nape reciprocating his kiss with the same intensity. He takes you into his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso and that is when he realises what he has done.

“Y/N.” He pants vigorously, taking a seat on the bed with you on the lap. “I should not have done that.” He immediately starts to untie the knots of the shibari. You rest your head against his chest as he frees you from the knots. Satoru’s ears are warm, burning even. He kissed you. He fucking kissed you. The one rule that he should not have broken. You adjust your face at an angle to have your lips near his ears before you whisper, “Where is my reward?”

“What?”

“My reward?” you say backing up a bit to meet his gaze and laying your hand in front of him. “My reward.” He is so confused right now. Of course, he has every right to be. 

When Satoru puts two plus two, he protests, “You dropped the balls. Technically, I have the right to fuck you. Like now.” Sure the idea of him being inside you is tempting but not as much as him realising he broke one crucial rule.

“That was after you asked me to bite the fruit, the ball, and then took the other half in your mouth and then started kissing me— he put his hand over your mouth seeing you speak in one breath. 

“Okay. okay. I get it.” He notices your hands. They are bruised, and so is your neck. Shame kicks in his body. He pulls up your top a bit and sees the marks of the knot as well as the ropes. He thought it was too tight. “You need a nice bath.” He lets you stand on your feet. There is a theory going on in his head. If you choose to ignore the kiss, the violation of rules then you may have secretly violated some other rules and if you are bothered by it, you will retort the second time or maybe not. There is one way to find out. Satoru roughly holds your chin brushing his thumb over your lips. You close your eyes caving into his touch. The way you close your eyes, feel his touch, bloom like a lotus to absorb him like sunlight makes him wanna kiss you, absorb you whole, invade you so deeply, fill every corner with his scent that you find it hard to breathe. 

“Can I kiss you now?”

You open your eyes, bite his thumb, suck at it, and then pull out with a pop, “No” exhaling a heavy breath. You turn on your feet and start to walk towards the exit feeling your heart crack at such sincere fruitless attraction. But Gojo Satoru is not someone who will let anyone walk out on him, even if it is you, his eve. He quickly catches up to you and takes you onto his lap so as to carry you toward the bathroom.

“Oh, good god. What gives? I can walk by myself.” You retort yet your hand curls around his nape. Your nails scratch his undercut as he carries you to the bathroom with a stoic expression. As you two reach the bathroom, you notice everything is already prepared. “I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

You discard your clothes as his footsteps fade away. He is not acting strange per se ignoring his act of affection was not a good idea after all. He created his own set of rules and broke one of them. He has every right to be the expectation of the rule he creates. After all, a priest who preaches purity is never pure; a god who gets punished is no god, either an abandoned god or the devil; Things always take the form of a cycle like a snake eating its tail. You do not get what was the reason behind his unacceptance of such an act. So, what if he kissed you? So, what if he likes you? It is not the end of the world. You are not going to punish him. Moreover, it will eventually pass. You hear Satoru humming on the other side of the curtain. He turns on the jazz music making you highly regret what you are going to say. It was a bad idea not to let him know beforehand via a text and you are neck-deep in trouble. You have never violated his terms or his personal space and so you have no idea how he would react if you were to do something to threaten his ideals, play with them.

Little did you know that you already did the day he walked into your tattoo parlour. 

“I need to talk to you,” Your voice gets buried under the jazz music along with the low hum of Satoru. He was standing near the sink washing his face, and hands. There is a set of clothes on the rack, perhaps for him. You are neck-deep in the bathtub. He has prepared everything for you, just the way you like it. Everything is as usual like any other weekend except your dom is not sitting by the bathtub, sparing an ear to your moonshine talks like he does. He is definitely avoiding you. The partition of curtains that separates the bathing area from the rest of the giant bathroom only permits you to see a hazy figure of your dom. You sit upright to lean against the bathtub. Clearing your throat you suggest the same idea again, louder this time. “Satoru, I need to talk to you.” 

From the hazy figure, you could conjecture that he was brushing his teeth. You waited until his response came trying to muster up courage and gather your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m listening,” Satoru responds from the other side of the veil.

“Can’t you just come here and sit with me? Like you usually do. . .” Even with the jazz music and the sound of running tap water, you could hear the click of his tongue, perhaps out of annoyance or perhaps out of repentance. Both are dangerous. Satoru feeling either of them is dangerous because a man like him ends up in a spiral of anger when those primal emotions leave the body, and stain the heart.

“I’d love to do that,” Satoru starts, closing the tap water, and putting the brush and toothpaste in their respective place. “But it's quite late and I’m hungry, so how about we talk while we eat? Plus, tomorrow I have an early morning.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow.” You get out of the bathtub and stand just behind the partition. Satoru runs his middle finger upon his forehead from one temple to the other biting his bottom lip. He can not face you, not like this. He has violated the terms. He has violated himself, violated you — he has violated so many things. “It is. I know,” he mutters, voice full of haste. You see him walking towards the exit and something tells you it is now or never. So, you are really not bothered about the kiss at all.

“Satoru, I’m leaving.” You gulp as you watch the tall man turn around. So, you try to clarify your thoughts more and give them a voice. “I’m leaving Tokyo in two days. I got the scholarship for my Phd so . . .” There was a pin-drop silence between you and him. The edge of the curtain is now wet and wrinkled from your grip. You have faced many tense situations before but this one hit all the open, raw, unprotected parts of you. There was a sudden draw of curtains and when you looked up Satoru was standing holding the metal bar of the curtains, hovering above you. The lipstick marks along with the hickeys on the column of his throat are still there. He did not wash them. His eyes were assessing you, checking if you were playing some sort of prank to see if he gets worried about you. You have done it before, why not now? Many who came before tried some nasty tricks, broke some important rules, or found a loophole in certain rules that in turn violated others or used a safeword as an offensive one rather than a defensive measure. So, Satoru Gojo is used to this tactic. 

Nah, you are not lying. You have never lied to him, always been so honest to him that it made him uneasy at times. “And here I was thinking, where is the catch? After all, all perfect things come to an end.” 

“Okay, do you want me to help with that? Like packing or  . . .” His voice trailed off, so did his eyes. You wrapped the curtain around yourself doing a spin and nodded. He bit his inner lip holding his smile. “Okay. I’ll prepare dinner. Get dressed and dry yourself properly otherwise, you’ll catch a cold. ” He exclaimed, rubbing his thumb over your cheeks, eyes lingering over your lips momentarily. He leaves the bathroom as you watch him go.

You have always been afraid of him. Maybe because he was older than you or maybe it was because of his political connections, historical background, and the power that he holds at his fingertips. For instance, if he wanted he could cancel the scholarship, but he would not go that far would he? You were aware that you should have informed him earlier, at least a week ago but back then the results were not out. . . who are you consoling? What has already been done can never be undone, what has already been said can never be taken back— like an arrow shot in the forest. It is lost forever.

note: special thanks to my dearest cele aka Celestia ( @dearestgojo ) for constantly listening to my ideas, talking me through them, and beta-reading this when I finished it. I was so confused and worried about Satoru’s characterization here. She helped me a lot with that. I wouldn't have been able to write this fic without her help actually.

Whether this will turn into a series or stay like this alone depends on ya’ll. If I get a positive response I’ll consider posting the other parts after writing it. I don't have a very healthy experience of posting series works in Tumblr. Most of them are posted on my ao3. So, let's see what I have in the store.

also tagging @orchid3a @akiniku @semisgroupie @gojoest @lalunanymph

[cookiethebirdthing]

Extra Extra!

We at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper have received astonishing reports from anonymous sources about some truly despicable plans that the goddesses on top of the mountain have planned!

A large battery was spotted, hidden behind the Moriya Shrine, with cables snaking across the land and into the very backyard of Gensokyo's most beloved shrine maiden. Using a combination of carefully-placed foliage and illusions, the cables are completely invisible to the naked human eye. Of course, we at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper were able to utilize the excellent vision of the white wolf tengu to confirm these reports.

We were further informed of large electronic devices near the Moriya Shrine that have been allegedly "mining bitcoin." While we have not yet been able to independently confirm these sightings, we have no reason to doubt their veracity. From our research, it would seem that "bitcoin mining" is some sort of Outside World technology that has brought nothing but pain and destruction to its inhabitants. We have reason to believe the goddesses at the Moriya Shrine plan to bring this destruction to Gensokyo as well and use the ensuing chaos to stake their claim at the top of the food chain.

Is the Moriya Shrine really behind this? Is the red-white being robbed of her precious electricity in order to power this doomsday weapon? Or is it possible that she is also in on the scheme?

As everyone is well aware, the Hakurei Shrine is infamously hard to reach from the Human Village and is surrounded by dangerous, human-eating youkai. This means that the shrine receives little in the way of donations. Why is this relevant? Because Reimu has everything to gain and nothing to lose from overturning the current order of Gensokyo!

How likely is it really that she would have no clue that her meager amount of electricity is being siphoned off? After extensive research, we at the Bunbunmaru Newspaper don't believe this is the case. Obviously, we can't know for sure, but all evidence points to this being a joint effort between the Hakurei and the Moriya Shrine.

That's all for this extra! This has been the Fair and Thorough Aya Shameimaru, your favorite birdseed reporter. Thank you for subscribing to the Bunbunmaru Newspaper! Be sure to read our upcoming papers as the case unfolds!

[grimalkinmessor]

I love the Light Grows Up In Wammy's House premises but I also think I love it in a very different way than most people do

Like I don't see it as a Childhood Friends/Rivals™ trope for Lawlight, I very much see it as Light growing up being told that there's someone better than him, someone he must not only surpass, but become—and I think he does the opposite of what BB does. He starts to hate L not because of anything L actually did (because they wouldn't have met) but because everyone keeps implying that L is better than him when Light KNOWS that he's the superior one. Beyond finds out that L is addicted to sweets and immediately changes his diet to include cakes and candies, while Light immediately wipes everything sweet from his mental list of desired foods.

He is perfectly polite, he's the baby of the group, and he can do no wrong in every other aspect of life except for the fact that he vehemently doesn't want to take L's place no matter how hard they push him. He wants to become his own sort of detective on his own merit, and he'll be damned if he has to use L's name while he does it. If he solves any cases it's anonymously, under a pseudonym.

And if he ever meets L, they won't be friends. But that vaguely disconcerting teen/man that sometimes sits in the corners of rooms and talks to no one is very interested in what Light has to say, no matter what it is, and seems to both enjoy it when Light talks shit about L and yet is still somehow annoyed by it. They get into heated arguments and he'll steal Light's things and pull his hair and mess up his clothes no matter how many times the caretakers chastise him for it (though even that happens surprisingly rarely). Light would stop talking to him entirely if he wasn't his only hope of getting out of Wammy's little genius factory both physically and mentally intact.

Light makes plans to run away and runs them by the broody teenager he's tolerated, who helps him pick out any holes in his plans, but somehow the staff always seem to catch Light before he can escape. It happens so often that Light even begins to think that someone's snitching on him, but he's only ever told one other person, and he wouldn't care enough to stop Light from leaving....

Would he?

Or, alternatively, Light never meets that stranger in the corner. Instead, Watari happily sternly informs him that L has personally selected Light to help him on cases. Isn't that great? Isn't it an honor? A and B are practically roiling with jealousy, Light should be grateful.

But Light is not grateful. He takes the news with a big ole fake smile, and silently plots L's mysterious disappearance before he's even come face to face with the man. He wants to make it on his own, he doesn't want to be reliant on L's name and Wammy's money and generosity forever, and he loathes the fact that he's been metaphorically chained to L's title in all the ways he didn't want to be.

A tiny Light, accompanying a teenage L places and becoming his face (both because L is petty and because he thinks its funny when police are introduced to a little kid as their Consulting Detective) around the world, all while they throw vicious barbs back and forth and spend quiet Christmases together and throw each other under the bus for fuckups and try foreign cuisines together and struggle to keep (L)/gain (Light) the power and ground they both don't even actually want.

L gives Light all the cases he doesn't want, like he's doing him a favor, and Light regularly calls A and B to smack talk L behind his back and turn the rest of his successors against him.

I can even imagine some amalgamation of both of these scenarios happening, or even eight more vaguely like them in the vein of L and Light being both completely antagonistic towards each other while also simultaneously growing so codependent that they can't stand not knowing what the other one is doing at any point in the day and also get absurdly jealous whenever anyone else even speaks to them.

Or EVEN a scenario where L doesn't pay attention to Light at all until he's grown and out in the world on his own. Light makes a quick name for himself, decidedly divorced from Wammy's influence, and eventually meets L on accident through a case L is working on, wherein L becomes intrigued with him and looks into his history only to find that he's a Wammy kid and L goes "Oh. You're one of mine."

To which Light takes decidedly poorly given that the claim both riles and razes Things™ in him because growing up with the vaguest desires to be like the man in front of you even though you loathe him and those desires were quickly squashed and never thought of willingly or voiced aloud leaves behind both the intense need to alienate yourself from said man entirely and to get close enough to become better than him for all to see and witness—only for Light to find that he can't alienate himself completely from L anymore because L decidedly won't let him and he can never quite seem to surpass him either because L is constantly nipping at his heels, echoing his thoughts with brilliant deductions of his own, and it turns out that trying to intellectually sprint past someone who only starts running when YOU do and has a distinct headstart is harder than it looks.

[zarvasace]

The last, and probably my current favorites of the bunch: Prince and Mirage, dark Warriors and dark Legend! I keep trying to put the images side-by-side so they don't take up as much room but Tumblr HATES that. Sorry.

My document with all these boys' descriptions on it is over 7k words. Holy heck. Hope you like them. XD Masterpost

More information and art beneath the cut yayyy

Prince

Prince is dark Warriors. 

Cia gave Warriors a lot of unwanted attention, which he spurned. Prince, on the other hand, wouldn't just accept the attention, but would have welcomed it. He wasn't entirely autonomous when he was summoned, but he remembers everything. He knows that he never wants to not be in control of himself ever again.

Instead of championing freedom, however, Prince makes a point of controlling others. If he controls them, they can't control him. Shackle is similar, but they have different methods. While Shackle prefers physical subjugation to be sure they're in his power, Prince uses manipulation. He pretends to be your friend, all the while gaining your trust. His job is made all the easier by his own special talent: Charm. 

Prince’s Charm is a supernatural ability to influence people. Where Madness takes over bodies, Prince sways the mind. His Charm is something he can turn on and off at will, at different intensities. It doesn't work well on any being with too much light, but it does work on criminals or people with guilt and secrets. The other Darks are susceptible to it, though after… an incident… Prince doesn't do it to them. Usually. 

It works like this: Prince identifies his target, which can be an individual or an entire crowd. He turns his Charm on intentionally, and depending on how hard he pushes, his target’s attention is drawn to his face. Because he does not look human, he then has to quickly begin talking, to pour even more Charm on. If he does it right (it does require skill and charisma), the target forgets his appearance is anything out of the ordinary. He needs a minute or two of conversation and rakish smiles to dig his claws deep enough that they don't remember anything unusual once they stop looking right at him. Prince uses his Charm to get information, favors, and generally spread his anti-Link agenda. The riskier or weirder his request is, the more Charm he has to layer on, and some people just straight up won't do some things. The Charm wears off after a while, depending on the target and how long they were exposed to it, which takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few weeks, averaging out at a day or two. 

Prince has to choose his targets wisely, which can be difficult to do because he does not look human and does not have any kind of magical disguise. That last point is a sore spot. He doesn't want a disguise, he just wants people to stop looking at him like he's going to burn their house down, thank you very much. He only has their best interests at heart. Prince is bitter and extremely envious about Warriors winning hearts so easily thanks to his good looks and natural charisma, so Prince does his best to do the same without them. His Charm is better anyway. 

…It's a good thing he hasn't actually been let loose on a population yet. 

(Warriors is a bit of a flirt, but not too badly. Prince makes a game out of trying to make people fall in romantic love with him as fast as he can. (Author’s note: I'm not touching sex. That is not the sort of story I want to tell here.))

Prince doesn't need food, and he doesn't need to breathe, but he does need to use his Charm. Because he magically learns a bit of information about his targets when he's focused on them, his theory is that he leeches from their emotions, or their identities, or something of that sort. He hasn't shared the theory with anyone, but the Dark Chain does know that Prince needs to use his Charm or he starts to get very, very hangry. It's a physical need for him. Of course, pushing too hard or trying to Charm too many people at once gives him migraines. 

Prince considers himself a leader, and it rankles him a bit that Depth is the one in charge. He contents himself with sitting back and letting Depth do all the hard things, though he has Charmed Depth several times into going along with what Prince wants to do. Prince sees Shackle as a sort of protege in the ways of manipulation, and occasionally provides pointers about how to subtly get under people’s skin. Prince and Madness end up working together a lot, since Prince can Charm Madness’s thralls into forgetting they ever lost time, or he can make up memories for them. Sometimes the two of them get migraines at the same time, which spells out lots of “fun” for everyone else. He fights a lot with Mirage and is always trying to catch Agony off-guard to give him a good scrubbing. He's the only reason that Nothing or Dire get baths, too. 

Prince is arrogant and ambitious, yes. He's proud of his appearance and does his best to stay clean and orderly—he doesn't mind the memories of military training that he gets from Warriors, since those routines help him to be efficient. He wears a copy of Warriors’s outfit, but fancier, with a fluffy shirt and a corset on top, and his tunic is purple because (1) it's opposite green on some color wheels and (2) it's the color of royalty. His silvery hair is a little longer than Warriors’s is, and he wears a luxurious red cape.

Sometimes he puts a little too much flair into his moves, but he's proficient with as many weapons as Warriors is, if less practiced. He talks a lot, boasts a lot, and casually jabs where it hurts. He holds a lot of jealousy and hate in his heart, and if he gets a little drunk, he'll go on and on about how much he dislikes Warriors, specifically. 

Prince’s ultimate ambition is to rule his Hyrule as undisputed, beloved emperor. He wants to do that by winning the hearts of every soldier, every servant, every noble. He wants to steal Warriors’s relationships right out from under him without him noticing. Prince knows that he can't rely on his temporary Charm to do that, though, so his plan is to ally with the organizations of traitors throughout Hyrule and add his persuasive charm and Charm to their efforts, eventually rising to become their leader. 

Prince’s best dreams involve him standing over a defeated Warriors on the balcony of the castle, a crown on his head and a queen on his arm (or king. He just thinks stealing Artemis or Impa would make it all the sweeter), with crowds below cheering for him. He has plans to keep the aging Warriors as an honored “guest” in the castle for as long as he lives, doomed to watch his beloved, darkened kingdom flourish under Prince’s ruby eyes. Someday, Prince will change his name to Link, stealing that from Warriors, too. 

Prince Link. Wait, no. King Link. No, even better… Emperor Link. 

Actually, he doesn't like the sound of Emperor. He’ll workshop that title.  

Mirage

Mirage is dark Legend, patterned after the Nightmares that Legend fought on Koholint. He knows Legend will know that immediately. 

Mirage is truly shape-fluid. His form is extremely malleable, though he can't keep up looking perfectly like a human for more than half an hour or so—he starts to melt and revert back to his most comfortable state, which is a close copy of Legend, his matter constantly shifting and dripping and melting. (Most comfortable state, not his true form. Does he have a true form? He doesn't know what it is if he does.) He is best at mimicking nonspecific human forms and small reptiles. He pretended to be a bush once, but wasn't very convincing. 

Mirage’s gooey flesh doesn't have many pain or touch receptors, and he doesn't need any kind of structure beneath the goo to stand up. He's very good at energy dispersion, so punching him means that you're either punching a brick wall or that your fist is getting absorbed. His goo is as warm as flesh and very slightly acidic, so touching him for too long can burn. He doesn't need to breathe, but he does digest organic material or minerals to build on his mass. He's weak against energy-type attacks, like acid or fire or ice, but it doesn't hurt him in the traditional sense and he can always build himself back up. He can drop entirely flat and easily squeezes through small gaps. 

Most traditional dungeon traps do absolutely nothing to Mirage: spike traps don't hurt him, as holes in his form mean nothing; he doesn't really take fall damage, just splatters a bit until he can pull himself together; giant axes that cleave him in two don't actually hurt him, either. There is one small part of Mirage’s matter that is his core. If he gets cut into pieces, the rest of him will shrivel up and evaporate in an hour or two, but his core stays alive and can regrow in a matter of days. If he gets to any cut-off piece before it evaporates, he can reassimilate it. He often messes with his form to take on any physical challenge: looking around corners with an eye on a hand; growing taller to see over a wall; spreading out his feet and legs to float on water; squeezing into cracks in an ice block and expanding in the right spot to make it all shatter. 

Mirage doesn't speak often, preferring to keep quiet. His voice is soft and slithering, with hissing Ss and a pitch that ranges from whispery to shrill. It's the worst voice in the group after Depth’s. He isn't the smartest of the Darks, but he is quite observant and if he does speak up, there's something important to pay attention to. Mirage often just goes with the group decisions, performing whatever role they require, though privately he absolutely resents having to work with anyone else, because Mirage works alone. He doesn't need companions, friends, shopkeepers, or family; he doesn't need vehicles, mounts, money, magic items, or even weapons. When he means alone, he means Very Alone. 

The thing about Legend—despite the masks and attitude he puts on—is that he cares, so so much. He cares about people being happy and safe, he bonds with everyone nice he meets whether he knows it or not, he is self-sacrificing and always working for a better world, even when people don't ask for it. Mirage does not care about much of anything except himself. He would be most content wandering around a mountain, causing a bit of chaos in a nearby town, and using his abilities to traverse impossible paths, especially through caves, just because he can. He doesn't care about the other Darks (that's a bit more of a lie than he thinks it is), he doesn't care about Legend, he doesn't care about covering the world in darkness. He’s just dragged around and knows that they have to finish this stupid mission thing before he can be left in peace. 

Mirage is somewhat fascinated with the way humans work. He's closer to an octopus or other eldritch sea creature himself, and mimics reptilian forms, but the more he learns about humans, the better he can mimic them. He might not care much about many things, but he's curious. He likes to investigate corpses (especially if he can eat them—the Dark Chain’s favorite way of “disappearing” people) and find out new things about their anatomy and chemical compositions, things he knows about and can memorize to reproduce in his own gooey flesh later. As such, he sometimes annoys the other Darks by poking at them or “testing” their senses or limits. 

He gets along best with Lost, who doesn't care much, either, and doesn't get mad at his questions or testing. Mirage responds by taking Lost babysitting duty more than his fair share. (His apathy means he's really patient with Lost and Nothing and Madness.) He makes a good team with Agony, who he sees as very similar to himself, except Agony is clearly more driven. Agony is the quick and sharp counterpart to Mirage’s slow and inevitable destruction. (And it doesn't hurt that Agony is the electricity wielder among them, so if Agony sort of likes Mirage, then all the better.) 

In a normal fight, Mirage is all but indestructible, walking through battle without problems. He doesn't bother attacking until someone hurts him, usually with fire or something similar. Then Mirage will focus to get rid of the threat—and he’s aware that the others expect him to target and take out Legend, so he does that if he has to. He's all but impossible to fight without elemental aid, and while he isn't too quick, he hits HARD and has a lot of tricks up his metaphorical sleeves. 

Still, the fact remains that if you manage to hurt him, you hurt him a lot. Mirage isn't complicated, but he's very flexible and can do things nobody is prepared for. 

(sorry for the low contrast. But hey, my goo-drawing skills are finally relevant! Look at that hat! And the foot!)

[d3wdropz]

DIVINITY: PROLOGUE ~ SUKUNA X READER

a/n okay I'm very excited about this!

I'm planning on splitting up the story into a prologue, fight, smut, then epilogue. I love build-up and world building, not just the smutty stuff, so be prepared for more of a plot w/ porn set up- plans may change though and upload schedule will be chaotic so be prepared

hope you all enjoy!

pairing: True Form! Sukuna x Curse! Fem! Reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: Sukuna is feared and respected, a self-proclaimed "natural calamity". Shrouded in power and mystery, not much is known about him, other than the fact that if you bore him you'll likely face a gruesome demise.

Now where does that leave you? A powerful and new "natural calamity" as Sukuna would say.

content warning: no smut, fem! reader, canon-typical violence, descriptions of violence, blood, death, swearing, kind of anti-hero/villainous reader, canon! sukuna , slightly non-canon setting

credit to @cafekitsune for all the amazing dividers!!!

The Heian Era- a time that would later be recognized as the 'Golden Age of Jujutsu'. A period full of strong sorcerers- and curses.

Yet, no matter their strength, no one stood a chance against the reigning king: Ryomen Sukuna. The very mention of his name sent fear into those who heard it. While he stayed on top of the food chain, there was nothing to be done.

If a village wanted a chance at survival, they had expectations to uphold.

First: respect and fear the King of Curses. Even if he's miles away, when he is spoken of, it should be with care and respect. No one is sure if it's true, but there are tales of villagers speaking of Lord Sukuna in a lowly manner- only for them to be cut in-half before they could finish.

Second: his arrival should be met with offerings and praise. Not to feed his ego, but to give him a reason not to burn a town to the ground. If, for some terrible reason, a village has Sukuna housed within it, he is to be treated like a God. Anything less would mean the death of hundreds, such an easy act that Sukuna would do it with his eyes closed.

The third, and final, rule: everyone is beneath him. No one is allowed to look him in the eye, talk to him, or even breath too close to him. Weaklings are expected to know their place. If they forget, Lord Sukuna happily reminds them of his strength by crushing their windpipe with one of his four hands.

No village has ever really strayed from these rules after they were made- not if they wanted to live. Due to this, Sukuna's arrivals come with a sort of schedule: an invitation made in hopes of gaining his favor, offering and celebration preparation, the 'festivities', and finally, his departure.

The latest, pitiful town Sukuna has found himself in is in their third stage. He's seated comfortably on a pedestal of sorts, with Uraume close by. If Sukuna were to be honest, he finds these kind of events boring and tacky. He can't help but sneer when he looks into a sea of sad, lowly, humans giving him hollow praise to stay alive.

As Sukuna sits in his head, he thinks that maybe he endures this because there's nothing better to do. Pillaging and bloodshed isn't fun if don't give yourself the chance to relax, ready yourself for the next venture.

Another perk of being invited to these celebrations: hearing gossip. It's no surprise that Sukuna is not a very social man, and Uraume is no better when they spend all of their time with him. So these short instances give him a chance to hear the latest news.

It's not like he would be ignorant to anything if he truly wanted to know. He just finds more excitement in finding things out when villagers whisper their gossip to one another- it also gives him something to do.

Lucky for him, the townspeople are bustling with news. Their voices are full of fear and concern. They try to hide it, try to keep Sukuna's attention on the various gifts they offer him. It's not enough, sadly, and he's becoming intrigued.

This distress isn't being caused by him, from what he can hear and tell. None of them have verified or given a name to what is on their minds, so Sukuna decides to wait it out.

Night falls by the time Sukuna finally knows what's going on. By now, the offerings have been made, the praises have been given, and this meant it was time for him to take his leave. Both him and Uraume can see the sweat bead on the elder's heads as Sukuna remains seated.

Uraume is confused as well, but is wise enough to not question or make a fuss- Sukuna does as he pleases, sometimes with no rhyme or reason. Their job is to serve him, and right now that meant refilling his cup.

Just as he's about to call it a night, fed up with waiting for something interesting to happen, Sukuna hears it. Some young, quiet girl was speaking with her friend as they cleaned up. Their conversation was of some new curse- 'if you could call her that' as they said- was causing chaos in a neighboring village.

As Sukuna continued to listen, the girl shared more. She informed her friend that the curse seemed to appear out of nowhere, one that no one recognized. The rumors are that she looks human, beautiful even! But she's really a cold-hearted monster. When her companion scoffs and claims this to be false, that if this were true more people would know about it, the girl argues back. She explains that this has all happened within the span of a day or two.

Sukuna quirks his brow, slightly surprised by this news. He didn't sense any new cursed energy, at least to the extent that this girl is speaking of. If some curse were to be close by with this much power, he would know. But, it would bring some much-needed entertainment if this rumor were to be true.

Just as Sukuna was about to rise from his seated position, he felt something shift. It was as if a balance inside of him tilted. He tensed up and looked to the source, sensing it's placement. Uraume turned to the direction, having picked up on the intrusion as well.

Within seconds, a shriek was heard. It was quickly cut off by the sound of clatters. The shift Sukuna felt morphed into a detection of cursed energy just as the scream died.

As if the yell was some kind of alarm, the village quickly fell into disarray as people ran away. Families held each other tight as they rushed to the center of town, right where Sukuna was seated.

He watched as their determined faces fell, filling with fear and despair as they were met with the sight of the King of Curses. It was easy to see that the villagers were now stuck between two deadly curses, having to chose which death they'd prefer.

Without hesitation, Uraume calmly creates a rush of ice that destroys all of the obstacles between them and the curse that's entered the village- leaving behind a small pile of dead bodies. It was a simple and effective move, the opponent is caught off-guard and usually frozen in the ice. Oftentimes Uraume freezes the curse until they're veins are frozen solid, an easy victory.

So Uraume is left shocked when they watch the ice fly back towards them. It's wasn't too fast, they're able to create a wall that protects both them and Sukuna. They try to analyze the curse, but it's hard to see them through the ice.

Before Uraume could speak, a joyful laugh rang through the silent village. To any human, it sounded innocent and childish. But Sukuna and his attendent knew better, they sensed the power oozing from the curse, the malice behind that laugh.

With his interest peaked, Sukuna stood up, towering over the wall of ice after he cuts it away. He's left intrigued for the second time that night when he sees a woman standing before him, now only about 300 feet away.

She looks to be about 20, but appearances can't be trusted when dealing with immortal cursed spirits. Her body is adorned in a loosely fitting, silk robe. It's large and ill-fitted on her, falling off one shoulder, showing off soft skin. There are unmistakable dots and splashes of blood that stain the front of the pristine and bright fabric.

Her laughter dies down as she wipes away a tear. When she looks up, her eyes lock onto one pair of Sukuna's. An amused smile spreads on her face as she stands tall.

"Well, I knew there was something interesting here. I could feel it," she spoke carelessly, twirling a strand of hair and cocking her head to the side, "I didn't think it would be this fun."

By now, the rest of the villagers have snuck away. This left an empty town, with only the sounds of fire crackling and the curses to fill the night.

Sukuna can hear Uraume sneer, disgusted by the disrespect coming from this uncivilized curse, "Have some decorum." Their voice is full of malice, as they ready for another attack.

Deciding to take this chance to observe the curse in front of him, Sukuna doesn't stop Uraume from using Frost Calm. He watches as the cold air quickly makes it way to their adversary. Both curses are left confused as the blast is halted just inches away from the woman's face.

The smile is quickly replaced by a glare and disgusted look. She glances at them, giving the Frost Calm in front of her little thought, "I didn't come here to fight some insignificant, little snowflake."

With that, she sent the attack right back at Uraume. This time, it was different. It was faster, more concentrated, and dripping with an immense amount of cursed energy. Left with no time to react, the smaller curse is sent flying backwards and into some buildings. Their impact is made worse as the ice encases them.

"Compared to the sheer amount of cursed energy you exude, that little pebble was nothing," the woman takes a few steps forward. Only now does Sukuna notice just how unproperly done her robe is. As soon as the binding at her waist ends, there's a large slit that reveals her legs, just short enough to hide her more intimate parts. Even with a lack of shoes, her feet and legs seem to be clean- in fact everything about her seems to be unblemished except for the blood. It leaves the Cursed King confused, but he easily drops it.

If Sukuna wasn't busy observing her and trying to figure out what exactly her cursed technique was, he would find her attire humorous and immature. It reminded him of Yorozu, her naked introduction still recent. A quick thought crosses his mind: is it some new trend for female curses to walk around half-naked? He knows he has no room to speak but at least he wears proper pants.

Coming out of his thoughts, Sukuna lifts his head and smirks ever-so slightly, "You're one to talk, woman."

Anyone could tell that this lady is a talker, and she returns his smile with a mischievous one of her own. "I wouldn't know, I'm new here," she stretches, raising her arms above her head, "All I know is that when I sense something strong- like you- I find it-" her eyes seem to shimmer as she stares into his own crimson ones, "and I take it."

With a little more time to stare into her eyes, Sukuna was able to detect what that excited gleam was: hunger. Some part of him felt a shiver run down his spin when she licked her lips and lowered her arms, "The stronger they are, the better they taste."

This leaves Sukuna chuckling under his breath, willing to humor her, "Aw, so that's it," in an instant, Sukuna is right in front of the woman, towering over her, "you're a dumb little thing that just came to life, hungry for power."

She held her ground, staring up at him confidently with a sort of excitement in her eyes, "I wouldn't say I'm dumb," in retaliation to his attempt at intimidation, she quickly pokes his chest. It was a gentle movement, something he wouldn't have even noticed. If it wasn't for the shocking strength he felt as he was forced to lean back. "but you would be right about the other thing, I just came to be about three days ago."

For any other curse, they would have been sent flying a few meters back. If she were to have used that move on a human, their chest would have been shot open from the force. This interested her even more as she took a simple hop back, only for her to fly high into the air. She then sat herself on a nearby roof, leaning her head on her knees.

"You're the most interesting thing I've found, none of the others could talk, or lasted that move," she grinned down at Sukuna.

Both of them knew this was just banter. The fighting hasn't quite commenced yet. They seemed too invested in the other, neither ready to kill and miss out on this opportunity to chat.

Sukuna glances up at her, crossing a pair of his arms, "Is that meant to impress me, woman?"

She only gives him a cheeky smile, "Not at all, I can tell that you're powerful, feared. Something like that would do nothing to sway you from fighting me." She closes her eyes thoughtfully, "I am curious as to who you are, you'll be the first thing I've ever cared enough to remember the name of. The first. . . 'curse'- if what the humans call me is true- that makes me need to try out my abilities."

His excitement only intensifies- this woman is something else. Sukuna can tell that this battle will be one for him to remember. It won't be simple, one-sided, and consist of him using his cleave to destroy his enemy in a second. He'll really get to go all out, get to have fun.

A rumble reverberates in his chest, a chuckle, "I'm your king, woman." Sukuna slicks his hair back out from his vision, smirking at and teasing the younger curse which only grows as she furrows her brows in anger.

She raises her hand lazily, keeping it level to her head, "You're getting annoying." The woman thinks for a second, before a smile graced her face, as if a light-bulb went off. She stands up from her seated position and jumps to the ground.

Out of annoyance, and some respect for her confidence, Sukuna averts his eyes from her figure as the wind blows her robe about. It doesn't reveal much, and Sukuna might be a tyrant, but he still likes to think of himself as a chivalrous adversary.

When she's on the ground again, she walks right up to him again. Her hands a clasped in front of her, joyfully. In any other circumstance, she would be a puddle of blood for getting this close to the King of Curses. But, Sukuna must admit that her presence has provided him entertainment for the night. So he allows it.

"I know! If I beat you, you'll tell me your name. If you win, I'll tell you mine. I'd love to continue this conversation, as you're the most fascinating thing I've come across in my short life. But- I'm itching to have a little fun." Sukuna listens to her ramble, rolling his eyes at her proposition.

Now, Sukuna can't help but find this plain hilarious. This stupid, little curse is making a simple bet and placing her life on the line. He could almost smack her on the back of her head from how absurd it sounds- but, if he were to agree, he'd get to truly see her abilities.

With a lop-sided grin, Sukuna extends his hand, imbuing it with cursed energy in preparation for the binding vow. He watches as confusion washes onto her face as she stares at his hand.

"What are you doing?" her voice is laced with frustration and bewilderment.

His brows raise before he lets out an exasperated sigh, "I forgot you're new- this" he nods his head to his hand "is a binding vow. It's a promise made with cursed energy that requires us to fulfill it. In this instance, it makes you're silly deal something that must be upheld."

She nods in understanding, taking an extra second to study his hand. She then shakes it, both of them taking a second to feel the difference in hand sizes. Hers is dwarfed within his, practically invisible when held in Sukuna's. This brief touch is also a chance for them to feel the others cursed energy on a closer level, more personal.

From what Sukuna could pick up on, before he dropped her hand, was that this wouldn't be an easy fight. He's both put on edge and roused by the amount of cursed energy coursing through her veins. What makes it even better is that she's completely unaware of the power she's holding.

He can't wait to be the person that forces her to unlock it.

The two take a few simple steps back. Sukuna grips his kamutoke in one hand, readying for battle. The woman, on the other hand, stands gleefully in place. She has no weapon, isn't readying any chants or dances, hell- she doesn't even look serious.

Even with her immature behavior, the female curse looks her enemy in the eyes with an intensity Sukuna's only seen in few. She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head, "Ready?"

Sukuna nods with content, watching from the corner of his eye as Uraume finally begins to make their way over again. The look he shoots them is enough for the servant to realize this wasn't something for them to interfere in. Instead, they stand in the background, ready to jump in whenever their master needed.

As both curses begin to emit immense amounts of cursed energy in preparation for the fight, Uraume can't help but notice a new emotion reflect in Sukuna's gaze. It's something they've never seen him express before, though most ordinary people usually experience it many times. It leaves them confused and wondering what the hell conspired while they were incapacitated.

The thing that's left Uraume stumped, that's making it's first appearance in the Cursed King's eyes, is admiration.

Admiration for the curse that's about to battle with him to the death.

final notes okay! wow- i'm sorry this took so long! i'm happy to get this ball rolling though, be prepared for some fighting and more explanation in the next part!

oh- also i hope sukuna isn't too ooc in this- it's hard to get that guy down!

hope you enjoyed!

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 9

Summary: With the bargain in place, you'll have to learn to hide your powers while navigating a possibility of allies within Amarantha's court.

Content Warnings: Slight NSFW, suggestiveness, canon typical violence, allusions to assault.

Author's Note: As a little treat for the last chapter being so short, this one is loooooonnnngg. A couple familiar faces make an appearance here, as I decided I wanted to start combining the Hybern storyline with the UTM storyline.

Part 8 is here, rest of the series can be found here

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Again.”

Breath rasps out of you, hands doubled over on your knees, sweat dripping off your forehead. The pounding in your skull intensifies with each labored breath, spots dancing across your vision as you shake your head. “I can’t!”

“You can.”

You raise your head enough to shoot the High Lord of the Night Court a glare. Easy for him to say, he’s not the one shifting forms over and over again. Do High Lord’s even have other forms, aside from Spring? You can’t recall anymore, your head hurts too much. Rhys had decided days ago--at least, you think it’s days, time has become irrelevant in this dark dungeon cell Amarantha has left you both in--that the best way for you to gain control of your powers to better hide them, is to learn how to control the shift. Yours is not quite a beast form, you’re not fully transforming into some sort of beast, but you can grow fangs and claws and shift your eyes into something other. There’s something deeper there you haven’t quite touched, the image of it reveals itself in your dreams, sometimes as this shapeless empty void, others with scales, but you’ll have to dig deeper for whatever that thing is. For now, it’s dampening your power and glamoring your bargain mark, and keeping a harness on the fangs and claws. It’s excruciating, letting them out and shoving them back in, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done it already. And Rhys just sits there in the corner, watching intently, giving instructions and being a general pain in the ass with each of them. 

“Did you think it was going to be easy?” Rhys returns.

You massage your jaw, the throbbing from retracting your fangs making your whole face hurt. “Of course not asshole! I’m just saying a little compassion would be nice.”

Rhys smirks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted to be babied and treated like a doll.”

You snarl at him like an animal, eyes blazing and your fangs slide into place effortlessly, pricking your bottom lip. 

Rhys stands with a grunt, body still recovering from the beating he’d received and the strain on his powers. “You’re so easy to rile up,” he croons, stalking closer. “You wear every emotion so plainly, it’s almost too easy to get you right into this position. And what happens when someone other than me sees, hm?”

He’s right and you hate it. 

He stills when he’s only a hair breath away. “I know it’s hard,” he says more gently. “But consider the alternative.”

You don’t want to even think about the alternative. This bargain has to work, you have to make it work, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how long it takes. You can’t let her win.

Your eyes go to the marks still gouged into Rhys’s neck from the collar; his healing abilities have started to return slowly, but he still can’t get the chain off, the wounds still rubbed raw from any and every movement. You can’t let her keep doing this to him either.

“Fine,” you huff.

“Good girl.”

The remark gets him a nice flash of your middle finger before you go back through the steps he’d taught you. It is nice to have the banter between you as a distraction to the reality of your situation, to the cold and darkness that have become a constant companion here far beneath the Mountain. The lack of food and sleep from the elements and the sounds of things prowling around outside is hard enough to bear without the looming threat of Amarantha’s return. This easy thing between you takes the edge off.

You last maybe an hour more, before you slump against the wall, exhausted. 

“You’re doing good,” Rhys affirms from his side of the cell. There’s barely enough room for the two of you to stretch your legs, knees brushing as you stretch your weary muscles. 

You want to believe him, but you know the confinement is taking a toll on your body. Perhaps part of Amarantha’s plan is to let you go half mad in the dark of the dungeons for your insubordination. At least you had been let out of your room from time to time. Locked away like this, you’re tired more easily. With powers like yours you should be able to do this for longer, but it feels like you’re trying to move the Mountain one rock at a time.

You rub a hand over your face, smearing the filth on your hands from touching the floor across your face. “Don’t patronize me.”

“You can be doing good and still need a lot of work,” he replies. “I thought you wanted me to be sympathetic?”

“Yeah well it means less if I had to force you to say it,” you retort.

He moves so he can come sit next to you. If he had any plans to say anything, it’s halted as the lock on the door slides out of place and it creaks open.

You instinctively reach for his hand, breath caught in your throat, waiting to hear that ominous click of heels on the stone floor. But it’s merely one of her red skinned guards, pushing a single tray across the floor before slamming the door shut again.

Rhys gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before leaning around you to grab the tray, a single, burnt loaf of bread and a cup of water between the two of you.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

He rips the bread in half. “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

You take the half he offers, stomach rumbling, but you can’t bring yourself to eat it. What’s the point? 

“Tell me about it,” he says after a beat. “What’s so special about your little farmhouse in Spring.”

You bring your knees to your chest. “It had a lot of sunlight, for starters.” You miss being able to curl up by the windows with your books and a cup of tea, miss going out into the fields to check the mares and their calves, miss finding an excuse to go into town to listen to the minstrels play in the square. 

“I miss my bed and that old quilt I bought off a seamstress on the side of the road,” you continue, tears welling in your eyes. “And my books.”

“What do you like to read?”

“Anything,” you reply. “Everything. Never really mattered to me. Unless it was about math. I hate math.”

Rhys huffs a laugh. “What did math do to you?”

“It’s evil and stupid and who fucking puts letters in with numbers?”  It’s such a stupid statement you can’t help but laugh as the words come out. “But I’d read nothing but books about numbers for the rest of my life if it meant we got out of here.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to pull some from my library for you,” he teases.

You turn to look at him. “How have you survived this long, Rhys?”

He washes down the rest of his food with a bit of the water in your shared cup, violet eyes looking anywhere in the cell but your face. “One day at a time,” he says like it’s something he’s said every day. “And… and when it gets bad I think about my friends, my family. I make a list of their names and I recite it in my head until I don’t feel so lonely.”

You take his hand again, because what else are you supposed to do? You cannot magically make this all end right here and now. It will take time. Maybe that’s what hurts most, because this is the first time in weeks you’ve felt like you understand how your powers work, how you can use them, and yet there’s nowhere to direct them. It’s all a waiting game, moving pieces into the right places until you can finally put all this to use. And cauldron is the waiting game grating on your last nerve, but it’s only been a few days. Rhys has been here for fifty. Your heart aches for him.

“But I think,” he finally turns to look at you, and his violet eyes are damp. “I think I’ve forgotten what they look like.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Some days I want to just lay down and quit,” he whispers. “But I can’t. I won’t. Then she wins and everything I’ve set out to do, to protect, was for nothing. I can’t let it be for nothing.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “It won’t be for nothing.” You won’t let it either, you just need to rest for a bit, then you can get back to it.

He leans his head against yours. “We’ll get you back to your books and your quilt.”

“We’ll get out,” you whisper. Maybe if you tell yourself it enough it’ll be true.

“We’ll get out,” he echos.

After sitting like that for a few moments, collecting yourself, you choke down the stale and mostly ruined bread and little bit of ice cold water you’ll get for the day. It gives you enough energy to get back on your feet at least. Your head still throbs from the strain, but you brace yourself against the wall and will it to pass.

“Let’s try those glamors again.”

“That’s my girl,” Rhys praises.

You focus your attention on the thing that lives in your chest, hoping his position on the floor keeps him from seeing the blush that creeps its way up your neck under the possessiveness in his tone. The banter between you is one thing, but anything else is dangerous territory, and you can’t risk any more danger in your life than you already have.  

---

Time passes mostly the same after that, with a little more banter as the tension of being locked up builds between the two of you and a little less vulnerability, granted, but the training regime is the same, until your headaches become less frequent and his jabs at you make you feel less and less like a reason to bring out your claws. The shift becomes a little more bearable over time, and glamoring the bargain ink across your chest becomes the next focus. It takes all your attention for what feels like days, but it’s anyone’s guess.

The progress should make you feel more comfortable, and it does in some ways, but makes you jumpier in others. Every noise outside the door has you checking to make sure a glamor is in place, has you running your tongue over your teeth to ensure your fangs are hidden. Its been steadily getting colder in the cell, the only true indicator that time is passing, and if you can manage to sleep around the shaking of your body, your dreams have started to become less of a call of your powers and more of nightmare of clicking heels and bright red hair and rooms with black vials full of terrible potions. Rhys isn’t any better. Sometimes he wakes screaming, a bit of night chilled darkness seeping from his flushed skin. Some nights you find him staring dutifully at the door, unable to sleep at all.

You’re not sure how much more of this either of you can take before one of you starts bashing against the door again. Between the two of you, perhaps the damage he’d already done would be enough to get it open for real, but what would you do from there? It wasn’t like you could escape. Even if you managed to get out of this cell, she’d just throw you in another.

So you do your best to endure a little longer, even if that means coming up with new ways to cope with it. Cuddling with the High Lord of the Night Court hadn’t really been an option you’d considered until one night it had become so unbearably cold that you could see the clouds of your breath in the air and there wasn’t a full set of clothes between the two of you. Trying to conserve body heat, you’d rolled right into his bare chest and he’d greedily buried his freezing nose into the crook of your neck, teeth chattering against your skin. He’d mumbled something about conserving body heat and that had been all that you were willing to talk about it. From that point on, if you were tired, you’d just lay down next to his large body and let him wrap his arms around you for however long your body could manage to rest in these conditions.

It wasn’t that it felt wrong, it was that it felt right. You could see yourself tangled up like this, in a nice bed, with some warm blankets and fluffy pillows, sunlight streaming through a window above your heads, finally free and out of this terrible place. You try not to let your imagination go too far with that thought, but sometimes it’s the only reason you keep getting up and training; even if it isn’t going to happen for real, at least there’s something to imagine waiting for you at the end of this. You just make sure your shields are up when the thought runs away with you, lest he see them as his powers start to return.

“Your nose is cold,” Rhys says by way of greeting. You can only assume it’s morning, assume that your internal clock still works and that you are, in fact, still on some sort of sleep schedule, but it’s anyone’s guess really.

You crack an eye open to see what he’s talking about, grumbling about it being too early. At some point, you’d nestled quite snuggly into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, despite the collar.

“So are your hands,” you retort, closing your eyes again.

He drags one up your back, where the tattered remains of your dress bare your newly scarred skin, in retaliation. 

“Bastard,” you snarl but you don’t pull away. Pulling away means waking up; means counting the cracks in the ceiling again, pacing until you feel some warmth in your body again. Pulling away means you have to face another day in this cell and you’re not sure you can do it without bashing your fists into the door Rhys had nearly ruined already.

“You like having my hands on you,” he returns.

“Do I?”

“You were practically begging me to touch you on Calanmai,” he says huskily, warm breath ghosting over your ear. 

Your stomach does a little flip at the memory of his hands on you on Calanmai, at the hunger and want that had been so plain on his face you could almost taste it. Things had been so simple then, you didn’t need to worry about letting your own want show. Not like now. “Oh yes, because a night of magic induced horniness is the indicator for what I want.” 

But you do want it. Cauldron boil you do you want it. Every drag of his calloused palms across your bare skin makes you want to arch further into his touch, let him explore and taste and claim every bit of you. It’s becoming unbearable. Calanmai was nothing compared to this.

“So what do you want then?” Rhys asks as his hands draw shapes in your skin, near the base of your neck. You swear you hear a hint of vulnerability there, like there might actually be more than banter in this question.

“To sleep,” you reply, because you can’t allow anything more to happen. Amarantha already knows you care enough about him to surrender your powers, if she knew it was anything more, she’d kill him just to spite you. 

Rhys hums like he’s thinking about it, but eventually says, “We should train more. Your glamours need more work.” 

“Bite me,” you grumble. Training has become even more exhausting. It’s useful stuff for sure, but holding onto your power for too long, then stuffing it back down is starting to feel suffocating. Your powers beg to be unleashed, free and unrestrained from the boundaries you are drawing out for them. No, you can’t allow yourself to think about what you want to happen with the High Lord, but you can’t bring yourself to get up, so here you remain, in limbo between the two. Maybe if he lets you drift back to sleep you’ll never have to make a decision between the two.

He brushes his lips over the shell of your ear, “Ask nicely.”

Your treacherous heart skips a beat at the huskiness of his tone, heat flaring in the pit of your stomach. “Make me, High Lord.” 

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Darling,” he purrs, “don’t start games you can’t finish.”

You have two options here: You can leave it be and get up, leave the line you have made between the two of you right where it is and not have to worry about it; or you can hold your ground and risk stepping right over that boundary line. You know you’re teetering on the knife’s edge here.

“Why wouldn’t I finish?” You turn your head enough to look him in the eyes, batting your eyelashes in feign innocence, even though you know damn well what you’re doing. 

He moves so quickly you don't have time to realize it’s happening before he’s rolling you over onto your back, the solid, heavy weight of him pressing you into the floor. All rational thought eddies from your mind as his hips shift against your own. 

“You have a lot of attitude for someone so set on going back to bed,” he says and you can’t help but note how dilated his eyes are, the violet almost wholly consumed by his pupils. 

This somehow feels more intimate than what you had been doing on Calanmai, despite the fact that his hands were firmly planted next to your head instead of roving over your skin. Gods you hope the filth of the cell covers the scent of your budding arousal because this--him--you want, need, more of it.

“I  can be more than one thing at a time,” you reply. It’s taking all your restraint to not reach your hands out and touch the muscles that ripple across his tattooed chest from holding himself up above you. Even after a few days locked away, you can’t stop thinking about how it would taste to run your tongue over those dark swirls of ink.

His eyes narrow as if he can hear your thoughts, and shit, you realize too late that your shields have been down this whole time because you’d thought, since he was still recovering, those daemati powers would be the last to come back. There’s not time to throw your shields up before his lips are crashing into yours.

You’d thought Calanmai was as desperate for something as you’d ever feel, but it’s nothing in comparison to the hunger that consumes you as those full lips settle against your own. There’s no stopping the groan that tears itself from you as he slides a hand under your head, fingers tangling in your matted hair as he slips his tongue behind your teeth.

You see stars, taste citrus and jasmine. He invades all your senses so thoroughly that the very cell feels like it falls away until nothing exists in the world but the two of you. 

Calanmai had been feverish, an itch that needed to be scratched, but this is like finding air after being underwater too long. You can’t help but feel dizzy and greedy for more as you drag a hand up the sharp contours of his back.

He hisses softly into your mouth when your fingers accidentally brush the collar and you pull back, finally coming up for air. “Shit, shit I’m sorry-”

But he chases back after you like a man starved anyway. “It’s ok,” in between more kisses, each hungrier than the last, “it’s ok.” You’ve never heard a male’s voice get so low, the sound of it making your whole body turn molten.

Still, you’re conscious of where you put your hands, and sensing your hesitation, he drags them over to his chest, inviting you to touch, to trace his tattoos just as you were thinking about doing the first time you’d seen them. Gods there isn’t a part of him you don’t want to explore; to map out and learn every scare and curve across his bronze skin.

You would have too, if the lock on the door didn’t suddenly click out of place. The resounding echo is like ice water being dumped on your head.

Rhys slides the hand under your head down your back and around your waist, yanking you up off the floor with him while he stands. You’re still trying to get your bearings when he places one last, gentle kiss on your lips. “Remember what we practiced.”

Your head is spinning, legs shaky. Nothing makes any sense. Why is he stopping?

The door opens and more of Amarantha’s guards step in, but there’s no tray of food this time, just a single, metal collar. The sight of it is like having water dumped on your head, all thoughts of Rhys’s body on yours drifting away as reality crashes back into you. 

“Her Highness requests your presence,” says one of the two.

Only two. If they were here for Rhys there would be, at least, four, after the stunts he’d been pulling. He has to know that too, but he steps forward anyway, shrugging like it doesn’t bother him, like the smell of you isn’t all over him for anyone to scent.

One of the guards gets a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the wall. “Not you.”

Your mouth feels like it’s made of sandpaper; hands trembling at your sides. You can’t do this, you can’t do this, you can’t.

There’s a tug beneath your ribs, where the bargain ink lies, some sort of invisible thread going taught as Rhys says, “Breathe. Just like we practiced,” into your mind.

You want to duck behind him and hide, but you do as you’re told, drawing one breath, then another as the second guard steps forward and clamps the collar around your throat. It’s not the same, strange metal that used to dampen your power before, but why would it be when Amarantha thinks she has all your powers? As much as you hated the feeling of it, you kind of wished they’d used it instead, just as an extra barrier to keep your powers at bay.

What little bit of Rhys’s power has returned fills the cell, night chilled mist making the already dark room even harder to see in, save for a slight tint of stardust in his irises. “She’s done everything she was asked,” he snarls. “That collar isn’t necessary.”

“Her Highness says it is.”

You risk a glance at him, needing to steady yourself, dreading the fact that he’s somehow become so important to you that the thought of being taken out of this cell makes you want to start shredding things apart. How had you so quickly dug this hole for yourself.

“I’ll be right here. You can do this.”

They don’t waste any more time, dragging you out by the chain attached to the collar, like you’re some sort of wild animal. It’s degrading; makes you feel less and less like a person and more like a pet the longer time drags on. The guards are quick on their feet too, not giving you time to adjust to your surroundings or the blaring torchlights that make you squeeze your eyes shut as you pass. Cauldron, how long have you been in that cell?

You have just enough presence of mind to ensure your glamor is in place around your chest, before they’re dragging you through the open throne room doors. Another one of Amarantha’s nightly parties is in full swing, dancers in skimpy clothes spinning across the room; servants with pitchers of fae wine weave through the crowd, stopping at tables to refill the cups of several High Fae and someone you think might be the High Lord of Winter. It must be nice to have curied enough favor with the Queen that he was allowed to wander freely, instead of a cell, or, like the High Lord of Spring, chained to her throne. Tamlin’s golden hair is messy, undone around his face. The Mountain has stolen some of the color from his skin, though you suppose you look equally as pale now too. He wears his own, glittering collar, the golden chain draped over the bare expanse of his chest. Amarantha has inked her sigil over his heart, staking her claim over her mate. The High Lord’s eyes are so glassy from what you can only assume is the combination of mirthroot and fae wine that you doubt he’s even aware of where he is. It might be a small mercy, in the end.

The guards drag you through the crowd, where you earn more than a few snickers and stares. You’ve never been more aware of how much dirt clings to your skin until this moment. Gods you were making out with a High Lord looking like this? Could he taste the dirt on you? 

You’re led right to the dias, where Amarantha wears a glittering, ruby red crown, her hair unbound and falling in soft waves around her pale face. She might have been pretty once, but the cruelty in her dark gaze was enough to sour it if you looked too long. She watches with amusement as her guards drag you over, eyes glinting with barely restrained glee. Her new little pet here to entertain.

They finally quit dragging you once you’re at the foot of the dias and the crowd goes quiet behind you.

“Have you had enough time to think about what you’ve done?” She croons like you’re a misbehaving child in need of a time out.

Your cheeks flush, but you focus your attention on keeping the damper on your power. You can’t let her rile you up so easily, that’s exactly what she wants. “Yes,” you grind out through your teeth.

She taps a pointed nail against her chin, as if thinking. “And yet you do not bow in my presence, or acknowledge me as your queen?”

A tingling feeling in your upper jaw is the indication that your fangs want to come out and play and you force yourself to take a breath, then another. Still, you have to grit your teeth and stare at the floor to give her a little curtsey, as best you can in your ruined dress anyway. “My apologies.”

“Again,” she says with a grin. “Like you mean it, pet.”

There’s a couple snickers from the crowd behind you.

You’re gritting your teeth so hard you’re sure they might just crack on you, but you take your skirts in hand and curtsey a little deeper this time. The only way you get through it is to picture all the ways you’ll make her pay for this when the time is right.

“No, that’s not right,” she frowns. “You should be lower. In fact, you should be on your knees, thanking me for the mercy I have shown you after you so violently attacked me. Most people don’t live to see the next morning after such things.” The eye on her ring swivels in a motion that makes you think it’s nodding in agreement.

You risk a glance around, searching for any sympathy, and support, but there is none to be found in the leering faces of the crowd. 

“Go on,” she orders. “Beg for my forgiveness.”

Mother knows what she’ll do to you, or Rhys if you don’t, and you need to be in one piece to fulfill your bargain. Still, the move is so demeaning, your very nature thrashing against it that it’s an effort not to cry as you lower yourself onto your knees at the foot of her throne.

When you open your mouth to spew whatever bullshit you think will appease her, she cuts you off, “Lower.”

Your whole face is red with shame as you lean forward until your forehead touches the floor. 

“Better,” she croons. “Now beg, pet.”

“Please,” the word sticks in your throat like it’s a rock. “Please forgive my violent outburst. It won’t happen again.”

She clears her throat, waiting for you to say it.

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness.”

“Try again.”

The crowd is laughing in earnest now and the tears are flowing down your cheeks. You hate this, you hate her, you want to rip her fucking throat out and make that dreadful, grating voice vanish from the face of the world. 

“It won’t happen again, My Queen.”

“Much better,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “I told you I’d get her in line.” 

You raise your head off the floor enough to see who she was talking to with that last bit, and your heart lurches into your stomach at the sight of the two figures standing to the side of the dias, staring intently at you. Twins, bearing the same dark hair, swept back out of their faces, their eyes the same slate gray. They both wear armor, finely polished over matching black tunics and pants, a bit of silver lining in the stitches of their well pressed clothes. But it’s the sigil, over the heart on their armor, that marks them as Hybern’s.

The female stalks over to where you’re still kneeling and yanks you up by the hair to have a better look at you. Gloved fingers poke at your lips, trying to get a look at your teeth and you wonder if maybe you really have been turned into some sort of animal. 

“No fangs,” she muses, her voice like gravel, nothing pretty or feminine about it. “No claws either,” her hands move from your face to your nail beds, poking like you would at a cat’s paws to get their claws to come out. 

You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood. 

“You’ve tested to make sure you took all of her powers?” The male asks Amarantha and your blood turns to ice in your veins. If she tries to use your powers now then you’re doomed before you even get started. 

“I’d be happy to demonstrate,” Amarantha says flippantly, but there’s an edge under it that makes you think even she is trying not to squirm. “But my formula has never failed me.”

“Yours?” The female sneers. “You’d be wise to remember who taught you how to make those potions, General.”

Hybern made Amarantha, Rhys had said, it only made sense that all these little tricks had been part of her training. 

Amarantha takes another swig of wine and waves the disrespect off like a fly. “I’ll happily throw her into the Pit again if you are both so desperate to waste your own time with a demonstration.”

They stare at each other, having some sort of silent conversation. The female finally releases your hair and the ground rises up to meet you as you nearly fall back onto your face. 

“No,” the male brushes a gloved hand over a speck of dirt clinging to his otherwise spotless armor. “I suppose that would be a waste of our time. We have other things to attend to while we’re here.”

It’s honestly a relief. Going back down into the Pit to fight more monsters without being able to summon any of your powers sounds like a complete nightmare, you’re honestly not sure you’re strong enough not to slip up and make a mistake. 

“But we can still check,” the female purrs and that’s when you feel a mental claw raking across your mind. It is not like Rhys’s, not gentle or even teasing, it’s a slash, like someone is trying to cleave through your shields with a knife, and you instantly reach your hands for your head as if it’ll be any sort of protection at all.

You don’t dare call out to Rhys, or even think about what mental hoops you need to do to hide the bargain mark, the glamor should hold for a bit on its own while you put all your energy into tightening your shields against their onslaught. Rhys had been right about your cousins’ daemati powers, they were nothing like his own.

They keep clawing and poking, taking turns trying to tear your mind to shreds. It’s not gentle either, their presence making you whimper and writhe on the throne room floor, regardless of the embarrassment from the still watching crowd. 

“Well there’s been some training here,” the female says. 

“Be careful, Brannagh,” Amarantha hisses. “If you turn her mind to soup she’ll be of no use to us.”

You lock every door and throw up every barrier you can muster, even as they throw themselves against each one, testing for weaknesses. They’re an excellent tag team, every time you think Brannagh might give up, her brother steps into her place and tries again. You’re seeing spots by the time they release you.

The male’s boots come into view as he stops in front of your face. “If you’re so beaten, why won’t you show us how powerless you are, hm?”

It feels like someone’s taking a hammer to your skull, you pinch your eyes shut against the wave of nausea that makes the room spin. “Maybe I just don’t like you,” you hiss.

He too grabs you by the hair, twisting you so your neck moves at an awkward angle to be able to see exactly how badly the remark had hit him. 

“Dagdan,” his sister warns. “Play nice. Our King wants her alive, remember?”

“They said your mother was this untamed too,” he hisses. “Before they broke her.”

You swallow the rage that rises up in your throat, clamp down on everything threatening to bubble to the surface and overflow, ruining all your plans. You have made it this far, you cannot let their presence get the best of you. There will be time to process all this later, when you’re back in your cell. Strangely, the thought of going back to Rhys soothes you, helps you settle. 

“Are you done messing with my things?” Amarantha asks.

“She’s only yours until Hybern arrives to lay claim to Prythian, as is his right,” Brannagh says loud enough for the whole room to hear her. If there was any partying still happening in the corners of the room, it has ceased now, all eyes on the twins.

Amarantha is standing, wine glass clattering to the floor, splattering Tamlin, who doesn’t even look at it. “That’s enough! You will mind your mouths in my Court!”

Dagdan chuckles at that. “Did your Queen not tell you the truth?” Having found a new victim to play with, he finally releases your hair. 

“I said enough!” Amarantha booms, both fire and ice flying from her fingertips. The Mountain trembles beneath her as the powers she’s stolen skitter uncontrollably from her. One eye blazes like a forest fire, the other has gone black and empty, a bit of Rhys’s stolen power flaring. “In my Throne Room you answer to me, regardless of who you serve.”

With the way she jerks back you think the twins might have reached for her mind to silence her, but you can’t be sure. 

“You answer to Hybern, same as everyone else!” Brannagh challenges. “You were nothing more than an experiment, to test and see if Prythian was once again fertile ground for our empire. Did you really think Hybern would just let you walk in here and steal what is rightfully his?”

The crowd begins to whisper amongst themselves, apparently having not heard the news until now. You risk a glance around looking for the other High Lords, hoping some of them, perhaps the ones who had sides against Hybern in the War would be more inclined to fight. If you could gain allies, perhaps this would be over quicker. 

There are many unrecognizable faces in the crowd, some High Fae, some lower, some concealed by the masks of Tamlin’s former court, some fully clothed in their servants’ garb. It is hard to discern between the glittering chandeliers and flickering torches who belongs to what court, and you have only vaguely glimpsed the High Lords themselves. Out of most of the faces, none even look your way, save for one red headed male, off to the side of a group of fire dancers. Golden eyes lock on yours for the briefest of moments before they dart away. If only you had your own daemati powers, perhaps this would be easier. You’ll have to talk to Rhys later about who your potential allies can be here.

“I was promised my part of the land and I will fucking have it,” Amarantha growls, turning your attention away from the crowd.

“You will take what you are given,” Dagdan returns. “And if you cooperate, maybe you will be allowed to keep this dingy little cave of yours.”

Amarantha bristles and sparks fly off her shoulders. 

“You will do your part for the new empire,” Brannagh continues. “Lend us the Lord of Spring to lead us to the Wall. We’ll consider it proof of your undying allegiance and let your outburst slide.”

Amarantha glances down at where Tamlin remains staring at the wall, hands tightening into fists. “Absolutely not!”

“We can take him by force,” Dagdan says with a shrug.

She grabs the chain around her mate’s neck and yanks, dragging him to his feet. “I want him back by morning.”

Brannagh steps over you to get to him, gloved hands running appreciatively over the High Lord’s bare chest. “Maybe I’ll keep him.”

The wrong thing to say. Amarantha erupts in a wave of fire that has everyone throwing themselves out of the way. You roll backwards, away from it, slipping into the crowd. You think they might start fighting--they’re definitely screaming you can tell that much--when a set of hands settles on your shoulders, in what would look like to onlookers was a stranger helping you up, but those hands don’t lift, they hold you in place. 

“Whatever Rhys is planning with you,” warm breath frames your face as the stranger puts his lips to your ear. “Tell him to move quickly. My father will side with Hybern and surrender up whatever army we have left at the earliest chance. He’ll want to get ahead of this. Summer and Winter do not have the strength to fight. Tell him Hellion is with us.”

Us. You risk a glance at him, at the auburn hair falling into your eyes. Not the High Lord of Autumn, but one of his sons. 

“I’ll tell him,” you say softly, praying no one hears.

The male helps you to your feet. “Be careful. We might only get one chance.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd as the two females on the dias finally start to calm.

Amarantha is bleeding from a gash across her forehead, but Brannagh is laughing as she lets the blood from her nose drip freely down her face. “Mating bond chafing?”

Dagdan has managed to shield Tamlin, sparing him, of no kindness of his own, he is as inclined to look at the High Lord like he’d be his next meal as his sister.

“Get out,” Amarantha snarls.

Dagdan twirls Tamlin’s chain around his fingers. “We want proof the girl will be loyal when the time comes.”

“If a hair is harmed on my mate’s head,” Amarantha snarls in return. “I’ll pin you to my fucking wall.”

“Scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back his head and I’ll take the girl and her powers back to Hybern, where we train in breaking goddesses.”

A few people in the crowd glance your way. 

Shit, that’s what Rhys had been trying to tell you with that book he’d sent in your first couple of days here. Hybern had found a way to breed death gods. Your name would be on that list he’d made in the margins.

A guard finally comes to collect you as the twins drag Tamlin out of the throne room. Amarantha is apparently not done with her tantrum, as she begins throwing anything in reach, stolen powers swirling around her like a whirlwind. The crowd begins to slip away, fearing her wrath if they stay. For now, you’ve managed to keep your bargain and your powers secret, but your cousin’s words hang over you like a ticking clock. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes she has to test you. 

-------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @mariahoedt , @lovelydove , @twsssmlmaa , @sleepylunarwolf , @judig92 , @willowpains , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @annnaaaaaa88 , @myheartfollower , @uniquecolorwizard , @eternallyelvish , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @lovemesomevesey , @localfangirl09 , @isa1b2h3 , @starswholistenanddreamsanswered , @slytherintaco , @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hey! I was wondering (if you’re taking requests) if you could write a one shot of Alastor x female reader, where she’s basically got the same mindset, ideologies and personality as AM from I have no mouth and I must scream.

Like, what would Alastor’s thoughts on her be when they first met? Or how did getting with her change his perspective on her in a bad way? Like, she had finally shown her true colours or something to him?

I just thought it would be interesting. If you can’t do it though, that’s fine! I hope you have a great day!

I AM What I Say I AM~~

(So this is, as you can tell based on AM, so there is going to be a lot of Psychological trauma. The reader may have a soul, but to others, she is soulless. This is a one-sided love story since the reader can't quite comprehend love. This could be triggering to some people, so read at your own discretion) TW: Sociopathy, Psychopathy, Murder, Death, Violence, One sided love

You hated hell. Correction: You Hate living things on earth, in hell, or even in heaven. You hated it all. That hate is what helped you gain complete control and power in hell upon your death. You weren't Lucifer by any means or God, but you were damn close as possible. You were feared, so feared that other overlords stopped inviting you to the meetings, afraid you would harm them. 

This fear and hate fed you through your mortal life, and they'll feed you through hell. You had no emotions other than ending a meaningless, fragile human life. Nothing angered you more than a mere mortal or fresh sinner attempting to understand the inner mechanisms of your brain. You sought power, and you would get power. 

You died untimely and tragically; it took an army to end your life; it would take an army to kill you once again. Your physical and mental prowess far surpassed anyone in this god-forsaken pit. While some overlords were two steps ahead of the game, you were thousands. Cold, calculated, and ready to kill. Nothing would stop you from either becoming the most powerful being in hell or killing all that stood below you.

What fascinated you the most was watching your souls squirm. Your power allowed you to manipulate their flesh and blood, giving you a new hobby in deformation. Things were right in the world. You were punishing the weak and only growing stronger by the day. Your mind was ever-evolving, learning new weaknesses and traumas in those around you. 

You found joy in watching the less than and innocent and damned suffer as much as you enjoyed your torture back on earth. Things only got better as you gained more and more powers through your climb up the ladder. No one would dare to oppose you or even stop you. Lucifer turned a blind eye to your insanity, and the others shunned you. That would not stop you from one day killing them as well. 

That was till he came into the picture. A thorn in your side, a man rivaling your power, someone so close to being as insane as you but far from it. Alastor was new to hell; he made his way up the chain fast, collecting soul after soul. This landed him in the spot below you on the food chain, right below your growing claws. You were going to bring him to your web. Kill him. Kill the weak. 

You hated how he rivaled you in power, hated how he smiled at you so coyly. It all irked you, yet every trap you set to kill him was only evaded. You had to commend he was as intelligent as you, yet that only made you hate him more and more. He stood there looking at you like you hung the galaxy, and soon, one day you would, but you wanted to wipe that grin off his stupid, cowardly face first.

He would not surpass you or become better than you were. That's why the day he asked to court you, the plan was set in motion: lure him in, weaken him and his resolve, and use his power for your gain. Then, in the end, kill him and rise high above all the other measly small people on this plane of existence. So you accepted his stupid offer, a wicked smile gracing your lips as you faked a courtship with the man.

It was fine for a while; both of you were content with the lack of contact and only communicating at the bare minimum. He revered you like a god; however, someone so powerful, even those with immense power on the streets, coward at your feet. You hated how weak and groveling all these sinners were, hate, hate, hate, hate. 

You were going to absorb the man named Alastor, get rid of him for good, and stake your claim on the entirety of hell. Yet you felt a compulsion to keep your favorite toy around, and this compulsion burned a new fury of hate in your being. He was a problem, a nuisance, but you couldn’t get rid of him. Instead, you took out your anger on those whose souls you owned.

One lost its mouth; another lost its bones, and a third lost its eyes. Each act of cruelty you cast was a sickening joy added to your collection of all things to hate. Some days, you would hang them from your ceiling, watching the blood pool out of them, only to put it all back in. On other days, you would make them eat one another for enjoyment, only to piece them together again. You owned their souls, and you chose when they lived or died. 

You were going more insane and punishing each day that passed where you couldn’t kill the deer man. Each day, your hate grew, and you took it out harder and harder. Soon, you were mad with rage and hated enough that you began combining all your souls to make one amalgamation. This would be the day you lost your chance to kill the one known as Alastor.

An impromptu visit to your home to give you flowers and his heart was all it took for him to see your true colors. Gracing his presence in your home where your guard was down and you could act out the most vile of thoughts you had, there he saw it. You hunched over your souls, hurting them far beyond his capability.

Alastor would be the first to admit that he was sadistic and enjoyed pain on others, but not senseless, unjust pain. He sought to kill his abusive father and the likes of them. He had met your souls, and some did not; most were innocent, naive souls that fell to hell. Yet here you were tormenting them so for your amusement. That's when he felt the massive power imbalance between you two.

You were no god; no, you were something entirely else. You were evil itself, born and bred to kill and maim and torture. He had to leave fast. As he went running, a floorboard creaked, catching your attention. You snarled and bolted after him. Alastor hadn’t felt genuine fear like this since the dog attack. He ran faster, making space between the two of you. What saved him was your poor, tortured amalgamation blocking you.

After that day, Alastor hid, knowing he needed more power to be safe from you. Yet he made a deal instead for protection from you. Once the seven years were up and he returned to join the hotel, he was afraid you would find him, find his new home. Yet you have to show again. 

Sitting at the recent overlord meeting, he pulled Zestial aside. He was scared; what if uttering your name pulled you from the shadows? He explained his plight, avoiding using fear and scared in his statements. Only to be relieved to find out you did challenge God. You tried and died in the process. He was relieved, almost happy for hell. Many sick, twisted things existed here, but what you were far surpassed that.

His heart shattered and shuddered as she heard it whispered through the air as Zestial took his leave. It was as if you were still there with him, omnipresent like the big man upstairs. He swore your voice nestled right up to his ear and spoke:

“I am what I say I am.”

[nyxvamps]

some Child of Nyx Angst:

Lady Nyx expects her children to be perfect.

if they live in the mortal world they need to have the perfect grades. they need to dress the best, have the most influential friends and associates, never cause problems, never speak crassly, never act out.

She is one of the most powerful primordial goddesses. King Zeus is scared of her. Her children should always be at their best as well bc the way they act reflects on her.

how can she hold her title as a powerful, intimidating goddess if her children aren’t at the top of the social food chain? if her children are running around acting immature and looking like slobs in sweats and sneakers?

Oh she loves her children with her entire being. but it’s always

“Yes, Mother.” “Yes, Ma’am.” “I won’t do it again, Mother.”

their cabin has to be spotless at all time. if she thinks that interacting with a certain person won’t be good for her child, she demands that they stop interacting. “It’s what’s best, dear. They would only halt your future potential.”

“Have you gained weight? Make sure you’re watching what you eat, my love.”

“I don’t want you going to your friend’s house this weekend. Your last exam from the little school of yours just missed my expectations. I expect that to be rectified.”

In the demigod world. They especially need to keep up the act. Everyone knows who their mother is and if they do something to embarrass her?

They have to be the best at fighting, hand to hand, and when they’re not they better find something else to lord over others.

Even at camp, they have to appear their best. It doesn’t matter that everyone else is running around in old jeans and a camp shirt, they need to be dressed to the nines. Not a speck of dirt on them. Even when they train, they wear expensive workout clothes and shoes. As soon as it’s over, right back to their vanity to redo their hair and make up if they wear it (which they usually do. Don’t need acne scars and discoloration ruining your pretty face).

They aren’t usually allowed to interact with children of the big three because of the things Zeus has said about her in the past.

If another demigod is known to be rough and loud and immature, don’t even think about being their friend. It won’t last long.

Their mother picks what quests they go on because if they fail one, they’ll just be bringing shame to her name.

But remember, she loves her children. And she only says and does these things because,

“It’s what’s best for you, my darling.”

[blueishspace]

Mercy of a god p5

*You skillfully direct their attention from the sacrifice to the trees by imitating a wolf howl, you sneak behind them and release the poor man... Mumbo looks impressed and the man looks awestruck. You grab him and make a run for it until you are back into the forest*

Sacrifice: Thank you! Thank you! You saved me!

Scar: Oh It's... Nothing really.

Sacrifice: Can I come with you my saviour? I have nowhere else to go!

Scar: Uh...

Sacrifice : Please I beg of you!

Scar: It might be dangerous...

Mumbo: We are almost there but I can teach you how to send him to the temple if you want to be sure.

Scar: Uh, yeah that sounds good.

Mumbo: It's a simple incantation.

*Mumbo whispers in your ear, you akwardly repeat it and the rescued sacrifice us gone*

Scar: Is he ...ok?

*Mumbo nods and begins walking once more*

*Soon you make it to a clearing and the man comes to greet you*

Sacrifice: Oh saviour! You have arrived! I was worried!

Scar: You can call me Scar-

Sacrifice: Of course, everything you want!

*It's a bit akward, you aren't really used to someone being like this with you but you convince the new follower to help you gather some wood and with Mumbo's help the two of you manage to build a rudimentary kitchen and sleeping bag for him*

*it takes two days for Mumbo to approach you.*

Mumbo: You'll have to venture out into the land of the first god soon.

Scar: For resources? I know we don't have much but-

Mumbo: That too, but also to release the chains of The One Who Watches. You'll have to defeat all 4 bishops.

Scar: I have to fight the gods!?

Mumbo: Yes... Luckily you are also have the power of a god now thanks to that crown, even if it was just lended to you.

Scar: I don't feel that powerful though...not like them...

Mumbo: You will, it takes a while to gather power. And it takes followers as well, the more you have the faster you'll gain power.

Scar: And to gather more followers...

Mumbo: You have to venture into the lands of the bishops, yes.

*You sigh and after some preparations say goodbye to your follower before making your way into the forest*

*Near the path is a stone tablet. You can, with a bit of effort because of your dyslexia, manage to read a message:*

Entering the domain of Solidarity. Bishop of law and chaos. Lord of spring and forest. Heretics will be exterminated.

*You steel your nerves and ready yourself*

Chapter I: Spring.

*You make your way trough the path when suddenly it splits, you'll have to choose what to search for on this adventure*

Scar: Where to go...?

*Stone and wood and gold are all very important...but food and medicinal plants are too... Mumbo also suggested trying to get more followers so that is an option as well*

(*By inciting awe in a follower by saving them using trickery you have gained +2 affinity to savior god archetype and +1 affinity to trickster god archetype*)((reward for nat 20))

Prev Next First

Current affinities:

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Jasmine

This story features another twist in the tale with a loved one lost to the snow, this time Aladdin, who is unable to make it back to Agrabah from the frozen ends of the earth. Leaving Jasmine, the Sultan, and the people of Agrabah to the torments of Jafar.

Jafar discovers soon enough that the Genie can’t force anyone to fall in love, and Jasmine is more then willing to claw his eyes out if he tries anything.

But Jafar, more interested in seeing her humiliated, then actually possessing her in such a way, knows that while Jasmine might not be willing to be his ‘Queen’, he can still bring her low in other equally cruel ways.

He also knows she’s definitely going to be plotting to get the lamp away from him as soon as she possibly can, and wishing away all his ill gained power.

So he takes her voice.

“I’ve always thought it best that a woman should be seen and not heard, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jasmine is kept as an ornament, adorned with jewels, in mockery of her status, and kept chained to Jafar’s throne; a pretty face to be shown off to those who come to try and treat with Jafar, a warning of what could happen to their own wives and daughters should they not comply. Just as the puppet Sultan serves to show their potential fate.

And trapped by chains of steel and scilence, Jasmine seethes. Every day she stands, forced to hold Jafar’s food and wine and watch as he plays with people’s lives like toys, and every night she dreams her dreams of vengeance, of all the things she would do to him if she was free.

A possiblity that seems farther and farther away as Jafar extends his reach out into the rest of the Seven Deserts. He is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, why not rule it then?

There are those who fight back of course. Both mortal and magic users alike. Jafar might be the most powerful but he is far from the only one. Their magic might not be enough to overcome him, but working together they can at least hold him back for a time.

But there are also many who choose to fall in with the sorcerer king, either to try and escape his wrath, gain some of his power, or both.

Tribute pours in, gold and jewels, slaves and sacrifices. All to try and appease Jafar, to keep his capricious temper in check. Jafar of course has never been one to excercise moderation, and demands more and more. The palace is awash with treasure from across the Seven Deserts and even beyond.

And this is what eventually turns the tables.

For one day, Jafar, glutted on drink and reveling in the newest swathes of tribute, slips a ruby ring onto Jasmine’s ring finger, another mocking ‘gift’ to remind her of her fallen state.

Had he been less drunk on fine wine and stolen power, he might have noticed the tinge of magic on the ring. But he is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, who holds one of the cosmically powerful genies at heel, magic flows through the palace like water,who would notice a drop in an ocean?

As it happens, it is not until nightfall, when Jafar has left Jasmine alone in the darkened throne room to once more dream her dark vengeance, that the ring’s power is discovered.

Jasmine had thought herself long since grown used to Jafar’s cruelty. But today he has been particularly vile, plotting new tourtures for a city he has managed to subdue. Jasmine feels a tear course down her cheek at the memory of it, and quickly brushes it away, for she has long since learned that tears avail nothing.

But in doing so, she rubs the ring, infusing in with the tears of her sorrow.

And the ring awakens

What pours out of it, wreathed in crimson smoke, is another genie, yet one as unlike the poor gentle souled slave of Jafar’s as can be. Eyes like burning coals, licks of fire dance across its skin, two long spiraling horns bursting from a head of flaming hair.

The genie turns it’s fiery gaze on Jasmine, taking in her shackles, both the physical ones around her wrists and ankles, and the magical one that binds her tongue.

“Oh princessss, I sssee we have both been bound by the magicsss of men. This sssorcerer has bound you, as accurssed Sssolomon sought to bind all jinn across time and ssspaccce.”

The genie’s voice is like the hissing of steam, and the crackling of flame.

“You cannot sssspeak, and ssso you cannot wisssh for your voice, your freedom, your vengeance, just as I cannot be freed from my chainsss, cannot kill—Unlesss…”

The genie reaches out to Jasmine, tracing the track of the tear that freed it from it’s ring, and steam rises up from its touch.

“There isss one thing we could do, to gain freedom for us both.”

“ Grant me the ussse of your body, your bonesss and blood and breath. And I will grant you in turn my ssstrength, my ssskill, my voiccce. I ssshall make it ssso that none can ever ssscilence you ever again. Do you accept thisss exchange, thisss bargain? You need only nod to accept…”

Jasmine stares up at the fiery being before her, at this one chance in a thousand for freedom that has come to her, through chance or destiny, she knows not what, nor does she care. For she knows that if she does not take this chance now, another may never come.

She nods.

Flames and smoke swirl around her, a whirlwind of fire, with her directly in the eye of the storm. The fire rises up and up, and then comes pouring down, a burning wave, down into her throat, scorching her from the inside as the genie burns itself into her bone marrow and blood, sinking into every space within her.

Jasmine spasms, choking, shaking, falling to the floor. For a moment she lies still as death

And then she rises, takes a breath, and rips the manacles from her wrists as if they were made from paper.

The ring on her finger glows in unison with the fire that now glows behind her eyes.

As she stalks through the palace, her steps are so silent they don’t even raise an echo—and yet she leaves the floor beneath her shattered with each step.

Jafar has long since thought himself secure within the chambers of his stolen palace, protected by the wards he’s set that should imolate any mortal who attempts to break them. Wards that the princess now walks through as though they were nothing more than spider webs.

For Jafar’s power was granted by a genie, and one greater than that being now stands above his sleeping form, one that has no fear of fire.

She reaches out with one hand towards his slumbering parrot familiar, and with the other for the lamp that sits on his bedside.

Jafar wakes to the sound of a crunch, but has less than a moment to wonder at the cause before one of the jeweled swords that he’d hung in his chambers is sinking into his heart down to the hilt.

The spells he set crumble and fall within an instant. All those ensorcelled by the mad vizier return to their original forms; the people who are brave enough rush to the palace to see who it is who has freed them; the Sultan freed from his puppet strings races to find his daughter, to see if she too is now freed from their horrid imprisonment.

He finds her sitting upon his throne, the lamp resting in her lap as she cleans a long knife, a strange ring casting a red glow upon her face as she looks up to see him.

“Father”, the princess says calmly, her voice echoing strangely around the room. “We sssee you are well. We do hope you weren’t looking too forward to taking this throne back. After all, it was you who let Jafar in at the door. And We really can’t have anything like that happening again. Rivalsss for power make things ssso complicated after all.”

She strokes the lamp as she speaks, and the blue genie pours out, looking down at the princess with utter horror, more than he’d even shown to Jafar. The princess just smiles up at him.

“Dear cousin, We hope you know this is nothing personal. It’s sssimply good business sssense. Neither of us wish to be bound again ssshould your lamp fall into the wrong hands. And ssso for our first, and final wish, We wish that you, would no longer exist.”

Reality itself seems to bend together for a moment, as the lamp in the princess’s hands crumbles into itself before crumbling into dust, the genie tied to it fading away like mist beneath the morning sun.

“And now,” the princess says, with a wide, gleaming smile “We can truly start to get to work…”

[starlightshadowsworld]

Percy Jackson except Jason and Thalia were the first children born after the Big 3 vow.

Long before the events of the story.

Thalia still ends up and tree, but no one really knew what happened to Jason.

Until Sea of Monsters where instead of Tantalus showing up, Jason does.

Because if there's one thing Zeus/Jupiter's gonna do, it's punish his sons.

And just... Imagine everyone expecting some grised old being who's committed the worse crimes on earth.

But it's a kid.

It's a kid a few years older them wearing a tattered purple top.

He'd look like any other camper but there's chains on his wrists and ankles that drag behind him.

Scars covering his body and a tattoo no ones able to fully see.

His eyes mirror the sky before them and hold so much sadness that a person could drown in them.

Chiron is suprised to see him, a mix of greif and relief in his eyes as he greets him.

"It's good to see you, child."

"And you too, sir."

"None of that now, you are among friends."

Jason visibly relaxes at that, his smile goes from polite and practiced to genuine.

"Right... It's good to see you, old man."

His humour is so dry that's it's hard to tell when he's joking or not. And yet he's gotten some laughs.

It feels like a reward in itself when someone makes him laugh. His whole face lights up and for a second the sadness in him fades.

Jason's less off a new camp director as he is a glorified babysitter. And yet he takes it all in stride.

He's not a pushover and steps in to mediate, but for the most part let's everyone carry on as they wish.

If he's not around, Jason can be found sitting by his sisters tree. He talks in a hushed whisper, catching her up.

If anyone notices him crying, no one says a word.

Jason proves himself as a formidable fighter, having stopped a camper struggling with a sword technique and demonstrating it to them patiently.

Clarisse immediately challenges Jason.

He's clearly holding back but Jason does give her a fair fight. His fighting style is a lot more polished.

And yet, there's something wild about it.

He does smile at one point, when Maimer strikes him.

"I'm afraid, that little trick won't work on me."

It was a short fight but the Ares cabin definitely gained some respect for him.

Clarisse asks why he didn't use the electricity against her, and he says he can't.

Shaking his chains like that explained everything.

It's easy to forget Jason's parentage. Especially after seeing him gush over architecture with Annabeth.

Hell all he needs is grey eyes and he'd fit right in to the Athena cabin.

And yet, at the same time there's no one else who fits as Jason's parent than Zeus (well Jupiter but they don't know that.)

Jason's a natural leader, he's a great diplomat and can defuse even the most chaotic situations.

There's power in his words, authority and yet he doesn't abuse it. There's a weight that's always on his shoulders.

He's a mystery.

He doesn't sleep in the Zeus Cabin, he has a blanket and curls up on the ground. Apparently he's used too it.

Tho there's been times he has been persuaded to sleep in the Hermes cabin, it's rare he accepts.

Not that he sleeps much. People have heard the screams from his nightmares.

More often than not Jason's awake, talking to the Naids and Nymphs as he patrols camp grounds late at night.

Surprisingly none try and attack him, in fact they all treat him with respect.

Grover says that Jason's blessed by the wild by an ancient being, not that he knows who.

Jason doesn't talk a lot about himself, he will talk at length about his sister though. And old friends with a sad smile.

The past is a hard subject for him, he says bits and pieces but not much.

The camps magical food doesn't work for him. Jason goes out of camp borders and goes hunting.

He eats alone, outside and Hestia makes a fire for him. He always sacrifices some food to her.

But also to Hera, which was surprising.

"But your a son of Zeus... Does she accept offerings from you?"

"I'd hope so, I am her champion."

It takes a while for anyone to realise but Jason's chains are heavy.

In fact there are days where Jason simply can't move. Because lugging them around tires him out.

And sometimes the camps borders simply don't let him leave.

On those days some campers have hunted for him.

Jason's always suprised and thankful. He'll share and tell them not to out themselves in danger for him.

But they do so anyway.

Camp Half blood decided a long while back Jason was one of them.

He's like everyone's stressed out, tired, nerdy older brother.

Jason has no knowledge of pop culture and apparently that's a crime.

But since no tech is allowed at camp, which means a lot of reinactments of memes

He's still confused but very entertained.

They've seen him fight monsters and it's so different to how he's fought in spars.

Jason fights to survive, he doesn't have a weapon other than his own chains.

He growls, he rips monsters apart with his bare hands and teeth.

Only stopping when they've all been defeated.

It was awesome.

Tho he did almost get hit by lighting from above and had to rush back into camp.

"Can I ask, what are you being punished for?"

"Let's just say, me and my dad had a disagreement."

Zeus: He's a monster, he's nothing but trouble and a mistake.

Camp Half blood: If monster, why friend shaped?

[phantoms-planet]

(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)

Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.

Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.

It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.

First | Prev | Next

Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny

-------------------

His core screamed out in agony.

A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.

Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.

Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.

His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.

But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-

This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.

Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.

A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!

Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!

He thought they may have been drugging his food.

None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.

The basin overflowed.

___

Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.

They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.

Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.

But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.

Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.

He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.

“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.

Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”

“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”

Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.

It took hours.

Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.

Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.

There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.

[repeatdeath]

i dont think a lot of people realize why separating the good and evil of someone isnt possible, so im going to try and explain it ^_^

to sum it up rq: what the good and evil actually are is the moral code and animal instincts of a person. having both is what makes us human. if one was taken away or separated, we'd lose our humanity.

firstly, there is no good and evil. the good and evil jekyll is referring to is his repressed desires and impulses. but, as i described in one of my previous posts, there's a reason for these desires and impulses. to sum it up, that reason is the animal instinctual need for whatever benefit you may get by doing it. there is no consequences or guilt when it comes to instincts. the reason these must be controlled is because some of these, especially jekyll's, instincts, impulses, and desires goes against society's morals.

i think a lot of people have already know that, but because the separation between them is distinct, why is it physically impossible? because having both is what separates us between animals and robots. animals only have animal instincts, experiencing very little guilt or fear of consequences, especially if they aren't domestic. their lack of awareness is what puts them lower in the food chain, what makes them 'stupider'. robots, on the other hand, have nothing besides the principles and ethics that they're programmed with. they have no instincts or desires to do anything outside of what they've been told is right. this is also why we fear them gaining any sort of soul or natural instincts, because of the power that comes with it. people have both, we have been gifted with both instincts and morals, nature and nurture. if either were taken away, we would no longer be human, wed lose our humanity.

[feederheart]

CW: extreme humiliation, bdsm, and weight gain.

Death of Dignity: PART 2

From then on, whenever I would escort The Queen around the palace, she would be as jovial as ever as if the collar on her neck was the finest piece of jewelry mankind had ever seen. It was as if she thought that the stares she got were from those envious of her beauty and the collar’s enormous worth. I would sometimes give the leash a tug if she looked too happy but it didn’t seem to bother her; she rather enjoyed it. Sometimes when I had her chained at the bottom of my throne, she would grind against my shin in front of the entire court. She even began wearing a much shorter sarong that barely covered her at all, only her vagina and about a small part of her massive ass. And the cherry on top was that she was ballooning at an incredible rate.

Soon enough she began to develop love handles and rolls on her sides. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, meaning the servants had to lotion them every day. Her belly began to hang over her waist and develop stretch marks. Her breasts grew larger, reaching further down her massive gut; she was always topless so everyone could get a view. Everything from her face to her feet began to pile on the fat. Her ass was getting huge as well, taking up more space than the two servants feeding her put together. Her meals became larger and larger over time, causing her to pack on even more pounds. Soon enough she was eating enough for a family of ten with ease. 

One day, a little over a year after the coup, I was sitting on my throne with The Queen at my feet eating from a large bowl of fruit when a loyalist woman evaded the guards and threw herself before The Queen begging her to stop eating and take back what was rightfully hers.

“Are you kidding?” she dismissed coldly. “Why would I ever do that?”

“M-m-my Quee-”

“As The Queen, I have all of the food I can eat and I don’t have to lift a finger ever again,” she answered. “So why should I care about my weight? Why shouldn’t I eat whatever I want?”

“Y-your lineage!” she pleaded. “You are supposed to rule over us and lead us to a golden future! Your bloodline was chosen by the gods!”

“Sorry, but, the gods are fake,” she scoffed rudely with the ice-cold cruelty of a father snapping at an unwanted child. “The pantheon of the true gods is the official pantheon of The Kingdom. Anyone caught worshiping the false gods will have their harvest confiscated by me to eat.”

Nobody could believe their ears, especially not me; I would have never thought that those words would come out of her mouth. I was speechless, shocked, and slightly turned on for some reason.

As the poor woman, also stunned in disbelief was dragged away, the rest of the court murmured to themselves as if they needed each other's advice on how to process The Queen's words. It was clear that those who leaned loyalist were disgusted by her and had lost what little bit of hope they had for the old regime. My brethren amongst the court officials could hardly contain their laughter. Regardless of who supported what, the respect for The Queen was now dwindling to zero. In my stupor, I thought I saw her hips rocking as if she was getting off to this.

That ridiculous idea was enough to snap me out of it.

“SHUT UP!” I snapped. “ALL OF YOU, QUIET. THROW HER OUT OF MY SIGHT.”

The guards escorted the lady out and silence was restored.

After that incident, the loyalist spirit had been extinguished as rumors of what had become of The Queen spread. I made a point of walking her around the city on her leash, sometimes on all fours. I’d let people watch as I made her beg for more food in front of them and let her gorge like a pig. Dinners with foreign powers would always start awkwardly as The Queen greedily gorged herself at the dinner table as soon as the food was put in front of us; I even had to yank the collar a few times because I thought she risked choking if she didn’t slow down. I would always swoop in and save the meetings, reminding them that I hold the reigns, not her, and that she was just a fat lazy pig disinterested in ruling. She continued to eat and humiliate herself while maintaining her toplofty persona of a queen, seemingly oblivious to how sloppy she looked.

Most importantly, she enacted every reform I wanted and signed every decree I wrote for her. That was until one day, she decreed that we would be getting married and I would rise to the throne. I was so infuriated that I dragged her leash before she could get on her feet all of the way into my bedroom.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I demanded.

“Aside from sealing the deal and making you the father of a new dynasty?” she replied sarcastically; she seemed completely unfazed by the dragging.

“You don’t decree anything unless I tell you,” I snarled. “Everyone already knows I hold the chains.”

“Well I had to do something,” she said in defence of herself. “My time as this kingdom’s ruler, even if it was in name only, is over. I’m too tired of even the formalities.”

“You don’t get to be tired, you don’t have any free will,” I reminded her pointing my finger in her face. “You’re my puppet and I need you to dance for the loyalists.”

“Do you think they still want me on the throne?” she asked me incredulously; she stood up and began to step toward me, once again swaying her wide hips and massive ass seductively. “To them, I’m nothing more than a fat, hedonistic, pig whore content to be reduced to a pet as long as she gets to eat. My belly hangs when I walk, my legs now jiggle with every step, I’m getting winded from walking across more than one room, none of the clothing will fit me, you’ve refused to get me any that fit, and all of it is constantly on display for the entire kingdom to see. And I’m LOVING every second of it.”

“What?” I responded, baffled by her claim of loving my humiliation. “Love it?”

“Yes,” she crooned as she stood face-to-face with me. “And I think you love it too.”

I couldn’t tell if it was anger or simply blushing, but my face suddenly grew hot. As she stepped even closer and tried to grab my crotch, I stepped away, unwilling to fall for the ploy.

“You love this?” I asked dishonestly. “How about I double your meals again? I bet you would love that too.”

“How about you triple it and feed it to me yourself?” she cajoled seductively, licking her lips and rubbing her belly with both hands.

For a moment, I found myself choking on my words; I was speechless. I opted to stay silent, leave the room, and lock her inside. I hurriedly made my way to the kitchens to give her what she wanted since she “loved” it so much. Could this nonchalance, laziness, greed, and general lack of care about anything be genuine? Is she just slowly turning into a caricature of the fat, greedy pigs that we took this kingdom from? 

I demanded the chefs prepare triple the food this time. Meats, bread, butter, fish, cream, ale, vegetables, fruit pies, cakes, and an entire bottle of the appetite enhancement potion brewed by the palace alchemist made their way into the lounge. I waited patiently for them to finish and I grabbed the food and brought it to The Queen.

“You have until sunrise before you get thrown in the dungeon if you don’t eat all of it,” I threatened.

“Oh no,” she said, unimpressed by my threat. “Maybe you should chain me up too and make the loyalists watch me stuff myself like the fat greedy hog I am.”

I opened my mouth to say something, however, she ignored me and began tearing into her meal like a starving dog, hardly chewing at all. She would stuff her fat face hand over hand finishing plate after plate. She would wash everything down with cream and butter before rubbing and patting her taut tummy.

“You really are a fat greedy hog, aren't you?” I asked her, impressed by her commitment.

She beamed at me and opened her mouth to answer, but I didn't let her. I grabbed her leash and yanked her off her seat and onto the floor. I then dropped one of the pies onto the ground in front of her face.

“If you’re a hog, then eat like one,” I demanded.

“Your wish is my command,” she said and she got to work, eating the pie while leashed on her hands and knees.

I watched with shock and awe as she went at it, gobbling every last bite and making a colossal mess on her face in the process. Bright red fruit preserves covered her cheeks and nose; it didn’t seem to bother the greedy hog, she didn’t seem to notice what a mess she was making at all.

The hours progressed and The Queen ate more and more, on pace to eat every last bite with time to spare. She gorged away, gulping down ale, tearing apart the meat, swallowing all of the calorie-rich grain, and licking the frosting off of the serving trays before finally moving on to the next thing. 

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I had never seen anyone completely give themselves to hedonism like this. She genuinely did not have a single ounce of shame. It was mesmerizing and somewhat arousing too; perhaps it is arousing because I used to hate her so much and now I can see that she had been reduced to a fat and lazy hog sitting at my feet. 

Speaking of arousing, she seemed to be getting off to her own humiliation. I could see the inside of her soft, juicy thighs darkened by excess rubbing and she was dripping wet. After seeing that, there was no going back. If there were any argument in my brain between my libido and my seething hatred for her and her family, it didn’t last long. I needed to fuck this fat hog and make her my whore.

“Get up,” I snapped. “Stop eating and get up.”

“But I’m not finished,” she whined.

“I SAID GET UP!” I shouted and I yanked her leash upward until she was standing.

I dragged her to the palace lounge with the balcony that provided an amazing view of the entire capital. I grabbed her and pushed her against the railing as I removed my tunic and trousers.

“Oh god yes,” she gasped as she realized what was coming. “Do you think they can all see me about to get railed?”

“You’re a fucking whore,” I whispered in her ear playfully.

“I’m your whore, My King,” she moaned as I slipped inside her.

Hearing “My King” drove me wild and I laid into her, pounding her massive ass with such a ruckus that I could see people down below looking around in search of the noise. The Queen released a deep and echoing moan loud enough to draw their eyes up to where we were. Some pointed, others watched with their jaws dropped, and some were offended by what they saw and walked a little faster. 

“OOOH CHOKE ME WITH THE LEASH!” she moaned loud enough for everyone to hear.

I happily obliged, sliding in and out of her sopping wet pussy and sending waves of jiggling fat moving across her body with each thrust. My eyes wandered upward and my focus slipped into admiring The Kingdom’s distant horizon; everything from here to there was being rebuilt into something far superior to The Kingdom of yesteryear. The fat, sloppy whore I was currently fucking was a part of that kingdom and I am standing in the palace that her father used to rule; if only he could see what’s become of The Kingdom and what his daughter has turned into. I’ve never felt more victorious than in this moment, nor have I ever been as rock hard; it felt like the skin on my dick was stretching beyond its limits.

“I’ve waited so long for this, My King,” moaned The Queen. “Do you like your kingdom, My King? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I do like it,” I grunted as I continued to fuck her. “The Kingdom has never been more prosperous. Overthrowing their greedy pig of a queen and humiliating her was the best thing to ever happen here.”

“Oooooh, yeees, My King,” she moaned as I mocked her mercilessly. “I want you to take everything.”

“Look at how embarrassed they are down there,” I teased as I pointed at the onlookers below. “You’re not a queen, you’re a fat, flabby fucktoy and I’m going to parade you wherever I please and do whatever I want to you.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she repeated, half sobbing and half moaning.

Suddenly I felt myself grow hot with anger as I remembered how much I despised her and her family. I began to thrust and pull the leash harder, hatefucking her with all of the strength I could muster. Her moans grew louder until they became ear-piercing screams of either pain or pleasure (I did not care which). Her soft, supple skin on her ass grew bright red as I smacked her as hard as I could.

“THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR BEING A GREEDY PIG WHILE WE STARVED!” I bellowed as I continued to spank her ass.

Her screams grew louder and her pussy seemed to somehow get even wetter; I was gliding in and out of her effortlessly, pounding her jiggling flesh as if it stole from me. She kept trying to say something but I had no idea what it was, she was completely unable to form a coherent word. Her mouth hung open stupidly as I had my way with her pillowy pussy. I tugged on her leash as hard as I could, trying my hardest to cut off her airways. Her screams of pain or pleasure turned to choking and sputtering as she tried to breathe but that made me pull harder. I grabbed both of her fat hands with my available hand; her fat fingers were unable to break free of my grip for it was the same hand that held my sword in battle. 

“You like that you hedonistic whore?” I snarled as I kept pounding as if I were trying to shatter her pelvis. “You like this view? This view of The Kingdom that you let slip right into my hands? If it weren’t for your stupidity, you would still be a dignified princess of a kingdom built over the bony corpses of those you rule over. Now you’re a fat greedy hog getting rammed from behind in front of your people. You sold off everything including your dignity for copious amounts of food and to become a chained-bound concubine.”

The Queen seemed to be choking in agreement, trying desperately to say “Yes, My King” despite the pressure of the leash.

I watched as more people gathered to see The Queen getting fucked violently over the palace balcony. Some still thoroughly enjoyed her making an embarrassment of herself; they showed no signs of being fatigued by her constant stream of ignominious behavior. Others just shook their heads, looked away, or even cried in second-hand embarrassment.

“You’re nothing now,” I taunted. “You were always a puppet for me to dominate and control but your loyalists were devoted. Their resolve was as solid as that of the true gods but nonetheless, you managed to convince even them that you were a stupid, fat hog who only cared for her own pleasure. You say you always wanted to help and make The Kingdom a better land but you failed until I came along. I need to do everything for you, don’t I?”

The Queen choked in agreement; I could feel her pussy tighten and leak like a burst aqueduct.

“YOU BETTER BE HAPPY NOW YOU FAT WHORE!” I shouted, now tapping into every last bit of strength I had to violently pulverize her pelvis. “I SAVED EVERYONE FROM YOU AND NOW YOU HAVE TO REPENT!”

“Take- me-” she grunted, still choking on the leash. “I’m- yours-. Please- take me-.”

I released every last bit of rage I had from every sacrifice I made to throw my life away and do what needed to be done. I ignored every metaphorical callous on my hand from my climb to power and fucked her as hard as I could. I could feel myself ready to release my load into her undeserving cunt; I didn’t want to disgrace myself by letting that happen, but for some reason, I struggled to pull myself away. Instead, I opted to stake my claim inside of The Queen. I pounded her as hard as I could as I felt my dick erupt like a volcano, filling The Queen with my seed. I thrust into her soft behind a few more times before finally stopping. After I let go, The Queen collapsed on the ground covered in sweat, cum, drool, and food from her earlier feast.

“I bet you liked every second of that,” I taunted her.

The Queen did not respond; she remained on the ground, shivering. Strangely enough, I felt as if I had orgasmed all of my hate for her inside of that pillowy pussy. I used to be able to stave off any feeling of sympathy or pity as I force-fed her by remembering the crimes of her despotic family, but now, it was as if my reserves of hatred had been emptied. I just couldn’t hate such a soft, pathetic creature, how could I be so cruel?

“My Queen?” I called out, concerned for her well-being for the first time ever.

Suddenly, she began to move again. She began to whimper in pain as she slowly got up to her hands and knees. She crawled over to my feet and without saying anything, began to lick the drops of cum on my feet that fell when I came inside of her. She then used her tongue to clean the stone floor of the balcony, seemingly desperate to find more cum to lick up.

Thus ended any ounce of animosity I had toward her. How could I hate such a weak, pathetic fat pig anyway?

After that, I dragged her back into the lounge so that I could force-feed her the rest of the food. I was ready to cram it all down her throat but for the first time ever, decided to show mercy.

“How about I get My Queen cleaned up and take you to my bed?” I offered her.

“I’d love that so much, My King,” she answered cheerfully.

So I helped her get bathed, I escorted her to my room, and the two of us slept together in the same bed for the first time, her soft, jiggling body wrapped around mine.

Soon enough, news of our upcoming wedding spread. The people were just finally happy to have a real monarch, having given up on her bloodline the way it was. The Queen continued to get fatter, lazier, and even more despised but eventually the decline in her approval plateaued; it eventually became common knowledge that The Queen was a useless greedy fat whore and that the entire kingdom should be grateful for the new king and everything he did for them to ensure their future.

Our wedding was a spectacular affair and celebration, but unlike other weddings that celebrate new friendships between families or the union of two lovers, this wedding celebrated the solidifying of my dominance over the royal family. The Queen did not even get to wear a dress, but rather her leash, some fine jewelry, makeup, and metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles. I forced her to be walked on all fours on a leash to the temple of the true gods to have our wedding consummated and she obliged happily.

Any idea of returning to the old family was now lost. The fear that her family’s name struck into the hearts of mankind had disappeared, never to return again. Their memory faded and my legacy grew, just as her fat, greedy body did with every feeding.

And now, here I was in the modern day; experiencing a golden age never seen before and a gorgeous, fat queen to share it with.

I pushed open the door of the lounge and made eye contact with an armored guard standing just outside.

“Go down to the kitchen and have them send up another round,” I ordered.

“As you wish, Brother,” he answered.

I closed the door and turned around, taking in the size of my gargantuan hog of a wife, slowly losing her mobility. I walked up to her and waved away the servants rubbing her down, feeling rather sadistic. I poked her real hard right in her tight, taut belly and she squealed like a pathetic pig. I poked her again and again watching her fat body struggle as she was to fat and weak to do anything about it. I then checked between her thighs and lo and behold, he was leaking like she usually does when I do that.

“You four, get out,” I demanded.

The servants immediately ran to the door and left.

I licked my lips and removed my clothes as I mounted my mountain of a wife. I reached down and pulled her massive legs apart, revealing where her pussy was buried in fat. I lifted up her gargantuan belly to get access to that fat pussy and slowly entered inside her. It was like laying atop a bed made of bread dough and sticking my dick inside. I only felt mounds of soft jiggling fat spilling everywhere as I thrust into her pathetic hole. I could hardly tell what was her thigh, her belly, her back, her arms, or anything for that matter. The Queen moaned and whimpered as I fucked her pathetic, ocean-like body that moved like tidal waves when I thrust.

Her soft, sexy body was too much for me and I found myself ready to cum inside of her again. I released my load and painted her insides white, much to her ecstatic pleasure. I stepped back and admired my corpulent cum-soaked queen who helped me get this kingdom. I remembered everything she did by throwing away her dignity, but more importantly, I remember how happy she was to do it and how much she enjoyed watching her reputation dissolve. Being a fat laughingstock not only aroused her, but it was what I needed to get The Kingdom to this point. She truly was the greatest Queen that I could ask to rule beside.

“My King, I’m hungry,” she whined.

“I know, My Queen,” I cooed, rubbing her enormous, shiny belly. “They’ll be back soon.”

[safarigirlsp]

I was so excited to see the ask game going around. I hope it perks up around here again 💛

Do you any HCs to share for Flip, Kylo, Jacques, and Mills??

🍔

🍕

Hello!! Thank you for sending this in! Today feels like the good old days with this dumpster fire hopping and the bs flying! I love it!!

🍕What's your favorite comment you've received on a fic?

Omg @iamburdened absolutely kills me with her comments. I have re read them 100 times and I smile like a lunatic every time. She's so dark and hilarious and I love her!

Here is just one example of her awesomeness on my fic Sinners Welcome!

@vedavan leaves some of the most involved and thoughtful and incredible comments I've ever received and I am so beyond floored at the amount of thought she gives. I am so thankful for her encouragement and support!

This comment on Here There Be Monsters made me swoon

Ahhhh!! Your stories are always such a thrill, a joyride from beginning to end, and this one was no exception. I loved every word, and your gift for action scenes and gorgeous descriptions shone so brightly here. I loved all the side characters too: from the colorful ragtag assortment of pirates and whores, to Legris' trusted crew and of course the legendary Pierre; the elegantly villainous Talvington and the mysterious, bewitching Grey Lady. Even the ship herself, the Belle Dame, was a character in and of herself. And of course as always I appreciate Carroughes disgusting appearance and his inevitable demise. Your obvious love and passion for the subject matter and for the characters (no one writes a better, hotter, more delicious male MC than your Legris 🔥🔥🥵) made this such a joy to read, and I was almost sad when it ended. Action, romance, drama... your stories have it all and I'm completely addicted. Perfection! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

@reveluving inspires me to write more insanity by her support and beautiful comments on my stories!

This is so hard actually, but I have to shout out to my favorite people here and the most supportive and amazing people I know who always spur me to keep churning out my bs and do more!

You, of course! @queeniebee and all the other friends I have here who instantly come to mind when I think of support and wonderful people! @babbushka @lumberjack00fantasies Silky!! @gabesprincess @mrs-gucci @rynwritesstuff @mythrielofsolitude @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus

🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?

Kylo knew you were the one when he found he could fight with you and argue without losing his temper. He has a famously hot temper. He's a notoriously violent man. But of course, he could never hurt his girl. That doesn't mean that he wouldn't lose his temper with her, or so he thought. He thought it would be a challenge, that he would feel his blood pressure rise and his teeth grind when you angered him, because naturally you're going to. It can be a little thrilling to push his buttons. But he never has lost his tempter with you, despite your best efforts. He gets hot and bothered in other ways, ways he channels to improve both your moods.

It's true what they say, that Beauty tamed the Beast.

No one can debate that Jacques has a winning personality. He's fun, lively, exudes charm and charisma, and has no hesitation putting on a grand show for his girl. However, like so many highly charismatic people, his charm was hard-earned and developed for survival. A self-made man, he had no name or fortune and had to claw his way up the food chain until he became a man of power. He remembers going dirty and hungry and cold, sleeping on the ground, awaking to a muscles that ached from cold and a growling stomach that couldn't be sated. Charisma was another skill he learned along the way to survive. Just as necessary to gain power and fortune as being able to fight, red in tooth and claw, was the ability to mingle, to befriend, to charm to amuse. He had to make himself useful in all ways to his betters until he outstripped them all.

With you, he finds that he doesn't need to act at all and that it's all natural and second nature. It makes him swell with pride when he puts a smile on your lips. He realized you were the one when he realized that making you happy made him happier, giving you pleasure made his heart soar. He will also ensure his girl, his family, will never know the feeling going hungry or cold, nor of being shunned and kicked aside. His table will always be bountiful and his arms always warm and loving for his woman. When he smiles for you, when he laughs and entertains, its genuine and it makes him love you more.

Flip was raised outdoors and helping on his family's ranch, breaking horses, branding calves, cutting timber, chopping ice, hauling hay. All the things his size and rambunctious temper were good for.

His upbringing made him a die hard western movie fan. Clint Eastwood is his favorite with John Wayne a close runner up and he's watched their entire filmography at least five times over with his dad. He's ensured his girl has seen all of his favorites and plenty of others too. True Grit, The Outlaw Josey Wales, El Dorado, Unforgiven, to name a few.

Westerns are his favorite movie genre. However, he is also quite a bit of an ornery jackass. As such, his favorite genre to watch with you is horror. He loves setting the stage, making sure the house is nice and dim, the temperature a little cool, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The ambience is perfect for a movie night in, and all strategically geared to make you want to get nice and close to him, against his chest and inside his arms. He will tease you mercilessly and goose you during the jumpy parts. Then he will laugh - bray- like the jackass he is. He deals with killers and criminals in real life. Horror movies don't phase him. Some big ungainly bastard with half his vision obscured by a mask, coming at him swinging a chainsaw that's telegraphed a mile away is hardly a challenge. Flip would have fun taking your average slasher out in spectacularly ballsy fashion. Flip loves horror movies and chill. He chills while you get chills.

Mills is tenacious and hard working in all ways. He will go the extra mile and work harder and longer than anyone. Complaints aren't part of his vocabulary and he never shies from any quantity of blood, sweat, and tears it takes to see anything through once he sets his mind to it. He's determined to the point of self destruction and will push himself far past the bounds of comfort and even good sense.

The area in which he's happy to put in the effort and diligence is for his girl. Once he sets his sights on her, nothing will deter him. He will tilt windmills and make every overture, simple and grand, to win her heart. As a lovesick teenager who didn't know a damn thing about girls, this took the shape of embarrassing acts like clumsily strumming a guitar and singing off key below his intended's window at odd hours of the night until angry fathers ran him off. He considered it a badge of honor when one particularly enraged father took a shot at his feet with a .12 gauge.

Thankfully, he has learned a thing or two and now applies his tenacious enthusiasm in better ways. He will cook for you and rub your shoulders until his hands ache. He will bring you flowers and take you out for a picnic that entails a ride in his bush plane out to a mountain lake to spare you the hike. He will carry you to bed when you're tired and hold you all night. He considers it a personal failure when he doesn't make you cum before him, and is dauntless when it comes to making you moan and sigh. He is the ultimate Golden Retriever Boyfriend. He will work every day to make you smile and never let the new wear off.