#but will grow more corrupted with time no matter what she does!

[ooc-miqojak]

Name one line in the sand your muse has. Tell us one way someone can go ‘too far’. + What’s a fail-safe gift for your muse?

Headcanon/Development Questions Fail-safe gift answer is here!

Hilariously, I was just doing this quest again out in the Azure Span! And as far as I know, this is all I can come up with for Lily, at present, too. I'm sure she will have others, when RP presents them (like, she's really not going out of her way to hunt and hurt innocent people, even if the more demonic side of her would enjoy it - she's not evil)... but she's effectively kind of a new character again, in a sense. Everything about her is different now. Giving in to the demonic impulse feels great, sure, but... then she loses herself more. So, she's got to have lines - but really, most of them are probably pretty mutable, at the end of the day. Sure, she keeps her more visceral activities on the down-low, and presents a respectable persona in the public eye, and keeps her activities more centered around lowlifes and people who won't be missed (very like a vampire, whodathunk) - it's easier on her conscience, as well... for now. But if she were pressed? Who/what is off limits, to her? She already has a fucked-up obsession with Light-wielders/the Light that's... probably never going to end well, considering that the fel (and all she's endured) has pretty severely twisted her outlook on many things, and the Light is one of them. She's... not above preying on people who are just as naive as she once was. She once fell prey to a demon-in-disguise - and she's not even in disguise - so if they come to her willingly? If they, too, are drawn to darkness... why should she spare them? Why shouldn't she spit in the eye of the Light that abandoned her? Though, she has resisted that call, of late. For now. There's a voice in her head that sounds a lot like who she used to be, that hates the idea of hurting someone like that. She's still figuring out how much of who she 'was' that she wants to keep - when you're cleaning house, you have to ask yourself if what you're holding onto has value - if it has meaning to you, or if you're holding onto something out of habit. And it's a bit like that with moving forward - she's shedding an old skin, but she's not quite there yet. Not quite done figuring out what is worth holding onto. (I suppose a more vague line in the sand would be like... she's a woman of her word. Be it an oath, or a deal, she upholds them...if you do. She used to, anyways! I feel like this is a core trait though.)

[harksness]

No Going Back

Summary: An incurable illness plagues you, something one of a kind that has never been seen before. It corrupts magic, leaving you unable to use your powers without risking death or worse. Someone wants all of your unused power themselves, and a reluctant Agatha Harkness is convinced to keep you safe after some bribing.

A/N: aaa I've had the idea for this for like 2yrs now!!! I'm super excited to be finishing it and posting it finally!! It's my first in depth, planned fanfic and I'm super excited to share it I hope you guys like it <3

(Also lowk paranoid that some of the creative decisions I made for this fic are gonna end up being explained in the show so just nevermind that if it happens we're just here for some fun romance and smut with Agatha ok)

WC: 3k

Anxiety gnaws away at your insides as you flick on your blinker, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel as you turn down that familiar dirt road that you hate so much. That long, winding dirt road that also leads to the house that you hate so much.

You try the breathing exercises your therapist taught you. The slow, calculated inhales, the holding your breath, and slow calculated exhales, but it does nothing to relieve the feeling in your chest that’s suffocating you. 

The cars headlights cut through the darkness, thick layers of tall, old trees swarming each side of the road as their branches bow overhead. You can’t even see the night sky through the thick layers of leaves.

You’re positive that if you had consulted your therapist about this little visit before coming, she would have told you that it’s not a good idea. That reopening old wounds after basically being no contact for four years would undo a lot of healing and hard work. 

But, when you listened to your fathers urgent voicemail, you knew you needed to come. You had no choice. The deal you made with him before leaving was more than fair. He agreed to leave you alone and only contact you if it was a necessary emergency. And you agreed to that more than fair deal.

He wanted you to be as far away from him as possible, and you wanted the same thing. To be far, far away from him and any reminders of what happened to you, your childhood and the toxic magical community you grew up in.

You’re sure that you were only able to get away because of your little defect. And because after your mother died, he immediately remarried and your father didn’t waste time popping out plenty of new babies, pureblooded heirs that could flawlessly wield their old blood magic unlike you.

If your father called you back home you know it’s a serious, urgent matter. And that only makes your chest grow tighter as you turn the last bend and your childhood home comes into view.

“Well.. Here we go..”

You grumble to yourself, the tall, menacing house looming over you amongst all of the trees. The night sky actually cuts through these parts, the moonglow illuminating the house and its surroundings as you pull up to the front door. Immediately you kill the engine and shift your car into park, leaning forward to peer up at the house.

The pristine white under the moonlight makes it look like it’s glowing. It stands tall and proud and perfect, no chipping or dirt in sight. A black roof sits on top, perfectly black framed windows spread along the sides of the house, and not a single one is lit up with evidence of life. Curiously, you keep peering, checking for a sign of anyone being in the house. With a deep breath you grab your keys and your bag and exit the car.

It’s dead silent, save for the sound of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the trees when a soft breeze blows through. You pause as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Cautiously, you walk around to the other side of the house, leaning over and peering just enough to see if any lights were turned on. 

Nope. Nothing. All of the windows are black as pitch. You groan, pinching your eyes shut as you try to soothe yourself by rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

Whatever. You’ll just go inside and call your father. You’d be dead meat if you left without his permission, anyways. He sounded very urgent. Deathly urgent. With a deep exhale pushing past your lips, you walk back around the house, the wind chilling your cheeks as you start to make your way up the front steps. 

No door handle, just a block of smooth painted wood that looks like a door. A wave of exhaustion overtakes you as you press your palm to the smooth center of the wood, your features dropping as an electric blue glow flows in ripples over the door before it parts for you, splitting down the middle and swinging open.

The main hall is eerily dark and you have to force yourself to move forward. The moonlight is bright enough to where you can see, but everything is shadowed. The hall stretches out far, down the length of the entire house before leading to the wide, open stairs that would take you up to the expansive second level. 

A hard, loud slam echoes through the halls and shakes the house. It’s enough for you to let out a scream and jump as you fling yourself around to the source of the noise, noticing the front doors are sealed closed. Your face scrunches in confusion at the sight. It should just.. Close like a normal door as soon as you are comfortably in the threshold of the house. Never have you seen it linger or slam like that before, not even in your years growing up here.

You sigh, deciding to brush it off even though you know something is wrong, more so because you know that you’re incapable of protecting yourself like a normal witch would be able to so gaslighting yourself is just the easier option for now.

Besides, whatever’s wrong can’t be life endangering to you. The property is warded and safe, it’s basically impossible to get through to the house let alone inside of it. Hundreds of years of magical wards and barriers make sure of that. So, you grab your phone out of your coat pocket, your fingers cold as you pull up your fathers contact and press the call button.

You raise the phone to your ear as the sound of the monotonous chimes ring through the silent rooms as you pass through them, cautiously walking into the family room. The sound of your boots is muffled by the thick carpet as you walk over it to peer out of the window. The wind rushes against the side of the house, the echo of the noise whispering through the silent halls of your childhood home.

“Okay, I’m at the house. What’s going on and where are you? Please… Just call me back.”

Lowering the phone with a tense sigh, you drop it back into your coat pocket before turning back to the window. You decide to analyze the treeline for any sign of something being off, and you see something that makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach.

One of the protective runes carved into one of the trees has been singed off. You can tell by the sizzling burn marks that it was magic, the bark of the tree burned all the way through and to the wood underneath, leaving no sign of the runes that were previously there. Your throat dries up.

Whoever did that had to have broken through two other protective barriers on the property. It’s tough magic and in order to break through it… You’d need some scarily powerful magic on your side.

There’s only been a few times over the decades since the house was built that someone has been able to break through the protective barriers. The last time was when your mother was assassinated and you were left for dead when you were a child.

You can’t stop the panic from bubbling in your chest this time, not knowing what to do or how to protect yourself. Your mind is frantic as you search for a solution, your hand moving to fist the pendant hanging from your neck, but something catches your eye and you freeze. In the reflection of the window you see her, a woman reclining in your fathers favorite chair. The back of the extravagant, plush red chair reaches high, the woman is slumped down in it, her black heeled boots dangling over one armrest of the chair as she gently swings her feet back and forth, the fabric of her purple skirt swaying with each movement.

Her body is twisted just a bit so that her front is tilted towards you, her chin resting in her palm. She’s donning a very traditionally witchy getup. Her wild, brown curls fall off of her head in crazy waves as it cascades over her shoulders. Her lips are quirked in the snarkiest smirk you’ve ever seen, your chest tightening even further when you notice her bright blue eyes are planted right on you. 

You whip around to face her, your eyes widening when you see her with your own two eyes and not in the window's reflection, confirming this is real and not a figment of your imagination.

“Oh my goodness! It took you long enough to notice me! If this were a horror movie, or if I actually wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead the second those doors slammed shut, sweetheart.”

The woman's smooth voice has a taunting edge to it. She swings her feet over and around and they land against the carpet with a dramatic thump! before she pushes herself out of the chair and onto her feet.

“Thank god I don’t want to kill you.”

Her smirk drops into a warning smile, her voice doing the same. You’re gripping your pendant so tightly that you can feel it cutting into the skin of your palm.

“What do you mean? What do you want?”

You ask, your voice shaky and soft. She drops her gaze to your fist, pointing at it.

“That’s what I want.”

Her eyes meet yours again as she takes a few steps towards you. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and give it to me? Or do I have to take it from you?”

She holds out her hand, and that’s when your gaze catches on the pendant on her neck. Your eyes widen in horror, taking a slow step backwards.

Every witch knows about Agatha Harkness. About her long list of crimes, both magical and not. Especially those of you connected to the elder families. She’s successfully stolen from some, even killed a few. She was a suspect in your mothers murder and your assault, but was ruled out for having been out of the country at the time.

“Why do you want it?”

You stutter through the sentence, trying to distract her for a moment as you mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. You just keep hoping, praying to whatever god is listening, that you can get your magic to work right just this once.

“Stop stalling, honey.. You know exactly why I want it.”

You take her words as your signal to call on your magic, and it appears in a sickly blue-ish yellow glow, enveloping you as you feel it wash over you, turning you invisible. You start cursing internally, knowing your magic won’t last long enough to keep you safe. But you have to try something. 

You don’t know what to do. Just run to your car, which probably won’t work, hide, which also probably won’t work, or somehow try to distract her which is your best bet but also probably won’t work.

So, you start booking it down the hall, the hard thumps of your feet on wood rattling through the old house as you dart for the stairs. Your fingers wrap around the bannister and you start running up the steps, taking them two steps at a time as you desperately search your mind for a good place to hide. 

“It’s funny you think you can hide, sweetheart.”

Agatha calls after you, and you can already hear her making her way up the stairs. She’s taking her time as she follows after you. You bolt down the hall, finding your old bedroom. When you throw open the door you’re not surprised to see that they renovated it, it seems to be an art studio for your step mother now.

You step back into the hallway, remaining invisible as you quietly move out of the way. Agatha is making her way down the hall, her robes and long hair flowing dramatically behind her as she approaches the door you flung open.

“Oh, come on.. Just make this easier for the both of us and come on out.”

She laughs as she sticks her head into the room, surveying it. She must be suspicious that you’re not actually in there. You take the opportunity to do something you’ve never tried before, something stupid that could kill you- and you call on your magic.

You raise your hand, closing your eyes as you carefully begin to draw your power from the pendant around your neck. It’s unstable in its pure form like this, your anxiety bubbling in your chest as you draw it into your hand, feeling it crackle and pop like a fire. You feel the invisibility spell wash off of you like water, your fingers flicking backwards in time with the powerful bursts of magic.

You build the magic steadily, higher and higher as you wait for her to turn around.

When she finally does, you twist your arms, using all of your strength to fling the yellow-blue ball of magic right into the woman. She flies backwards, and you hear the crashing noises as she falls right into all of the easels and canvases.

Peering through the door, you see her in a clump on the floor with the broken and tattered art supplies. She blows a long piece of thick brown hair that hand landed in her face out of the way with a dramatic puff of her lips.

“I thought you couldn’t use magic..”

Agatha grumbles as she climbs to her feet, dusting herself off. She pauses, an uneasy look overtaking her face.

“What.. What was that?”

She groans, wrapping her arms around her stomach where your magic had landed. You let out a breathy, surprised laugh. 

“What did you do to me!? I thought you couldn't use magic!”

Agatha yells at you, rage seeping through her voice as it booms in the halls of the house. Fear grips you again as you straighten up, not bothering to give her an explanation.

She groans out in pain behind you, and you start running. Your feet heavy thumps as you book it down the hall, thinking you finally got a chance.

Not only does she need to realize what's happening to her, she needs to purge it from her body. Someone that powerful shouldn't have an issue dealing with it, but fighting it out should stall just long enough for you to get away.

Or so you thought.

Something hits you so hard that you fall to the ground, landing roughly on your right arm. The force of your body hitting the hard wood beneath you causes your head to snap against the floor too, a loud yelp of pain pushing out of your throat as pain shoots in hot flashes across your skull and down your arm.

A few seconds later you’re blinking dumbly as you try to regain your senses, your head ringing and vision blurry from your hard fall. Your eyes roll in your head, a groggy groan escaping your lips as you desperately try to pick yourself off the ground.

Your right arm is stuck. Shoulder to hand, as if it’s superglued to the wood beneath you. Desperately you pull on your arm, trying to sit up to no avail as you hear the woman approaching you from behind.

You’re basically a bug that walked into a sticky trap, helpless as you watch your impending demise approach you. You turn your head to the sound of boots on the wooden floor, seeing Agatha sauntering towards you, purple skirt swaying around the ankles of her black boots. You’re just barely able to make out a coherent thought through all of the pain and fog clouding your mind- you’re fucked.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your head throbbing in time with every beat as the woman crouches down before you. You’re unable to focus on her features, desperately wincing and pinching your eyes shut to try and get rid of the pain. Her fingers wrap around your jaw, biting softly into your cheeks as she focuses your lolling head on her gaze.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean for you to hit the ground that hard. Don’t wanna risk damaging that pretty face, hm?”

You blink rapidly as she starts to come into focus. You try to gargle out a response, but find yourself unable to as pain shoots through your skull. She coos at you with wide eyes, raising her free hand to run softly over the top of your head.

“At the very least, there’s gonna be a bump. At the very most, a concussion.. I really am sorry, but I needed this-”

Her hand is reaching towards your neck. Panic spikes in your chest when you realize she’s going to grab your necklace.

“N-no!”

You force the word past your lips in a desperate stutter, your voice echoing through the long hall so loudly that it surprises you. The witch before you even seems a bit taken off guard, curling her fingers back as she retreats her hand only slightly.

“What’s wrong with your magic..”

She asks, her voice soft and firm as her eyes narrow at you in curiosity. Panic is bubbling in your chest, rising in your throat.

“I don’t know.”

You whisper in return, before that all too familiar flash of blue-yellow magic lights up between the two of you. Agatha raises her hands, manifesting a wide, purple shield the exact moment your unstable magic collides with it. A loud noise sounds right when it collides with hers, shaking the house and echoing loudly in your ears. Your head flies in the opposite direction at the force, smacking against the floor once again as your vision goes black.

[ushiwhacka]

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife. 

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on. 

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes. 

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away. 

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.  

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops. 

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest. 

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors. 

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince. 

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.” 

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin. 

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low. 

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers. 

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table. 

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you. 

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles. 

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling? 

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.” 

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined. 

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin. 

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.” 

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck. 

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” 

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright. 

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow. 

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity. 

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again. 

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

You don’t. 

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him. 

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to. 

“Why are you squirming?” 

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming.  And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him. 

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t. 

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks. 

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him. 

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you. 

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers. 

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste. 

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty. 

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you. 

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together. 

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again. 

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms. 

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again. 

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it. 

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him. 

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it. 

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact. 

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth. 

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.” 

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp. 

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating. 

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button. 

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again. 

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey. 

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted. 

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[mulloey]

a lesson learned • seonghwa

you just can’t seem to stay away from trouble. your husband sets you straight.

request for @89petals

word count: 5.9k

western au, dom husband!seonghwa x innocent sub!reader ft. outlaws!mingi, san & wooyoung.

warnings: angry sex, punishment, impact, degredation, glove kink, mask kink. mentioned whipping & public humiliation. not proofread.

—————

Seonghwa knows you’re naive. It’s not hard to tell; the way you carry yourself, the way you talk, the way you stare so sweetly at him, everything about you exudes innocence, screams vulnerability. And not just to him — he sees it in the eyes of all the men you encounter. It’s obvious, visceral, primal; the desire to touch you, to dirty your pure, unsullied skin with their calloused hands and sweet talking. The longing to be the one to corrupt you. To ruin you. And he knows it’s only him, his protection, standing in their way. Stopping you from falling into one of their traps. Keeping you safe.

He’s tried so hard to make you see it like that; to make you understand. Understand that you need his protection, why you need it; what would happen without it.

But you just don’t get it. No matter how hard he tries, you just don’t understand. He knows it’s partially his fault; he spoils you incessantly, rotten, some would say — though how any man could resist doing so is a mystery he could never untangle. But he’s tried to be harder on you; tried to put his foot down, draw the line and say “this is how it’s going to be.” And it almost works. Each time, he almost gets through to you — almost.

Because then, just as he dares to think he’s won, you look up at him with those wide, doe eyes, a quivering lip as you ask him in your softest voice “why, Seonghwa? Have I been bad?” And he folds. Like any man would, he folds; takes you into his arms, cooing reassurances that you’re never bad, baby, you’re the best girl in the world until he forgets why he was even trying to be strict in the first place. And it works every time. Sly little minx.

Today is one of those days — one of those days where he wishes he had your reins a little tighter, regrets never having followed through and kept you in line. Because today, like so many times before, he doesn’t know where you are. You’d gone out this morning to see your friends, promising to be back soon, but you weren’t. It’s evening now, close to dusk, and with each passing second he grows more worried about you, more frantic to get you home before dark. He’s searched most of town, all your favourite places and usual hangouts, and come up empty. And no one he’s spoken to — all of them familiar with you as the beautiful, innocent wife of the man who runs the town — has seen you since the morning. Where on earth have you gone?

“I’m sorry,” the barkeep says, looking genuinely remorseful — you are, by his own admission, his ‘sweetest customer’ after all. “I truly haven’t seen her, sir. Nor her friends.”

Seonghwa grunts, shaking his head in frustration; it’s starting to hurt now. A stress headache, maybe. “I just don’t know where she could be, Will,” he groans. “I don’t want her out after dark. She’d get into all kinds of trouble with the sorts that come out then.”

The barkeep nods, grim understanding on his face. “I agree, sir. I’m really sorry I can’t help you, but I’m sure she’ll be back soon. She’s a good girl and she loves ya. She won’t have run off.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he mumbles.

Thoughts of all the wrong sorts in the town, visions of how they could have taken you, what they could be doing to you, plague his thoughts, increasing his heart rate so much he barely manages to collapse into a nearby seat in time. The barkeep watches with a worried expression as Seonghwa leans back, breathing laboured as he removes his hat and slams it down on the bare table.

“Heat getting to ya?” He asks. “Don’t be so troubled, sir. She’s done this before, hasn’t she? Bet ya she’s gone after some frog again.”

If the situation weren’t so dire, Seonghwa would laugh at the memory; when you were still his fiancé and, having not seen you the entire day, he’d sent a search party looking for you, only for you to be found just out of bounds with the explanation that you’d “seen a frog” and had followed it so far you’d lost track of where you were. Seonghwa had almost cried with relief then, holding you in his arms as though you’d risen from the dead, but was so angry with you that he barely managed to hold it together until you got back to the house — and when you did, he’d doled out enough consequences to ensure you never made that mistake again. Or so he thought.

“Maybe,” he mumbles. He’s seconds away from calling another search party when a commotion outside draws his attention, as do the familiar voices of the two men in this town he can always trust to cause trouble.

Groaning, he rushes out of the bar, ready to admonish them for causing such a stir — but before he can, his eyes find a familiar face on the back of a familiar white horse. His heart warms at the welcome sight of his missing wife; as his blood pressure rises at the unwelcome sight of who you’d been with.

You stare at him with love and unease — happy to see him but no doubt aware of the trouble you’re in. You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as you dismount. Too nervous to approach him, you hesitate, lingering behind the men you’d ridden with.

“So this is who you meant by ‘friends’,” Seonghwa says as coolly as he can manage. “Mingi, San and…” He squints, not recognising the man next to them. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Wooyoung, sir,” the man grins, waving cheerfully. The man next to him, Mingi, snorts amusedly. Seonghwa almost lunges.

“Wooyoung,” he repeats. He knows he’s sneering as he says his name; sounding it out like it’s something shameful, but if Wooyoung is offended, he doesn’t say anything. The others have clearly told him who Seonghwa is, and the control he has of everything in this world town. Especially the girl they’d taken out, apparently without his permission.

“Did you have fun with my wife, Wooyoung?” He asks. “And you two? Did you have fun too?”

“Nothing improper happened, Seonghwa,” Mingi says coolly. “She wanted to go for a ride and we took her.”

“I’m sure,” Seonghwa replies darkly. Mingi at least has the decency to look a little uneasy, knowing Seonghwa could get him in a lot more trouble than he’d like. Not wanting to bother with the outlaws anymore, he turns his gaze back to you, eyes narrowing. “Come here.”

He watches you silently as you approach him, feeling your nerves with each step. He’s sure you’re half expecting him to strike you in front of everyone — even strip you down and punish you right here. But he’d never do that — instead, when you finally reach him, he pulls you into a tight, crushing hug. Tears prickle at his eyes as he inhales your scent, that sweet, perfect scent he was starting to wonder if he’d smell again. “I was so fucking worried about you,” he whispers into your hair. “My sweet little girl.”

You sigh contentedly into his chest for a moment until he abruptly pulls back, eyes narrowing as he regards the crowd that’s formed around you. “Everyone go home,” he orders. “Mingi, San, get out of here and take the boy with you. We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t wait for people to obey — just grabs your hand and drags you over to where he’d tied his horse. You try to speak but he ignores you; he lifts you up and onto the horse without a word, ignoring your protests as he steadies you before jumping up himself. “Hold my waist,” he says. Finally having some sense, you obey, saying nothing as you ride to his home on the hill — looming above the town and reminding you just who you’re dealing with.

When you arrive he lifts you off the horse, his grip on your waist harsher than usual as he plants you on the ground. He hands the reins to a waiting servant, who leads the horse away, leaving you alone with your husband. He doesn’t look at you, just orders you into the house with a stern tone. As you turn to walk towards the door he lands a harsh slap against your ass; with your layers of skirts and undergarments you should barely feel it, but Seonghwa is so strong and so angry that it’s as painful as if he had lifted up your skirts and smacked your bare skin. You squeak, losing your balance slightly before regaining it and rushing towards the door. It’s open, you assume unlocked by the servant as he’d seen your horse approaching, allowing you to slip inside and out of the desert sun.

You’re crouched down and unlacing your boots when you hear the door open and close again, and you hardly have time to register the presence behind you when it grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to your feet.

“Seonghwa!” You protest, flailing in his painful grip. A low noise emanates from his throat, almost a growl, and before you know what’s happened he’s landed a harsh, stinging slip on your cheek. Your jaw drops and you gape at him, staggering back when he loosens his grip. You can scarcely believe what’s just happened, what he’s just done — he’s struck you before, certainly, but never out of anger and never on the face.

“You need a fucking attitude adjustment,” he growls. His voice is deeper than you knew it could even get and he sounds downright dangerous. “I’ve been too lenient for too long.”

You whine, staring at him with your trademark eyes but this time he doesn’t react — doesn’t falter, doesn’t soften, doesn’t give in or give way to you. Your heart skips a beat at the realisation — he’s not falling for it this time. “Seonghwa, I’m sorr—”

“No, little girl,” he interjects. You swallow, bile in your threat. He really has no patience for you now. “You listen to me,” he says. “I’ve tried so hard to help you understand the dangers of this town but you just won’t listen.” He grabs you again, this time by the neck but doesn’t apply much pressure. Not that he needs to; you’ve always been putty in his hands. Now with no choice but to look at him, you see the fire in his eyes, the blazing spark — you’ve provoked him. Set him ablaze. You’re going to get burned. “Clearly,” he says, “I need to make you understand.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air as you digest them. Your mouth opens and closes a couple times until you can finally force out a single syllable. “How?”

He chuckles; a dry, humourless chuckle that scratches at your throat. His eyes flicker up and down as he takes you in, admiring the body he owns and imagining what he could do to it. He bites his lip, not quite drawing blood but still hard and affected. “By showing you the dangers,” he says.

He releases you, sending you stumbling backwards again. He eyes you carefully, chuckling when he sees that one of your shoes is still on your feet. “Take that off,” he says, pointing to it. “Quickly.”

Nodding, you scramble to obey; you’re so nervous that your hands are shaking, making it hard to undo the tight laces of your boots, but you manage — perhaps due to the sharp, watching eyes you feel on you the entire time. You stand back up, feeling exposed now even though you’re fully clothed. Unsure what to say, you wait for him to speak; it seems to please him. “Go to our room,” he says. “Wait for me on the bed while I fetch a few things. You’re going to learn a good lesson tonight, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the terrifying undertones of his words, you turn on your heel, scrambling up the rickety wooden staircase; the steps creak under the pressure but you don’t doubt they can support your weight — Seonghwa built this house with his own two hands, and he knows what he’s doing; above all, he’d never do anything to put you in danger, through negligence or otherwise.

Reaching the top floor you scurry quietly down the hallway, pushing open the door to your shared bedroom and closing it softly behind you. Unsure what to do with Seonghwa’s vague instructions, you elect to keep your clothes on — he’d never told you to remove them, after all — and chance your luck that he may see fit to inflict whatever punishment he has in mind over your garments. After all, if he’s gone to fetch the riding crop, which is usually what he means when he ‘fetches something’ before a punishment, it’s not like your clothes would hinder the effectiveness of his discipline — as a renowned horseman, Seonghwa is more than capable with a riding crop, and would certainly be able to bruise, perhaps even cut you through your clothes. Not that he would cut you — but he could. Even his hands can inflict a world of damage.

Minutes later you hear the telling sounds of creaking on the staircase; as the footsteps get closer you recognise them as Seonghwa and you swallow, shifting uneasily on the bed. You wonder what he’s going to do to you — what he meant by “showing you the danger”. You trust him with your life but the fact remains that you live far from the rest of the town, so if something did happen, your screams would almost certainly go unheard — in fact, you know they would. It’s something you’ve both enjoyed and certainly made the most of before, but if he decided to use it for some other purpose, you’d be in trouble.

Minutes later the door opens to reveal him standing in the doorway, still in his brimmed hat and long leather coat and you shudder — even after five years of marriage, the mere silhouette of Seonghwa still intimidates you. When he steps out of the shadow you blink for a moment, confused. Seonghwa hasn’t fetched the riding crop, instead gathering an armful of ropes— but that’s not what catches your attention. What catches your attention is the thick cloth pulled over Seonghwa’s mouth and nose, fashioned into a mask. Paired with his hat it conceals his face almost entirely and makes him an utterly menacing figure.

He takes a step inside, spurs clinking against his boots as he walks. It’s not a sound you often hear inside, and it feels more threatening than familiar. You gulp, shifting back slightly but not enough to be out of his reach — you’re smarter than that.

He stares down at you for a moment, taking you in and scrutinising you, before that familiar voice sounds out, deeper and more menacing than ever.

“Since you think it’s so funny to run off with strange men,” he says, a little muffled through the mask but still painfully clear. “Men I’ve specifically warned you about, and you’ve refused to listen…” You hang your head, ashamed, but through hooded eyes still stare curiously at the sight in front of you. “I’m going to show you exactly why I told you to stay away from them in the first place.”

You drop your gaze, staring down at the wooden floorboards with a racing heartbeat. He clicks his tongue. “Look at me.”

You find obeying isn’t as easy as it should be — the sight of him now is overwhelming, and something about the way he towers over you, face hidden, intentions concealed… it flusters you. You want to blush and giggle and run far, far away.

He comes closer again, reaching to grip your chin and the moment his hand meets your face an electrifying feeling races through you. His voice is gruff when he speaks, eyes boring into yours. “I’m going to show you what bad men can do,” he says. “What they’d do to you if they could.”

His grip tightens, holding you still; the pressure of his fingers is bruising, painful against your skin and he knows it. His eyes flicker across your chest, peeking out of the top of your dress. They narrow slightly, stern and scrutinising but the pupils are dilated. “Was that like this when you left this morning?”

You look down for a moment, holding back a smile when you see what he’s asking. “You mean were my breasts so visible?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You giggle slightly and he tightens his grip again, forcing the smile off your face. You whine. “They weren’t,” you insist. “My dress slipped a little as I came up the stairs.”

He stares at you a moment, probably trying to decide if he believes you. He clicks his tongue. “I hope you’re right. And I certainly hope Mingi would agree with that assessment, should I happen across him tomorrow.”

“He would,” you reply. “I swear, Hwa.” You feel tears prickle at your eyes as you stare desperately at him, trying to convince him — among other things. You see the conflict on his face as he watches your display.

Usually, now would be the time where he’d give in — when you give him those eyes and promise so sweetly that to be a good girl for him. ‘Hwa’ doesn’t help either; you know that name is his kryptonite. But this time he doesn’t fold; doesn’t give in like he always does. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. Because while before, your sweet disposition and cute, childish antics, made him want to squish your cheeks and give you everything you could possibly want, now it makes him want to ruin you. To watch you fall apart beneath him; to tarnish your pure, clean soul the way he’s been trying to tell you the other men in the town are so desperate to. No, you’re not getting out of this today. He’s going to break you down and ruin you and then maybe you’ll learn.

He releases your chin, noticing with a smile the deep red marks left by the imprints of his fingers. “Strip,” he orders. “And do it quickly. ‘Cause I have to take that pretty little dress off myself, there won’t be much left of it when I’m done.”

You know he’s not bluffing this time — a number of your dresses have been ruined in this way; torn off in the heat of passion by your hungry, or angry, husband. Standing, you hurry to obey, removing your corset and skirts until you’re down to your underwear. Your gaze flickers to him, unsure. He nods, a silent order and you gulp as you remove your underwear; the last, thin pieces of fabrics protecting your modesty. Now fully nude, next to your husband who hasn’t even removed his shoes, you feel vulnerable and exposed in a way you’re not sure if you like. He stares at you for a moment and the mask prevents you from gauging his reaction. You stand nervously, resisting the urge to try to cover yourself; it wouldn’t work, first of all, and would only anger him further. He clicks his tongue. “Turn around.”

Nodding, you turn slowly to face the bed. His presence behind you is a looming, inescapable feeling even before he touches you; he runs a finger across your ass, inspecting the tender flesh. He makes a noise somewhere between pity and arousal and you realise you’re probably still sporting the marks from when he’d corrected you last; a painful, bruising correction that had left you crying and begging his forgiveness — and for something much lesser than this, you recall. You gulp as you realise he probably has much worse planned for you today.

“Gosh,” he says, almost whispering. He applies a gentle pressure to one of the marks; a bruise, by the feel of it — not enough pressure to truly hurt, but just enough to remind you that the bruise is there and why. “You just can’t behave, can you, my girl?”

A whine escapes, face pink with embarrassment at his patronising, humiliating tone but you don’t dare move — you know better. “I’m sorry, Hwa,” you whisper. When you say that name this time, he can tell it’s not a tactic or charm — you truly are sorry, and you truly want to be good. He smiles proudly at the thought. His sweet girl.

“I’ve really been too lenient, have I?” He says. Knowing you can’t see it, he doesn’t bother hiding the affectionate smile on his face. “Don’t worry, baby. That ends today.”

You gulp, nodding your assent and for a moment it seems nothing’s happening — until a strong hand on your back pushing you forwards, forcing you to bend over the bed. You make a noise of surprise, not having expected the movement, but you stay still. He stands and takes you in for a moment before his hands are on you, running down your sides with more tenderness than you expected. But that doesn’t last for long; when he reaches your ass he winds his hand back, and you hear the smack he inflicts on the bruised skin coming even before it lands. When it does, it takes a second for the pain to register; it blooms across your sensitive skin, white-hot and agonising. You cry out but have the good sense to do it into the blankets, muffling the noise. He lands another slap on the same spot, then another, ignoring your cries and apologies. After ten or so smacks he seems to get bored, backing away from you, and you realise with as much relief as fear that he doesn’t intend on beating you tonight — at least, not as your main punishment. Which means your main punishment is something else, and you have a feeling it won’t be a whole lot more lenient.

He returns quickly, grabbing a fistful of your hair in one hand while the other holds you down by your waist. “Did you like that?” He asks, voice rasped.

You shake your head, still sobbing slightly. “No, Seonghwa.”

“Good.” His hand moves from your waist to your ass, tightly gripping the spot he’d victimised — no doubt red and swollen thanks to his efforts. You cry out, dizzy with pain. “You shouldn’t like it,” he says, emphasising his point with a squeeze that almost makes you black out. “That way you’ll finally fucking learn.”

You nod, groaning at the lingering pain that persists even after he loosens his grip. He makes a noise almost like a snarl.

“Tell me, baby,” he says softly. “Do you think Mingi would make love to you?” He pulls at your hair slightly, just enough pressure to sting. You gulp. “You think San would stop if it got too much?” His hand moves down, gripping the supple skin of your upper thigh.

You bite your lip, unsure of how to answer — the outlaws Seonghwa hates so much have actually been nice to you so far, though he of course claims it’s only to piss him off. But you know what he wants to hear and you want to be good — you want him to be merciful. “No, Seonghwa,” you gasp, though it comes out as more of a whine. You’re painfully aware of his hand on the back of your thigh, squeezing at the skin and refusing to relieve or indulge you beyond that. “They wouldn’t.”

“That’s right,” he growls. “So neither will I.”

You hear shuffling behind you before something touches your arm — but it’s not Seonghwa’s soft yet rough hands. It’s harder, thicker, a little scratchy… it’s the rope. You gasp, breath hitching as he wraps the rope carefully around your arms, tying them together against your back. He leans down to whisper in your ear, “Your safeword is ‘pickles’. Remember it.”

You giggle at the choice of safeword — pickles is your horse, white and grey and beautiful and certainly an unforgettable safeword. “Okay,” you whisper.

He chuckles, moving away behind you. Craning your neck, you see him removing the hat, coat and boots — undoubtedly bothersome particularly when he’s trying to educate you. But the mask stays, and you watch as he pulls on a pair of thick, leather gloves. You swallow — he never wears those gloves with you; they’re the gloves he wears when, as the de-facto leader of the town, he deals with outlaws and criminals and anyone who causes problems — anyone he’d rather not touch. Just by putting them on in front of you he’s shown you his anger; your place. You’re dirt to him now.

When he returns to you he wastes no time; he places a leg on each side of you, holding you in place and putting him closer to where he wants to be. The feeling of his leather gloves on your skin sends shivers down your spine for a multitude of reasons but you do your best to stay still and pliant. They run across your skin, coming to hold onto your waist, squeezing it softly before suddenly they’re on your ass, grabbing your cheeks and spreading them apart — exposing you fully to him.

Without realising you shrink into yourself slightly, trying to make yourself smaller — avoid the embarrassment and humiliation of having everything on slow. He chuckles, gripping you tighter as he spits down. The saliva lands between your two holes and with one large finger he rubs up and down, spreading the spit between them. You shiver as his finger ghosts across your sensitive pussy and even more sensitive asshole, coating them with spit. But you can't do much more than shiver; the grip of his other hand on your is iron and immobilising, and you know from experience that if you make things difficult for him, Seonghwa has no qualms with striking your pussy almost as hard as he does your ass, and you don’t want to find out if he’d have any qualms about doing that to your other hole. You can’t even imagine how that would feel.

“How do you feel?” He asks, not sounding incredibly concerned with the answer. “Are you embarrassed, baby? Your holes spat on like you’re some cheap saloon girl?”

You whine and, forgetting your situation, try to reach for him — for comfort or reprieve, you don’t know. It’s only when the rope bites into your arms as you strain against them that you remember what he’d done — how he’d tied you up like a mare. “I’m embarrassed, Hwa.”

“Good,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Be embarrassed. But tell me this, honey. If those outlaws you like so much finally got their hands on you — do you think they’d use spit? Do you think they’d use anything to make it easier for you?”

“I don’t know,” you gasp.

He laughs dryly. “No, they wouldn’t,” he says. “They’d tear you open, baby. And it’d be even worse than this.”

He doesn’t give your time to react before he plunges not one but two fingers into your sensitive hole, making you choke — the thick leather coating his fingers makes them even bigger and harder to take and you feel like you’re on fire; not the mention the disbelief that your temperate, if a little severe husband, is treating you like this. You thrash in his hold but it’s no use; he only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he starts pumping in and out of you, stretching you even further. It feels good but it’s so, so much. You don’t know what to do or how to take it and the stupid rope around your arms means you can’t even hold onto him. He hums. “Must be hard, huh? Taking my fingers like that?”

“It is.”

“It should be. This is how you wanted to be treated, right? That must be why you love those outlaws so much. Because this is what you really wanted. To be treated as the cheap slut they see you as, yeah?”

You’re rutting desperately against the bed now, trying to get any kind of friction Seonghwa’s immobilising grip allows and maybe it’s because he knows he’s pushing you so hard — or perhaps he likes seeing you so desperate and pathetic — that he doesn’t stop you. The moment you’re sufficiently stretched a third gloved finger invades you and didn’t even know you could be this stretched without his dick. You’re sobbing now; tears smearing against the thin blankets as you shake beneath his hold. He chuckles; “tell me it feels good,” he says.

“It fee— God, it feels so good Hwa,” you cry, so loud it hurts your throat and rings in your ears. He laughs, hooking a hand under your waist to lift you up slightly, angling you so your holes are even more exposed and he can go even deeper. Your screams fall on deaf ears — as they probably will for the rest of the night.

“Good girl,” Seonghwa praises, and it eases your pain for a moment before it’s back in full force as he increases his pace. “I reckon you’re learning your lesson, aren’t you?”

You sob into the blankets, nodding fervently — you certainly are learning, though you’re not sure if it’s the pain or the pleasure that’s reaching you. But your sweet husband is gone tonight, replaced with an animal — and it’s not one you want to provoke again. “Yes, Hwa.”

“Good. ‘Cause if I have to teach it again, I’m not waiting to get you somewhere private. Understood?”

“Yes, Hwa,” you groan.

“Good.” He pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty and gaping. You feel your wetness begin to trickle down your leg and he traces it with his finger, gathering the juices. He grabs your hair again, yanking it backwards to pull your head towards him. “Open up.”

You let your mouth fall open uncertainly and he shoves his fingers inside, making you gag. “Suck,” he orders and you do; swirling your tongue across his juice-coated fingers as you suckle desperately at them. “Taste good?” He asks and you nod — you do taste good. Sweet, even. You’re quite proud of it — but that doesn’t make this any less humiliating.

“Good,” he says, pulling his fingers out and moving to grip your waist. “I’m gonna fuck you now. Think you can take it?”

You bite your lip, pondering your answer. “It doesn— it doesn’t matter,” you say softly, knowing what he wants to hear.

“Good answer, baby,” he chuckles. “Fuck, you’re not so dumb after all, are you?”

You shake your head, flushing a little at the condescending undertones of his words and you hear him exhale a stuttered breath. You know he’s as pent up as you are now — you don’t know what he’s going to do with it. “Hwa…”

“I’m here, baby,” he says. “Hwa’s gonna fuck you now. Not gonna be gentle, either. What’s your safeword?”

You sniffle. “Pickles.”

“Good girl,” he says, smoothing a hand across your flushed skin. You notice he’s pulled the gloves off now and you’ve never been so grateful to feel his bare skin on yours; but knowing what he’s taken them off for, what he plans to do to you, doesn’t allow you much comfort from it. “Remember that. There’s a good chance you’ll need it.”

He pulls back and for a long, unending moment, he’s gone from your sight and touch. Anticipation hangs in the air as you await his return; tension and arousal combined and lingering as the seconds pass slowly and fearfully. You squirm slightly, desperate for sensation and hoping he’ll notice, until he returns. Two large hands grip your ass, spreading the cheeks apart again. You hear him spit again, feel the saliva as it lands and smears across your pussy before you feel that familiar stretch as his thick, hard cock begins to penetrate you. He takes his sweet time inserting himself, dragging it out and it’s as much a mercy as it is a torture. When he’s finally in, your still-tight pussy only just withstanding it, he starts to move — slowly at first, then faster and faster until he’s at his full speed and power. He’s never gotten there so fast or so ruthlessly and as good as it feels, you know you’re at the edge of what you can take.

So does he — his grip on you is iron and unyielding, surely bruising you further as he uses your fragile frame to allow and force himself deeper into you. You know you’re crying; sobbing and calling his name with each movement and you think he’s saying something to you, but among all the feelings and sensations and the ever-present stretch that pulls and forces you open, the exact words he says don’t quite reach you. He’s never fucked you like this — fast and hard and without consideration for your pleasure and you feel like a toy, an object; existing only to service him. You know that’s his point — that to others, you are an object, and they’d never take as good care of you as he does. And for the first time you’re really starting to understand the truth of his warnings; as fast and intense as this is, there's still love and care hidden deep, deep beneath it. If you let those outlaws get anywhere near you, it’ll be a lot, lot worse.

As he approaches his orgasm you’re certain you’ve bitten through your lip; the taste of iron fills your mouth, your shown body strained and breaking under the enormous pressure of Seonghwa’s exertions of it. When he finally comes it’s louder, harder, deeper than he’s ever been and you quickly find yourself coming too; orgasm forced out of you by the sheer force of his own. You know you’re sobbing as you come down, heart still pounding against your skull, permeating every inch of you and Seonghwa stays still for a moment, dick softening but still deep inside you before he finally pulls out with a groan. You feel liquid pour from your hole as he does so; his cum and your juices rushing down your thigh and you hear him chuckle.

“Dirty girl,” he muses. He gathers it on his fingers again, this time placing them into his mouth, tasting the mixture of your juices and his and he makes a noise of appreciation. “Delicious, baby.”

When you start to whine again he’s quick to gather you up, skillfully untying your arms before pulling you into his hold. He situates himself in bed, back against the pillow as he holds you against his chest, rocking you back and forth. He’s patient as he waits for you to come down and back to earth, greeting you with a fond smile when you finally open your eyes, staring up at him as lovingly as you always do. He pinches your cheek, cooing at you as he speaks. “That was incredible, baby,” he says. “How do you feel?”

Your breathing is still staggered, voice soft and raspy as you answer. “Feel fine, Seonghwa.”

“Good,” he smiles. “You gonna run around with outlaws again, baby?”

You sniff, shaking your head and nuzzling further into his touch. “No.”

“I’m glad,” he says. “Because I’d so hate to have to fuck you like that again.”

You hold back a chuckle, sighing in his hold. You know he’s lying — and when you whisper back, “So would I, Hwa,” you both know you’re lying too.

—————

thanks for reading! reblog and comment if you enjoyed. requests are open!🖤🖤🖤

[kraviolis]

i told y’all. i told y’all i was gonna go crazy over this post made by @gummy-goat-galaxy​

full disclosure i drew literally all of this before looking into the details of the AU so this is 70% my interpretation of his original post but i need to explain my thought process so. here’s the post explaining the details of the actual AU!!! and below is what my brain made up on the spot

ok so belos finds tiny child luz and is like “fuck everyone. this is mine now” and treats her like a goddamn princess. to him, she is a Gift From God to remind him to stay on his Righteous Path. an innocent little girl who is just so bubbly and always tries to see the good in everything, including him. she is a reminder of how Pure and Good humanity is, and seeing as though she’s the literal only human he’s had any contact with besides caleb in 400 fucking years, he is never letting the demon realm corrupt her like it did to him.

she’s basically his Lamb and he the Shepherd, and because he’s so desperate to keep her “““pure”““ he strictly keeps her within the castle and even then not all of the castle is available to her. he keeps her contact with witches to an absolute bare minimum.

he entrusts her protection specifically to hunter, despite the fact he’s only 2 years older. his reasoning is “caleb did a pretty good job raising me so this’ll be fine probably.” when belos himself cannot keep an eye on her, it’s hunter’s job. luz and hunter end up being raised in a sorta similar situation to catra & adora from she-ra but they are actually siblings and not just best friends.

(if u havent seen she-ra, basically its their abusive caretaker creating a golden child + scapegoat dynamic, where one kid can do absolutely no wrong (which doesnt mean they cant still be abused/manipulated!!) while the other kid is blamed for literally everything that goes wrong. the caretaker also regularly pits them against each other to encourage competition & keep the all power in the caretaker’s hands.)

similar to catra & adora, the whole competition thing doesnt really work. luz is just too damn kind and too damn good for hunter to ever resent her, and she’s all he really has. because hunter is the scapegoat, he grows wise to belos’s manipulations WAY sooner. it’s easier to figure out when you’re being mistreated when you literally watch ur guardian treating ur sibling so much better than how they treat u.

unfortunately, because luz cannot help but see the good in absolutely everyone and can be empathetic to a fault, she doesnt realize belos’s game until she ends up sneaking out of the castle. she actually really loves belos and is thankful for him taking her in for a long time. she calls him uncle like hunter, despite belos nudging her towards seeing him as a father bcus he sees her as a pseudo-daughter. (but luz remembers her dad, and has no desire to replace him with someone else no matter how much she cares for belos)

belos does love & adore luz, he would do almost anything to keep her happy and “innocent” and “pure”, but not to the extent that he could still end up redeemed. he still manipulates & subtly emotionally abuses her to keep her in line, but it’s only when she sneaks out and meets eda the owl lady does she start getting clued into this. and once luz learns what belos has done to hunter it’s all fucking over.

hunter loves luz. she is his sister and always will be. but while he’s stuck to belos because of his duties as golden guard, she sees how green the grass is on the other side and doesn’t even hesitate to hop over there. watching her slowly grow more and more distant while she keeps sneaking out to visit with her new friends (eda, king, willow, gus, amity, etc.) is one of the most painful things hunter has had to deal with.

he feels betrayed at first, as if luz is replacing him with other people who arent broken like he is, and when luz actually leaves for good- belos lies to the public and says she was kidnapped- hunter is the one who leads the hunt to find her and bring her back home safely. when they confront each other, luz tries to do her whole dramatic speech about how wrong belos is and how he’s been lying their whole lives, but hunter already knows. the only reason he stayed was for luz, but she couldnt even stay from him? it fuckin hurts man.

they end up on opposite sides for a minute. hunter gains no satisfaction from trying to ruin this new life she’s found for herself but goddamnit, he has a job to do. he cant just defect. and then he defects after watching belos try to kill luz because she’s let herself become corrupted by the witches.

thats about all my brain got for this so far. TL;DR basically just listen to the “first time in forever” and “mother knows best reprise” and “broken crown” by mumford & sons and thats pretty much the gist of it.

[ellieluvr420]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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This account and the fics I write are an escape and a release for me but my account stands with palestine as it always will so any discourse (by discourse, I mean debate not communication as information-sharing is of course welcome) around the topic will not be tolerated because there shouldn't be any discourse, you either support genocide or you don't and anyone that does support the Israeli genocide of Palestinians or any for that matter is not welcome on my account. This is a safe space for my beautiful followers and any decent person is welcome but let's keep things kind please bby's.

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We Meet Again, Darling

SYNOPSIS: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

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Epilogue

Friends? Never

SYNOPSIS: You and Ellie had been bitter enemies for years now but before that you were best friends. You had always planned to be roommates one day but when that becomes a reality the situation isn't exactly how you both imagined it.

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Eye for an Eye

SYNOPSIS: Your body yearned for the touch of your girlfriend, the warm embrace that calmed your mind but you couldn't give in, the anger you harboured for her at disappearing with her group for three months without any warning, explanation or even a mention of when she would be back stopped you in your tracks any time you got close to giving in. You loved Abby so much but looking at her made you sick, you couldn't push the feelings down no matter how much you craved for things to go back to what they once were. You hadn't planned this but the anguish in those green eyes mirrored yours and sucked you in before you could think twice about the repercussions of your actions. You made your bed when you made the deal with the auburn-haired stranger, eventually you'd have to lie in it.

Teaser

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𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

Abby

Change They had her, the love of your life, they had her and they were going to die for it.

Guardian Angel A guardian angel getting wrapped up with the human she was supposed to be protecting, a double-edged sword bound to hurt. The memory of you, your calming presence in a time where everything was hanging in the balance haunted her. All she craved was to see you again. She was addicted, obsessed. She needed you in every way but you only appeared in her mind, you were never part of reality. You were her saviour, the blood running through her veins, all she wanted was you, that was all she would ever want.

Ellie

You're mine It was silent, neither of you moved or spoke, your eyes were fixed on each other, neither of you daring to look away. Your eyes were glassy and bloodshot and hers were cold and dark, your nose was sore and running as you sniffled holding the tears in your eyes that were begging to be let free. You didn't understand how a girl that shows you as much love as she does could hurt you so bad.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Abby

Wife Abby

[microwavesaferat]

Okay, I never post on Tumblr but I just got hit with such a violent hyperfixation that I forcibly had to put into words so, this is long one.

Life Series SMP as the Magnus Archives

So I had an idea for a Life Series AU where all the players are an avatar of one of the fears from tma. Warning that I haven't seen all Cc's povs so I'm mainly going off of vibes and moments I remember. I also tried to have at least 1 member in each fear.

Bdubs - The Dark

This is for obvious reasons with his association with sleeping and clocks. My hc is that, cause he can't sleep the night away, he kind of became an avatar of the dark. I like the idea of him just kind of hiding in shadowy corners, the only way to know he's there is by the sound of the clock letting you know that it's night now and you should not be out at this time.

BigB - The Spiral

This is mainly based on the whole thing with secret life and the weird corridors he had. I like the idea of that every time you look at him, you're not sure what emotion he is feeling. Is he happy? Annoyed? Angry? Who's to say. And where does that corridor lead anyway? Oh, wait, he says there are no corridors, but you just saw one didn't you? Oh, it's gone now, where did it go? Where did it's contents go?

Cleo - The Flesh

This was an obvious one. As much as I think she could also fit into other categories like the desolation, it's too hard to ignore the obvious aesthetical choice of making them a Flesh avatar. I mean, come on. I think as a fully realised avatar, she would have too many limbs. There are at least 7 leg warmers and sweatbands, not all on legs or arms. She had to work hard at jazzercise to get legs like that. And I mean it, the original owner was still using them.

Etho - The Stranger

This was a tough one, but I kind of like where I ended up. In almost every season, he has had more than one alliance, usually a main team and a back up one. Especially in Wild Life, where he was teamed with pretty much everyone. I think he, as a full stranger avatar, is always your friend, but also always your enemy but he's also the enemy of your enemy so he's your friend? At this point you're not sure how loyal he is to you or anyone for that matter. I also think that everyone has seen under the mask, but it's all different things. "I saw Etho's face, he had a huge mustache" "What? No, he doesn't have a mouth" "I saw that he had 2 mouths under there" "I saw every possible outcome of every universe happening simultaneously and in all of them, humanity perishes" "this is why we don't talk to you."

Gem - The Corruption

So this is mainly to do with the whole zombie thing in Secret Life. I was toying with the idea of Bdubs being the Corruption as well due to the Boogieman kills. I'm still not entirely sure of my decision. I want the Corruption ideas to lean into how people draw Gem as some form of woodland creature or druid. I like the idea of the Corruption being like plant life/small bugs. As a full avatar, she would look like how she is commonly drawn, but it's not entirely clear if that's skin, fur or bark. There's bugs in it regardless. Are her eyes glowing? Is it the fireflies around her or is it actually coming from her eyes? I think she'd appear almost like the Creaking, where you turn away and suddenly greenery and bugs start swarming from the ground, consuming you.

Grian - The Eye

I'm really in-between fears for this. As much as the Watcher symbolism works well for the Eye, I wasn't sure if I wanted both him and Martyn to be avatars of the Eye. I eventually decided, given he sets up the games and runs them, Knowing slightly more info than other participants, it does really tend towards the Beholding. I like the idea of an unwilling avatar like Jon is, but his abilities grow more and more over the seasons before it gets to Wild Life where someone is like "I wonder what the wildcard is today" and Grian is just suddenly flashbanged with the image of:

🐌

Impulse - The End

I haven't really watched Impulse POVs so I wasn't really sure what to do. I have a vague memory of him always doing quite well and getting in the last few a lot. I also know that previous teams have banked on Impulse being the member that could actually win. Regardless, he always dies just before he can win. I think he's a new, unwilling avatar, not fully coming to terms with his new identity, he always gets so close, only for death to sweep him away and he is forced to try again. I think that he, as an avatar, would be themed around wasting time, the concept that everything ends in death so the time spent before is pointless and wasted, this especially applies after his death in limited life.

Jimmy - The End

I mean, come on. The Canary Curse? Need I say more? I will add though that I think he's slowly becoming a fully realised avatar, hence why, in recent seasons he's not been out first, able to harness and manipulate his curse. Jimmy's always the first out, so we're all safe until he goes.... Right?

Joel - The Desolation

So this is about the whole "the ship burns, everything burns". I feel like, near the end of every series, he slowly gets more and more angry and violent. He usually starts acting almost desperate, think of his desperation in Last Life with his faulty traps. He is angry, volatile, and will do anything to burn everything you cherish to the ground. If the ship burns, everything burns.

Lizzie - The Buried

I've never really watched Lizzie's POV and I also didn't have anyone for the Buried. I couldn't think of anyone else that would work, so this is based on how, whenever she dies, someone seems to try and sell her bones to Joel. It's a weirdly common thing. I was gonna do the vast cause of her ending in Secret Life, but she did go down, not up, so I prefer the idea that she got stuck underground. It may look like the night sky, but it's the lack of air slowly choking her, unable to claw her way out, suffocating in silence deep under the ground.

Martyn - The Hunt

So I was also gonna put Martyn with the Eye because of the whole Watcher/Listener thing, but I think the Hunt fits better. I like the arc of his transformation over the course of the Life Series. In 3rd Life, he's essentially a soldier for the Red Army. Then, after realising the bloodlust and red haze, he becomes a relatively peaceful Southlander. But eventually, he kills his soulmate, unable to contain the need to kill and hunt. It reaches its peak in limited life where he just snaps, kind of like Daisy at the end of season 4. He then spent Secret Life as a dog before going back to his Red King as his hand in Wild Life. Ren may be an actual dog, but Martyn is his bloodhound.

Mumbo - The Web

Okay, hear me out: Mumbo as a very new avatar of the web who, due to the machinations of mother spider, is not aware of his avatar status, the avatar status of his pears, nor the existence of the fears at all. Think about it, every time Mumbo has gone out of the series, it has been his own fault. He attacks Grian unprepared, completely forgetting the ramifications of his actions. Gets stuck on a fence he placed then killed by a Warden. Gets stuck in his own spider's web of tnt minecart tracks. He also never goes for kills with basic PvP, it's always some elaborate scheme; making end crystals from a ghast farm, making a complex system of tracks for launching tnt, digging out a pit under a base and waiting for sooooooo long for someone to conveniently walk over the hole (also the web fucked that up for him with the fireworks in the background). I also really like the idea of the webs being like lines of redstone. I cannot draw, but can fully imagine the fanart in my head.

Pearl - The Hunt/Lonely

So Pearl is a double avatar. I couldn't decide between them. I hc her as the concept of looking out on the moors to see the silhouette of a lone hunter, on a horse with only the company of her hunting dogs. I think she embodies the solitude and the quiet of hunting by yourself. The only company she has is snarling hunting dogs, there to help stalk and tear at her prey. The only issue is, this hunter isn't looking for game.

Ren - The Slaughter

Ren does also fit with the hunt, but given his whole King persona, he lends more to the idea of a war waged by leaders in distant lands with a large toll amounting of nameless soldiers fighting for ideals their King tells them to believe in. I think his whole Red King character is pretty much a Slaughter avatar as is, so not much needs to change. I'm not entirely sure how I mix this with other seasons, but I do believe that Ren's most iconic character is the Red King, so fight me I guess. Red Winter is coming.

Scar - The Lonely

So Scar always focused on his connection (or lack there of) with Grian. He died, leaving his partner alone. Then he lived in recluse on a mountain, unable to bring back what he had. Even when forced to partner up, he is still alone. It takes him till Secret Life to finally embrace his avatar identity of being alone. Rumour has it that, on the Secret Life world, you can hear faint humming. No idea where the source is though, it's hard to find anything in the vast sunflower field.

Scott - The Vast

Scott was also hard to place, but I can't fight his whole spacey vibe. I also like the idea that, by refusing to succumb to the Boogieman curse, he defied the Watchers, these enormous, all powerful deities. I like the imagery of Scott, an ant in the face of these gods, being the bigger man.

Skizz - The Lonely

So Skizz is normally one of the first out in his team. He's also prone to sacrificing himself for the sake of the team. I think that is a lonely existence. I believe that Skizz, after giving his life to allow his team to move on, is forced to sit and watch. Unable to talk to his former teammates and stuck in isolation watching them go on without him.

Tango - The Desolation

Tbf, I think the way people draw Tango as a blaze has skewed my perception a bit. But I do believe the volatile anger he has works well with the idea of the desolation. As well as that, he has also had everything he loves destroyed. His ranch, his trust, etc. he's experienced so much desolation, he has simply become the burning fire of grief that laps at his feet.

Anyway, thanks for reading this far. Please let me know if you have any suggestions or changes I should make.

[arc-misadventures]

MFK with Jaune: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, and Selina Kyle

Jaune: MFK XII

Nora: Oh Jaune-Jaune~?

Jaune: No, you can’t have your grenades back.

Nora: But, that’s not…?!

Jaune: You aren’t allowed to test peoples bone density with your war hammer.

Nora: But, it’s only, Cardin… Wait! No, that’s not what I want…??

Jaune: You can’t have another, McSchneer Lumberjack Burger. They banned you after you demanded more maple syrup bacon strips, and subsequently destroyed the counter when they said no.

Nora: That’s not what I wanted to ask!

Jaune: It’s not; Then what is it?

Nora: MFK~!

Jaune: Naww fuck…

Nora: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, or Selina Kyle~?

Jaune: The ladies of, Batman’s Rouge Gallery? Why them?

Nora: Why not them?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Fair enough… Okay… I would kill, Poison Ivy.

Nora: Aww… but, I thought you liked us red heads~?

Jaune: I do, but it’s more of personality/mind set kind of thing. I understand why she wants to save the environment, and all that. But, considering her powers she could make plants that absorb the pollution, and cleanse the environment like nature currently does. I mean, we’ve got algae springing up the can digest plastics, and there are mushrooms capable of absorbing nuclear radiation. I mean come on! Poison Ivy could easily do that, and make something ten times better at doing that! But, no let’s kill all the corrupt businessmen, politicians, and everyone on the whole god damn planet to save the environment! That’s sounds lovely~!

Nora: Okay… that sounded personal…

Jaune: Sorry, but environmentalists annoy the hell out of me! I mean come on! Let’s stop using all fossil fuels, and natural gas to prevent the world from ending in the next five years, a notion that they have said a dozen times in the last three decades! Not to mention that idea would kill millions in a matter of weeks if implemented?!

Nora: …?!

Nora: So…

Nora: Who ya gonna fuck…?

Jaune: Harely Quinn.

Nora: Oh really, you got a thing for clowns~?

Jaune: No. I have to pick, and of the two I would like to sleep with, Harely Quinn. I’m curious about how flexible she would be, among other things…

Nora: Nice~!

Jaune: And, lastly I would marry, Selina Kyle.

Nora: Why her?

Jaune: Admittedly I like, Catwoman the most out of the trio. I like her mature elegance, that femme fatale, and saucy air about her. Plus, I read the comics, she a romantic at heart with, Bruce Wayne. Granted unless written as so, Selina never overcomes, Bruce’s obsession with being, Batman. But, in the stories they do get together, they form a strong lasting pair who grow up to have a loving family together with.

Jaune: I want that too…

Jaune: You happy, Nora, have you got your answer.

Nora: I’m ecstatic, Fearless Leader~! I’ll see you later~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Somethings off with that smile of hers… I don’t like it…

~~~

Nora: Alright ladies, have you made your decision?

Cinder: Perfectly! I will be going as, Catwoman. I already have a catsuit that I know, Jaune will absolutely drool all over~!

Nora: Oh, nice! It really shows of your phat ass! He better give that a nice hard slap when he sees it!

Cinder: I’ll give him plenty of reasons to do just that~! Now, Neo will be using her semblance to dress as, Harley Quinn. She is also flexible enough to play the part~!

Nora: I’m sure, Jaune will love that~! Don’t pull a muscle out there , Neo!

Neo: 😁

Nora: No, I’m being serious, he will pull some muscles when he’s done with you!

Neo: 🤕🥴

Nora: Oh~? Kinky, I like it~!

Cinder: And, lastly, Emerald will be using her semblance to appear as, Poison Ivy!

Emerald: Are you sure this will work? He hates, Poison Ivy.

Nora: That means he’ll hate fuck you to get rid of that pent up rage~!

Emerald: Oh…? Oh~? Oh that sounds like fun~!

Cinder: Alright girl, let’s head out! Let’s show, Jaune what’s it’s like to be embrace by a trio of femme fetale’s~!

Emerald: Thanks, Nora, we really appreciate your help!

Nora: No problem ladies! And, good luck!

Nora: Cause… you’ll need it… oh boy you’ll need it…

[lookingfts]

Friday Fic Rec 9/6

Thanks for your submissions! Here are the recs for our first week. (Titles are links to each fic)

All the magic we made by @iwishyouwouldstop

"I'm always shocked this fic doesn't have 1000 kudos. It's so damn good."

Description: Kate and Anthony grow up together, learn to harness their magic together and are certain nothing can tear them apart. Until something does. Now they are strangers who occasionally publicly humiliate each other in between finding means to survive in a world that is increasingly hostile to their kind. Then Anthony commits the ultimate betrayal and Kate's retribution results in a life-threatening curse that forces them to work together.

Status: WIP (18/?) Rating: E

Love Doesn't Burn. by magicalmenagerie

"This fic isn’t finished, and the author hasn’t updated it since 2023, but it’s still one of my favorites. I love how it mixes the past and the present, and how the two characters were involved during the worst phase of their lives and then reconnect when they’re more mature."

Description: Anthony is trying to forget his past. Kate is trying to remember as much as possible. They’re both too young to know what they fall into is not love. Until much later, they finally do. (A second chances au riddled with miscommunication, infatuation, and incomprehensible philosophical musings)

Status: WIP (11/14) Rating: E

The Hope That Keeps You and One Last Weekend by @helenakwayne

"They have very different vibes but they’re both soo good and I think they’re less known fics in the fandom. I would say read the hope that keeps you if you’re looking for something more fun and fluffy, and one last weekend if you want angst (with a happy ending of course)."

Description: The Hope That Keeps You: Kate Sharma loves football because her father loved a certain West London club, so she made it her job. Anthony Bridgerton loves football because his father loved a certain West London club, so he bought it—or at least some of it. They’re all supporting the same side, so there should be nothing but harmony, right? It’s not like they unnecessarily complicate everything for no reason.

One Last Weekend: On the weekend of Simon Basset’s and Daphne Bridgerton’s wedding, Anthony Bridgerton and Kathani Sharma try to finally get what they both need after years of pursuing what they thought they wanted.

Status: Both Complete Rating: E

I'd Give All I Have, Honey (If You Could Stay Like That) by @newtonsheffield

"23 year old Anthony is a himbo and causes a LOT of tears for Kate but ends perfectly."

Description: The one constant in Anthony Bridgerton's life was Kate Sharma. They'd spent their entire childhoods together, she was as part of him that could never leave him. But the time to grow up came sooner than he thought it would. And he doesn't know why the sight of men queueing outside the Sharma's townhouse makes him sick to his stomach.

Status: Complete Rating: T

LFTS rec: A Devil's Love by FormerlyIR

Someone asked me about a mafia fic recently, and my mind went straight to this masterpiece. I had to reread it and honestly - it was even better than I remembered. Crazy hot passion wrapped in the most creative, evocative prose.

Description: When Kate's sister goes missing, she gets herself a waitress job at the Pebble Lounge to track her down, working under London’s seedy underbelly to find the only person she has left in this world to love. And Anthony Bridgerton? No matter how alluring and distracting he may be, he’s just a means to an end, his life defined by his family business built on corruption. Kate won’t dance to that tune. She’s just trying to find her sister.

Status: Complete Rating: E

Thanks for your submissions! This will be a weekly thing, so keep your recs coming, and I'm open to suggestions about the format!

[narcissarina]

Darkened Desires

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 1,088

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

PROLOGUE

“It shouldn’t have come to this.” This wouldn’t have happened, if she could just listen to me! I would not have done that, she was suppose to be mine, mine alone. How dare he laid his hands on her. I should’ve just chained her, isolate her, keep her all by myself. If only she kept her curiosity to herself.

Very well then, curiosity does kill the cat. I’ll be having my own fun to chase and to hunt her down, until she admits that every part of her is mine.

CHAPTER 1:

THE SUN

Nothing makes my morning much more delightful than working in a Café that me and my friend own, a smile spread across my face as I greet a customer with delight, “Hello, welcome to Tulipa Purissima. What can I get you today?” I saw a smile from the little girls face as she waved at me and pointed right to the menu of our café.

“Mommy, mommy!” the girl yelled with a high pitched but adoring voice, “I want a strawberry cake!” the girl added, on the other hand—the mother, was busy speaking to her phone while holding the little girls hand. This very much reminded me of how me and my mother were. I let out a soft laugh as the girl was too eager to have her strawberry cake, pulling her mothers sleeve and arm, whining and pushing her. The older woman didn’t flinched nor yelled at the girl, she just pat her head and hold the call, pinching her daughters cheek.

This is so adorable to watch.

After a few exchanged mutters from the mother and daughter, they placed their order and find their seats. Those two really did remind me of my mother and me, how she’ll always take the call either a call from relatives or from her workplace, then we’ll go to a café and I sulk at her from taking too long.

I laughed and passed the order from my friend, who will make and serve the orders. This is how me and my friend, Estrella do and pick our parts, we also switch roles from time to time.

As I serve customers, call out their name to pick up their order, something caught my attention—someone. Group of men dresses in fancy black tuxedo inside the café, they haven’t get anything yet. I assume they were only bystanders, I sigh and look for my friend to make sure, “Estrella?” I called, she hums in response and finishing the last order and gave the receipt to the customer.

“Those men..” I point towards the right side of the back of the café, trying my best not to seem rude to point to customers and not wanting to be find out that I’m talking about them, “they haven’t ordered anything yet, right?” I asked, worry hinted in my voice. Since I feel a bit of intimidation towards of group of men, worse part is that they even dressed up in black expensive tuxedo’s.

My friend took a quick glance and stared at me in the eye, shaking her head and wiping her hands with tissues, “No,” she hums, “I haven’t seen a single one of them come to front and claim their order.” She added, Estrella has a knack for remembering faces of customers for the day and know who’s had ordered and who didn’t, “and they don’t seem like a regular here either.”

I sigh and got out from the counter, “I’ll deal with them, we can’t have bystanders here.” I murmur to myself and to Estrella to hear, she gave a thumbs-up as if it’ll motivate me and have such courage to speak with those dangerous looking men.

There were three to seven people in this table, two on either side of the bench seat and a man in the middle—sweating and fidgeting, as if he’s being threatened by these men. I approach their table, my hands clasp together and I cleared my throat to bring their attention to me, “Hello, gentlemen.” I utter, trying to steady my voice and not stutter or eat my words up. I continue, “I—uh noticed that you guys haven’t order anything here yet and that an atmosphere you bring inside Tulipa Purissima is unsettling, if you all don’t mind, I kindly ask you all to leave.”

A man with dark purple hair and in a short hime cut with lavender highlights, I assume he’s a little older than me but with a baby face like that and how he stood out from the rest of the men, I think I know who’s in charge of the group. He spoke, his tone flat and uninterested, “so we just need to order and you’ll leave us alone?” he asked, his eyes darkening and piercing the more he look at me dead in the eye.

I think I want to curl up into a ball and cry to my mommy.

My lips sealed shut, his voice raspy and husky. I don’t move an inch and I peel my eyes away from his deadly gaze, “uh. I- I mean.” I started stammering, I could feel my heart beating and racing, my legs wanting to give out and run to my friend Estrella.

Help, I’m scared.

He waves his hand lazily, his palm resting his chin and elbow on the table. “Whatever, get me some dark coffee.” He said, tone still flat and uninterested. He turn to his colleagues—or that I assume that were his colleagues, it feels like more a security than old friends…

“You all order some, my treat.” He murmured but it was loud enough to be heard by the others, I took out my handy-dandy notebook and write down all their orders. I’m so glad that I keep this thing all the time with me.

After placing and telling me their order, I noticed the man looking at me. The one in the middle, his eyes big and wide, his hands trembling and fidgeting—as if he’s telling me to help him.

“I don’t want to intrude but,” I said and lean over the table and look at the man, but I don’t lean in too close. “I’m sorry sir but are these gentle folks seems to bother you nor are they intimidating you?” I asked, my tone strong and full of concern.

I could feel a burning sensation at the back of my neck, and I know who’s eyes they were…

Link:

Chapter 2: THE MOON

[libby-for-life]

Part 4 of Alone in Eden. Make sure to read 1, 2, and 3 before reading this. Guitarhero!

Adam was still in shock when Michael took him into his arms. He felt safe there and comfortable. Half his face hurt from where Lilith grabbed him and Michael had looked over him worriedly, tracing parts of his face.

Lilith and Lucifer were bound in chains before the Angelic choir and the Lord himself. Adam had only seen Him once when he was created. While He had a stern expression, His eyes held a kindness he instinctively knew was genuine despite having never experienced kindness.

"Father, Adam's face is bruised," Michael said angrily as he held a numb Adam. "Lucifer and Lilith have eaten the Fruit of Good and Evil. And they celebrated their rebellion by fornicating under the tree itself. Furthermore, when Adam caught them in the act, they chased him down. If I hadn't come to Adam's aid, who knows what they would have done to him?"

Lucifer and Lilith yelled through their gags, thrashing and glaring at all of them. Adam couldn't bear to look at them so he hid himself away, burying his face into Michael's robe.

For a long time, the Lord looked down at Lilith and Lucifer. His once favorite angel looked scared while Lilith glared defiantly. He nodded, as if coming to a decision.

"How dare you disobey me." It wasn't a question. It was a statement that made Adam shiver. "I give you life. I give you immortality. I give you no fear, death, or pain. And this is how you repay me? You selfish creatures."

The Lord stood before them, everyone could feel his anger and disappointment, and yet he remained calm outwardly. Like the two before him weren't worth losing his temper over.

"It appears I was far too lenient with you, Samael. Or do you still try to use the name you gave yourself to feel more important?" The Lord cocked His head. "It does not matter. I gave you too much freedom and you use it to corrupt my creation. You introduced her to Knowledge she wasn't ready for. Fools."

Now Lilith was shaking despite her glare. Lucifer looked like he was ready to pass out. "If you would have listened to me, Lilith and Adam would have been given that Knowledge when I deemed them ready. When they were done developing. Instead, you gave her something she wasn't ready for and it has already corrupted her."

Lilith spat out the gag, ready to yell most likely, and yet the Lord simply waved His hand. Suddenly, any sound she tried to produce didn't come out. Her eyes grew wide and terrified. To have such a vital part taken away on a whim...Adam bit his lip as Micheal gently stroked his back and neck.

"You talk far too much when you should be listening." The Lord said. He seemed to grow. "I know what you planned to do with Adam if Michael hadn't gotten to him in time." This time, Lilith looked like she was ready to pass out from fear. "You're lucky my son did come or your punishment would have been tenfold."

The Lord looked furious and yet He still didn't yell. Adam supposed He didn't need to. "Now, for the consequences. Samael, or should I say Lucifer, for disobeying Me, for corrupting The First Woman, and for standing by and letting Lilith hurt Adam, you will be banished from Heaven and Eden. You will no longer be allowed to step into its golden gates nor gaze upon what used to be home. You will forever wander the Earth for eternity with no contact with any other angel for they will attack you on sight." Lucifer glared up at his Father but didn't say anything.

"Lilith. For eating the fruit, for disobeying Me, for trying to hurt Adam, and what you've thought of doing to any of the children you bared with Adam, you will also be banished from Eden. You will forever wander the Earth but it won't be for eternity. Instead of being immortal like you were given, I strip that away. You will grow old. You will become weak over the years and eventually, you will die." Suddenly, Lilith shook as a large hand went to her stomach. "You will also never be able to have children. I will not let you try to bash any child's head in, even if that child is a bastard."

Lilith would have done what to their children?! Adam knew she didn't like the idea of having a child with him but to...to...Adam couldn't even finish the thought. He didn't realize he was crying.

The Lord turned from them to Michael. "Send them off." And He was gone like He was never there.

Adam felt himself grow sleepy as if he were—he didn't even finish that thought as he was put to sleep in Michael's arms. The Archangel handed Adam to Gabriel where he whisked him to the safety of Eden. Michael drew his sword with a glare and walked forward to the rebels.

Lucifer looked at Michael and spat out his gag. "Michael, please—" The Archangel slapped him in the face. "How dare you beg for mercy when Adam did as well and you refused? You're a coward, Lucifer. Our Father was right. We were all too lenient with you and your rebellious ways. I even started calling you Lucifer instead of your given name, Samael. I made every excuse in the book for you. But no longer." He raised his sword and opened a portal to a barren land.

"I hope whatever you have with the whore here was worth it, Lucifer. Enjoy her while you still have her." Lilith must have been given her voice back because they both screamed obscenities as they were shoved out. Michael sighed as the portal closed and he sheathed his sword.

XxX

Adam woke up to something warm and comfortable surrounding him. He looked up and saw Michael looking down at him with a small but genuine smile that made the First Man's stomach fill with butterflies.

The only thing he could say was, "You came for me." Because Michael had promised he would come and he did.

"Of course I did, Adam. I will always come for you."

(For anyone wanting confirmation, yes, Lilith planned on murdering any child she gave birth to that belonged to Adam and she had planned on killing Adam ro keep her secret with Lucifer.)

[weirdthinkingdragon]

I know it's really late, but yandere Ethan Winters. (He deserves better than Mia even before RE7, fight me.)

RE7Yandere Ethan Winters x reader/you

warnings: a few rather changed canon events, spoilers (kinda re8 spoilers too with one thing?), have a bit of buildup to living with him as yandere, clingy, unwanted touch, obsessive, bit of coercion, delusional behavior, sorta stockholm in a way?

(Before yandere) Ethan who you befriended while Mia was gone and offered to come with. You just had a bad feeling and didn't want him going alone. Somehow he agreed.

Cue you loyally following him and helping him every step of the way. You two watching out for each other and saving each other's asses on way more than just one occasion.

As time passes he slowly starts to feel as if he doesn't love Mia anymore. She still wouldn't tell him anything, and has kept many secrets from him in the past he eventually found out. He's having his doubts of why and how she's here even though she explained it before. The more he thinks of it, the more it feels like another lie. But you haven't lied to him. Kept serious secrets from him even if you were just friends. Even though he's only known you for like two years, you've shared everything with him. You were his rock, his staple to keep everything together when she was gone.

You never see Eveline, but Ethan does and she's not very happy of his slow change of heart. He starts latching onto you, always grabbing your hand whenever you both have to rush somewhere. Or even when it seems to be a minute breather of everything going on. You take it as him just making sure not to split up and lose each other.

That's partially true, but not fully. It's a constant, festering need that rapidly starts to grow in him to always feel you close. Even he himself at the beginning thought that it was worry you both would end up splitting up too. You're the only sane one around him besides Zoe, but she isn't physically around him in this hell. However, he quickly figures out and accepts the truth. He can't tolerate you no longer being around him.

It may be the place itself. It may be him. It may be some sort of fucked up trauma this place is giving him, or even a mix of all three. But none of it matters. Only you do at this point. He never felt as close with Mia as he feels with you now, and no longer even cares for her.

All he wants now is to get out of here with you. But he has no idea what way to get out of this hell, so he'll listen to Zoe until then. He does have a growing resentment for Mia though. Compared to you, he should have seen so many red flags from her in the past. And look now where that's made him and you end up. As a "gift" he's saving several 44 Magnum bullets he plans on using on them. Sure, it might not kill Mia anymore, but it sure as hell will at least slow her down for a while. He also doesn't like how aggressive she is on you compared to him. Sure, none of your limbs have been cut off, you haven't gotten any near-fatal injuries, but it's still bad she's targeted you first every time she comes back.

You two take a short rest break. You lean against his shoulder and end up falling asleep from the now lack of adrenaline rushing through your body.

He lets you. Zoe can wait. Lucas can for sure wait. Mia can definitely wait. It's only you who is important. He also takes the chance and injects you with the serum. You likely don't need it in the first place. He will not have Eveline trying to corrupt you. Try to take you from him. No. One. Can. He won't let them. He'll fight her with his dying breath if he has to as long as you make it out alive.

It eventually comes to a head of Zoe and Mia needing the serum.

Now he's thinking he should have waited until now to inject you to show Mia as a final "fuck you". Oh well. Doing it earlier guaranteed they couldn't swipe it from him if he tried to inject you then.

That's when you think of something. "Wait a minute. Would the serum even work?" The three look at you like you're crazy.

"Why would Eveline give the Baker's family the one thing that could kill her? She's likely not the only thing like her created. Could it be a fake from her knowing Zoe was searching?"

Now Zoe looks at you like you're stupid, while Mia looks like she had a terrifying realization. "That's a very far stretch."

Mia shakes her head, knowing she has to reveal what she's done. "No... It does."

Zoe sighs. "then it must be in the crashed ship they came on."

"the... what ship?" Ethan is trying real hard not to be upset right now. He injected you with a useless serum??

you all decide to get on the boat for now to go to the ship.

Things didn't go as planned as you guys crashed somehow at the ship, and Eveline took Ethan away.

You were wary of her from how many times she previously attacked you, but for now it really seemed she didn't want to. She admitted what she actually was, making you feel really bad for both her and Ethan.

She found the actual serum that will kill Eveline and gave it to you, yelling at Eveline all the while.

Eventually you and Mia find Ethan and work together to pull him out.

She manages to push you and Ethan out the door before closing it. He didn't put up much a resistance, just more confused what she was doing.

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

It finally comes to a close when you and Ethan get in the helicopter, and you're relieved to see Mia. Ethan... He's not. Especially after finding out by you he was right. She WAS a part in all the hell Eveline caused, and was even her "handler". That just drastically furthered he doesn't want a thing to do with her anymore.

She took it hard he didn't want to start over with her. Even tried to manipulate him. Since he no longer loved her he could see the signs a mile away, making himself even more angry at his past self for ignoring all of her bad things.

It didn't work. But he did beg you to live with him for at least a while. You were pressured by the Blue Umbrella agreeing with him and wanting to keep a close eye on you two for a while. He was thrilled by his luck of them agreeing.

The clinginess came on FAST. Everywhere you went in the house, or anywhere out of the house, he followed you like a lost puppy. Watching a movie? you better cuddle up to him or he's wrapping his arm around your shoulders to have you lean on him.

The most uncomfortable to you was sharing the same bed, and him cuddling you then as well. You tried to take it again as him just traumatized from the events of before. You know you sure as hell are and still scrub yourself raw every shower remembering the textures of everything. And also feeling bad for him losing Mia. He told you they broke up.

One day out of the blue he started calling you pet names. Hasn't even been a month when he started doing that. You weren't into that type of thing with a friend, and told him to knock it off.

It didn't work. He just became more adamant on it. He wanted to be with you. He absolutely loves you and every single little thing about you.

Now that blew you away. He's gotta be out of his mind. You try to ask Blue Umbrella to move, but they deny. It's as if they don't want you from him either. They don't. They know what he is but thought it would be better not to tell him. They comply to what he wants though to keep him stable. And to run tests on him, which he complies with it that will keep them making you stay with him. He doesn't think that way though.

In some sort of twisted logic in his mind, he doesn't think they're making you stay with him. You just need a little persuasion to realize how you really feel.

It's much more than persuasion though. More like light coercion by the Blue Umbrella. Warnings you'd never get to see your friends or family again did it. Now you can, but Ethan has to be with you, and you absolutely cannot tell them anything of what happened.

You hate to admit it, but as time went on, you started to love Ethan back, craving the constant touches. His constant words of praise, love, adoration, and anything else possible slowly broke your resolve of refusing to love him from it feeling wrong. He almost seemed to worship the floor you walked on, catered everything to you. Spoiled you with everything possible, and with the money given by Umbrella, anything was on affordable range.

You eventually surprise him with a kiss on his lips, sealing your fate together with him further. But hey, at least you're both happy now.

[billie-black]

Thread of odd connections between Ikora, Elsie and Eris

I was scrolling through concept art when I noticed that, despite not being so in-game, The Stranger's rifle is Branded as a Cassoid weapon. This wouldn't mean much, bungie tends to use decals at random, except-

The curse of osiris variant, The Machina Dei 4, is also branded with a slightly altered version of the Cassoid logo, which I think proves that it has been upgraded with components from the foundry.

But let's put a pin on that and talk about another Cassoid weapon, The Invective shotgun, Ikora's signature weapon. The Invective has an ornament called Iconoclast, a word which here means "Destroyer of images used in religious worship." This nomenclature is very similar to-

The Vex Mythoclast, a weapon which, thanks to its sister weapon, The Worldline Zero (which coincidentally also has a prophecy variant), we know to be made by Elsie Bray. Canonically, we earn the Mythoclast as part of-

the "Not forged in light" quest, which ends with Elsie gifting us the No time to explain. A weapon which eventually ends back up in her hands and she gifts to us again earlier in the timeline as-

The stranger's rifle, which hangs around until it becomes the Machina Dei 4 (later Adhortative). And the prophecy attached to the Machina Dei 4 desribes Eris Morn and the events of Shadowkeep, when Eris discovers stasis and starts using the darkness.

A charnel but effulgent orb.

beacon in a loathsome dark.

Fêted, fetid corpses rise.

a too-long-absent gibbous spark.

Now, it's generally accepted that No time to explain (and all it's variants by proxy) was created at some future point in a distant timeline, this is incorrect. Ghost specifically points out that "parts" of it shouldn't exist, because the rifle itself is a common suros frame.

Going back to The Invective, you're probably more familiar with its legendary sister, The Comedian, and its D2 counterpart, Deadpan Delivery. The Comedian's flavor text reads "A. A ha. A ha ha ha. A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha" In D1 the joke wasn't really clear, but with the addition of a lore tab in D2, the joke has become the vanguard's falling victim to a hive god's deceit. Now, let's take a little trip to The dark future.

In The dark future, Beyond light never happened, Eramis was allowed to grow her armies and master stasis, which led to a massive attack on the city by Cabal remnants, Savathûn, and the glorious House Salvation, all masterminded by Eris Morn, who up to that point was believed to be an ally, but had been corrupted by stasis and the darkness.

Coming back to our timeline, let's look at differences between our case exotics and their variants. Elsie's rifle has undergone many more modifications than Invective. Matter of fact, Invective has barely undergone any changes from its default. It's painted red, AND It has tape wrapped the handle and the grip, just like No time to explain. (I know I'm talking about grip tape right now but please don't go, it gets better, I promise)

It's a weak link, many weapons have grip tape, but I think many of these small details add up and point to The Iconoclast being one of Elsie's gifts. Let's review the similarities between Iconoclast and other gifts from Elsie.

>It's sourced from one of the city foundries and later received Cassoid upgrades (Invective and it's variants are nadir products)

>It has grip tape where the original does not.

>Mythoclast and Iconoclast are very similar terms and could point to a connection.

>It has a perpetual ammo function, like No time to explain and The Mythoclast.

But we should also look at Iconoclast within it's own context. Invective being her weapon, what does it mean for Ikora? She's never been been known to combat or really oppose any sort of religion, at least that I can find. And let's make it clear, the gun is not the Iconoclast. Just like the Mythoclast is not The Mythoclast. The weapons, in this case, are named for the wielder. You kill Atheon and so you become the Mythoclast, the gun is more of symbol. So, what religious figure is Ikora supposed to kill in order to become the Iconoclast?

Well, just this season, the hive have come out with a brand spanking new god, one very close to Ikora. Now I don't think Ikora is going to kill Eris. Eris would need to do something completely heinous for her to even consider that. Like, idk, bombarding the last city with House Salvation and the shadow legion... i. e., what happens in the dark timeline.

Look, I really don't believe Eris is going to turn evil all the sudden, that would be character assasination of the highest magnitude. But from Ikora's point of view? She has a supposed time traveller yelling at her that she's letting everything go sideways.

So my theory is that Elsie took Ikora's Invective from some other failed timeline (possibly the one where they smooch) and gave it to Ikora as the Iconoclast, along with the idea that alternate Ikora ruined everything because she failed to act and put Eris down when she could.

And this is where Deadpan Delivery comes in. You see, Ikora doesn't use invective anymore, and she doesn't use the Comedian. She exclusively wields Deadpan Delivery. Now, I know this was probably just the animators being faithful to her character, seeing how she prefers shotguns-

But the retroactive additions to the Comedian's lore, outside my crazed theories, implies a statement from Ikora. The Comedian's joke is the vanguard falling victim to a hive god's deceit, and in the dark timeline that god, the Savathûn figure, is Eris morn. And so-

By maining Deadpan delivery Ikora is subtextually saying "It's not funny. I'm not laughing. I don't subscribe to the narrative put forward by the comedian or Elsie. I trust Eris". And by rejecting the Comedian she's additionally disavowing it's older sister, The Invective, which is a symbol of the gung ho attitude which defined her in her youth. And wether my Iconoclast theory is correct or not, we can definitively say: Ikora is against what it represents , she is a guardian, and she will make a new fate no matter what.

[eventinelysplayground]

Happy Father's Day

In honor of fathers day today here are some of my head canons about the princes and their kids. I hope everyone enjoys the day and yes I plan to do Ikevamp and Ikesen at a later time, Ikevil I have no strong opinions yet.

Jin: 4 kids, three sons, 1 daughter. They all love candy and got their Dads natural charm. The oldest son is a great swordsman, on par with his uncles.

Chevalier: 7 kids, four sons and three daughters. I had thought maybe he would have fewer but then I changed my mind. His four eldest are closer in age to each other and his younger three are closer together. The oldest son is very much like Chevalier while their middle daughter is the most like Emma. Unfortunately for Sariel their second youngest boy is a lot like Uncle Clavis.

Clavis: 4 kids, two sons and two daughters. Their youngest son and eldest daughter are very much like their father. Their youngest daughter seems tame but really she's quite bold and fierce and had her Uncle Nokto teach her archery which she excels at, she also has her father's knack for pharmacology and makes all sorts of medicines and a few poisons. Their oldest son is a good balance of his parents, very intelligent, friendly, outgoing but also very perceptive and can maneuver through may different situations with almost no effort, is best friends with his cousin continuing the tradition of the Lelouches and Michels being close.

Leon: A lot of kids all of them boys except for his eldest. That girl is scary chaos, she spends lots of time with either her Uncle Clavis or Sariel and she keeps her brothers in check any way she can. Their boys are all mostly just mini versions of Leon, friendly, outgoing, determined. They spend way too much time with Jin but not to worry Yves is usually not far behind trying to keep him from corrupting them too badly. All their kids except their youngest boy fall asleep within 5 minutes of opening a book, rip Sariles stomach with these kids.

Yves: After many years of issues they have a daughter. She is the sweetest most loving and devoted little girl ever and everyone loves her. She many not have any siblings but it's fine because all her male cousins act like they're her brothers. The older ones protect her while she mother's the little ones, her one female cousin is her best friend and she is always taking her out on adventures both on and off palace grounds, no worries though Leon is always there in the shadows keeping an eye on his niece and daughter.

Licht: Twin boys and does it ever send him for a loop. They're very happy boys but the youngest also has a huge serious streak to him. Yves is like a second mother to them and is always there for them. Like their father and Uncle Nokto they're incredibly agile and like their uncles Jin and Luke they grow freaking big! Due to some personal choices and unfortunate twists in fate when it's time for the selection of a new king they're the only ones the new Belle has to choose from.

Nokto: Karma came for him and he has 5 daughters followed by two sons. His 4 oldest daughters are all model princesses, his youngest, Maeve, is another matter. She's got a quick wit and sharp tongue and unlike her siblings holds neither of them. She's also incredible with daggers thanks to her Uncle Licht. She has quite the reputation and at some point earned the nickname of beastly princess. She ends up marrying Silvio's only child Dario who she can truly be herself with. Their oldest son is closest to Maeve with them being barely a year and a half apart. Their oldest son is very much like Nokto but with Emma's empathy. Their youngest boy is a lot more like Emma but that plays into his favor because he's able to observe situations and people better and he uses what he learns to his advantage later.

Luke: 3 kids, 2 daughters and a son. Those girls are spoiled rotten when they're little and his son his the apple of his eye. He teaches his kids everything: how to sew, how to fight, how to sniff out the best honey. Thankfully for Sariel they all got Emma's studiousness and her love for reading. Just like with Jin these kids got their father's natural charm and they have all their uncles wrapped around their fingers, even Uncle Chevalier indulges them more than anyone thought he was capable of.

Sariel: 3 kids, 2 sons and a daughter. All of their kids are sharp witted, hard working and intelligent. His daughter, Violet, is also very cunning some might even call her devious. She's close to Chevaliers son Rene as they both share a deep love of reading and she used to spend a lot of time with him much to Clavis' sons, Tristan, annoyance. For all the time she spent with Rene though she spent even more with Tristan either partaking in or putting a stop to whatever hijinx he was up to. Eventually Violet and Tristan end up married with their own kids who cause no end of delight and headaches for their grandfathers. Thankfully Sariels sons give him a break, his oldest follows his footsteps and takes over his Dad's position under Leon's only son and his youngest tutors the next generation of royal kids.

Rio: I haven't put much thought into Rio but I see him with a lot of kids, at least one of each, who all enjoy ‘bothering’ their uncle Silvio who secretly loves it but will never admit it.

Silvio: 6 kids, three of each. His oldest son looks and acts almost exactly like him. Unlike his Dad though he can manage to be polite in public and act properly when he has too, Silvio's oldest daughter though forget it. She has her father's eyes and temperament and she never hides it. She may not be as crude as her Dad but she still says things she really shouldn't. She ends up falling for Nokto's son which causes her Dad to go into a fit and when his son's make smart ass comments he passes on the jewel of the Sea to his oldest figuring he thinks it's funny he can deal with the negotiations and grabs Emma and walks out. Along with her sisters she is one of the Jewels of Benitoite, her youngest sister is very much like their mother and she ends up falling for Chevalier's son which nobody even had a clue about until the same conversation about her sister and Nokto's son when it's brought up it's a double negotiation.

Keith/alter keith: Oh lots of kids, they name the oldest son after his brother. The King loves being a grandpa to all these little wild children. They're all gentle, sweet and some incredibly patient. They have bits of alter Keith in them though as well and they are very calculating and spontaneous. With the exception of their first born it's not clear who fathered who but both Keith's love them so much and they all love both of them. They each in time figure out about their father's situation and none of them seem to care, their both Dad after all. Liam has his hands full trying to help deal with these children and their Aunt is a favorite playmate when they are younger. They also all get their parents love for reading causing the palace Library to be expanded, twice.

Gilbert: He didn't want kids and freaked out when it happened at the time but when he saw how happy Emma was he relented. They had twins, a son and daughter and he is so overprotective of them. He makes sure there will never be any more children, what with the medical advances in Obsidian. They're lovely children and watching his son grow it sometimes makes Gilbert wonder if that's how he would have been if things had been different. Their daughter is an incredible dancer and plays piano while their son is an excellent marksman with both bow and gun.

[everlastingremorse-blog]

Dungeon Meshi and the Paradox of the Winged Lion

I just finished reading Dungeon Meshi, and I really liked it. It took me about 4 days to read it, and I was looking for a good manga, and it really whet my appetite after I saw that there was an anime.

So I’ve been mulling this over since I finished it, as I needed time to digest the narrative, but also, I wanted a little intro to warn about spoilers. Lots and lots and lots of spoilers.

So we eventually learn that a certain character, The Winged Lion, is, in fact, a demon. Now, that’s not necessarily too much of a twist. I didn’t see it coming, but it didn’t completely come out of left field.

But what is really interesting is how holy and sacred The Winged Lion is. If I remember correctly, TWL is first referenced as “the land’s guardian,” by Yaad, prince of the Golden Kingdom.

Now, a lion with wings is a novel idea, even if it isn’t a super innovative one. But most importantly, that’s not the extent of TWL’s design. It’s implied his more natural state is a 4 armed, anthropomorphic, winged lion with 5 eyes and 4 horns. That’s probably not it’s original form, but it does seem to be the form it identifies with. (It’s also super hot)

Image for reference.

Now, I’m not the only person that saw it, right? This is very similar to a ‘biblically accurate angel.’

Quick note on that term, biblically accurate is a bit misleading. The Bible is full of contradictions. So an angel as a human with wings is as valid as a ring covered in eyes with a pair of wings on it. What we consider “biblically accurate,” is more often seen in stuff like Dante’s Pardisio.

Anyways, back to my point. Is TWL a demon? Or is it an angel? (Let’s put translations aside, because I do not speak Japanese nor do I think it matters too much.) But TWL is called a demon by the canaries (aka the dungeon investigation squad, I think) as the kind of the “root” of the dungeon.

TWL was explicitly summoned using “dark magic,” from a “realm of infinite energy.” Now, Marcille specifies that “dark magic” is a social construct. It’s not inherently evil or corrupting, but it is ancient magic that is taboo.

But the main point from that is that TWL is not from hell. If anything, a “realm of infinite energy” is closer to my understanding of God. A being of infinite power that is so vast that it’s own body is a dimension. That would put TWL as a kind of “angel,” a being made from god’s power/body.

Another thing about TWL is that he is inherently Faustian. He brings about the desires of others so that he can eat them. Much like a farmer or beekeeper, he has a dungeon master so that he can grow their desires and eat them (and also so that he can escape and eat all desires everywhere, all at once)

Now, the thing is is that he can’t just grant desires. He has to have a specific desire to grant, but he can only grant them in specific ways.

TWL offers to bring Marcille’s father back, but the the best he can do it make a doppelgänger. He can maybe bring Falin back, but that’s because she died and became part of the dungeon. And I haven’t made it clear before, but he is the dungeon. Thus he can maybe bring Falin back because she is a part of him.

It’s why Marcille tries to use monsters to invade the surface in order to extend her friends life. Because escaping is the only way TWL could possibly extend everyone’s life, because they would be in his stomach.

But back to the point, TWL, technically, is trying to help. He has no choice but to help. In a very Faustian kind of way, engaging with TWL damns you no matter what your desire or motivation is.

And according to Namari, being inside TWL’s stomach is pleasurable. At least at the beginning, when she only got to be there for, at most, like, 30 minutes. I don’t think the exact time is specified, but she did seem to have a good time. It’s possible, that like the citizens of the golden kingdom, it starts out pleasurable, but that doesn’t stop you from desiring new things. I personally doubt that, because they weren’t in the state of bliss that Namath described, but it is possible that the infinite realm isn’t as heavenly as it appears.

Just like The Winged Lion Himself.

Now, I am not a Christian. I only have a kind of pop-culture osmosis of Christianity that comes from living in America. So this next part might be my misinterpretation of the Christian doctrine.

So, I mentioned earlier that an angel as a human with wings is just as valid as a “biblically accurate” angel.

Thus, to make a lion divine, you can give it wings too. Angel lion. Literally, if you look up “angel lion,” that is what you get.

But lions are significantly both in fantasy and Christianity. A lion is often the symbol of a king. King of the jungle. Strong, powerful, and regal. As in Richard the Lionheart. Thus, it makes a lot of sense for it to be associated with Liaos, the future king, devourer of all horrible things. A lion is a predator, after all.

But Christianity is where it gets a bit interesting, because lions are sometimes associated with the lion of Judah. I do think this is more Old Testament stuff, ya know, pre-Jesus, but I do think it gets associated with Jesus. Check me on that if I’m wrong.

Anyways, this creates a kind of messiah symbolism that TWL shares. It is trying to bring out a revelation about how the world works. And quite frankly, he does. The queen of the elves ends up theorizing that TWL was just a manifestation of mana so that it can communicate with the sentient population. Or, it could be following Marcille’s approach, and showing that ancient magic is just another form mana can take.

This messiah metaphor is amplified by the other form TWL takes: a lamb. TWL would offer up it’s own body in the form of a lamb so that humans can eat it. Hell, that’s how it started in the world, offering up it’s body so that something else can eat.

The Winged Lion quite literally sacrifices it’s own body for the survival of others.

Finally, the winged lion is in everything, and everything is a part of the winged lion. This is most apparent in the dungeon, where monsters are literally parts of the winged lion.

It’s king of hard to see, but the winged lion’s face is made out of different monsters in the image.

I think this is significant for two reasons. Christians can see god in anything. As an atheist, this has confused me, but I think I get it. When I look out and see beauty, Christians see the beauty of god. We see the same thing, but just disagree where it comes from.

But TWL is technically in everything. Certainly the main characters, as they’ve been eating monsters, but also in the inanimate objects of the dungeon. The water and the walls and the treasure are all parts of the dungeon itself. And if TWL is, as the queen said, a part of mana itself, is inside every individual. Or it might be more accurate to say, TWL comes from something that is inside everyone.

Either way, this seems very analogous to “the Holy Spirit.”

In conclusion, this is a strange paradox because it isn’t inherently contradictory. Demon’s are not exclusively bad, even in the Bible (for example, In The Book of Job, God seeks out Satan’s advice). But it creates an ambiguity within the winged lion that examines the importance of understanding and living with life’s shortcomings; that we incorporate the world into our bodies and identities; and that sometimes the solution you’re looking for is just a hearty meal.

[colourstreakgryffin]

If it's okay can I please ask for a platonic yandere Adam and Eve with you komori

Reader that still has PTSD from being used as a blood bag

And still has the heeled bit marks

To give you a description on her she's super sweet kind-hearted careful and shy

If you are uncomfortable with this you don't have to take this request

To be honest! I would never imagine I’d see my beloved father and mother become Yandere but you know what! I wanna check this out and see what I can do so let’s try it out!

Yandere! Adam and Eve- Broken Little Heart

The parents of humanity had always loved their children. Every single one, their attachment to mankind went to all the souls but yet. Neither of the couple could have predicted finding one child of their own to be so wonderful, their lives would change for good

You… a innocent little girl rescued by Adam after he and his dear wife, Eve found out you were being treated as a blood bag by a bunch of older men. Adam may love his children but his protective nature over actual children beat that as he beat down the men with Eve running to your rescue to pick you up

The parents of humanity grew attached to you very quick, out of their natures to simply love children but their love for you wasn’t very normal. It started relatively innocent but then it got it corrupted over their obsession to keep you as their child

Adam grew obsessively protective and talkative with you. You cannot touch anything without Adam taking it from you and examining it to make sure it’s safe for you whilst he holds you to his chest. He is rather controlling but he always proclaims it’s for your safety and nothing more as he holds you in his lap

Eve is clingy and possessive. She constantly follows you around, much like Adam and she always tries to hug you, hold you and cuddle you to her bare chest. She needs affection from her beloved little daughter; just focus on her, not whatever you’re playing with

Their presences are suffocating as they’ll never let you have a breath of your own. One or both are around 24/7 and it seems to you, they view you as a precious little infant that needs constant parenting, due to your past trauma

Both parents love how sweet-hearted, shy and careful you are. You’re the embodiment of purity and innocence, and that must be protected at all causes, their want to protect you drove both of them to become so unhinged and possessive over you, they can’t interact with others without snapping

Adam and Eve are nowhere near as obsessive and crazed over their actual biological sons then they are to you. They do love their sons with all their hearts but for you, you require so much care and attention that looking after you draws away all of their time from the two boys that actually share their blood and DNA

They both understand how emotionally fragile you are. You’re cheerful and optimistic, with a naive and indecisive streak, this behaviour further drives Adam and Eve to take charge of you and ensure nothing can hurt you. Ensure you grow love for them back, no matter what

Eve loves comparing your light blonde hair to Adam’s. You can come off as their biological child very easily and honestly… you don’t really mind as on your end, you don’t recognise their blaring Yandere-like traits, you only notice their intense parental love for you… finally, a true family

The more you respond positively to their parenting, the more their Yandere traits grow and when anybody tries to intervene, it’s get messy. Adam throws hands with literally anybody who hurts you in the most brutal manner whilst Eve picks you up and yells at the person at the top of her lungs

How dare anybody hurt your precious little feelings? Anybody who does shall pay a huge price

The parents will never ever force their ideals of living onto you. You don’t want to be naked because it’s cold and uncomfortable? That’s completely fine to them, as long as it makes you happy. That’s all they care about, that you’re happy with them

And you truly are happy with them. They may be corrupted and with black poisonous souls now but they are both such caring, loving parents that rejecting them would be a silly idea. They have flaws but Adam and Eve are the best parental figures you’ve ever had

Both Adam and Eve will never let your PSTD damage you anymore. They’ll do everything they can to ensure it never affects you again, Adam continues to play with you in a soft manner as Eve brushes her fingers through your hair to further comfort you

All in specific strategies to help you get over your trauma for good and not care so much about those bite and needle scars on your skin anymore

“My little one, are you okay? Oh. A child scared you with stories about vampires? Do not worry now, your father is here to protect you from all of the scary bad things. Okay? May we hug so I can prove to you I’ll always be here”

“My baby daughter! What happened? Did you scrap your knee? Oh no! Don’t worry, mother will make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore! Here, let me pick you up, Mother will heal you and make all the pain go away forever!”