#control? GONE. they are a slave to their desires and that desire is YOU

[babakiyaga]

alexis, forgice me but im goin into the larys x reader tags thanks to your spam ahyuck

Why is he kinda .... 😏

[itoshhi]

࿐ COUNT THE INCHES !

𝜗𝜚 bakugou katsuki |❕detailed nsfw, hard sex.

“actually 9 inches isn’t that big.” you said as your boyfriend examined bakugou’s figures. he had given you time to show him a few of the all might figures in his room because of your ‘pushing’ and a few seconds ago he had said that the figures that were almost 10 inches were in the big figures category.

“actually 9 inches isn’t that big.” wait.

you’re digging your own grave.

you realized what you said a few seconds before you turned to your boyfriend, you slowly turned around, hoping he didn’t understand, and saw him looking at you with raised eyebrows and an almost stupid grin. damn. “wait, that’s not what i meant!”

“yeah, i see.”

“oh- ffuck! k-katsuki, slow down!” it wasn’t your first, it wouldn’t be your last, but you didn’t understand how this boy’s cock could stretch you so much every time. “huh? I haven’t even gone inside you yet.”

the moment he touched you, your entire body reacted like electricity. he was always hard inside, just like him. but you knew the desire behind his hardness by heart. whenever he held u like this, something inside you burned and felt like it belonged to him at the same time. because this wasn’t just a matter of pleasure; it was a bond, a claim, a surrender.

“relax,” bakugou said, his big hand gently caressing the sides of your waist as if to ease the pain. “wasn’t it you who said 9 inches wasn’t too much?”

katsuki pressed a wet kiss to your neck with your whimpering before he started to go a little deeper, such a gentle action in contrast to his movements. “now,” he whispered.

“i want you to count the inches as they go in.”

he didn’t say anything when your nails dug into his shoulder. he just knew that he wanted more. amd you were willing to erase his boundaries with him, just like every other time. because every move he made, every breath he took was turning you upside down. he knew how to hurt you without hurting you. you loved that line right there.

he pulled his head off of your shoulder and rose above you. his red eyes started to burn you like fire, while you closed your eyes with that piercing feeling burning inside you. “four…” he said while making you feel more.

“k-katsuki…” “i said relax, didn’t i?” his tone of voice made you count the inches inside you in your own mind, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. “i can’t count!” you whined. “can’t you count?”

in just a few seconds he was completely inside you. “now? can you count?” you didn’t even realize how fast he was moving. he suddenly pushed you down. he didn’t wait for you to think, or breathe. he had complete control. your body was in his hands. and he took whatever he wanted without thinking.

“do you feel it? here?” he said, pressing his big hand on the small bulge that had formed under your belly. “can you count where i am?”

everything disappeared at that moment. there was only him and only his body language was guiding you. as he wanted you without telling you what would happen or what you should do, you quickly became unable to focus on anything but him. how fast and hard he wanted you was driving you to rebel even more. he didn’t just want you to be silent, he completely controlled your every move. there was a satisfaction in having such power combined with the pain of him crushing you.

every time he was pushing you down, he was taking over you like a slave, not only with his body but also with your soul. every move he made was driving you a little crazier and pulling you a little more into him. slowing down? what was that? there was only speed and pressure. no matter how hard, how much it hurt… you wanted him more.

as your body twisted as if it belonged to him, he was pulling you a little more into him with every push. but it wasn’t just his body pushing you, there was a pressure in everything in your mind. he was pushing you beyond everything you thought. and after you surrendered to him, it never crossed your mind to resist for a moment. “n-nngh, suki! ffuck!”

“do you feel it?”

in that bed there was only him and his greed for you. you felt like you were isolated from the whole world. no one could touch you like this, no one could bring you back up like this after they’d brought you down like this. but he could.

and you never once resisted.

© itoshhi 2025 {do not copy, translate, steal, modify without permission.}

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods X

series masterlist - part nine

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You start to let yourself settle in with the emperors - but don’t get too comfy

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, dirty talk, breeding kink, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, mentions of slaves/slavery, threesome, male masturbation, fingering, attempted murder (again), induced vomiting

Word Count: 3.5k

Sticky, bruised. Satiated. You dragged your strigil along your oily skin, cleaning off evidence of your time with Geta. Steam rose and brushed against your cheeks, forcing your mind back to the feeling of Geta's fingers on you, in you.

Distracted, you placed the strigil back down and began to lazily trail your fingers through the oil water. Your hand went lower, deeper under the water, dipping into your folds. You could still feel the texture of Geta's seed lingering inside you.

What would Alba think? Geta had dismissed her, potentially destroying her life, and you had gone and fucked him as though it were nothing. Some naive part of you had thought that you could change the emperors, inspire kindness in them. It seemed they were changing you instead.

Even now you felt desire smouldering in your chest. You tilted your head back, sighed.

You knew that the things they had done were not right, that their impulsiveness and insecurity had threatened the very foundations of Rome in the past. And yet. . .

You heaved yourself from the bath, sending droplets of water scattering across the stone. Hastily you dried yourself off, slipping on a fresh tunic before heading to the door.

The material was soft against your skin. You could see tiny embroideries on the edges, golden thread that brushed against the tops of your feet with every step. The texture made you shiver. The emperors were not subtle. They intended to pry every remnant of your old life from your hands and stuff them full with - well, them.

And you had held open your hands and welcomed them.

Wincing, you thought again of Alba. That could have easily been you. A dark part of your mind whispered, but it wasn't. And that meant something.

Praetorians escorted you back to Geta's rooms. On the way, you passed several slaves. They eyed you with the usual intrigue - and perhaps something like thankfulness. It was not entirely lost on you; keeping the emperors occupied meant that others did not suffer under their forceful gaze.

It was not like it was some awful task, though. You were kept clothed, fed, entertained. Fucked. Your life had benefited under the attention of the emperors whilst others would have suffered. In return, all you had had to give up was your freedom.

And is that truly so bad, that voice whispered.

The Praetorians held the door open for you. You ducked under their arms with a quiet thank you. You could hear talking from within the next room and you padded in, clearing your throat to alert the emperors to your presence.

Caracalla was standing almost chest-to-chest with his brother, sneering up at him. Once he saw you he shouldered past Geta, coming to wind himself around your body like a familiar piece of clothing. He dragged you down to the carpet, nuzzling at your neck from behind.

"You were supposed to be for me," he huffed. "Geta is a thief."

"We discussed this," Geta dismissed, pouring himself a healthy cup of wine. "Ours. She is ours."

Caracalla ignored him, hands coming to cup your tender breasts. "Tell me," he urged, "who felt best - "  

"Brother," Geta interrupted, firm. "Enough."

"Caracalla," you said softly, hand reaching up to encircle his wrist. "Where is Dondus? I have missed her."

Eyes bright, Caracalla was quick to jump up and go to the door. You heard him bark out an order, the sound ringing throughout Geta's rooms. Geta set his wine down and offered you a hand up from the floor.

You took it and let yourself be pulled up and against his chest. He hummed a soft sound, nosing along your jawline.

"I preferred you dirty," he nipped at the lobe of your ear.

A smile flirted along the edges of your lips. Geta's eyes fixed on the small movement of your mouth, his own beginning to mimic it.

"Enchantress," he whispered.

You squealed as Dondus came scampering up your tunic, small hands pinching and tickling. She settled herself upon your shoulder, burying her hands in your still-damp hair.

"Sweet girl," you laughed, rubbing your fingers beneath her fuzzy chin.

Geta stepped back, returning to his wine. Caracalla took his place, cooing at Dondus whilst occasionally stopping to stare at your face.

"She seems to have fallen in love with you," he rasped, blinking heavily.

"And I, her," you smiled.

Caracalla continued feeding her bits and pieces of food. When he leaned in to press a kiss against your lips, it felt natural. He bit you a little, pulling back to reveal the tiniest smear of red on his grinning lips. Without thinking, you smiled back.

"There has been no updates on the man who tried to kill you," Geta suddenly said, serious.

Your stomach turned the memory. The dead men on the floor, the blood, the awful fight for your life. Moving past it seemed impossible, no matter how much you tried.

The man had to have been sent by someone inside the palace. The thought flashed across your mind, strong and urgent. How else would they have known the emperors were preoccupied, leaving you alone? You thought about the Praetorian escort and how he had allowed you to go the long way round. Had he been a part of it too?

You let Dondus climb from your shoulder before approaching Geta. You hesitated before reaching out, resting your hand on his elbow. His skin was cool despite the heat of the evening. The need to comfort him was irritating, itching the back of your mind.

"They will reveal themselves," you insisted. "They have tried twice now, to no affect. They will be back."

Geta ran his tongue over his lips. "You will remain here until they do."

"Here?" your hand fell from his elbow. "In your rooms?"

"Until they are caught," he stressed the words, reaching down to grab your dropped hand. He squeezed your hand between his. "You have become important. To him. He is better around you, healthier. I cannot risk throwing that all away."

"Important to him?" you echoed, lashes fluttering.

Geta's fingers twitched around yours. "To us."

Caracalla had been quietly creeping up behind you and now he used his body to press against your back, sandwiching you between them. Caracalla's hand slid around your front, coming to rest on your breast, above your thumping heart.

"If this was to stop," he breathed in your ear, "those responsible would wish that they had never been born."

"And of course," Geta added, his own hand coming to rest upon your stomach. "There is the matter of a potential heir."

"Heir?" you choked out, "What rights would any child of mine have?"

Caracalla snickered, pulling away. "Do not concern yourself with such things."

You wanted to ask more questions but both brothers turned from you, busying themselves with other things. Your hands twitched at your side, wanting to come to rest on your stomach. You shook your head. There was no telling whether you were already with child and the idea would only bring you more stress.

You spent the rest of the evening entwined on the bed with Caracalla, lazily twirling a curl of his hair around one of your fingers. He had practically melted into your touch, blinking up at you with hazy blue eyes whilst gently patting at your skin, drunk of the scent of you.

Geta left and came back several times. You could see him becoming increasingly frustrated, face becoming whiter as his lips got thinner, angrier.

"Fucking useless," he swore, sweeping a stack of paper to the ground.

"The Praetorians?" you asked, hand still buried in Caracalla's hair.

Geta turned to face you and seemed to relax a little at the sight of you wrapped up with his brother. He nodded, wordlessly coming to sit down beside you. He scent was one of sweat, of panic.

You reached up to cup his cheek. Beneath your fingers you could feel the barest hint of stubble and you let your fingers wander, exploring his face. Geta stared down at you like you were something miraculous. A pang of sympathy had you furrowing your brows.

Caracalla shifted beside you, dragging your eyes back to him. His cheeks were pink, lips parted as he let out little puffs of air. You could smell the sweetness of wine on his breath as his eyes scanned your face. He tilted his hips, the tiniest of movements, and you became excruciatingly aware of his length pressing into your thigh.

"Oh," you gasped, eyes darting back to Geta.

Geta cupped your hand in his, stroking his fingers down your arm, dark eyes searing into you and pinning you in place. Through out it all, your left hand continued swirling in Caracalla's hair.

"It is okay," Geta said, "he only wants relief."

"It is okay," you nodded, dazed. You were not entirely sure that it was normal to feel such levels of arousal. Your own desire suffocated you, made you weak willed and pliable. It was easy to surrender yourself to it.

Your hand fell from Caracalla's hair as he got to his knees and began to shed his clothes until he was only wearing nothing. Unbidden, your hand rose once more to tangle in the reddish brown hairs of his chest. You tugged a little, going dizzy at the frantic way Caracalla looked down at you.

Geta began to adjust your clothes, raising your tunic until it rested at your neck, baring your body. He reached down and tweaked your nipple, craning his neck down to soothe the pain with his tongue. Embarrassment was mercifully absent, allowing you to arch into his mouth.

"So good for us," Caracalla purred.

You almost passed out when Caracalla's hand fisted around his own cock and began to stroke. His knees trembled next to you on the bed as he reached down to palm at your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipple against his skin.

Your hips began to undulate against the bed. Without thinking, you let your knees fall apart. Already you could feel the stickiness of yourself on your inner thighs. Geta sat up to admire you, hands pulling your legs further apart.

"I want to see how much you need us," he murmured.

Caracalla let out a strangled moan, hands working furiously on his flushed cock. It almost looked painful. Your mouth watered, tongue swiping at your lips, eager to soothe him. You were vaguely confused - that was one thing you had never done before. So how was it possible for you to want it so desperately?

Geta did not let you sit up. You could feel his hand on your inner thigh, keeping you spread, and there was no words for how badly you wanted that hand to touch your cunt.

"Why aren't you touching me?" you whined, twisting your hips, searching for some level of gratification.

"Sometimes the waiting makes it all the more sweet," Geta admitted. "Though Caracalla is not one for patience."

Caracalla finally took a measure of pity on you, swiping his hand through the slick mess of your cunt before securing it back on his own cock. Your clit throbbed at the brief touch.

"He proves my point," Geta quietly laughed, sliding his hand further in until finally his fingers were pressing against your swollen clit.

You almost shouted from the ripple of pleasure it sent up your spine. Geta did not stop. He began to rub tight, hot circles against your wet flesh until you were writhing, begging incoherently. Geta could not tear his eyes from your cunt and he inhaled deeply, relishing the heady scent of your skin.

"Geta, please," you moaned, rocking against his hand.

White, hot spurts of seed splashed across your stomach as Caracalla reached his end. Envious, you tried to clench your thighs around Geta's hand. Caracalla sagged into you, resting his face against your breast. The friction of your nipple against his cheek was enough to send your body splintering into pleasure.

It felt like insanity. They had wrung you dry, coaxing pleasure from you in ways that were unfamiliar to you. Climax sent any rational thoughts scattering from your brain until all you could think about was red hair and skilled fingers.

Just when you thought it was over, Geta tapped at your clit with his middle finger. Your thighs jerked at the contact and he laughed, biting playfully at the skin on your outer thigh. That felt good, too. Everything felt good with them.

"The stress does not feel so overwhelming now, I must admit," he said smugly, getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes.

The tent in his robes did not escape your attention. "What about you?" you asked.

Geta adjusted himself. "As I said, the waiting makes it sweeter."

You swallowed dryly, watching as he exited the room.

There was always a quiet buzz about the palace. A pleasant white noise that allowed you to sink into the lectus, fingers trailing the carved designs as you let your mind wander. As it got later you could hear it beginning to die down, the sound of people trailing off to bed and prepping for the next day slowly getting lower and lower until there was nothing.

Caracalla was surprisingly perky. He was flicking his way through several papers, expression floating somewhere between boredom and mild interest. Every now and then he would look up, as though to make sure you were observing him carrying out his duties, and then look back down. It was rather endearing, much to your chagrin.

Boredom was also beginning to take its toll on you. After careful deliberation, you went to make a request for wine. You made sure to say please and thank you; these people had once been your peers, after all. Every time you could not help but think that they might refuse you. They never did.

A young woman brought it to you, nervous and twitchy. You dismissed her with what you hoped was a warm smile, glancing down into the jug as you carried it to the table. You could smell the thick aroma of fermented grapes and inhaled, thirsty.

"Wine, Caracalla?"

"Mmm," he looked up, finally giving up all pretense of work and dropping his pen.

His face was open, earnest. You paused for a moment, offering him a tentative smile which he returned. Something warm flooded your chest as you bit your lip and turned to pour yourself and Caracalla a cup.

You set it on the desk, taking care not to spill any. Caracalla picked up the cup, swishing the wine around for a moment as he watched you. Under his gaze you felt warm, but it was not an unpleasant feeling.

You raised the glass to your lips, swallowing several mouthfuls without thinking. For a moment it tasted pleasant, similar to the wine you had enjoyed previously. Then it hit your esophagus your eyes bulged, hands flying out the slap Caracalla's cup away from his lips.

"Something isn't right," you choked, scratching at your throat, "something isn't right!"

Your knees buckled, forehead inches from the edge of the desk as you collapsed. There was a faint tingling in your tongue as you gagged hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Red-tinged bile spilt from your lips as you coughed and hacked. Your throat burned from the path the tainted wine had taken.

The noise of the palace was increasing once more.

Caracalla was suddenly kneeling in front of you, deathly pale and screaming. He gripped your jaw with one hand and forced his fingers down your throat, hard. It did the trick. You threw up, a disgusting mixture of food and wine. It burned just as much coming up as it did going down, agitating the tender patch caused by Caracalla's fingers.

You wanted to reach inside your own throat and pull it out, shake the poison from your body before it reached your stomach. You knew nothing about poison but your mind still raced, searching for any tidbit of information that might save your life. It was coming up disturbingly blank.

"How much did she drink?" Geta somewhere behind you, pulling back your hair. "Charcoal. Now!"

You heard the metallic slam of metal as the cup was launched across the room, glass shattering in it's wake. Panic consumed you, shoved you back into the light of reality with a harshness you had not been prepared for.

Even as Caracalla was shoving activated charcoal into your mouth, a distant part of your brain told you this should not have been possible. There were protocols, precautions.

"Poison tester?" you enquired, voice hoarse.

"Do not speak," Caracalla said, "where is the poison tester?"

It took an hour for you to stop throwing up. Even when all that was left was stringy bile, the charcoal was determined to make sure your stomach was entirely emptied. You could not be sure whether your shakiness, burning throat and pounding headache were a result of the induced vomiting or the poison.

Poison. Someone had tried to poison the emperors - poison you. It was you who had made the request for wine. It seemed the villain had struck again, boldly, desperately.

At some point, someone had kindly slid a bucket in front of you and a pillow underneath your knees. You looked up from the bucket, meeting Geta's anxious eyes. He was kneeling in front of you, pale and trembling. Caracalla was almost glued to your back, his legs on either side of you. You could see his hands, smeared with the black mark of charcoal. Your mouth automatically began to water and you gagged again.

"What happened?" you croaked.

"The poison tester has been beaten," he said, "badly, almost to the point of death. Someone must have put something into the wine after they were to have tasted it and had it sent up."

"Who?"

Geta's bottom lip shook. "The tester believes it was Macrinus. I do not believe he intended for him to live, but the gods are on our side."

Macrinus. A memory arose of that night in the entertainment hall, the way he had slithered up to you and asked you those questions. The way it seemed like he had already known the answers. He had made you afraid then, only at the time you could not comprehend why.

The master of gladiators. A man who had access to the emperors - who had been in a meeting with them, that day when you were attacked. It made your head swim. It made you doubt all others. Caracalla's paranoia began to make sense as you thought about the countless people surrounding the emperors, how easy it might have been for any one of them to do the same thing as Macrinus.

"Is he dead?"

His was a death you would be grateful for. A death you would feel no guilt over.

"The tester? No. Macrinus? He will be."

Geta reached out, laying a hand against your forehead. Until you felt the coolness of his rings you had not been able to tell how badly you were burning up.

"They do not yet know what poison was used," his admitted, "but they said that vomiting is a good sign."

"Where is Macrinus now?" you asked, shifting to ease the pressure on your knees. Uneasy, your eyes scanned the room as though you expected him to come leaping from the shadows, brandishing a dagger.

"He has likely been taken into custody. It is as you said; he could not resist another attempt. He became careless and decided to carry out the act himself," Geta nodded as he spoke, mostly to himself.

"Go," you insisted, squeezing his fingers. "Perhaps you can find out what he used."

It scared you to send Geta out into the palace in a way you had not expected. The only thing that eased your fear was that Macrinus had been caught . It had been him this whole time, you were sure of it.

Geta's nostrils flared as he debated, eyes darting from Caracalla to you. Caracalla shifted closer and said something over your shoulder that you did not catch. Whatever it was seemed to reassure Geta and he got to his feet, resolute.

The scene was grim. There was vomit splashed across the floor and carpet. You could see the wine you had knocked from Caracalla's hands too, tiny specks of it all over his clothing. Was it possible that the gods had taken mercy on you once more?

Lightheaded, you brought your hand down to rest on your stomach. What if you had been with child? Would this have destroyed the babe? Killed it in your womb before it could even take it's first breath? Perhaps, in saving you, the gods were trying to tell you something.

This was no place for a child.

Authors Note - the villain is finally revealed. An Anon sent me an ask suspecting it was Macrinus but I didn’t post just in case there was anyone who wasn’t sure! Not that it was super subtle

These murder attempts are beginning to take a toll on poor Reader. I wonder what she will do in response🤔 hopefully not anything super reckless and crazy!

Please make sure to like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed! Interaction is everything!

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[divine-motion]

the thing about Handler Walter (his full christian name) is that he's a really horrible guy. he's a guy who's decided that he needs to be an extremely cold, pragmatic, paranoid man willing to use anyone and anything to "right the wrongs of the past" (which is to burn it all down and commit genocide, even if he doesn't know that Coral is sentient that is still what he's doing, plus i imagine every Rubiconian dies too in the Fires ending or are at the very least heading towards a slow death of starvation and such)

but

he's also really sentimental, something he's tried really hard to bury to be the man he feels he needs to be in order to fulfill the legacy passed onto him and Carla. this is why he ends up caring a lot about C4-621 aka Raven (aka G13 aka... the list goes on) and probably all his previous hounds too. he doesn't want to do what he's done to them - using them as slave soldiers, attack dogs to throw into the meat grinder as necessary sacrifices even though he himself is at least capable as a pilot. he lets 617, 618, 619, 620 and who knows how many others get killed because he thinks it's better that they die than that he dies before he can finish the mission. this then likely changes with 621 as he determines that they have a better shot at finishing the mission than he ever did and makes sure that they escape rather than him (also maybe pragmatically thinking "if Arquebus re-educates 621 then everyone loses forever" bc he has at this point discovered that he pulled god's greatest killing machine out from the bottom of the bargain bin) in addition, while i think him wanting to get 621 Raven to "buy their life back" and "undo the surgery, become 'normal' again" is a genuine desire for them to attain some happiness or so, i think it is also, mainly, a way for him to feel better about what he's done to them. a way to wash the sins of his father from his hands - sure, the blood of every other hound is on his hands, and there are still plenty of old gens suffering similar fates to 621, being treated like dogs and machines that can just be switched on or off whenever their Handlers want to, but at least this one made it out, at least this one could escape the Coral

and yet. asking them to burn Rubicon. is dooming them. history knows them as the monster who burned the stars from then on. there is no peace for a hound that chooses to carry on his legacy that he imparts to them.

sure, Walter is kind of, textually, Raven's dad. and he's kind of a bad dad. well-meaning and caring in his own gruff way, but still not great. i think he puts it himself best in the post-credits message, where he says "I'm sorry... and I'm grateful." he knows what a burden it is. and despite the fact that he gives Raven a lot of choices in what they do, it doesn't really change that Raven never got to choose to even go to Rubicon, the legacy is still something thrust onto them with little say in the matter. they were switched off by the cerebral Coral control device when they were being transported to Rubicon, and Walter holds the power over them completely since he decides when or even if Raven gets to be awake and about. i think it is very telling that Raven can and will take jobs that are specifically behind Walter's back, and that it's only once Walter's gone that they dare to go against him directly (or when offered protection by ALLMIND, who proves themself to be able to circumvent Walter's watchful eye).

that's not even to say that i think that 621 Raven hates Walter or anything! the fact that in the liberator ending, after he puts the gun down with the "you found a friend" line, Raven is backing away at first, keeping their eye on Walter as long as they can before turning to escape the Xylem being pulled down by Rubicon's gravity, all that i think means that they do care. the emotional core of that ending hinges on the fact they don't want to fight Walter. it's like how you kind of inevitably love your parents even if you know how they've mistreated you (not saying this is universal but it's what i know from personal experience and from a lot of friends i have that have been in similar situations to me).

but anyways. the point is. i really like walter. he kind of sucks! and i think we should explore the side of Raven that isn't slavishly loyal to him, because they very obviously aren't, or else they wouldn't be so comfortable repeatedly going behind his back. Fires ending is an exception tho since, as i've pointed out in another post, the one where you actively choose to remain nothing more than Walter's faithful hound

[anonymergremlin]

New warframe headcanon about the Helmith (forgive me for any typos or if i forgot certain lore aspects, it been a while aaaaaah):

Helmith became sentient or more intelligent like a 'humanoid' because they absorbed the warframes... Turning those people into warframes made them become one with the Helmith and even tho the original warframes may be gone the Helmith still exist AND that is why our Warframe's seem to have their own personality (aka their own idle animations). Would also explain why Drifter mentioned that being inside a Warframe makes you feel/become like them in some way? Like deep down... They still exist.

So this is kinda a Flare KIM message spoiler BUT the Helmith's obsession/love for us may come from the fact that we control the warframes? They are it's creation/they are them and I would say most of us truly like/love our Warframes ... So... Of course Helmith would love us. We care for the Warframes, ALSO helmith lives with us and we feed it so more reason to love us?

I always thought Helmith calls us Demon (not sure if they also called us Devil) because we are able to kill it or well control it... But now it may be because that is what we are in the Orokin/people's eyes? Both the Helmith/Warframes and Tenno were used by the Orokin, they were (excuse my choice of words) slaves for the Orokin's desire and goals. The term 'demon' could be the term the Helmith associates us with because of that AND/OR it could be because that is what it wants us to be/what our role is... I mean it's not like this world will ever truly love/appreciate the Helmith and we are the once who MAY also handle the things it dislike so... Yeah. We are the 'demon'.

[heliosunny]

i really loved your self aware yandere au for hoshina. there’s just something about the tragedy of knowing the person you love deserves better but he’s a slave to his needs and his desires. now what if reader somehow does go back to the real world all of a sudden? how will he recover? his love was reciprocated and now it was gone. it’s a different kind of hurt and he’s suffering.

Visit [previous]

Living in the Defense Force with Soshiro had become your new normal. People had been wary of you at first, but Soshiro had vouched for you, and over time, you had become something of an honorary member of the team. You didn’t fight Kaiju, of course, but you helped where you could—organizing supplies, assisting with communications, and even offering moral support during tough missions.

Soshiro had taken it upon himself to look after you.

You, in turn, found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t expected. His confidence, his strength, his unwavering sense of justice—it was everything you had admired about him from afar, but now it was real.

But as much as you had come to care for this world and the people in it, there was always a part of you that longed for home. You missed your family, your friends, the little things that made your world yours. Soshiro knew this, and though he never said it outright, you could see the flicker of sadness in his eyes whenever you talked about it.

It happened during a routine mission. Soshiro had been called out to deal with a Kaiju that had appeared on the outskirts of the city. You had stayed behind at the HQ, as usual, but something felt… off. The air was heavy, charged with an energy you couldn’t quite place. You tried to shake the feeling, focusing on the task at hand, but then it happened.

A deafening roar echoed through the HQ, shaking the walls and sending alarms blaring. You rushed to the window, your heart pounding as you saw it—a massive Kaiju, unlike anything you had seen before. And then, with a single, devastating strike, it opened a rift in the sky.

You recognized it immediately. It was the same kind of rift that had brought you here.

Before you could process what was happening, the rift began to pull at you. You stumbled, clutching the windowsill as the force grew stronger. Panic surged through you as you realized what was happening—you were being pulled back.

“Y/N!” Soshiro’s voice cut through the chaos. He had returned to the HQ, his uniform torn and bloodied from the battle. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the rift pulling at you. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward you, his hand outstretched.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing for the briefest of moments before the rift swallowed you whole. The last thing you saw was Soshiro’s face, twisted in anguish, as you were ripped away from him.

Back in your world, you were disoriented and heartbroken. Everything felt wrong. The familiar sights and sounds of your home offered no comfort, not when you knew what—who—you had left behind.

In Soshiro’s world, the aftermath was chaos. The Kaiju had been defeated, but the rift had closed, leaving no trace of you. Soshiro stood in the spot where you had been, his hand still outstretched, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His mind raced, replaying the moment over and over again. He had been so close. So close to holding onto you.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice breaking. He clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm. The pain was grounding, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside him.

He had lost you. Just like that. Without warning. Without a chance to say goodbye.

Soshiro’s grief was a storm that consumed him. The moment you were ripped away, something inside him shattered. He had always been a man of control, of precision, but now he was unmoored. The weight of losing you was unbearable, and it manifested in a fury that even his closest comrades feared.

He threw himself into battle with a ferocity that was almost inhuman. Kaiju fell beneath his blades like wheat before a scythe, their roars silenced by his relentless onslaught. He didn’t just fight to protect the city anymore—he fought to destroy. Every Kaiju he killed was a proxy for the one that had taken you from him. His strikes were brutal, his movements almost feral. He didn’t care about strategy or teamwork; he cared only about the kill.

Kafka and the others tried to rein him in, but it was no use. Soshiro was a man possessed. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” Kafka shouted after one particularly reckless mission, his voice tinged with desperation. “Is this what Y/N would want? For you to throw your life away?”

“Don’t talk about them. You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Kafka shot back. “Because right now, all I see is a man who’s given up!”

Soshiro didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The truth was too painful to put into words. He had failed you. He had let you slip through his fingers, and now you were gone. The guilt was a constant ache in his chest, a reminder of his weakness. He didn’t deserve to rest, to heal, to live. Not until he made it right.

When Soshiro finally found Dr. Takeda and began the experiments to reopen the rift, his desperation only grew. The first attempt was a disaster. The device overloaded, sending a shockwave that nearly leveled the lab. Soshiro was thrown across the room, his body bruised and battered, but he didn’t care. He got back up, his eyes blazing with determination.

“Again” he said, his voice hoarse.

Dr. Takeda hesitated. “Hoshina, this is too dangerous. We need more time to recalibrate—”

“I don’t have time!” Soshiro snapped, his voice cracking. “Every second I waste is another second they’re gone. Again!”

The second attempt was no better. The rift opened, but it was unstable, collapsing almost immediately. Soshiro tried to force his way through, but the energy backlash sent him sprawling. He lay on the ground, his body trembling with exhaustion and frustration. For the first time, he felt the weight of his own limitations. What if he couldn’t do this? What if you were lost to him forever?

Kafka knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Vice captain, you’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up. You need to stop.”

Soshiro shoved him away, “I can’t stop! Don’t you get it? I can’t lose them! I won’t!”

The third attempt was their last chance. The Defense Force had cut off their funding, and Dr. Takeda had made it clear that he wouldn’t risk another failure. Soshiro stood in the center of the lab, his fists clenched, his heart pounding. This had to work. It had to.

When the device activated, the air around him crackled with energy. The rift opened, wider and more stable than before. Soshiro didn’t hesitate. He leapt into the swirling vortex, his body burning with the force of the dimensional energy. The journey was agony, but he didn’t care. He had to find you. He had to bring you back.

You had been trying to move on, but it was impossible. Every day felt like a shadow of what it had been before. You missed Soshiro with a pain that was almost physical, a constant ache in your chest. You had started to wonder if you’d ever see him again.

Then, one night, as you sat alone in your room, the air around you shifted. A blinding light filled the space, and when it faded, Soshiro was there. He looked different—haggard, almost broken—but his eyes were the same. They burned with a intensity that took your breath away.

“Y/N” he gasped, his voice raw with emotion. “I found you.”

You stared at him. “Soshiro… how…?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in two strides and pulled you into his arms. His grip was almost painful, but you didn’t care. You clung to him, tears streaming down your face. “I thought I’d never see you again”

“I told you I’d find a way. I’m never letting you go again.”

When you returned to his world, Soshiro’s relief was palpable, but it was tinged with something darker. The fear of losing you again was too much to bear.

From the moment you stepped back into the Defense Force HQ, Soshiro was different. He kept you close, always within arm’s reach. If you tried to pull away, even for a moment, his grip would tighten, his eyes flashing with something almost primal.

“Soshiro” you said one evening, “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do” he interrupted, “You don’t understand what it was like, Y/N. Losing you… it destroyed me. I can’t do it again. I won’t.”

You reached up to cup his face, your heart aching for him. “I’m here now..”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment. “You say that now, but… I can’t take the risk.”

Obviously Soshiro’s desperation didn’t fade after he brought you back. If anything, it grew stronger. The fear of losing you again was a constant shadow, lurking in the corners of his mind. Now that you were here, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you might slip through his fingers again. It was irrational, but he didn’t care. Rationality had no place in the storm of emotions that consumed him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, Soshiro returned to your shared quarters. He was covered in dirt and sweat, his uniform torn in places, but he didn’t seem to care. You could feel the negative energy radiating off him, a storm of frustration, guilt, and fear.

“Soshiro,” you said softly, stepping toward him. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, his grip almost crushing. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled ever so slightly. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn’t push him away. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him just as tightly. You could feel the weight of his emotions, the turmoil that he couldn’t put into words. So you didn’t ask for words. You didn’t need them.

You began to soothe him in the only way you knew how—through touch. Your hands moved gently over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the tension slowly begin to ease. You ran your fingers through his hair, your touch soft and reassuring. He didn’t speak, but you could feel him relax ever so slightly, his grip on you loosening just a bit.

You guided him to the bed, sitting down and pulling him with you. He followed without resistance, his head resting in your lap. You continued to stroke his hair, your fingers moving in slow, calming circles. His breathing began to even out, the storm inside him gradually subsiding.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with understanding, with the unspoken bond that had grown between you. Soshiro didn’t need words to know that you were there for him, that you weren’t going anywhere. And you didn’t need words to know how much he needed you.

Eventually, Soshiro’s breathing slowed, his body going limp against you. You could feel the weight of his exhaustion, the toll that his desperation had taken on him. He was still tense, but the edge had been taken off, the storm inside him quieted for now.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you had never seen before, a raw honesty that took your breath away.

“Y/N…”

You shook your head, placing a finger against his lips. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything. Just rest.”

He closed his eyes again, his body relaxing fully against you. You continued to stroke his hair, your touch soft and steady. Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

----

In case you ever wonder what will happen if he fails the 3rd time. Well, it'll be the end of him.

[theyhavemagic]

Damen and Laurent: Thoughts On Switching

When I think of Damen and Laurent switching, I love to explore the possible implications and undertones of it, apart from the obvious ones - their equality, love, trust, intimacy, mutual surrender, and eventual openness to each other.

I think the situation here is much more interesting and complex than it seems. One of those implications is how topping would feel for Laurent considering his trauma. Hear me out: I do believe that though giving himself to Damen was a very huge deal for Laurent (obviously), topping Damen would also feel special for him and require some fragile defenselessness, some letting go of the control too (no matter how contradictional this may sound) for several reasons. 

Laurent had gone through massive sexual and emotional abuse from his uncle as a child/teen and it had left a huge mark on him. He'd not only been getting assaulted multiple times but he'd been repeatedly manipulated and groomed which affected his mental health and well-being, as well as his perception of sex. Not to mention that after all the traumatic things he'd gone through because of his uncle and before falling for Damen Laurent didn't have any sexual experience with anyone else.

So, first of all, I think of how that trauma could've affected him considering all the emotional/psychological manipulation that came with it and also the way his uncle used to literally drug him with aphrodisiacs before sexually assaulting him. That position, the twisted way his body would involuntarily have to react to that kind of stimulation despite the psychological horror of it, undoubtedly affected the way he perceived himself and his sexuality. 

Second, I think of how after that hell ended, Laurent just simply didn't have a chance to try it the other way. I mean he did, but he couldn't. He surrendered himself to Damen and it made sense: they both wanted it, of course, I don't deny it at all. But Laurent also did it because he knew Damen liked to top (and was in the position of a slave, but I'll talk about it later), and because Laurent himself had no experience of topping anyway but had the experience of bottoming even though it happened through abuse and against his will.

But if you think of that, apart from his abuser and his only lover Damen, Laurent never engaged in anything sexual with anyone, so he didn't even have a chance to explore what he likes himself and how he likes it, didn't even try - and not because he just didn't want it but because he'd been deeply traumatized. 

Third, related to the second, is how Laurent approaches control. For him, control is very important, essential, his survival mechanism, and it's far from easy for him to give up. Giving himself to Damen was a big deal and it was, undeniably, about Laurent finally letting the control go, but it was also something he was familiar with and he didn't have to do much, just let Damen do it.

While topping Damen, especially for the first time, would be different for Laurent: he would feel a bit uncertain, maybe even incompetent and unprepared because of the lack of experience, he definitely wouldn't want to lose face in front of Damen in this way, to underperform, to disappoint. It would be a type of situation that would play with his desire to be in charge on so many levels.

On one hand, it would feel like he is not completely in control of the situation as it is unfamiliar to him and it would be a point of personal growth to him, another way of learning how to trust and let the tense go, but on the other hand, he would enjoy having that control and dominance over Damen which Damen doesn't seem to mind (he actually likes it).

Fourth is something that makes a lot of sense to me and I thought about it much. I think that Laurent wouldn't want to become like his uncle, like his abuser. He wouldn't want to top someone weaker, vulnerable, like slaves, teens, kids, the people who look or actually are more vulnerable than him and also are highly dependent on him. He wouldn't want to become the very monster that ruined his childhood and adolescence, the monster who's taken everything he loved and made him go through hell. 

But see how Damen is drastically different from all the possible people (slaves, servants and kids) Laurent could've topped but didn't: Damen is an equal to him on every level. Politically, emotionally. He is strong, physically and mentally. He is bigger than Laurent in terms of his body. By the end of the story, he is his lover, not someone dependent on him, and also a king. Topping Damen wouldn't give Laurent such strong associations with being like his uncle, abusing someone who can't fight back. Still, it might feel not easy at first but can be really worth it.

Damen is also an interesting case people don't talk much about in my opinion. I strongly relate to Damen overall and to his desire to top Laurent especially (I'd waited for this for the first two books with passion). I cannot deny it as well as his overall preference for topping - it's here and it's clear, as well his type looking like Jokaste and Laurent. But again, I believe that some things considering that matter are being overlooked by the fandom and we should discuss them too.

Damen was raised in Akielos - a country with associations and references to Ancient Greece. In Ancient Greece, apart from places like Sparta, mlm relationships were seen in a very specific way - it was okay for a free man, a free citizen to engage in sexual relationships with other men (usually younger boys or slaves) as long as he was on top. But taking another role, bottoming for a free, grown-up man of a good social status was considered wrong, shameful and reprehensible, it was not accepted.

Now look at Damen. He wasn't just a free citizen, he was a prince. Also bisexual, having female lovers like Jokaste. His sexual experience as a prince was mostly either with women or men most of whom (if not all) were slaves and they were below him in the social hierarchy. It's hard for me to imagine Damen bottoming for his male slaves. And it's not just about how the society would react, it's about how Damen was shaped by his culture where strong masculinity was very appreciated and the status was important.

With Laurent it's different. Again, they are completely equal, both kings, both grown men, both devoted lovers who share a very deep and trusted bond. It makes just so much sense that Damen would try anything with Laurent. Laurent has him wrapped around his fingers.

Even as a top outside of serious relationships, with his slaves, his casual affairs or his female lovers, Damen would be more flexible and open with Laurent. I think he would genuinely love to explore it all with him, to know him entirely as long as he wants it too (and I think Laurent would want it too). As I've mentioned, Damen seems to enjoy it and kinda even get off to it when Laurent specifically is in command (while he also enjoys commanding himself).

What I am trying to say is that for them both trying switching (at least sometimes) would make so much sense and would enrich their relationship and their personal sexual experiences a lot in a very safe, respectful, comfortable way. It's also the love they share, the trust, the devotion, it seems so big, almost cosmic. The equality they reach at the end of the series is unmatchable and extremely satisfying. 

I think Damen would lose it to Laurent as a top commanding him, just as to Laurent as a power bottom or Laurent in general, in any position, in any role, sub or dom, top or bottom - Damen would take it all and ask for more, the man is obsessed. Damen is just so attracted to Laurent it goes beyond everything. With all due respect to his strong, undeniable desire to top Laurent, take him, have him, claim him that I completely understand and share, I have no doubts that he wouldn't mind letting Laurent take him too. 

And Laurent, someone who was traumatized as a bottom and someone who had no experience as a top, could try to explore different things with someone he loves and trusts. Try things he never had a chance to try. Have a man who's bigger and stronger than him all to himself, not just emotionally (topping with words, as he usually does) but also physically. It could be a liberating experience that would also make them even closer. In the end, I want to say it again, that reading how Damen topped Laurent was satisfying, especially after everything that happened in the first two books. It worked out great, it was kinda supposed to happen and it was wonderful and hot. But I think that for them to try switching would also be something interesting and worth exploring. 

[the-cryptographer]

Fenris's anger towards Danarius in act 1 is so deceptive. Not that it doesn't exist - it definitely exists, is very real and all-consuming. And Fenris definitely creates a very logically sound argument for why it exists and why Danarius deserves to die and why it would be incredibly insulting to just pay Danarius for his own freedom - ie. the institution of slavery is evil! after everything he's taken from me, why does he also deserve my money?! (Absolutely a fair point. But nevermind that Fenris knows perfectly well that Danarius is already extremely wealthy, and already expending a far greater amount of money having him tracked and hunted and brought back alive than Fenris could ever hope to match.) And I think it all distracts from the fact that Fenris is just not a very ideological person and isn't actually motivated by ideological ideals. Which is what makes him a sensible and reasonable and pragmatic person (unlike Anders who is 100% fuelled by outrage against injustice in the face of every practical impossibility to his plans, and is thus insane (i say this affectionately, please keep your Anders hate/salt off my post)).

There's just a very practical reason that Fenris is so angry in Act 1 and I think it's that his anger is one of a very few things that's keeping him from going back to his abuser. Like, Danarius has gone out of his way to make as sure as possible that Fenris's time as a man free is as miserable and uncomfortable as being his slave, if not more. When you meet Fenris, he's being chased across the filthy backwaters of Southern Thedas by bounty hunters, hounded and paranoid and unsafe at every turn, without access to adequate food or housing or medical care, incredibly lonely and entirely without allies (and who would want to ally with him, when it comes with the strife of becoming a target of those bounty hunters too??). He is living a miserable grimy existence, and he knows that the easiest way to make it stop is to give in. To go back to Danarius - let Danarius be the solution to the problem that Danarius created in the first place, entirely with the intention of bringing Fenris back under his control. And the only thing stopping Fenris from doing that is him reminding himself at every inconvinient moment that he's furious with Danarius and the guy made his life hell and deserves to die miserably. And you think so too, right, Hawke?! Tell him you think so too!

So that anger is important, but the things that Fenris said in it also can't really be taken as a literal understanding of his thought process or his actual desires imho. It's just pretty obvious by the time you reach acts 2 and 3, when Fenris has far more in the way of resources and allies and security, that all his conviction and outrage in act 1 about how he'd go and hunt down Danarius and kill the man himself was an extremely empty bit of hot air. His grand plan for dealing with Danarius in act 3 is 'hope that guy has moved on and forgotten about me so I can meet my sister in peace'. Frankly, he doesn't want to kill Danarius - doesn't want to have to. Much in the same way he didn't want to have to kill Hadriana. He doesn't give a shit about revenge or whether or not they deserve it for their magical crimes. It's just that none of these fuckers will leave him the fuck alone to move on with his life.

[cursedvida]

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE III (Buggy x F!Reader)

PART II // PART IV

WARNINGS: violence, swearing, Buggy being angry.

N/A: thirth part of this series, it's not gonna be so much longer. I hope you enjoy!

After revealing your ability to knock a guy down with just a couple of blows, your pretensions of going unnoticed within the crew have become quite impossible. You have caught the attention of Buggy, who on the one hand seems quite interested in your skills, but on the other is somewhat suspicious of you. And no wonder, in his eyes you have gone from being a helpless young girl to a killing machine, that has to confuse anyone. 

The day after what happened in the tavern he calls you to his cabin. It's the first time you've been alone with him since you found him that night in the ship's hold. You are very nervous, not because he might blow your cover but because he is so close to you. Buggy is not an overly muscular man but he is very tall, at least two feet taller than you. It was something you hadn't paid much attention to until now. Having him so close to you makes your chest tighten, making you feel ridiculous. 

"So tell me, Y/N.... why hadn't it occurred to you to tell me that you can finish a man off in half a minute?"

Buggy's voice sounds soft, almost seductive. He's using a patronizing tone. You've been watching him long enough over the past few months to know it's his way of hiding an impending anger.

"Do you think i'm an idiot?" There he is, he's just pulled out the genie. He abruptly turns to you and approaches, positioning himself dangerously close. "Tell me, do i look like a joke to you?"

You should be nervous about having to come up with some excuse but actually all you can think about is that you see him as a very kissable person. Obviously, you can't say that. 

"Did you really think I'm gonna believe the story of you not minding important to tell me about your fighting skills?"

"I..."

"Tell me the truth, Y/N. Now."

Buggy comes dangerously close to your face, his nose almost brushing against yours. He must think your nervousness is because he's caught you, but the truth is your heart is going so fast because you're holding him so close and it feels like a sin not to eat his mouth. Every day that passes your desire for him grows and at times like this you find it hard to control yourself.

"Well?" he insists, getting impatient. 

You snap back to reality, you must answer something. You sigh, perhaps the best thing to do is to tell the truth.

"Okay..." you nod, pulling away from him a little. You can't center your head holding him so close, his scent clouding your sense. "I had foster parents, they were Marines. They were working as undercover agents, but they ended up in prison for treason or something. When they were arrested my sister and I escaped, but we ended up as slaves and were bought by a horrible guy who was in the business of training children to sell them as mercenaries in the future. I was one of the best, escaped from there, got my own life and blah, blah, blah..."

You were not good at telling stories but that time you have excelled, you have told it with such reluctance that anyone would say that you are summarizing a very boring novel. Buggy stares at you for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. You don't understand what's so funny, maybe you don't like to make a big deal out of it because your personal traumas have turned you into a kind of emotional robot, but it's not to make fun of other people's misfortunes either. 

"Do you really expect me to believe something like that?" 

Wow, so that's what it is, the truth has seemed too far-fetched for him. Well, good for you. 

"I have to admit, you're a good storyteller. You could use that talent for some show." You stifle a smile, one of the things you like most about that fool is how sometimes he doesn't know anything. "But I want the truth, Y/N, or we'll have a problem."

You sigh. Fuck, that's lazy, now you'll have to make something up. 

"My father was a former marine" you lie "I was trained by him." 

Buggy grimaces.

"Yes, of course the earlier story was much more interesting, it had more drama."

"I thought if I told that my father had been in the Navy you wouldn't want me in your crew" you shrug. Well, in the end a boring, simple excuse was the most convincing. 

Buggy stares at you, weighing whether to buy your excuses or not. 

"Okay, I believe you" he nods. He folds his arms and leans slightly towards you, speaking menacingly "But I hate it when people try to make a fool out of me." 

"I never have ever intended anything like that" Actually at first you did. 

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck, of course yes!" You exclaim, exasperated, stepping completely out of your role. 

Buggy pulls back, confused by your reaction. 

"What, you're offended?" he asks, incredulous "I'm the one who has the right to be angry here!"

"For God's sake, Buggy, stop thinking the whole fucking world wants to fucking laugh at you."

You've never said swear words in front of him before, nor spoken in such a rude manner. It's the first time you show him your true personality and he seems quite surprised. And a bit angry, to be honest. 

"You're obsessed with what fucking people think. Fuck it, people are bullshit." 

"How dare you talk to me like that, don't you know who I am?"

"Of course I know, everyone knows. You love make everyone know" you reply, a bit fed up now "I'm just telling you the truth."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, maybe you don't like being on this crew anymore."

You fold your arms, he's not the only one who can be proud and stubborn, you've always been known for that too. 

"Maybe not."

Buggy's gaze seems to be on fire with rage. He's really furious. 

"Well, get the hell out then."

"No!"

That really knocks him off his feet.

"No?"

Your tone has dropped considerably, regaining your composure. 

"I'm not leaving." 

"May I ask what the hell is wrong with you?"

At this point in the conversation, and considering that you've already discovered too many cards to give up the game, perhaps it's time to tell the truth. But the one that matters. The stuff about you working as a bounty hunter or that your goal was to kidnap him is not something that seems relevant to you.

You take a breath, take a deep breath and stare at him. 

"I like you" you reply matter-of-factly.

Buggy stares at you as if he has just seen a ghost. He's speechless, that's quite a feat coming from someone who is incapable of shutting his mouth for more than two minutes. He opens his mouth slightly to say something but he can't, he gets stuck. Your confession has completely thrown him off, right now so many things are going through his head that he is unable to manage. 

"I don't care about being a pirate" since you confess, you decide to confess completely "but I like you and I don't want to leave the ship. So stop accusing me like that, it doesn't sit well with me."

Not that it feels too good to your self-esteem to see the horrified look on Buggy's face at this point, but it feels genuinely good. You've finally let it out, you've been holding it inside for so long that it's been a lump in your throat.

"Your .... Eh.... Me?" It's the only thing Buggy finds himself able to utter. 

The idea being liked by someone is not something that crosses his mind often. Buggy can brag about all his exploits and constantly bravado about his abilities, but he has always felt considerably inferior than many of his peers. He knows he inspires fear, terror even, that some of his disciples look up to him but... liking him? Why would you like him? You're quite a bit younger and very pretty. In fact you don't know it, but more than one member of the crew has commented to him once or twice that they finds you very attractive. He's sure it's a ruse or something to confuse him, there's no way you really could like him. 

"Look, I'm not going waste more time, this is a childish conversation" You tell him, once you've made your confession it's like all the nerves and fear have disappeared. You are you again. "When you calm down you look for me"

And then you make the decision to do something you've been wanting to do for weeks. You were taught that if you decide something you have to go all the way, that has always been your character. So you approach Buggy, stand on tiptoe and give him a light kiss on the lips. He stands still, motionless, like a statue. You look into those eyes that enchant you and say:

"I really wanted to do that, I'm sorry." 

And with that said you leave, returning to the deck. Buggy stares at you, static, unable to react. 

What the hell just happened?

[crystal-va]

What are some of the differences between original William and your William, both before and after destruction?

Thank you for your curiosity!

(technically this kind of ask should have gone to @ask-voidverse but it's not too big of a deal)

This is more of an info dump than a comparison, but this'll still get the idea across (hopefully)

Before Destruction:

William is largely the same. The most notable difference is the fact that he's more shy in the beginning.

I suppose he's also a little more friendly than his original variant too.

After Destruction: (I have not reached this point in writing [VOID]!Alphatale, so things might change when I do)

I decided to also cover relationships, because yes.

William is closed off and quiet. Unlike his original variant, William is actually quite sympathetic and emotional, but tries to hide it

404 isn't nearly as busted in my variant. I've limited his power from being able to destroy entire universes, or even hyper verses, to now being a planet buster, or at his most powerful, being able to destroy a universe. Still incredibly broken, but not as bonkers as original 404.

Skipping to the beginning of New Puppet Book 1, William has fully lost who he was. William is a name he only ever hears in his nightmares. As 404, William tries to build business relationships with others. Treating Error and Root (my own character) as more of assistants than underlings (Root acts more like his child than an assistant tho). Seraphim and King Multiverse are treated closer to slaves with no purpose other than serving him, which is pretty similar to normal.

At some point, 404 will also recruit Fatal_Error, using Fatal's immense desire to bring his Papyrus back as leverage to call on him when needed. Feeding him small amounts of Papyrus code every time they work together, but he knows Fatal won't be happy with any Papyrus he makes, so he considers Fatal a semi permanent member of the crew with little chance of leaving. He'd be willing to take control of Fatal like he did with Seraphim if the need arose.

Bill!Sans is kind of like a convenient nuisance for 404. 404 does hate him, but he appreciates the times Bill has helped him out of a weird spot and pays him back on occasion.

404 keeps a more public appearance as opposed to his more secretive nature in cannon. He constantly keeps people like Nightmare, Ink, Core, and Shattered Dream aware of his existence in an attempt to either keep them from getting in his way, or even have them consider assisting him in some endeavors.

[aces-personal-whore]

Doflamingo x Defiant!Reader Smut Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Welcome back, gang. I promised I wasn't dead! Here is the next chapter. I'm sorry for the slow updates. I'll be honest, I have a lot of down time at work, but no service/internet. It's like my work is a complete dead zone, so I can't access anything here. But! I hope you guys like this chapter.

☣️WARNINGS: NONCON/RAPE, NSFW, MDNI, smut, sexual assault, abuse, violence, aggression

Themes in this chapter: NONCON/RAPE, forced submission, forced creampie, breeding, BDSM, degradation and humiliation, manipulation, false affection, pregnancy, slight ass play, punishment

Notes: PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THERE IS NONCON/RAPE THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE FANFICTION. THIS FANFICTION IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY BE TRIGGERING, UPSETTING, OR DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!!

P.S. I'm sorry if I forgot to change any pronouns/names/etc. ;-; I'm still trying, aight. I do update these after I've reread them and gone through them a couple times, but there may still be some things I miss.

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As you tried to back away and dart towards the door, Doflamingo's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in his gaze. He wasn't about to let you escape so easily, not after he had claimed you and filled you with his seed.

"Oh no you don't, bitch," he snarled, lunging forward and grabbing you by the hair. "You don't get to leave until I say so. You're mine now, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

He yanked you back towards him, your body crashing into his as he pinned you against the wall. His cock, already hardening again, pressed against your stomach.

"You can't run from this," Doflamingo growled, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. "You're going to be carrying my child, and I'm going to make sure you're always ready for me. Your pussy is going to be dripping with my cum at all times, just waiting for me to fill you up again."

He reached down, his fingers finding your pussy once more and untying your cervix as he prepares to claim you again. Despite the soreness and exhaustion you felt, you couldn't deny the way your body reacted to his touch. Your pussy was already growing wet again, betraying your desire for him.

"See?" he purred, his fingers teasing your clit. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is trying to resist. You're just a slave to your own desires, aching for my cock like a bitch in heat."

Doflamingo's other hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look into his eyes. His gaze was intense and unyielding, a testament to his complete control over you. "You're going to spend the rest of your days serving me," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You'll be my personal whore, my breeding bitch, and you'll love every minute of it. Because in the end, you know that you belong to me, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, asserting his dominance and leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. As he kissed you, his cock pressed harder against your stomach, a reminder of the pleasure and pain he could inflict upon you at any moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes blazed with lust and hunger.

"Doflamingo, please... I just want to use the bathroom..." you whimpered, tears streaming down your face.

Doflamingo's eyes softened slightly at your pathetic pleas, and he couldn't help but smirk at the way you begged for even the most basic of comforts. He knew that he had you completely under his control, and he reveled in the power he held over you.

"Alright, fine, you can use the bathroom," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "But don't even think about trying to escape. My strings are everywhere in this palace, and I'll know if you so much as take a step out of line."

He guided you towards the bathroom, his hand firmly on your lower back, making sure you didn't stray from the path. As you entered the bathroom, he lingered for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body once more.

"I'll be waiting right outside," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me wait too long, or I might just come in and join you. And trust me, you don't want that."

With that, he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You could hear his footsteps fading away as he took his position outside the door, ready to pounce at the first sign of any attempt at escape.

Inside the bathroom, you were finally able to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. The experience had been overwhelming, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and shame as you reflected on what had just transpired.

The realization that your cervix had been left untied sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the brutal and degrading treatment you had endured. This was your chance—you could try to reduce the likelihood of getting pregnant and get rid of as much of his essence inside you as possible.

As you did your business, you sobbed and clutched your swollen stomach, trying to push out as much of Doflamingo's cum as possible. You couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation and hopelessness. The thought of carrying his child, a constant reminder of the brutal and degrading treatment you had endured, filled you with dread.

Slowly, your stomach began to deflate, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You used the bidet to clean your genitals, wincing at the soreness and tenderness that remained. As you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but notice the bruises, cuts, and welts that Doflamingo had left on your body. The evidence of his cruelty was etched into your skin, a permanent reminder of the nightmarish experience you had just endured.

You washed your hands and splashed some warm water on your face, trying to wash away the tears and the pain. But deep down, you knew that the scars left by Doflamingo's actions would never truly heal. You could only hope that he wouldn't notice the change in your appearance, that he wouldn't punish you for trying to regain a sense of normalcy.

As you exited the bathroom, you found Doflamingo waiting for you, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. He took one look at your stomach and his expression darkened, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist in a vice-like grip.

"What the fuck did you do in there?" he snarled, his voice laced with anger and disbelief. "I specifically told you not to try anything funny, and yet here you are, trying to get rid of my cum like it's nothing."

He yanked you closer, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and heavy. "Do you think you can just disobey my orders and get away with it? Do you really think I won't punish you for this?"

Doflamingo's free hand moved to your throat, his fingers tightening around your neck. His eyes blazed with a mixture of rage and lust, and you could feel the weight of his power pressing down on you. You knew that you were at his mercy, and there was nothing you could do to change that. All you could do was pray that he would show you some mercy, that he wouldn't inflict even more pain and suffering upon you.

"N-no, D-Doflamingo, it-it isn't like that..." Your whole body shook violently as you flinched away from Doflamingo. "It j-just so h-happened that your c-cum came out of m-me when I sat down... b-but I-I didn't try to escape though... I did exactly wh-what you said..." you stammered out.

Doflamingo was pissed. He released your wrist and throat and grabbed your hair, dragging you back to the room. His grip on your hair was painful, and you couldn't help but cry out as you were being dragged. The sensation of your scalp burning from his rough treatment only added to the overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness that consumed you.

"You're lying to me, aren't you?" he growled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe that my cum just 'came out of you' when you sat down? I know you, bitch. You're always trying to find a way to escape, to get away from me."

Once inside the room, Doflamingo threw you onto the bed, his body looming over yours with a menacing presence. His eyes were dark and stormy, filled with a dangerous mix of anger and lust.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget," he snarled, his hands pinning your wrists above your head. "I'm going to make you regret ever thinking you could disobey me, ever think you could get away with something like this."

Doflamingo's free hand moved to your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he roughly spread your legs apart. He could see the fear in your eyes, the knowledge that you were completely at his mercy, and it only fueled his desire to dominate and control you.

Doflamingo created threads that bound your wrists together to the mattress below. They dug into your skin, causing you to wince in pain "Doflamingo please, I didn't do anything! I didn't try to escape! I didn't mean to have your cum come out of me!" You began to cry harder, the tears flowing out of your eyes like a river.

But your words fell on deaf ears, and Doflamingo was already moving forward with his plan. His hands roamed over your body, groping and squeezing your flesh with a rough, possessive touch.

"It doesn't matter what you meant to do," he growled, his hot breath against your ear. "The fact is, you tried to get rid of my seed, and that's something I can't allow. I'm going to fill you up again and again until my child takes root inside you. There's no escape from this fate, so you might as well accept it."

Doflamingo's fingers found your pussy, already slick with arousal despite your fear and distress. He chuckled darkly as he felt your body betray you, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"Look at you," he taunted, his fingers circling your clit. "You can't even control your own body. It's clear that you're meant to be bred, meant to be a vessel for my offspring. And I'm going to make sure that happens, no matter how much you might resist."

Doflamingo positioned himself between your legs, his cock already rock hard and ready. He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of pleasure and pain.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Beg for my seed, beg for the chance to carry my child. Show me that you're ready to submit to your true purpose."

"No!" you scream, your tears refusing to stop. All you could do was cry...

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed at your defiance, a dangerous glint appearing in his gaze. He had expected you to break, to beg for his seed like the desperate little plaything you were. But your refusal only fueled his desire to dominate you further, to make you submit to his will.

"No? Is that what you think you have the power to say?!" he snarled, his hand moving to your throat and squeezing tightly. "I own you, body and soul! You have no choice in this matter, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."

He released his grip on your throat, only to slap you hard across the face. The stinging pain radiated through your cheek, and tears sprang to your eyes from the force of the blow.

Without any further warning, Doflamingo thrust his cock into you, stretching you open and forcing you to accommodate his massive size. The pain was excruciating, your body struggling to adapt to the sudden invasion. But as he began to move, his hips slamming against yours in a brutal rhythm, you could feel something else start to build within you—a twisted, unwanted pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"That's it, take it," Doflamingo grunted, his pace increasing as he plunged into you again and again. "Feel the power of my cock, the dominance of my seed. You were made for this, made to be bred and used for my pleasure."

As he pounded into you, his hand reached down to your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in rough, demanding circles. Your body betrayed you once more, your pussy clenching around his cock as your orgasm approached. You wanted to fight it, to deny him the satisfaction of knowing he had broken you, but it was useless. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Your eyes squeezed shut, causing more tears to come out. You gritted your teeth as you writhed beneath him. "Doflamingo, stop!!" you panted heavily, desperately trying to hold back the orgasm he's forcing upon you.

Doflamingo's eyes gleamed with triumph as he felt your cervix softening and dilating, creating the ideal environment for his seed to thrive. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way you were trying to hold back your orgasm, and it only served to fuel his own arousal.

"Listen to you, panting like a bitch in heat," he growled, his hips slamming into yours with renewed vigor. "And I'm going to breed you like one. You'll be carrying my child before the night is through, and you'll have no one but yourself to blame."

He continued to plunge into you, his cock stretching you open and coating your walls with his precum. Your body was responding to his touch, your pussy clenching around him as if trying to draw him deeper inside. It was clear that your body was preparing itself for his seed, aching to be filled and bred.

"Just give in," Doflamingo whispered, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Let go of your resistance, and embrace the pleasure that only I can give you. You were made for this, made to be my personal breeding bitch. And I'm going to make sure you enjoy every second of it."

His fingers continued to work your clit, the pressure and friction building to an almost unbearable level. Your body was trembling, your muscles tensing and releasing as you fought against the oncoming orgasm. But it was a losing battle, and you knew it. With each thrust of his cock, each brush of his fingers, you could feel yourself slipping.

"Cum for me," Doflamingo commanded, his voice a low, dominant growl. "Show me how much you want to be bred, how much you need my seed inside you. Let go, and embrace your new purpose in life."

Doflamingo retracted his strings from your limbs and lifted you off the bed to sit on his lap. You could feel the intensity of his desire coursing through his body. His powerful arms held you tightly against his chest, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass as he smacked it with a resounding slap. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a jolt of electricity through your body, causing you to yelp and moan into his chest.

"That's it, take it like a good little slut," Doflamingo growled, his fingers tracing the rim of your asshole with a light touch. "I can feel your pussy desperately trying to milk my cock, begging for my seed. You're so fucking perfect, so eager to be bred and used for my pleasure."

As his fingers continued to tease your asshole, you couldn't help but moan louder, the sensation of his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Doflamingo's degrading words only fueled your arousal, edging you closer to your orgasm. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried his cock deep inside you, piercing your cervix and ejaculating directly into your uterus. His cock throbbed violently as he released his seed, the hot, sticky fluid filling your womb and coating your eggs in his essence.

Your orgasm finally consumed you, your body released several eggs into your womb, seeing Doflamingo as the ideal mate. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and the rhythmic contractions of your orgasm urging him to slip his finger inside your tight asshole. The contractions of your pussy aided his sperm, helping it to reach your eggs and fertilize them with his potent seed. You could feel your stomach swelling once more, the evidence of his successful breeding filling Doflamingo with a sense of determination and urgency.

"Fuck yes, take it all," he growled, his hips still rocking against yours as he continued to pump his seed into your receptive body. "Your womb was made for my cum, and I'm going to make sure you're full to the brim with my offspring. You're mine now, completely and utterly mine."

Your pussy was stretched around his thick, pulsating cock, your juices mixing with his cum and forming a sticky, viscous mess. Your asshole clenched and twitched around his finger.

As Doflamingo's orgasm finally began to subside, he released a satisfied grunt, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax. He held you close, his fingers caressing your skin as he savored the feeling of your body wrapped around his, removing the finger he had inside you.

Doflamingo's fingers traced patterns along your lower back, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. As he worked, you could feel your cervix being sewn shut, ensuring that his precious seed would remain inside you until it took root and grew into a new life.

"There, now you can't expel my seed from you again," Doflamingo said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're going to keep it inside you until you get pregnant, and I'll be watching you every step of the way."

As the reality of your situation began to sink in, you found yourself panting heavily, trying to grasp the concept of being permanently tied to Doflamingo, both physically and emotionally. Your mind started to dissociate, desperately seeking an escape from the nightmare you found yourself in. "No, this can't be happening," you thought, your heart racing as you tried to come to terms with your new reality.

Doflamingo had no intention of letting you slip away into the safety of your own mind. He leaned in close, his hot breath against your ear as he spoke, "Don't even think about checking out on me," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips. "You're mine now, and I won't let you escape, not even in your own thoughts. You're going to face the consequences of your actions, and you're going to do it with me by your side."

He pulled back, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made you shudder. His gaze was filled with a mix of desire, possession, and a dark, twisted sense of love that sent a chill down your spine.

"I know you're scared and confused," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But you need to understand that this is your new reality. Embrace it, accept it, and you'll find that it's not as bad as you think." Doflamingo's words were a thin veil, poorly concealing the sinister nature of his intentions.

You leaned back and stared at him with a blank expression, your eyes half lidded, your lips parted. You looked as if you were in a daze. "Doflamingo..." Your voice was weak; your mouth hardly moved as you spoke. All your energy had been sapped away.

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed as he noticed the vacant expression on your face, your voice barely above a whisper. He could sense your resignation, the way your body had given up, leaving you with nothing but a hollow shell of your former self.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You don't seem to have the energy to fight back. Have I drained you of all that defiant spirit?"

He leaned in closer, his fingers tracing the contours of your face, as if trying to memorize every detail. His touch was gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality he had shown you earlier.

"It's okay," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You don't have to fight anymore. You can just let go and surrender to me. I'll take care of everything, and you'll never have to worry about anything again."

His words were like a sedative, slowly lulling you into a false sense of security. As he continued to caress your face, you felt your eyelids growing heavier, your body slumping in his arms.

"That's it," Doflamingo murmured, his hand sliding down to rest on your stomach. "Just relax and let your body do what it was meant to do. My seed is inside you now, and it won't be long before you're carrying my child. You're going to be so beautiful, so perfect, just like I always knew you could be."

As he spoke, you could feel a strange warmth spreading through your body, a tingling sensation that started in your core and radiated outward. It was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life that belonged to Doflamingo and no one else.

In that moment, you realized that there was no escape, no way out of the twisted reality that Doflamingo had created for you.

Doflamingo carefully lifted you off his cock. You could feel the slight discomfort as he withdrew, your pussy clenching around him as if trying to keep him inside. He laid you down on the bed, his hands gently caressing your skin as he arranged you into a comfortable position.

"There, that's better," he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "You need to rest now and let your body recover from the intense experience we just shared."

He leaned over you, his eyes roaming your face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, the swell of your lips. Each touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he was seeing you for the first time.

"You're exquisite," Doflamingo whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I've never seen anyone quite like you before. Your features, your body, your very essence – it's all so perfect, so irresistible. I'm glad I found you, glad that I could make you mine."

His hand moved down your body, pausing at your stomach. He pressed his palm against the soft, yielding flesh, feeling the warmth emanating from within. A small, satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the life growing inside you.

"My child," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and possessiveness. "Our child. You're going to make such a wonderful mother, and I can't wait to watch you grow and change as you nurture this new life inside you."

As he spoke, you could feel your eyelids growing heavier, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. The combination of exhaustion and the strange, tingling warmth spreading through your body made it difficult to stay awake, and you found yourself drifting off into a fitful sleep.

Doflamingo watched you as you slipped away, his eyes filled with a mix of love, lust, and possessiveness.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Tomorrow, we'll begin our journey together, and I'll be by your side every step of the way."

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As you stirred from your slumber, something felt... different... Your breasts felt sore, and when you looked at them, you noticed your nipples were a slightly darker shade and looked a little bigger... Panic began to set in as your realized... you were more than likely pregnant... with Doflamingo's child. Doflamingo had already gotten up to tend to his responsibilities for the day.

You got up and ran over to the mirror and looked at yourself. Any abdominal swelling was from how much he ejaculated in me, and not a growing fetus... Still, you looked at your breasts in closer detail and noticed they did, in fact, look different. You broke down and began crying once more as reality began to set in.

You threw on some clothes and ran to the bathroom where you looked to see if maybe there were any pregnancy tests. Maybe Baby 5 had some...

You looked through the drawers and medicine cabinets in the bathroom when... you found some. You took two out of the package, sat on the toilet and proceeded to take the tests.

As you waited for the results to show up, your whole body shook with anticipation and anxiety

"Please... please be negative..." you whispered to yourself, but you knew it was just wishful thinking. After a few minutes have passed, the results came back... You looked in horror as they both came back positive.

You hunched over the sink holding the pregnancy tests in your hand, taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down, but the tears kept flowing. You felt sick to your stomach.

The sound of running water echoed through the bathroom as you splashed cold water on your face, trying to compose yourself.

"How am i going to tell Doflamingo... It's not like I can hide anything from him... Do I just... find him and pull him aside? No... He would punish me for that... But if he found out I took the pregnancy tests and didn't tell him, I would also be punished..." You sighed, trying to figure out the best course of action.

Your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. You knew that you couldn't keep this from Doflamingo, not with his ability to sense even the slightest changes in your body. But the thought of telling him, of confessing that his seed had taken root inside you, filled you with dread.

You dried your face with a towel, your hands shaking as you tried to steady yourself. You had to be smart about this, had to choose your words carefully. Doflamingo was unpredictable at the best of times, and you couldn't risk setting him off with the wrong approach.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and headed out of the bathroom, throwing the tests in your pocket. You needed to find Doflamingo, to tell him the news before he discovered it on his own. It was the only way to avoid his wrath.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you heard voices coming from the nearby throne room. Doflamingo's voice rose above the rest, barking orders at his underlings. You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to interrupt him or wait until he was finished.

But in the end, there was no choice. You had to do this now, before you lost your nerve. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the doors to the throne room and stepped inside.

All conversation ceased as every eye in the room turned to stare at you. Doflamingo's gaze was the most intense, his red eyes boring into you like lasers as he waited for you to speak.

"D-Doflamingo..." you began, stuttering. "I... I need a moment of your time, please..." You looked away anxiously, avoiding eye contact with everyone. You cowered away, hiding behind the doorframe.

Doflamingo's gaze narrowed as he watched you cower behind the doorframe, your body language screaming submission and fear. He leaned back in his throne, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched you squirm.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "What's the matter, my little pet? Cat got your tongue?"

The room erupted in laughter at his words, the sound harsh and mocking. You felt your cheeks burn with shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the right words.

Doflamingo's smile only widened at your discomfort, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He stood, his tall, muscular frame towering over you as he stalked closer. The ground seemed to shake with each step, the air around him crackling with barely contained power.

"Come now, out with it," he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "What could be so important that you'd interrupt me in the middle of my work?" He loomed over you, his presence overwhelming and oppressive. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. It was all too much, too overwhelming, and you found yourself struggling to breathe.

Doflamingo's hand shot out, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into your skin, the pain sharp and biting. You whimpered, your eyes wide and terrified as you stared up at him.

"I'm waiting," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "And don't even think about lying to me. I can smell deceit from a mile away."

You winced in pain. "I... I think this is a private matter..." you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

Doflamingo's grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. His red eyes bored into yours, searching for any hint of deception or lies.

"Private matter, huh?" he mused, his voice low and dangerous. "And what makes you think you have the right to demand privacy from me, my little toy?"

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "I own you, body and soul. There is no part of you that is not mine to control, to use as I see fit."

His free hand trailed down your body, his fingers skimming over your curves possessively. "But I suppose I can indulge you this once. After all, it must be something important for you to risk my wrath by interrupting me."

Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you forward, dragging you out of the throne room and into a nearby chamber. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you both in a room bare except for a large bed and a few pieces of furniture.

Doflamingo released your arm, shoving you roughly towards the bed. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the mattress before turning to face him.

"Well?" he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient. "Out with it. What is so important that it couldn't wait?"

His eyes raked over your body, taking in every quiver and tremble. He could sense your nervousness, your fear, and it only served to fuel his excitement. Whatever secret you were hiding, he knew it would be delicious to uncover.

You walked over to him and reached into your pocket to pull out the two pregnancy tests. Your whole body shook as you handed them to him.

Doflamingo's eyes widened slightly as he took the pregnancy tests from your shaking hands, his gaze flicking between the positive indicators and your face. A slow, wicked grin spread across his features as realization dawned.

"Well, well, well," he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "It seems my seed has taken root, hasn't it?"

He tossed the tests aside, not caring where they landed as he focused his attention back on you. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on your breasts before trailing lower, to the soft swell of your stomach.

"My child," he breathed, the words heavy with possessiveness. "Growing inside you, claiming you as mine in the most primal way possible."

He reached out, his hand cupping your stomach through your clothes. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.

His other hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I will protect what is mine. No one will harm you, no one will take you from me. You are precious, a vessel for my legacy."

But even as he spoke words of protection and possession, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Doflamingo was unpredictable, dangerous, and you knew that his idea of protection might be far different from your own.

A wave of relief washed over you as you listened to Doflamingo speak to you, knowing that he wasn't going to punish you. You dropped to your knees and sighed with relief.

Doflamingo watched with amusement as you sank to the floor. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head at your naïvety. "Oh, my sweet little pet," he cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Did you really think I would punish you for this? For bearing my child?"

He crouched down next to you, his hand sliding through your hair almost tenderly. "No, no, no. You've given me the greatest gift, the promise of an heir to carry on my legacy. How could I possibly punish you for that?"

His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging your head back to force you to meet his gaze. "But don't mistake my mercy for weakness. You are still mine to do with as I please, and I will not tolerate any disobedience or disrespect."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You are my property, now and forever. And I will remind you of that fact every single day, until it is so deeply ingrained in your mind that you can never forget it."

With that, he released you, standing to his full height once more. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness and dark desire. "Now, come. It's time to celebrate this joyous occasion. I want you to dress up for me, wear something that highlights your new status as the mother of my child."

You slumped over, trying to regain your composure. "Doflamingo... you've never even given me any clothes... I've been wearing the same dress since you kidnapped me..."

Doflamingo's brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a scowl as he processed your words. "Hmph," he grunted, his eyes raking over your form dismissively. "I suppose I have been neglecting your needs. But no matter. We can remedy that quickly enough."

"Baby 5," he called, and a moment later, the door to the chamber flew open. Baby 5, a pretty young woman with long black hair and piercing blue eyes, hurried in, bowing low before Doflamingo.

"Master Doflamingo," she said, her voice soft and subservient. "How may I serve you?"

"Fetch some suitable clothing for my pet," Doflamingo commanded, gesturing to you with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Something that will accentuate her new status, but that will also allow easy access for when I wish to use her."

Baby 5 nodded, hurrying away to do his bidding. Doflamingo turned his attention back to you, his eyes glinting with a possessive light. "You will look beautiful, my pet," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "A vision of motherhood, ripe and ready for me to claim."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek almost tenderly. "And when you're dressed, I want you to kneel before me, to present yourself for my inspection. I want to see every inch of you, to marvel at the way my seed has taken root inside you."

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, a gesture that was both intimate and threatening. "Do you understand, my little toy? This is your purpose now, to bear my children and to serve me in every way I demand. Never forget that."

You turned away and began crying. Doflamingo's hand shot out, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him. His grip was tight, almost painful, as he stared into your tear-filled eyes with a mix of annoyance and dark amusement.

"None of that now, pet," he chided, his voice low and dangerous. "You are mine, body and soul. Crying will not change that fact." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face as he whispered, "You should be grateful, you know. Not every woman is blessed with the honor of bearing my child. You should be thanking me for choosing you, for bestowing such a gift upon you."

His free hand slid down to your stomach, pressing possessively against the soft swell of your belly. "This is your purpose now, to carry my offspring to term. To nurture and protect the life growing inside you, no matter the cost."

He released your face, only to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back painfully. "And you will do it gladly, my little toy. Because you know what happens to those who displease me." He released you roughly, shoving you back towards the bed. "Now, get dressed. I want to see you on your knees before me, a vision of obedience and submission."

His eyes glinted with a cruel light as he watched you hastily comply, his lips curling into a smirk. "And once you're done, we'll celebrate properly. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, until every inch of you is claimed by me, inside and out."

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "After all, it's the least I can do for my precious little slave." With that, Doflamingo left the room.

You frowned... You couldn't handle his abuse much longer...

Your thoughts were interrupted when Baby 5 entered the room, her arms laden with a selection of dresses. She glanced at you briefly, taking in your tear-stained face and downtrodden posture, but said nothing. Instead, she laid the dresses out on the bed, stepping back to give you space.

There were a few options: a sheer, lacy number that would leave little to the imagination, a tight-fitting gown that would hug your curves like a second skin, and a flowing, ethereal dress that would drape over your changing figure like a dream.

Baby 5 watched silently as you perused the choices, her expression neutral and unreadable. She was used to Doflamingo's whims and demands, and had long ago learned to detach herself emotionally from the tasks she was required to perform.

As you reached for the sheer dress, Baby 5 cleared her throat softly. "Young Master prefers you in the tight one, miss," she said quietly, nodding towards the form-fitting gown. "It will show off your... condition... to best advantage."

She didn't elaborate further, but you knew exactly what she meant. The tight dress would highlight every curve and swell of your pregnant body, presenting you as the perfect vessel for Doflamingo's offspring.

Baby 5 waited patiently as you slipped into the chosen dress, her eyes averted to give you a modicum of privacy. The fabric clung to your skin like a lover's caress, molding to your every contour and leaving nothing to the imagination.

When you were fully dressed, Baby 5 stepped forward, her hands smoothing over your hips and stomach possessively. "Young Master will be pleased," she murmured, her tone almost envious. "You'll do well to remember your place, miss. As you know, Master Doflamingo doesn't tolerate disobedience."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you alone to compose yourself before facing Doflamingo once more.

[wardevilwins]

Why is it the War Devil?

Obviously, I am fascinated by the concept of the War Devil. There is a way in which her presence in the story is uniquely Japanese. Since WWII, the question of how to process the Empire’s defeat has hung over Japanese society. On the conservative side, there is a long project to minimize the realities of the War, especially atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army. Alongside this, there is the concerted effort within the legislature to repeal Article 9 of the constitution, the article which forbids the Japanese government from raising an army. On the left, there is a desire for genuine reconciliation and strong support for article 9. However, the effort has not gained much of a foothold. Japan is, much like the United States, a strongly conservative country.

For example, when the historian Ienaga Saburo wrote his textbook “New Japanese History” for public schools in 1953, the government initially approved his manuscript, but when he resubmitted a revised version two years later, they demanded that 216 revisions be made. Revisions included minimizing the Rape of Nanking, adding a mention of public support for the Russo-Japanese war, etc. Straightforward government censorship of established historical fact.

Ienaga sued the government for damages arguing that he was protected by Article 21, the right to free speech. Note: his book was not a state standard. It was simply one of many textbooks available for use by schools. A district court ruled that the government’s demands didn’t constitute censorship, but did constitute an abuse of authority and granted monetary settlement. An appeal to the High court rejected the monetary settlement, and the Supreme Court upheld the appeal.

In other words, the Japanese Government was granted the right to dictate the facts of history “for the public good” in the words of the rulings. Realities of war were erased from the public consciousness with the intent to control the narrative around the Fallen Empire. And the state reasoning was a paternalistic appeal to the greater good of humanity. If this reminds you of Makima’s plan in part one, I am sure that is not a coincidence.

This is a metaphor that I think was broadly missed by the international audience. The idea that War should be forgotten for the sake of humanity, this is the ideology behind historical revisionism. Fujimoto is looking directly at the way that political power in Japan is used to manipulate public understanding of history. Pieces of the past are erased, eaten, and forgotten.

This is why I don’t lend much credence to the idea that Chainsaw Man actually modifies the fabric of the universe somehow when he eats a devil. It is not that the world changes, it is that people forget about it. It’s not that our forgotten sixth sense was deleted. We just forgot it used to exist. It disappeared, perhaps as a part of Chainsaw Man’s attack. And then we forgot.

The main reason I think of it this way is because of the parallel with historical revisionism. Right now in Florida the state government is attempting to erase the suffering of African slaves brought to America from the school curriculum. If they maintain this for three generations, no one in the state of Florida will know of this true part of history. It will be forgotten. Humanity in Florida will have forgotten a part of slavery. We don’t need supernatural mechanics to explain historical ignorance. This happens all the time.

Yoru describes this phenomenon in more detail: “War became a thing of books and movies.” Yoru became weakened as humanity became less afraid of war. Parts of the war that really happened are not gone, but have been consigned to unreality. They exist only at a distance. It is only one step further along this axis until they are completely forgotten, until they aren’t thought about at all.

This idea of forgetting War is directly relevant to the political conflicts around Article 9. This conflict is split as I mentioned, but the reality of the situation is more complex. During the occupation, the US Government directed the drafting of the new Japanese constitution. In a real sense, Japan was literally Americanized. The text of Article 9 reads:

Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes.

In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.

This is part of Chapter 2 in the Articles of the Japanese Constitution. Other chapters contain multiple articles. This is the only article in chapter 2 which is titled “Renunciation of War.” To date, Japan is the only country in the world to include a renunciation of war in its constitution.

Of course, Article 9 doesn’t exist out of the kindness of the Japanese people’s peace loving hearts. It exists because the US military thought that the Japanese people were so intrinsically bloodthirsty, that if they didn’t dismantle the empire and remove their ability to raise an army, there could never be peace.

That said, Japanese politicians were involved in the drafting of the constitution as well. Since the war began in China in 1928, a significant faction even among the hawkish types were exasperated with the boneheaded aggression. But the fascists had control of the Emperor, the key figurehead. Once that was lost, cooler heads who were open to the idea of a peaceful Japan stepped in.

So Article 9 starts with this complex identity. On the one hand, it is an imposition by the occupying force, on the other hand, it is a reconciliation within Japan around mistakes the nation made. This remains the case going forward. Because soon after the occupation ends, the Korean War begins.

America, having secured a foothold in the region, realizes that militarily neutering their nearest ally may have been a tactical mistake. But they also still don’t really trust the Japanese government. So they make a move. The US signs a controversial security-treaty with Japan that creates the “National Security Force” to act as a military police. Japanese conservatives then use this precedent to begin building a military under the premise of it being for “self defense.” Thus the JSDF, Japanese Self Defense Force, is born. This was all done with explicit American support.

The American’s didn’t want to team up with the JSDF per se. They wanted Japan to manufacture weapons to create a short supply line towards the Korean front. The creation of the JSDF gives the Japanese government permission to permit manufacturing of military machinery, which was originally taken to be forbidden by Article 9.

Since it’s founding, the JSDF has gradually crept further and further towards active military activity. The final line was crossed in the Iraq war. At the behest of George W. Bush, Prime Minister Koizumi approved a battalion of Japanese soldiers to act in conjunction with the US military for the invasion of Iraq.

This occurs in 2004, in the wake of the 90s. Japan re-enters war in a real way. At this point, article 9 is essentially window dressing on a country which has what amounts to a fully functional military force. But, the existence of article 9 creates a public perception of Japan as being removed from war, even as it actively participates.

You can see now why when Yoru appeared in chapter 98 I was immediately excited. The idea of the War Devil coming back is a stab at the powers that be trying to paper over their militaristic intentions with political rhetoric. Conservatives are currently moving to repeal article 9. This was one of Shinzo Abe’s major objectives. But he failed to achieve it.

So the struggle continues under the current leadership. And in that context, Fujimoto is placing War front and center. War that has been forgotten but will come back. War that, should she return to full power, will turn legions of young men into weapons.

It’s a subtle but also daring message. The debate plays out in politics but is notably absent from public discourse. Japan is different from American in that political conflict doesn’t dominate its media landscape. Generally speaking, the media is running cover for the government.

So to see someone go after this idea of forgotten war, of war coming back from a weakened state, and to highlight the latent threat it poses, is quite refreshing. Once again, Fujimoto manages to subtly weave a cogent political message into the threads of his story, not necessarily by trying to push a particular narrative, but simply by reflecting in his work the political realities he sees in his society.

[antimony-medusa]

I totally agree with your post about people not tagging kink when they really should but it fully clicked today when I realized how many mcyt instinct fics Ive read where theres something distinctly Off (characters being completely controlled by their instincts with another character holding it over them with the aura of a weirdly intense Not Normal Interaction) like oh my god you are so right

Yeah like, I am not saying "oh my god there are so many people who are writing kink or kink-adjacent" out of a desire to cancel people or to accuse them of dirty unacceptable behaviour or titter behind my hand or anything like that. Not all of these kinks are ones I share, but like— humanity is a rich and varied tapestry. If you get good brain chemicals off of vore, good for you. I don't, but I'm wishing you the best in those tags.

But like, human experiences exist on a lot of difference spectrums, and we've come up with the classification "kink" to describe a focus on an experience or feature or event that is unconventional or nonstandard and often sexual or sexual-adjacent, and like, we have all decided to classify these things in that way for a reason.

It is sincerely helpful if you can realize "oh, the way I feel about [experience] is not how everyone feels", and then you can both know how to talk about it to regular people and also know how to seek the content out yourself. I have a friend who's really into bloodplay— they know this and they can request it in events and they can also know not to hand it to people who didn't request it. They know that about themself. They're good. I keep hitting tropes that people seem to think are normal platonic tropes and like. Augh.

There's a lot of stuff in this fandom that is being normalized and presented as platonic, and there is absolutely a way to do a lot of this in a platonic way, but a) some of this is getting to a level of focus where I think it's pushing the boundaries of platonic, because even if non-sexual you would only behave like this to a kink partner b) some of the time I think it would be valuable for people to realize that they are engaging with tropes that are not platonic in most other fandoms, and sometimes they are still dealing with it in the same way that other fandoms are, they're just surgically removing the sex and like—boy.

When you are dealing with kink content, you can keep things definitely non-sexual, but if you go hard enough into the kink— well for one thing it should be tagged as kink, and for another, if you are used to how these subjects are dealt with in other fandoms, it can get a little wild to read fics that are beat for beat the same as kink fics in other fandoms, it just fades to black with the person falling asleep before anything happens.

Wing preening is really popular in this fandom, cause we all like drawing guys with wings, and like. God. In most other fandoms wing preening is a sexy trope, and I swear I have had to tap out of fics in this fandom because they seem to have gone beat for beat with sexy fics from other fandoms, moaning at touch and "release of tension" and writhing in the bed cause it feels so good and everything, and then nobody's pants come off and they smack a & tag on it and they call it good. If I hit that when I open up something tagged as platonic and "fluff" and "bonding" and that's it, I'm gonna have a strong reaction.

It gets so I assume anything tagged "dehumanization" is actually pet play, anything tagged "hybrid racism" is actually either predator/prey or master/slave, anything tagged "preening" is wing kink borderline-smut, anything tagged "mind control" is actually hypnokink, anything tagged "non-consensual touching" is actually consent issues/dubcon or occasionally noncon, anything tagged "non-consensual drugging" is altered states/intox kink, and anything tagged "hybrid instincts" is either omegaverse or a bdsm au. And wouldn't it be great if we could ACTUALLY use the right tags instead of all having to learn to read behind the lines with this shit untagged.

[kingofthelizardpeople]

Yandere Daenerys Targaryen Headcanons

● always the dominant one

● literally, she would never want you out of her control

● If this trait developed because of her position as queen or her past and all the people she lost, you couldn't really tell

● No matter what position you had before you became her obsession, no matter if you were a knight, slave, servant or similar, Dany would still see you as an equal

● or atleast equal enough

● speaking of, to you she is Dany. To no one else but you. She wouldn't have it anyother way

● The only exceptions would be the few times she let's you be around other people and when she’s mad at you. In both cases she is your grace

● Dany had many people who only desired or 'loved' her due to her looks or power, so she would definitely spiral even further if you showed actual affection for her

● Your safety is her upmost priority and since she feels so strongly about you, her dragons will also feel protective about their mothers obsession

● Dany at first didn't want you to meet her children, since she was scared what they could do to you, but her anxiety eased over time

● But only towards her dragons

● You would still be locked up in her private chambers for most of your shared life

● if you somehow got injured, the mad queen would be unleashed and no one would be able to escape her wrath

● if you died, she would just completely lose it. If you think the mad queen was bad, just wait until she lost her obsession, her Y/N

● With her world gone, everyone elses would burn

● Absolute cuddle bug in private

● (tonal whiplash, I know)

● She just wanted to hold you close

● You were hers and Dany would let you know it. In good ways but also bad ones

[regressioncurriculum]

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[get-shit-onlol]

@snowy-wife

Hey.

I would be a lot more careful if I were you in speaking about us— because we have held our tongues for the last two months about you for the sake of keeping peace. But you obviously have not been able to get us out of your head since your meltdown, so let’s talk. I would read until the very end if I were you.

Let's start by stating the obvious: you are deeply disturbed. It’s evident by a quick scroll through your blog that you suffer from a multitude of mental ailments that contribute to your low impulse control and lack of self-awareness. You are fat; you post openly about not keeping up with your hygiene, you have lip piercings, you write about your desire to harm and kill animals, you take to substances and blades when you’re upset, you are incoherent, you live in a disgusting house— more could be said, but the overarching theme stands. You are the essence of low quality, the absolute bottom of the barrel. And you think Eric and Dylan are in love with YOU?

You are in no place to speak about either of us, or anyone else in the world for that matter. You are fucking scum. Low IQ, deluded, extremely mentally ill scum. We pity you in all honesty, you must have endured a lot as a child to have turned out so unbelievably backward. But you don’t deserve any sort of empathy, especially after your repeated posts about us since July, and the gall to insult our looks today, but failing by calling us “imbreded”, a terrible attempt at saying we look “inbred”. The jokes write themselves. You’re one to speak considering the things I’ve listed above. I can guarantee, in any and every world, we look better than you on our worst day than you do on your best. That’s precisely why you won’t show your face, you are fucking hideous, and you know it. Showing a picture of yourself would erode any tiny shred of your credibility left concerning Eric and Dylan.

You say that you respect the dead more than the living, and pride yourself on your spirituality and your “ability to connect with the other side”, yet you talk about Eric and Dylan in the vilest ways that nobody should ever be spoken about, dead or alive. You live in a fantasy realm that has nothing to do with love. You claim that nobody could ever “love” them the way that you do, yet you dehumanize them every time you talk about them— speaking of them in a way that is only reflective of a horny, depraved girl who doesn’t have anyone else to project these feelings onto, because she can’t find someone to have sex with her. It’s understandable that you being overweight and not taking care of yourself repels potential love interests, but throwing all of your feelings onto two dead boys isn’t an acceptable coping mechanism, along with berating two girls who love them inside and out. Do you think Eric and Dylan would choose a girl who only wants to own both of them as sex slaves, or would they choose two beautiful girls who have never spoken of them in a way that wasn’t pure love? You couldn’t write for Dylan without oversexualizing him in his birthday post, writing disgusting paragraphs about BDSM you want to do with him— a dead 17-year-old boy. You’ve even gone as far as to say the ONLY reason you WASH YOUR FEET is for him; you call Eric your “meatbag” and your “submissive little bitch”. How can you love someone yet speak of them as if they’re nothing but a fucktoy? These two boys died by suicide because they were treated so horribly in their lives, just for someone like you to come onto this earth and drag them through the mud more even after death. It’s more than unfair that they suffered such torment in life, and even after death, they’re disrespected and shit on relentlessly by some lunatic like you. The men that are our angels are spoken about so fucking nauseatingly by you. It’s worse than hate. It’s complete dehumanization, the furthest thing in the world from love.

Beyond how you talk about them in such a stomach-churning way, what discredits you so much is your claim that you are “posthumously married” to both of them, yet you post incessantly about wanting to fuck or date a new person every day— and there is no possible way that you can accommodate to both of their needs with one personality and one physical appearance, on top of their intricacies such as astrological charts, upbringings, values— the list continues. Eric and Dylan are both vastly different individuals with different preferences in women. You are not two people, only one. You are by no means perfect for either of them, not even a close fit for their souls. That aside, they would not share the same woman beyond the grave with so many other options available, their perfect counterparts in front of them in every realm; emotionally, mentally, spiritually, romantically— and the two of us as best friends.

The friends you make and keep are those who are barely teenagers, if that, because they are young enough to be tricked by your false claims about metaphysics. You are a combination of things, and none of them positive— a liar, a sore loser, and clearly amid some mental health crisis that creates your false belief about BOTH of the Columbine shooters falling at your feet, struck by love. They are not touching you, they are not fucking you, they are not sitting on your bed and cuddling you to sleep at night. If you had the slightest clue about metaphysics, you’d understand that it takes regular spirits so much energy to do such a slight thing to show their presence, which is a unanimous agreement amongst people who have lost their loved ones and legitimate mediums.

The only time that people are so adamant about their unwavering belief in something not reflected by reality is when experiencing schizophrenia or psychosis. Your entire shtick is built on lies, fantasies you live out in your head, and some inconclusive illness that causes extreme delusions, whether you want to close your eyes and pretend or not. Your sheer resistance to exploring the fact that this is a problem created by your sick mind says everything about who you are. Even with an abundance of proof in front of you from two girls who are worlds better than you, you still fall asleep at night thinking you are undeniably the little princess of both of the Columbine shooters. You know who you are; you are a repulsive, pathetic excuse for a human being. Something they would never touch. You can cry, scream, bitch, and moan all you want— but you will never have what we have. Divinity placed us in the hands of Eric and Dylan. Take it to your candles and your sage, your shadow figures that prance around your room. This is something that can never be changed.

You need a doctor, a visit to the psychiatric hospital for a long time, and a heavy cocktail of antipsychotics, but that won’t fix all of your issues. I hope you sleep well surrounded by the mimic spirits you’ve invited in that prey on your vulnerability. It’s like watching a naive young girl in her tankini trying to seduce the attractive, teenage lifeguard at a hotel pool. You think you’re irresistible, hot fucking shit when no one wants to touch you. It serves you well, you’re such a nasty person inside and out, and you’re only deserving of bad energies you’ve named “Eric” and “Dylan” who are preying on how sick and sad you are. We were given handcrafted love by the universe, set for us long before the boys were ever born. Your “spirituality” is manufactured, and it won’t change a damn thing.

I implore you to stare at yourself in the mirror for a long while and pick out all of the things, mind and body, that Eric and Dylan would despise about you, which would be nearly everything if they even knew who you were. Know your place. You are worlds different from us; you cannot compete with your negative entities, while we have them both. So let me reiterate myself again: Dylan will not love you. Eric will not love you.

Before you start spam posting your account about your desire to murder both of us, know how stupid you are to have left a good enough paper trail of your personal information. Some things have been gathered from today after we were notified about your post, and other things sent to us by someone you have considered your friend. Be careful who you trust. We have no problem upscaling this to a legal issue if you can’t control your tantrums, and we know exactly where to take it.

— Eric’s Wife + Dylan’s Wife