#ethnic jewel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

Text

vampire joel: the first few days.

3k, vampire!Joel x f!reader | vampire masterlist FLASHBACK, occurs within the special one. WARNINGS: I8+ I guess; dark fluff; big girthy age gap (440s vs 20s-50s); excessive lore; softdark!Joel; kidnapping/captivity; mild angst; creepy behavior; irreverent humor; Joel has sweet and spicy thoughts and gets turned on; shifts to present tense after time lapse; Joel carries reader.

You’re a miracle. Running on you, Joel feels more alive than he has in a few hundred years. He almost feels alive alive. And it lasts. That little sip he took the night you met? It lasted so much longer than it should've, he began to wonder if you somehow un-turned him.

For years, Joel had sniffed out what he needed by instinct. He’d taken what he could get-–some here, some there-–subsisting on a rolling cocktail of different bloods. That was the trick to feeling good: diversify the sources. It was also the hardest part, but he found a way. After so many years, he stopped hoping he’d find the whole package in one warm body.

Over the years. Joel had known some other people like him-–he liked to think of himself as a person, at least. Some of them believed in the one; others were more pessimistic. He'd never met anyone who had found their special one, but for a long time, Joel believed it was possible, if improbable, that he'd find you one day. He thought about it a lot back then, visualizing you in different ways, with various personalities and interests. He thought about you in different genders, ethnicities, and bodies. He imagined different ways of meeting you. For all he knew, you could have been anyone. As time went on, he thought about it as less of a hope and more of a dream.

But then, one night, there you were. He wasn’t on the hunt. He wasn’t out for blood. He was enjoying a book and a beer. When you first looked in his direction, Joel assumed you had your eye on someone else. Then, he felt it: you were watching him. Your eyes met for a moment, then he looked down at his book again. He could hardly read the words on the page. That gaze of yours. . . you were like a magnet, pulling on him. He resisted, and left you alone, but out of the corner of his eye, he still caught your vibe. You were distracted. Your friends laughed together, and you sometimes joined in. And then, when your friends left, you stayed behind. Not for long, but long enough for Joel to decide to approach you.

Joel watched you slowly move toward the exit, and he was drawn to you. When he held the door and got close enough to smell you, he knew there was something special about you. When his hands met your bare shoulders in the alley (God bless that rat), he felt a warm rush, warmer than he felt in ages. When he tasted your lips, something ignited deep in the core of his being. And then, when his lips brushed your neck, it really hit him—you could be that special. He couldn’t resist an impulsive bite. He could only slow down enough to whisper an apology. Sorry. Only gonna take a little. When you wouldn’t let him kiss you again, he left you alone.

(He tried to.)

—----

When Joel’s first taste of you faded, the prospect of finding nourishment elsewhere wouldn't do. He had to find you and keep you.

By the time he met you again in the same alley, he was desperate enough that he didn't give you a chance to say no. Not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. Hurting you would be the last thing he'd want. You were a precious jewel. One of a kind. The scent of you was enough to put him at ease as he carried your limp body to the end of the alley. He draped you in the back seat of his station wagon, and put your bag in the passenger seat. It took all he had to wait until he got home.

He brought you inside and laid you down on a velvet chaise. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful. He almost kissed you right then and there, then remembered how you’d flinched away the last time, against your car, after he took that fateful sip. He would only take what he needed. He would do what was necessary, what fate demanded. He didn’t want to scare you. He didn’t want to hurt you. He covered your mouth and nose with the damp cloth again, just for a moment, for good measure, then put it aside.

Joel cradled your head, planted his lips on your neck, and bit into your flesh. Your blood rushed out of you like it wanted into him. It was intoxicating. He could hardly pry himself away. When he released you, he felt a wave of guilt, but it was overtaken by the physical rush. For almost an hour, he stayed kneeling there on the floor in front of the chaise, simply existing in the same space as you, and watching you exist. Then he realized the only secure place to keep you was downstairs.

He brought you downstairs, laid you on the floor, then sat and watched you sleep until he remembered there were things he needed to do. He took off your shoe for you–the other must have fallen off upstairs–and chained you by the ankle. Then he went back up to the den.

Joel sat on the chaise, feet planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, staring at the antique rug, deep in thought.

He took you. He did it. Okay, what next? Keep you. Make sure no one takes you away.

He put on his glasses, turned on the TV, and started an episode of Dateline. Keith Morrison's voice was always so soothing, but it wasn't the right kind of story and hearing the family members talk kinda made him feel bad. He went to Investigation Discovery. After scrolling through some episodes, he found one that fit. He periodically nodded along with the reenactment, and paused it when he knew what to do.

Joel went out to his car to get your keys. Then, just as he finished ordering a Lyft, something buzzed under his elbow and he realized he was holding your bag. He dug for your phone and silenced a call. He pocketed the phone and put your bag back in his car. Oh God, he almost forgot that part. He rushed back inside and downstairs, cardigan trailing behind him for half the stairs, then slowing down and stepping as quietly as he could. He knelt on the floor and carefully lifted your hand. He pressed your thumb onto your phone and it unlocked. It worked. He changed your settings, then went back outside. He walked briskly down his long driveway. He let himself out of the gate and stood in the fog, waiting on his ride.

Joel didn't really go through your phone. He didn't want to violate your privacy more than necessary, but he also didn't want people to worry, and he didn't want you to worry about people worrying. It was still early–no need to respond yet. But on the ride to the cafe, Joel looked out the window and thought of texts that would buy him some time if people kept trying to reach you.

Fortunately, you were parked near the spot he walked you to before. Once he picked up your car at the cafe, he stopped for groceries on his way home, mentally patting himself on the back for remembering you needed food. Joel himself hadn't eaten in days. He was wholly preoccupied with the thought of you. Years ago, he got into cooking as a hobby, but at this point, he mostly ate and drank socially. Even if he was alone, it was a good way to get out of the house and interact with people.

Joel made a mental grocery list as he went into the store. Hemoglobin, you needed iron. Spinach, steak, spring mix, fish. Hey, he's not bad at this. The two of you were going to be just fine. Maybe you'd even enjoy a glass of wine with him. He picked up a bottle of red. His phone buzzed with a text and he ignored it.

****** Day 3 *****

Now, almost two days later, he’s seen you awake, he’s helped you to the bathroom, he's brought you a mattress and a sheet, and even coaxed you into eating.

You’re sleeping again, and you’re sleeping longer than he expected.

Joel watches you sleep again. At least that means you're comfortable. He dares to get on the mattress with you, but he stays on the opposite side, giving you personal space. He didn’t think this far ahead, and he’s having trouble thinking now. The only thing on his mind is the fact that he found you. He found you when he wasn’t even looking.

Joel snaps out of his trance when you begin to wake up.

—- ✨ you ✨—--

You rub your eyes, and as Joel comes into focus, you’re only half awake. He’s lying on the floor with his head resting in his hand, but he quickly sits up when he notices you wake up. He's dressed casual and cozy again. He leans forward, looking at you affectionately as you stir and stretch. Your heart flutters at the sight of him, like you’re still in the alley that first night when he kissed you. Then you feel the heavy chain around your ankle and it all comes back, like you’re in a bad dream. You slowly push yourself up into sitting. The chain drags as you move to the wall and slump down against it.

“You can't just—(yawn)--keep me here,” you tell him. You look at him pleadingly.

His face falls. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “You said that.”

Your eyes are heavy. “People are gonna look for me,” you hope. But really, you're bad at staying in touch. You've been known to shut down and take off for days or weeks at a time.

“Oh,” he perks up. “Don't worry about that.”

He braces his forearm on the mattress and reaches into his pants pocket to fish out your phone. He quietly reassures you, “Didn't want ya to worry.”

What did he do? Your stomach drops. With a little smile, he adds, “Didn't wanna wake you up.” He moves cautiously like he might startle you. The truth is, for some reason, you don't mind him being near you. He settles in by your side, sitting against the wall.

He smells so good, you try to breathe through your mouth so it doesn't intoxicate you (but what's the use). He holds the phone so you can see the screen. It looks small in his hand. He swipes open your text messages. Nothing unread. He opens the most recent one and watches your face in anticipation.

It's from a friend.

Her: what's up Her: call me, bitch You: Hey, bitch. Something came up and I'm not going to be around anymore. Her: lmao wtf You: Lmao, I met someone. Her: hey Her: call me You: Let’s catch up soon.

Your chest tightens. You close your eyes and take a deep breath (inhaling his soothing scent, ugh). When you open your eyes, he's studying you, waiting for you to say something. You turn and face him. His wrist folds, and the phone hangs sadly from his hand. You're leaning your head against the wall, looking at him.

“This isn't okay,” you tell him weakly.

He swallows and nods, “Sorry.” He dips his head and looks at you pitifully. “Tryin’ to help,” he whispers. His face and body language make it sound believable.

You look at the phone. “How does that—” you think better of reasoning with him. “Let me call her so she leaves you alone.”

He looks at you contemplatively.

“I’ll act normal,” you promise.

He looks you over, and concern spreads across his face. “No,” he states calmly, then pockets your phone again on the side farthest from you.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall for a few minutes, then the buzz of his own phone jolts you back to reality. Joel leans far enough away that he doesn't elbow you when he slides his phone out. The contact picture on his screen is a woman wearing glasses. He rejects the call and slides it back into his pocket.

You plead, “Lemme go and I promise I’ll come back.” He might not believe you, but you would. It's the (somewhat shameful) truth. You don't know where your survival instinct is. You've tried to conjure it. But you're drawn to him as though by a physical force. You might even be willing to take him home with you instead of being locked up here, but you don't offer that yet.

His brows knit as he searches your face. You wonder if he can see you're telling the truth. When your eyes meet, you feel something. You swallow and your eyes drift to the silver bits in his beard. After a moment, he shakes his head. No. He won't let you go. Your heart sinks. You feel a chill and wrap yourself tighter in the sheet.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself and abruptly sits up off the wall. He looks guilty. He takes his cardigan off, and the veins in his neck bulge. “C’mere,” he whispers.

He drapes the cardigan over you. It's remarkably cozy, like a warm hug of its own. He reaches over you to unlock the cuff and slip your foot out of it. He pushes the chain away. “C’mere,” he repeats and nudges you forward. He inches closer, and you let him. He gets behind you so he's sitting against the wall with you between his bent knees. You sit there rigidly for a minute, but you don't have the energy to stay tense. You relax into his strong arms, and they settle securely but comfortably around you. It feels like you're his plushie. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. He presses his lips into the crown of your head. Instead of pulling away, you relax more. Soon, you fall asleep. Your hands open and release the edges of the sheet wrapped around you.

— Joel 🩸 —

Joel sits there holding you while you sleep. He still feels bad that he took too much blood, but he’s not as worried anymore, and he won't let it happen again. You're just tired. You'll get your strength back. It makes him feel good to feel you breathing. Your back is against his tummy and chest. He slips his arms under the cardigan and brushes the smooth skin of your inner elbow, feeling the slightly raised vein. That's a good sign. He wants to kiss you there. He wants to kiss you everywhere. He's been waiting for you for hundreds of years. You have no idea how special you are.

You shift in your sleep, and he lets your head rest on his shoulder. He lightly strokes your temple and finds your forehead is beading with a fine mist of sweat. When you're sweaty enough that it might wake you up, he takes the special cardigan off you and puts it aside. Warmth is a luxury to him, not a necessity.

Earlier, he was worried about you sleeping too much. Now, you're so peaceful, and the feeling of you in his arms is so soothing, he doesn't want to wake you up.

He adjusts his arms. As he gently hugs you, his palm grazes your lower belly. It sends a wave of desire through him. He wonders if you'll let him, when the time comes. If the time comes–if you bleed, that is. He has a feeling you do. Maybe he should get you one of those menstrual cups in case you don't want him to. But God, he hopes you let him. He wonders what you’d feel like against his lips, what you’d taste like. He’s getting hard. He doesn't want you to wake up, feel him hard against you, and think he's a pervert.

You've felt him hard against you before, that first night, but it's different now, because you're here and you didn't ask to be. He squints at that harsh reality. He's counting on you forgiving him and understanding. He wonders if there's any other way he could have done this. Could he have resisted that first bite? He feels regretful for a minute, playing out an alternate reality in his mind, however self-loathingly optimistic the alternate reality is.

He could've resisted. He could’ve ignored what he smelled and tasted in you. He could've treated you like a regular woman. He could’ve acted like a normal man. He could've slid his hands between your ass and your car and pulled you into him as you made out. He could've invited you back to his place.

He could've laid you down on the sofa and pressed himself against you as he kissed (and only kissed) your neck. He could've pulled your dress up, kissed you from your breasts down to your knees, pulled your underwear off, left your sneakers on. He could’ve tasted your cunt, he could've fucked you.

He could've taken you on dates, romanced you, and made love to you. . . Maybe. If you wanted. You did, you wanted it, he could feel it. He could hear it in your voice that night.

“Fuck,” he whispers; he's pretty hard now. He twitches against you.

You sigh in your sleep, barely audible, but it nearly does him in. His heart races, and his hands come to your hips, gently nudging you forward. God, he wants to pull you closer, not push you away. He carefully begins to scoot out from under you. He lays you on your side and tucks the sheet around you. He picks up his cardigan and slowly gets off the mattress. He stands up and lets his palm graze the hard bulge in his pants. He feels like a sicko. But God, he hopes you let him do these things one day. All of it. He hopes you do these things together. He hopes you want it again.

He hopes you want him.

--------

Wow, you made it all this way and I didn't even really put out! Thank you so much for reading 🥹

I'm still trying to use @toxicfics for notifications but from what i hear, it's kinda hit or miss, as are the tags sometimes lmao.

@silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz

@within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading @daddy-dins-girl

#joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #dark fluff #vampire!joel #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #toxicanonymity ☠️#vampire!joel ☠️

581 notes · View notes

fiddles-ifs · 2 years ago

Text

🗡DEMO (COMING SOON!) 🗡CHARACTERS 🗡PLAYLIST

Rated 18+ for violence and sexual content. Trigger warnings will be provided at the beginning of each chapter.

The king is dead. Long live the king. Alandria is scarred from six long years of war. After a chance encounter in the field, heir-apparent Lisandro hires your mercenary band as security for his upcoming coronation. Now, you find yourself in the nebulous web of lies, schemes, and murder that make up Alandrian politics. When the future king falls deathly ill, it's your job, as the mercenary band's only healer, to figure out what's killing him. The king is dead. Love live the king.

🗡FEATURES

Customizable MC. Play as male, female, or non-binary; trans or cisgender; inter or endosex; customizable pronouns. Customize your appearance, and personality. Tailor your approach to patients -- do you rely on science and surgery, or magic and faith?

Four unique ethnic backgrounds. Alandrian -- the kingdom you find yourself in after ten years. Iskarian -- the expansive empire to the south, and the jewel of the world. Mani -- the nomadic people unwelcome in the north. Ruz -- hailing from the frigid, barren archipelago across the northern sea.

Who were you in your past? A peasant? A former noble? A monastic? Part of a cult? Each ethnicity has four unique origins to choose from -- each origin will impact the story in different ways.

Romance. Or not! Four romance options, two gender-selectable. Play as gay, straight, bisexual or asexual; allo or aromantic.

Solve a medical mystery. Save the king however you can.

Change the course of history. Your proximity to royalty puts you in a position to play the great game -- in fact, you have to, to stay alive.

POV Switches. See some parts of the story from the point of view of the ROs and other characters.

Keep your secrets hidden. They cannot find out.

🗡ROMANCE OPTIONS

Sibir Temyurinkai. [She/her, he/him, they/them] Your best friend for more than a decade. A mercenary warlord many people can't read. You have a lot of history. Maybe even too much. You make them vulnerable. Flavor of romance: friends-to-lovers, love epiphany, UST, shippers on deck.

Lisandro Abarcas. [He/him] The young king uncrowned of Alandria. He's hired Sibir (and therefore you) to be extra security for his upcoming baptism and coronation, but a mysterious illness forces you to play doctor. Flavor of romance: courtly love, Uptown Girl, savior complexes

Idali Abarcas. [She/her] Duchess of the northern province of Baqueria, second in line to the throne, Lisandro's older sister and vicious rival. A cunning, calculating opponent -- but she might be willing to work with you. Flavor of romance: Uptown Girl, Defrosing the Ice Queen, #girlbossmode, dancing with danger

Tesias. [She/her, he/him, they/them] A very mysterious masked traveler. They offer advice and information -- for a price. As a spy, you can't trust anything they say -- but you know they want revenge. And they want it now. Flavor of romance: [INFORMATION CORRUPTED]

🗡TAGS + LINKS

[TKP ASKS] [SIBIR] | [LISANDRO] | [IDALI] | [TESIAS] [DISCORD]

#the king's physician #intro post #interactive fiction #dark fantasy #romance #mystery

757 notes · View notes

timelessfineries · 3 months ago

Text

Collier africain Massai à breloques /// Timeless Fineries

#bijou africain #bijou ethnique #collier africain #bijou massai #collier ethnique #mode africaine #timeless fineries #african jewellery #massai choker necklace #ethnic jewel #african fashion #african choker

1 note · View note

cedric-k-rossignol · 5 months ago

Text

Black Butler & Celtic Legend Part 1 - The Omen of The Dragons

Alright y'all, back on my medieval French Celtic literature shit. Excuse my ADHD ass hopping from theory to theory. I'm excited and sad about this one as it's my prediction for Undertaker's final fight - and it's not looking so good 😞

In Part 2 of my French Crown Jewels Series I theorized that Undertaker is in possession of some of the gemstones he recovered from the Order of the Golden Fleece insignia for Louis XV. This contains, among other gems, the original diamond from which the Phantomhive family ring was made (referred to as The Hope Diamond in season 1 of the anime). I theorized that within the insignia, Undertaker is represented by le Côte-de-Bretagne, the spinel carved into a red dragon.

And I think Undertaker is also represented by the red dragon in the Arthurian tale of King Vontigern and his construction woes - The First Legend of Merlin.

In this legend a monarch is attempting to build a tower above a pool of water, and when the foundation fails each night, he's advised that in order to successfully build the tower he must sacrifice a half-human child. However upon digging into the foundation he finds two dragons fighting, one representing the native Britons, the other representing the invading Saxons...

LET'S TALK ABOUT DRAGONS BABY.

Usual disclaimer - I have not been able to find evidence of this legend being discussed before in relation to Black Butler. Please tell me if it has.

A Very Brief & Simplified History of Brittany

First off, I want to clarify a few things about Brittany, France, just in case anyone's confused. If you're not confused about the relationship between Britons and Bretons, feel free to skip this part!

Brittany (French: Bretagne) is a peninsula, historical country and cultural area in the north-west of modern France, covering the western part of what was known as Armorica in Roman Gaul.

In the 6th century, Celtic people (Britons) fleeing the Anglo-Saxon invasion immigrated from Great Britain to Brittany, which was then a part of Armorica (meaning land by the sea).

By the 11th century, Brittonic-speaking populations had split into distinct groups: the Welsh in Wales, the Cornish in Cornwall, the Bretons in Brittany, the Cumbrians of the Hen Ogledd ("Old North") in southern Scotland and northern England, and the remnants of the Pictish people in northern Scotland.

So by the 11 century, the Britonic people have separated into distinct cultural and geographical groups, and have developed their own distinct languages - but the Welsh, Cornish, and Breton people all descend from the same ethnic group, the people who had inhabited the British Isles since the iron age (800 BC) and spoke Brittonic. The Irish, Scottish, and the Manx (those who inhabit the Isle of Mann) descend from those who spoke Goidelic (Gaelic).

Brittany became an independent kingdom and then a duchy before being united with the Kingdom of France in 1532 as a province governed as a separate nation under the crown. Brittany is the traditional homeland of the Breton people and is one of the six Celtic nations, retaining a distinct cultural identity that reflects its history.

When Undertaker was alive in the 14th century, Brittany was ruled by the Dukes of Brittany. In 1532 they officially became a part of France, but they've always retained a unique identity and there is a strong separatist movement today to seek further independence from France. Brittany is sort of the 'Québec' to France's 'Canada'.

The most relevant information to know is that before the middle ages, the people who inhabited the regions now known as Wales and Brittany shared a heritage and a common tongue. The legend of King Arthur takes place in both England and Brittany (I believe the Isle of Avalon in the world of Black Butler will be off the coast of Brittany) and Arthur and his companions are important historical/mythological figures in both Welsh and Breton culture.

Historia Regum Britanniae

I am going to focus on analyzing the Omen of the Dragons as it appears in The History of the Kings of Britain or Historia regum Britanniae, a work of historical fiction that was written in the 12th century. It chronicles the lives of the Kings of Britons from the founding of the British nation up until the Anglo-Saxons assumed control of much of Britain around the 7th century. Historia regum Britanniae is one of, if not the central piece of The Matter of Britain, a body of medieval literature associated with Great Britain, Brittany, and their legendary kings and heroes, particularly King Arthur. The lais of Marie de France, one of which I detailed in my Rossignol theory post, are also part of The Matter of Britain.

The First Legend of Merlin as portrayed in Historia Regum Brittanie

The First Legend of Merlin revolves around the characters of the half-human boy Merlin/Ambrosius and the Monarch, King Vortigern.

It should be noted that this legend is sourced from an already existing story and that the figure of Merlin is imposed onto the real life 5th century historical figure Ambrosius Aurelianus. Ambrosius was a war leader of the Romano-British who won an important battle against the Anglo-Saxons.

King Vortigern himself was a native Briton, but he is portrayed to be a betrayer of his own people - or at the very least, an easily manipulated fool. He invited the Saxons to England - brilliant fucking idea, mate - and married a Saxon.

Vortigern was a 5th-century British ruler best known for inviting the Saxons to Britain to stop the incursions of the Picts and Scots and allowing them to take control of the land. He is regularly depicted as a villain or, at best, weak-willed and unable to control the Saxons once he arranged for, or encouraged, their arrival in Britain.

In the legend, King Vortigern has lost all his other fortified holds, so he asks his advisors/ 'magicians' for advice and they tell him to build another. Seems kind of obvious to me... Except all work that they do vanishes overnight.

At last he had recourse to magicians for their advice, and commanded them to tell him what course to take. They advised him to build a very strong tower for his own safety, since he had lost all his other fortified places. Accordingly he made a progress about the country, to find out a convenient situation, and came at last to Mount Erir, where he assembled workmen from several countries, and ordered them to build the tower. The builders, therefore, began to lay the foundation; but whatever they did one day the earth swallowed up the next, so as to leave no appearance of their work.

So Vortigern asks the magicians and they advise him to take the next logical course of action - child sacrifice, my liege, duh!

Vortigern being informed of this again consulted with his magicians concerning the cause of it, who told him that he must find out a youth that never had a father, and kill him, and then sprinkle the stones and cement with his blood; for by those means, they said, he would have a firm foundation. Hereupon messengers were despatched away over all the provinces, to inquire out such a man.

Now, at this my ears perked up like a fucking dog's. A youth that never had a father - that's a phrase that sounds like it could have been subjected to many a translation. After all, what does a child that never had a father mean? A child who was hatched from an egg? A kid whose dad went out to buy cigarettes and never came back? An orphan? A bastard? A child whose father was dead before they were even conceived?

Sure enough, when I scrounged around for another translation:

“The child must be borne of both woman and demon.”

And yet another interpretation merely states that the child cannot have a "mortal father".

His wizards claim that only by mixing in the blood of a child who has no mortal father will he make the foundations sound.

Ancient engineering is a trip, eh? I so love living in a time where we don't rely on mixing the blood of children into our concrete to prevent a sinking foundation.

Now, as to what Vortigern was attempting to build... Sometimes it's a "fortress", sometimes it's a "citadel", but most often the translation reads as a "tower". Another aspect of the legend remains consistent - the construction is always occurring either above or next to a body of water.

So a monarch is trying to build a structure (a tower over water), and is mysteriously unable to begin his project. His advisors tell him in order to proceed, he must sacrifice a child - one sired by a non-mortal upon a mortal woman.

Monarch/Warlord = King Vortigern = Queen Victoria

Structure over water = tower above pool = Tower Bridge over the Thames

Monarch's advisors = Vortigern's magicians = John Brown

Half-mortal child = Ambrose/Merlin = Vincent Phantomhive

Tower bridge under construction in 4x11

It's long been speculated that the events of December 14th, 1885 (namely, the murder of Vincent Phantomhive) are connected to the Tower Bridge, a project Prince Albert took a particular interest in. It began construction on April 22, 1886 (around four months after Vincent's murder) and is referenced several times in the manga...and in season 1 of the anime, the unfinished bridge is where the final confrontation between Sebastian and Ash/Angela takes place.

Sebastian & the angel Ash on the unfinished Tower Bridge in 1x24. Souls forming a seal above the bridge while the city of London burns in 1x24.

The bridge in the anime is built with/contains human sacrifices, and Sebastian states in all likelihood it was Ash/Angela (the advisor) who instructed Victoria (Vortigern) to build the bridge.

Ash states that "no demon must be allowed to enter through this gate" and that soon "all of eastern London will be safe from impurity". Eastern, specifically 👀 remember this for later...

Horrible CGI human sacrifices in the bridge's foundation in 1x24

Back to the legend - the kings advisors go searching and find such a child who has no father, a boy whose mother claims to have laid with none other than a being who had long haunted her before lying with her in the shape of a beautiful young man. The king consults his advisor, who tells him that Merlin's father was likely an incubus.

For, as Apuleius informs us in his book concerning the Demon of Socrates, between the moon and the earth inhabit those spirits, which we will call incubuses. These are of the nature partly of men, and partly of angels, and whenever they please assume human shapes, and lie with women. Perhaps one of them appeared to this woman, and begot that young man of her."

Further versions of the legend add that Merlin/Ambrose is actually created as the antichrist. However Merlin is never portrayed as a malevolent force; having been baptized by his mother, he is freed from the Devil's influence, and yet still has the kick-ass powers. You get the best of both worlds, I guess.

The Omen of The Dragons

Merlin speaks with the king and when he finds out his intent is to sacrifice him, he reasonably suggests to him and his followers that before you go around sacrificing children maybe you should take a look at what's underneath the tower! And for this, they name him a prophet. Turns out common sense is magical! So they dig up the ground, and they find a pond underneath the tower which has been the cause of the foundation sinking.

Then said he again to the king, "Command the pond to be drained, and at the bottom you will see two hollow stones, and in them two dragons asleep." The king made no scruple of believing him, since he had found true what he said of the pond, and therefore ordered it to be drained: which done, he found as Merlin had said; and now was possessed with the greatest admiration of him. Not were the rest that were present less amazed at his wisdom, thinking it to be no less than divine inspiration.

Lo and behold, when they look they find two dragons, just as Merlin had predicted. The translation here is a bit misleading - the true spirit of Vortigern's reaction seems to be more along the lines of fearful reverence - he and his men were intimidated by Merlin/Ambrose's abilities.

The dragons, one red and one white, wake and fight each other with fire over the lake as the king looks on.

As Vortigern, king of the Britons, was sitting upon the bank of the drained pond, the two dragons, one of which was white, the other red, came forth, and approaching one another, began a terrible fight, and cast forth fire with their breath. But the white dragon had the advantage, and made the other fly to the end of the lake. And he, for grief at his flight, renewed the assault upon his pursuer, and forced him to retire.

So the white dragon, who represents the Saxons, triumphs over the red dragon, who represents the Britons. They fight over a body of water, and cast fire with their breath. In the end, the white dragon defeats the red dragon.

I fear this does not bode well for Undertaker.

Undertaker's Fate

Within the insignia for the Order of the Golden Fleece of Louix XV, the Spinel carved into a red dragon is literally called "the coast of Brittany". Here, the red dragon represents the Brittonic people from whom the Bretons descended. Undertaker is the Celtic dragon.

As for the white dragon, who represents the Saxons - I believe this will be John Brown, servant of Queen Victoria. Queen Victoria is herself descended from the Anglo-Saxon regime of England, her mother was a Saxon, as was her husband/cousin Prince Albert. Worth noting that king Vortigern, though a native Briton, married a Saxon.

Undertaker has outright stated that he does not care for Queen Victoria - but there are hints in the events of his past that his feelings towards her are a bit more strong than dislike. I think it's more accurate to say he hates her guts, especially after Claudia's death.

Queen Victoria was born in May of 1819. The massacre at Reaper HQ (a far cry from Undertaker's previous behaviour working as a reaper) likely occurred in 1819 as well. This was also the year in which the name "Cedric" first appeared in the newly published novel 'Ivanhoe'. May 1819 was also when Keats wrote "An Ode to a Nightingale", which is the cornerstone of my "Rossignol" last name theory. 1837 is the year in which Queen Victoria ascended to the throne - this lines up with the date when Undertaker officially deserted the reapers, taking his death scythe with him. 1847 is also the year of death for Undertaker's first chronological locket, Molly G.

These dates aligning link Undertaker's rebellion against his superiors to Victoria's rise to power. However, a 1v1 of Grandma Vicky vs Grandpa Reaper probably wouldn't be all that compelling of a fight.

Enter Queen Victoria's servant (in real life, and in the anime) John Brown.

John Brown in 4x10 - Sick Shades, Bro! Not conspicuous at all!

John Brown was a real person who served Queen Victoria in the aftermath of Prince Albert's death (and there is speculation that he and Vicky had an affair). But the real John Brown died on March 27, 1883 - and as I've discussed at length, Yana seems to be deliberate in the timing of significant events in relation to real world historical figures. That the 'real' John Brown in the manga died 2 years before Vincent Phantomhive was murdered is not a coincidence - rather, I think something else assumed John Brown's identity upon his death, and may have convinced Queen Victoria that Vincent Phantomhive needed to die...

There's been a lot of speculation about what John Brown is; another reaper, a demon, or an angel*. But he is most definitely not human. Not with those fuck-ass snow goggles.

*For the record, I think John Brown is indeed an angel.

Both characters of John Brown and Ash fill the same roles as the Queen's closest protector and advisor - the 'magicians' to Victoria's 'Vortigern'. The White Dragon Undertaker fights will not literally be Queen Victoria, but John Brown - and it seems Undertaker, GOAT that he is, will have finally met his match.

I think this will be Undertaker's final act in the manga, to reenact the fight between the red dragon and white dragon over the water by the half-built tower as detailed in the Historia regum Britanniae. Undertaker will fight the Saxon dragon, John Brown...

And Undertaker will lose.

In the finale of season 1 of the anime, Undertaker is distantly involved in the fight between Sebastian and Ash/Angela on the tower bridge (while the city of London burns down around them). He teams up with the other reapers (William and Grelle, and unnamed reapers #1-4) to disconnect the 'hearts of souls' feeding Ash/Angela's power. Undertaker's actions weaken Sebastian's final opponent and enable Sebastian's victory (and therefore, Ciel's). And once again - I think season 1 provides a loose interpretation of what will happen in the manga.

His role in the manga will likely be much more significant. I think he will still team up with the other reapers, but it won't be to snip black clouds because Will agreed to waive his fucking library fines. Undertaker's going to go out fighting...

I think Undertaker will meet his ultimate demise in fighting John Brown, but in doing so, he will enable Sebastian's victory and Ciel's revenge - and perhaps also stop whatever it was he learned back in 1819 that caused his initial rebellion.

Now excuse me while I go pre-grieve 😭

Lludd & Llefelys

This isn't particularly relevant - except this peaked my interest because it sounds vaguely familiar to what I understand about the Mother3 theory, so I'm throwing it in here. In the 13th century (after Historia regum Britanniae was published) the tale of Lludd and Llefelys was written as an origin for how the two dragons came to be buried underneath the pool at Dinas Emrys.

As to how the dragons became confined there, the story of Lludd and Llefelys in the Mabinogion gives details. According to the legend, when Lludd ruled Britain (c.100 BC), a hideous scream, whose origin could not be determined, was heard each May Eve. This scream so perplexed the Britons that it caused infertility, panic and mayhem throughout the realm. In need of help Lludd sought counsel on this and other matters from his brother Llefelys, a King of Gaul. Llefelys furnished the information that the scream was caused by battling dragons. The scream would be uttered by the dragon of the Britons when it was fighting another alien dragon and was being defeated. Lludd heeded the advice given to him by Llefelys and captured both dragons in a cauldron filled with mead when they had transformed themselves, as apparently dragons did, into pigs. The captured dragons were buried at the place later called Dinas Emrys, as it was regarded as the safest place to put them.

But that's not the only way this story might relate to Mother3...

Only Two Dragons - But I Thought The Dragon Must Have Three Heads???? Wait wrong show

Two dragons not enough for you? What about Sebastian, the guy who literally loves to light shit on fire, you cry out in dismay? Doesn't he get a dragon?

Fear not my friend, I've got you covered.

There is a much lesser known prophecy that is a sort of an addendum to Merlin's prophecy. It is contained in a series of texts called The Prophecy of the Eagle, and it foretells the Norman invasion of England...

"As the White Dragon expelled the Red Dragon so a Dark Dragon will throw out the White Dragon. The Dark Dragon, fierce and terrible, will come flying and burn up the whole island with the corrupting fire of its mouth. From its loins will come forth a ram with a fine fleece that will strike with its horns in the east."

And that's where I will pick back up in Part 2, on The Prophecy of The Three Dragons! Because really, are two dragons ever sufficient?

Thank you for reading all this! If you're interested in checking out my other theories you can find a masterpost of them here. My ask box is open and I'm always happy to talk about this stuff, if you have any comments to share or questions to ask. (Note that I will answer publicly unless otherwise specified - also note that if you've asked a question and haven't received an answer yet, it's probably because I referenced this theory and wanted to post it first!)

Going to go cry into a tub of ice cream over my prediction of Undertaker's fate now, bye.

42 notes · View notes

angelsstranger · 1 year ago

Text

everyone can hate me for tjis but i started reading the locked tomb in 2018 so i have had more than enough time to realize i really find the fandom so so annoying and almost all my criticism for tm as a white author dipping her toes into writing about Maori people and their relations to colonialism have never been adressed after years and the fans still can only compare it to baru another speculative fantasy about colonialism written by a white author. the books are powerful but please i think there is something to be said of white authors making up genocides as allegories for real ethnic cleansings instead of simply platforming indigenous authors. i am willing to do a reread on baru to give it another chance and i love tlt. but i think a bit too much credit is given to Tamsyn Muir as an author for taking the typical approach of never confirming in text the race or ethnicity of her characters beyond a few vague mentions of skin tone and a tumblr post she made after the publication explaining things that should have been adressed straight on in the narrative.

and seth dickinson is clearly very educated and well-read but also my read of baru kind of had me thinking about how i never hear fans of the locked tomb raving about authors like Octavia Butler, Carmen Maria Machado, Andrea L. Rogers, Benjanun Sriduankaew, Jewelle Gomez or any other related fiction authors of queer stories born from their cultures and of their people.

as a white reader writer and creative, i want to encourage other white people to broaden your horizons and read lesbian and queer stories that weren’t written by white people and read new perspectives outside of your ethnicity. I have found deeper narratives that challenge colonialism here and without the need to invent fictionalized indigenous people and fictional brutalizations. Enough subtext ! Read something explicit!

#foxreads #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #btw i am a years long fan of the series im not just trashing there is a lot to resonate with but also criticisms are necessary too

116 notes · View notes

strzxrin · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ the crown prince ˎˊ˗ — zalerus mistsea.

voice message received . . . “don’t you know the saying? you tend to desire what you can’t have. and that my dear, i desire you.”

world . pevarra

age . 29

gender . male

ethnicity . the ocuidaes

species . naga

untold truth . he is madness wrapped in velvet robes, an enigma draped in jewels and menace. he moves with an eerie grace, like something ancient pretending to be human. his presence is unsettling: eyes too sharp, smile too wide, silences too long. he speaks in riddles, commands with quiet finality, and laughs at things no one else finds funny. the servants call him mad, but never to his face. aloof and unpredictable, he rules the room like a coiled storm, both beautiful and dangerous. even in stillness, he feels like something barely restrained — one wrong word away from unraveling into something feral. but to you… his madness shifts. he softens, slightly, enough to show glimpses of something achingly gentle beneath the mania. he’ll speak more clearly, linger in your presence, brush hair from your face with reverent claws. but he is still him, possessive, obsessive, dangerous. his love isn’t gentle; it’s consuming. he doesn’t understand boundaries, only closeness. he will wrap himself around you, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and dare the world to try and take you away. he would kill for you without blinking. he would destroy himself before letting you go.

appearance.

long straight black hair that ends on his mid chest with curtain bangs that parts in the middle. his hair is always loosely tied to the side and brought on his right shoulder.

purple eyes with slitted pupils, resembling a snake as his cheeks have scales that are slightly translucent.

sharper and more masculine features with a straight nose and thin lips.

6”2 ft (187 cm) with an athletic build that is more on the leaner side, and pale skin. his lower half is a snake body.

he wears loose clothes, something easy to throw on and nothing that would take up his time. usually it would just be a silk robe that would be tied to his stomach yet you would be able to see his chest.

incoming voice call . . . “i could have anything else in this world we know, yet i find myself only wanting you.”

the air within the sea was thick with the scent of roses; sweet, heady, and cloying as syrup, wrapping around you like a silken noose. you hadn’t meant to stumble upon this place. truly, you hadn’t. the castle was vast and ancient, its wings sprawling out like the skeleton of a sleeping beast.

as the newly appointed royal alchemist, you had only been exploring, trying to familiarize yourself with the grounds you now called home. curiosity had tugged at you like an invisible thread, pulling you down hidden corridors and overgrown paths until you found yourself before a tall wall of ivy. something about it had beckoned — a whisper on the breeze, the glimmer of something secret beyond the leaves. when your fingers brushed aside the ivy and the small wrought-iron gate creaked open, you felt the first flicker of unease… but it was already too late.

the garden beyond was unlike anything else on the castle grounds. enclosed by towering hedges and veiled in gold-dappled shadows, it felt sealed away from time itself. the roses, dozens upon dozens of them, bloomed in impossible perfection, every petal a soft curl of ivory silk. their scent was overwhelming, almost narcotic. you wandered deeper, drawn by the haunting serenity of it all, even as a low sense of wrongness began to worm its way into your chest. the cobblestones were too clean, the garden too quiet. there were no gardeners, no tools left behind. it was as though the space tended itself, or had been so obsessively maintained that no trace of imperfection was ever allowed to exist.

then the silence cracked.

the sound of footsteps broke through your reverie, sharp and deliberate against the cobblestone path. you turned quickly, your heart leaping into your throat as a figure emerged from the shadows of the trellis. “who,” he said, voice like the bite of winter steel, “gave you permission to be here?”

the question lanced through the stillness, more accusation than inquiry. you opened your mouth to explain, but no sound came. his gaze held you like a trap. you could feel the weight of it pressing down, feel the sudden chill that stole into your veins. it was only then that you realised the truth, this wasn’t just any garden. this was his garden.

zalerus mistsea. the next in line for the throne. a name spoken in hushed tones within the castle halls. a mystery. a recluse. some said he was gifted beyond mortal measure, a prodigy of magic and mind. others said he had gone mad, shattered by something no one dared name. you hadn’t expected to ever meet him face to face, let alone trespass in his sanctuary.

“i don’t like when things are out of place,” he murmured, almost absently. “everything in this garden grows as it should. everything belongs.” you took a half-step back, but it was already too late. he was in front of you, impossibly close, and reaching out. his hand, pale and cool, came to rest gently against your cheek. the touch was tender, reverent almost, but behind that gentleness was something else. something raw. his gaze searched your face with frightening intensity, his voice dropping to a whisper that brushed against your skin like a prayer.

“i’ve watched you, you know. from the windows. in the alchemy wing. in the greenhouse. you speak to your vials as though they were children. you hum when you work. you shine,” he breathed, as though in awe. “you’re alive in a way nothing else here is. they don’t deserve you. they don’t even see you. but I do.”

your heart hammered in your chest. every instinct told you to run, but your limbs refused to obey. he looked at you like a starving man staring down a feast. his hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your face up just slightly. “i knew you would find your way here. sooner or later. the stars told me. the wind whispered it through the vines. you were meant for me. you were made for me.”

“i-i didn’t mean to intrude,” you managed to whisper. he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “but you did, didn’t you?” he said, voice soft and lilting, as though amused. “and now you’re here. and now… you’re mine.” behind you, the ivy-covered gate creaked, then fell still. the silence returned, but this time it was different. heavy. final. he laced his fingers through yours, gentle and unyielding. the roses swayed, their white petals rustling softly, almost approvingly. The garden, too, seemed to lean closer, as though it accepted you now—not as a guest, but as something claimed.

and as zalerus pressed your hand to his chest, to the frantic rhythm of his heart, his voice trembled with something dark and fragile. “if anyone tries to take you from me,” he said, golden eyes burning, “i’ll bury them beneath the roses. just like the others.”

#( the muse ) : zalerus mistsea #oc x reader #original character x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere oc #monster fucker #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #naga #naga oc #naga boyfriend #naga x reader #yandere teratophilia #teratophillia #terato #royal oc #royal x reader

17 notes · View notes

moonchild701 · 5 months ago

Text

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Arabian Nights

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<

Summary: Aizawa Shouta goes to a suspicious spa for a relaxing day, when things take a turn

Pairing: Aizawa/Harem Boys

Content Warning: Male Gay Sex, Smut, Dub/Non Con, Gangbang(?), Harem Boys, Hypnotism, Brainwashing, Drugging, Kidnapping, Chastity Cage, Cock Cage, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Prostate Massage, Prostate Massager/Toy, Nipple Play, Cumming Untouched, Milking, Prostate Milking, Unethical Masseuse Actions, It's porn, Body Oil, Body Hair, Pampering, Loosely based on Aladdin's aesthetics, This is not meant to be offensive in any way, though it is pretty stereotypical

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This was my first requested fic!! I had sm fun writing this, especially researching stuff to be at least somewhat accurate lol

Hope you like it @princeasimdiya12 !!🥰❤

My Masterlist

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Aizawa Shouta has been notably stressed lately; more so than usual. And as his friend, Hizashi decides that he needs a break. Just a day to relax and unwind. He knows that even that might be asking too much of him by himself, so he enlists their other friend Nemuri for help.

Together, Hizashi and Nemuri conspire and come up with a plan, and they somehow convince Shouta to go along with it.

They book him a spa day at a themed spa, Arabian Nights, and though he rolled his eyes and grumbled, Shouta is secretly grateful for the reprieve.

When they all get there, because they both feel the need to make sure he actually goes, Shouta gets the feeling that something is off.

He voices this to them of course, but is brushed off because they think he's either just trying to get out of it or the stress is making him paranoid, it could be either or both.

As they check him in, he scopes out anything and everything he can. The outside of the building looked normal enough, but the interior, even just the reception room, is like a whole new world in itself.

Intricate designs cover the cream walls and high ceiling, with gold accents; tapestries and paintings lining them tastefully. The carpet beneath their feet, and decorative pillows on the available seats are plush and a matching wine colour, while the furniture are all dark reds and browns, with potted plants placed at the corners of the room.

He takes notice of all the employees he can see, all of which are male, though of different ethnicities and stature.

They're all dressed to fit the theme of the spa, in puffy, cream coloured pants with the crotches dropped, tight, black, low cut V neck vests, and maroon sashes tied around their waists. Gold sashes are draped across their chests from their right shoulders to their left hips, and thick, gold bands adorn both of their wrists, along with a cream coloured headpiece, each with a slanted gold stripe across the front and a red jewel at the top center, most likely rubies.

When they're finished checking him in, he's lead through a detailed, arched doorway, to get started, with Hizashi waving him off, saying that they'll come pick him back up later when he's done.

Though, as Hizashi and Nemuri exit the building, they don't see the eyes of one of the employees glow a bright, swirling mix of red and gold as he looks at them leave.

And by the time they reach the car, they can't remember why they're here, where they are, and with no recollection of an Aizawa Shouta.

*****

The man leading Shouta is taller than him; slender and lithe, almost serpentine in his movements. He's dressed in a black, floor length robe with red bell sleeves and a low cut neck that shows off his muscular chest, a matching red sash around his waist, along with a tall, black headdress, a thin and wavy gold pattern wrapping around the middle, going downwards at the front, with a garnet stone situated just above his forehead, and a long, crimson feather above the gem; a maroon cloth attached to the base of the headpiece is draped over his shoulders. It's extravagant as it is, but to top it all off, a black, dramatic cape with a scarlet interior flows behind his every step.

Shouta thinks that that might be a bit much, but who's he to judge?

Just as he's starting to wonder just how far they're going, the man leading him stops in front of what seems to be a shower and changing room and turns to him, allowing him to take in his features properly. His eyes are dark red, lined in black and lidded, and he has a neat goatee and mustache which just seems to emphasize the sharpness of his jaw and high cheekbones.

His voice is low and damn near hypnotic as he directs Shouta to shower, just to freshen up, showing him to the towels and amenities. Shouta quickly obliges, as it seems to be like a pool or a public bathhouse; rinsing yourself off beforehand so that you don't bring in any outside dirt and germs.

When he gets out, the same man leads Shouta, now clad in nothing but a towel, to a large, opulent hot spring.

Ornately patterned tiles decorate along the walls, the high ceiling and around the spring itself. There are intricately carved pillars and arches, and statues of cobra snakes with embedded rubies for eyes placed around the room.

Shouta hides a scowl as he thinks how how much time and money is being wasted on this, though it's quickly wiped away as he settles into the water, it being far more pleasant than he anticipated.

He lets out a soft sigh as the warmth seeps into his skin, easing his muscles and draining the tension from him; sitting and soaking in the water for a long while, his head tipped back on a rock, eyes closed. Beads of water drip and trickle down the pale column of his throat, pooling in the dip of his collarbones and sliding down his pecs; facial and chest hair glistening with the droplets.

After only a few minutes, he begins to feel woozy. Though, the steam of the hot spring is rather thick, so he just chalks it up to it being the heat.

An attendant, dressed the same as those in the front lobby, brings him a bottle of water. It's sealed, so he assumes it's perfectly safe, and drinks.

By now he's completely relaxed, pliant really, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that something is wrong, but he doesn't know what.

Eventually, the same man in the dark robes come back to collect him. Shouta stands from the water, about to head over to the changing rooms, when the man stops him. It's then he realizes that the man has a towel thrown over his forearm that he holds out to Shouta, and a maroon pillow, with gold stitching and tassels hanging from the corners, in his hands with a black and gold box atop it.

Accepting the towel with quiet thanks and beginning to dry off, Shouta thinks he should really worry that he hadn't noticed that until then, but the thought is shoved down almost as quickly as it appeared.

At Shouta's questioning look, the man nods to the box with a smile. He steps forward, gently unclasping the latch. When Shouta sees what's within the box, he blinks confusedly, wondering if he's hallucinating.

A chastity cage.

All shining gold metal, nestled in velvet pillowing.

Brows furrowed, he asks, "Why?" The corner of the man's smile twitches, because really, he shouldn't be questioning anything at this point, but he takes a breath to keep himself calm. It probably just hasn't settled in properly yet.

Keeping his eyes locked onto Shouta's, he says, with that same low, hypnotic tone, that people often get aroused from the massages, ending up uncomfortable when they're face down because the position presses on it. The man smiles contentedly when Shouta accepts this and complies without any complaint or fight, not seeing anything wrong with what he said.

Shouta reaches for it before the man stops him. "Allow me to put it on for you, Aizawa-san." Shouta furrows his brows in hesitation, and seeing this, the man adds, "It is part of my job. I must ensure that it is on properly and securely." Shouta nods slowly, accepting the answer and ignoring the nagging hesitance at the back of his mind.

He's guided back inside to another room with a massage table, being directed to sit on it, thighs spread.

Propped up on his hands, Shouta gasps softly as the man kneels in front of him and grasps his soft cock in his large hand, his cheeks burning with embarrassment at the contrasting sizes. He's a grower, not exactly a shower, and it's obvious.

The man's hands are slender and graceful as he works, placing the gold ring of the device around his balls, then slipping the rest of the cage itself over his shaft.

"How does that feel, Aizawa-san?"

Shouta does his best not to squirm as he replies, voice strained. "Weird."

"But it doesn't hurt? There's no pinching?" He holds Shouta's gaze as he asks this, eyes intense and searching.

"Well, no, but—" he cuts himself of when his breath hitches at a stray jolt of pleasure when his touch brushes his tip.

The man hums in acknowledgment, ducking his head to hide his pleased amusement, fiddling with it a bit more before Shouta hears a soft click. "There we go."

A low heat settles in his stomach as he sees the gold cage surrounding him, contrasting prettily off of his dark body hair and pale skin.

A dangerous glint of satisfaction flashes in the man's eyes and Shouta flushes when his finger drags through the openings along the cage as he pulls his hand away. Shouta sucks in a sharp breath. The sensation is light, but that almost hungry look in his eyes makes it feel like so much more.

"Perfect." The man practically purrs, his voice hot and low, eyes dragging over him with intensity so potent that it feels like a caress in itself.

Shouta bites his lip, lest he says something mortifying, as the man stands back up. He moves over to a cupboard, taking out a few items of cloth before going back over to Shouta. "Please change into these, Aizawa-San."

Swallowing thickly, Shouta nods and stands, taking the clothes and quickly slipping them on.

It's a matching set of an open chest vest and baggy, puffy black pants with thick gold trimming, though they may as well be nonexistent with their thin, sheer material. The gold of the cage can still be clearly seen through them.

After he's finished changing, he's guided back to the same massage table, now adjusted to more resemble a chair, where other workers join them, quickly introducing themselves.

They're all of course unfairly handsome. Some with sharp features, others soft, with varying skin tones and ethnicities. Some are tall and muscular, while some are shorter and more lithe, but they're all dressed almost the same. All of them are in all white, silk, low cut robes, puffy pants and tall headpieces, with a matching cloth attached to the base of the headpiece, draping over their shoulders; the only difference among them being the variety of colours they each chose for their accessories, specifically the gem and feather adorning their headpieces, the sashes tied around their waists, and the sheer veil masks covering their noses and mouths, which match their eyes that are lined in black which make them stand out.

There are five of them, two dark skinned men with peridot and aquamarine eyes respectively, two tanned skin men dressed in emerald green and sapphire blue, and one with pale skin and amethyst eyes, seemingly albino, with snowy white hair peeking through his headpiece.

At first, it doesn’t register with him what’s happening, with them bustling around and setting up tables, appliances and products, but then they talk through the options of scents for the humidifiers, incense and massage oil. He chooses a light coffee and vanilla scent for the humidifier, cinnamon for the incense and rose for the oil.

When they're finished setting up, the same man in the red and black robes stands in front of him, hands clasped behind his back.

"They will now treat your hair, nails and skin, before the massage. Please be patient and enjoy." He explains, and they immediately begin as he leaves with a bow.

They adjust his seat, reclining it back to wash and treat his hair, while two take each of his hands, the ones with peridot and sapphire eyes, and begin carefully treating his nails, and another two, emerald and amethyst, does the same to his toenails after soaking, scrubbing, and treating his feet, all while the one with aquamarine eyes is behind him, treating his hair. When he's done with his hair, he moves on to giving him a facial, along with neatening his eyebrows and stubble.

And Shouta sinks. There's a low buzz of calm and peace from being pampered and taken care of, his eyes closed and breathing even as he relaxes with the aroma of the incense and humidifier in the air, and he's pretty sure they're all wearing the same sweet but mild perfume, though he can't place the scent. He doesn't know what could be causing it, but he feels loopy, his ability to think straight slipping away bit by bit.

By the time the manicure and pedicure are finishing up, along with the man doing his facial treatment, including a massage, his head is fuzzy and light.

The rose oil is warm on his skin when they begin the massage itself.

He starts at his jaw, going down his neck. From there, he goes to his shoulders, and then eventually his chest, all from behind him where his chair is tilted back, and Shouta barely reacts when they slip the vest off his shoulders and fully adjust the seat back into a table.

Now laying on his back, he pays no mind when they strip him back out of the very pants they instructed him to wear, now leaving him completely bare yet again, barring the chastity cage.

With multiple pairs of strong yet soft hands gliding over his body, Shouta feels utterly blissful as he basks in their ministrations, letting out soft, relaxed moans.

Every inch of him is given attention, from top to bottom. His upper half is paid great care as oiled hands knead his muscles and caress his skin, while the men at his lower half start from his feet and gradually move up his legs, rubbing out the tension.

He can't help but pant and squirm as hands simultaneously squeeze and knead his inner thighs and his chest, hands brushing over his now sensitive nipples, trying to muffle his little gasps and groans.

"Fuck," He whispers, voice all soft and breathy, then going higher and more breathless, turning into almost a whimpering moan as the man repeats the motion, grazing his palm over his nipple. "Fuck."

And Shouta freezes, going dead silent; his whole body locking up as his brain blanks. He feels himself flush to his chest as he clenches his jaw, eyes darting to them to gauge their reactions. It's absolutely mortifying to be affected like this, by this, but before he can begin to fully panic, one of them drags the nail of their thumb over his other nipple, while another rubs soothing circles into his upper thigh, making his breath hitch and hips twitch.

He sees the pleased smiles on their faces through their masks at his reactions, the intensity in their eyes, and he bites his lip, considering.

He really shouldn't. It's irrational, perverse; downright whorish really, and he's never done anything like this before.

Though, seeing the prominent bulges in their white pants and the heat of their gazes, feeling it in their lingering touches, settles his decision.

He spreads his legs further, arching his back into the touch. The man's smile widens, pale blue eyes shining as he presses a thumb to the pert bud, rolling over it and taking in the way Shouta's face melts. The man huffs a soft laugh, pinching the nub between his fingers, eliciting a gasp from Shouta.

From there, he suffers sweet torture.

They run their hands over his skin leisurely, along his sides, tummy and chest, play with his nipples until they're puffy and sore, and massage and stroke the sides of his crotch without ever actually touching his cock, teasingly only focusing on everything but where he needs it most, and all he can do is pant, moan and whine.

Humiliation burns through him as blood tries hopelessly to rush to his cock, but the cage does it's job and doesn't let it fill, only pathetically twitching. His nerves are alight with the pulsing, needy heat with nowhere to go.

He doesn't know how long he's played with like this, basking in their groping, deliciously torturous touches.

Momentarily freeing him from torment, he's mercifully flipped over, face directly in front of a taunting bulge that's so close, yet too far for him to actually reach without stretching.

Their mercy does not last long.

Brushing his dark hair to the side, exposing the pale expanse of his neck and back, they start at the base of his neck and his calves at the same time, and Shouta melts into the table as the sweet torture begins anew. Their hands move down his back, and up his legs to his ass simultaneously, more forceful than he expects, like they're actually massaging out the tension, lighting his every nerve aflame.

A part of him feels silly for thinking that he’d released all of his stress back in the hot springs. Shouta doesn’t remember his muscles being this loose in his life.

Though, that’s not exactly a surprise. With his career, it’s a miracle he hasn’t keeled over from stress before now, honestly.

What is his career again?

......

...........He—

He's quickly distracted from the thought when he realizes that his sensitive nipples are brushing against the table and the chastity cage is at an awkward angle, so he shifts, raising his hips a bit to alleviate the discomfort.

That's when he feels hands spread his thighs further, rubbing and squeezing the flesh there before moving up to knead and spread his asscheeks, while another hand slips between them, brushing over his hole.

Face down, ass up, his breath hitches and his hands tighten into fists beside his head as he feels oiled fingers glide over him there, a thick thumb rubbing over the tight ring of muscle.

He can't help but gasp and writhe as they tease and prod at him, slipping in just the very tip of a thumb, tugging at the tight rim, before immediately removing it, over and over again, all while the others continue to grope at his thighs and chest, hands slipping under him from where he's now propped up on his forearms.

And eventually, he can't take much more. "Mmn, stop teasing me." His voice is gruff and strained as he complains, but it just comes out thready and begging.

The men shiver at the sight of him, dark eyes glazed over and needy, lips shiny and swollen from biting them parted in panting little gasps, back arched beautifully and hips swaying tauntingly; his shiny, unshaven hole on show, winking and clenching around nothing, just begging to be filled.

They lament being unable to stuff him until he's dripping this very instant, knowing it's against the rules during working hours, but feel their cocks twitch in anticipation of the day they get to feel him wrapped around them, tight, pliant and hot.

For now, they settle for seeing him feel good and bask in it; some biting their lips at the sweet, low moan that's pulled from Shouta at a finger slipping into him slow and deep, others moaning right along with him at the sight of his hole greedily sucking in the thick digit.

It does nothing to make the desperation for his cock to get any sort of friction lessen, but Shouta can't help but rock back onto the finger, impatient for more as the man fucks it in and out, loosening him up.

It isn't long before he pulls out nearly all the way, a little whine of protest starting in the back of Shouta's throat, that quickly turns into a moan when instead of pressing in one, he has two of those long, thick fingers sinking into him.

His hole burns a little with the stretch, but even that feels good as he slowly pumps in and out, stretching him. He thrusts and twists them, dragging along his walls deliciously, before crooking his fingers, pressing them down and moving them inside of him like he's trying to create a hook towards his belly button, searching.

A long, low moan escapes him as his hands scramble for purchase on the table when a bolt of pleasure rushes through his nerves. He keens desperately, grinding back; the fingers pressing against his prostate again and he sees stars.

He feels mouths on his shoulders, lower back, and the back of his thighs, hot and wet as they nip as suck at his skin, leaving pretty marks and bruises in their wake on the pale canvas of his flesh, all while a hand fondles and plays with his balls just as a third finger slips in; and eyes rolled back, cock twitching in its confines, he can't do anything but moan and roll his hips, wanting them deeper, even as his nerves scream at him.

Because really, he shouldn't want it so badly, not when every stroke inside of his greedy hole is just making his cock hurt more, just making his muscles tense and fingers grip tightly onto the sheets of the table as his body tries desperately to find something to do with the pleasure wrecking his nerves.

The man scissors his fingers lightly while continuing to rub against his prostate, and Shouta's thighs tremble; practically vibrating and his cock aching.

And then the fingers are removed.

He whines needily, wantonly, as he tries to push up to complain, only to be held in place. One of them, the one with peridot eyes, chuckles lowly, tucking a strand of hair behind Shouta's ear and whispers, "Stay still, Gorgeous. We'll take good care of you." His voice is breathy and hot, all saccharine velvet as he tilts Shouta's head by his chin to the side.

Shouta turns, going with it, and sees the man dressed in sapphire blue holding something.

A toy.

It's black silicone, and thick, but Shouta can't help the breathy laugh that comes out as he takes in the shape of it.

Not a replica of a cock like one would expect, but not one of the less human and stranger variations he knows exist either. No, this is shaped like an upside down 'T', but also almost like a genie's lamp, with a handle and everything, with the top of it elongated and curved like a dick, away from the handle part, more towards the other end.

It takes a second with his brain so soaked in his heady arousal mixed with amusement for him to make sense of the shape, realizing the curve of it is going to push against his prostate perfectly.

Shouta hums a moan, desperate, sweet, and excited, ass swaying in anticipation.

When the thick, slick head presses against his twitching, stretched hole, Shouta forgets how to breathe. And when it starts to push inside, he thinks he forgets his name. His world narrows down to the glide of the solid weight that's gliding over his quivering walls as it pushes so achiniy slowly in, and in, and in.

By the time it's all the way inside, Shouta doesn't care one bit about rationality, or decency, or reputation.

Because he feels full, so full and so good, and oh fuck he was right about the shape; that thick head pressing up against his sweet spot has his thighs shaking, to the point that he feels like he's going to shake apart completely.

"How does that feel, Aizawa-san?" The man purrs, tone all teasing, velvet heat as he presses the toy in deep, rocking it, while hands and mouths continue to map Shouta's skin.

"Good, good, so fucking good, please—" the words trip over themselves to get off his tongue, it already feels so good, so much, but he already wants more, wants him deeper, wants him to move—

Their eyes are molten on him as they hear him beg so prettily, the man pressing the toy in firmly and grinding it against his prostate. They revel in the moan he sends echoing off of the walls, and it's all they need to keep going.

He pulls it back, about halfway out, before thrusting it in again, and grinding, and Shouta trembles and strains against the hands keeping him in place, not actually wanting it to stop but it's just so much more than he's used to, so new and so good. And though futile, he doesn't know what to do other than try to escape the pleasure before it completely consumes him.

The man does that over and over for a while that feels like hours on his frayed nerves, and all Shouta could do was pant and moan and take it.

He feels someone tuck his hair that fell back into his face behind his ear. Focusing his pleasure hazed gaze, he sees it's the one with amethyst eyes, the albino, though he doesn't know when they switched places. Seeing Shouta looking at him, he smiles, rubbing his thumb against Shouta's bottom lip, tugging on it. When Shouta parts his lips, slick tongue licking at it before sucking it into his mouth, he moves his thumb back and forth inside his mouth, fucking into it, eyes hungry on him as he coos, "Oh you were made for this, weren't you, Sweetheart? Who would've thought that the great Eraserhead would be so desperate to be stuffed full."

His tone is all teasing heat as he rubs his thumb against his gums and tongue, caressing and playing with his mouth, and Shouta wishes it was more than just a thumb that's pressing on his tongue. The man shudders as Shouta looks up at him from under his dark, glistening lashes, moaning around him, seemingly in agreement, until he pulls it out of his mouth with a wet pop.

Shouta's cock hurts. They won't touch it, and the man won't pull the toy back more than an inch before he's pushing it back against his sweet spot and it feels so good, feels like so much more than it really is with his cock all locked up and useless, his hole so much more sensitive.

He's close, so close to cumming, his orgasm is pressing against his nerves, pulsing across his whole body with a building insistence, but he knows he can't, knows his cock can't let it out; and it makes the need burn that much more. He didn't know he could feel so good, so desperate for release, without going over the edge, the pleasure instead just building on itself.

"I need to cum, plea-please let me cum, please—" he pants, voice slurring and strained, breathy and sweet as he begs. The man with amethyst eyes just smiles behind his mask, caressing his cheek and throat, the others running their hands all along his heated skin as the man fucking the toy into him hums in acknowledgment.

"You will, Aizawa-san. We'll help you, don't worry." He soothes, thrusting the toy in a little harder, drawing out another low moan from Shouta.

A hand pushes up lightly on his lower stomach as he grinds and rocks the toy against his prostate, settling the base of it directly against his perineum and balls.

"I'm going to help you now, Aizawa-san. I'm going to count down for you, and when I get to one you're going to stop fighting it and let go, hm?"

What?

"Five."

He can't—

"Four."

He can't cum with his cock locked up like this.

"Three."

Can he?

"Two."

Oh fuck.

"One."

Shouta's whole body tenses as the toy starts to vibrate. Against his prostate, his perineum and his balls, the entire thing takes him apart from the inside out. That sudden burst of new sensation along with the grinding pressure, tips him over the edge, and he dissolves into nothing but loud pants and desperate moans.

But he's not orgasming.

His body feels like there's a thinner kind of pleasure pushing through it, taking away a little of the pressure, but it doesn't feel as immediate, as strong or good, as his orgasm usually does.

And then he feels it. His cock twitches in his pretty golden cage and he looks to sees a slow constant trickle of cum spilling out of him against the sheet covered table, before his vision goes white; his mouth dropping open in a silent, screaming moan, painting the table with thick globs of his release.

"There we go. Perfect, baby. So good for us." The man praises, breathy and fond as he keeps the toy vibrating, low but on, as he shallowly fucks it in, grinding it against him. But it's still enough, still too much, still perfect.

Still makes Shouta let out another little moan when he moves it, making more spill out of him as his eyes roll back. And it doesn't stop, it keeps going, trickling out in thick globs; that burning ache slowly being drained out of his soft cock, spilling out and out against the table, soiling the cloth there.

It's so much, both almost too much yet not enough. Though amplified by the hands and lips roaming his skin, it's not satisfying in the way an orgasm usually feels; it's more of that continued, gentle, pressing pleasure, but stronger. No, this is different from an orgasm, he's not cumming.

He's being milked.

It lasts so much longer than he's used to, like it's pulsing out across his veins for ages, before it finally stops, turning into just a few more drops, and he finds himself laying limp against the sheets, his arms giving out beneath him, muscles trembling as he tries to greedily fill his lungs with air, though his lower half is still being held up by them.

And he can't do anything but lay there and let out a thin whine as the man pets his hand over the swell of his ass as he eases the still vibrating toy out of him.

The drag of it over his sensitive walls and swollen hole gives his body another little flicker of utter bliss as it slips out, his cock giving another tiny, pathetic twitch in response in its cage.

The man with amethyst eyes strokes his hair, running his blunt nails over his scalp, easing him back to his senses. When Shouta blinks glossy, dazed eyes up at him, he pulls his mask down, running his tongue along Shouta's bottom lip, licking up a line of drool from the corner of his mouth, before fully slotting their mouths together in a deep, languid kiss.

Shouta moans weakly into his mouth when he feels his grip tighten in his hair while hands grip his asscheeks, spreading him open. He shivers at the cool air hitting his sensitive, gaping hole, hips twitching at a thumb running along the puffy rim. The man pulls away from his kiss swollen lips, leaving a thin string of spit connecting them still that snaps when he moves far enough.

They gently coax him off the table, quickly switching the soiled sheets with clean ones before guiding him back to it, laying him flat on his back, rubbing over his muscles and joints to ease whatever tension he regained.

They clean him up as he floats, eyes lidded and hazy as they wipe him down so gently he manages to doze off, a small, dopey smile on his lips.

The men smile contentedly over him as they take care of him, another beautiful Jewel to add to their Master's collection.

They'll need to finish his training first of course, as this was just the first stage. Along with teaching him to be a legitimate masseuse, they still need to properly train his throat, which they will have very much fun doing, along with his ass to take more than just a toy. And after how wonderfully sensitive he is, oh the Master will enjoy him.

But they get the privilege of doing so first, and they will savour that thoroughly.

For now though, they need to get their new fellow Jewel settled in.

*****

[Two Months Later]

Shouta barely remembers his past life by this point. He knows his name, and knows he's a hero, or at least used to be, but most importantly, he knows he enjoys his new life as a Jewel. He's pretty and pampered, precious and treasured as his Master's Jewel, and he loves it.

The other Jewels take care of him as well, and he cherishes his relationships with them, whatever they may be; be that friendship or as lovers.

He exchanges gentle smiles with Aoi, the man with sapphire eyes, as he prepares the equipment and products to be used today on a trolley.

They have a new guest today after all, one Yoshida Kogane.

It's the first time he's being allowed to tend to a guest, and possible new Jewel, rather than just observe since his training is finally complete. It's also the first time he's finally allowed to wear his Jewel uniform during working hours, rather than the plain black he'd been wearing before.

Now, he's dressed in silk white robes, the low cut showing off his toned pecs and chest hair, pants that hug his ass wonderfully, and a tall headpiece, matching with the others, but with black with a red sheen as his added colour. The sash tied around his waist, the sheer veil mask, and of course the feather and gem on his headpiece, a black opal stone, with flecks and swirls of red mixed in, suit him well.

Master chose it for him himself, saying it matched him perfectly.

Shouta's eyes are lined in black, making them appear that much darker; his inky hair falling in waves over his shoulders, barely hidden by the cloth attached to the headpiece. His facial hair is neat and groomed, trimmed into a light stubble beard and mustache, his skin smooth and glossy, almost porcelain, lips soft and supple.

His reflection is happy and healthy, pretty and perfect.

They soon move out to the room where Akashi, the man in the red robes who led him to this new life, is settling in their guest.

He's adorable really, on the shorter side, tanned, freckled skin, curly, blonde hair, and bright, golden eyes, and Shouta thinks his name suits him perfectly.

He would be a lovely addition to the Master's collection.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

#moonchild701 #mha #bnha #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa fanfiction #harem boys #mha smut #bnha smut

38 notes · View notes