#extreme dubcon

[evilwriter37]

Inspired by this art from @mdoodlerfandomart!

Rated: explicit

Warnings: slavery, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, blood, stabbing, extremely dubious consent

Pairings: Viggo/Hiccup

Word Count: 4,117

Summary: Hiccup doesn’t expect Dagur to be at the auction, and he is almost bought by him, but another, mysterious buyer, wants him badly, and has the money for it.

[blot-squisher]

🎃Happy Halloween all!🎃

Here's a special little treat I've been cooking up ;)

As always, please heed the tags. I know this isn't everyone's cup of tea and I don't want anyone caught off guard 😅

[whimsyvixen]

Ask me what type of romantic dreams I have at night.

The man in my dreams:

(He wasn't happy I escaped from my gilded cage)

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. satoru/reader. dark dark DARK, bad end au, sorcerer breeding programs, consent is not a thing for sorcerers, all sorts of bad shit.

ultra dark dystopian au where the public knows what cursed spirits are and jujutsu society isn't controlled by the higher ups.

it's controlled by the government.

sorcerers are national assets. tools, property, born and raised to be weapons against cursed spirits.

they're taken from their mothers at birth. indoctrinated and trained in facilities until they're old enough to be sent out to kill curses. they start somewhere around 13. most of them don't reach adulthood.

with attrition rates so high, where are they getting all this fodder?

special grades like satoru gojo don't spend most of their time out in the field.

as soon as he was of age he's sent to a suitable mate. breeding stock like him should create more sorcerers.

for what? to be killed?

the questions come to his mind every now and then, but he knows they're useless. he doesn't think much about why things are the way they are.

he's a weapon. he's been a weapon his entire life. this is what he's good at. what he's meant for.

however he feels about his life, satoru gojo was born and bred for sorcery, in every universe. he loves it. what do the details matter?

things aren't so different for satoru in this au. he wakes up, kills curses, creates new sorcerers, gets maybe 3 hours of sleep and does it again.

he doesn't get to pick who or when he's bred with. he's a stud. his partners are broodmares. sorcerers who managed to survive the meat grinder of exorcism.

when satoru gojo meets you, he doesn't know you. doesn't even know your name.

he doesn't need that to get you pregnant. he's sent to a room, locked in there with you, crystal-clear instructions on what you're meant to do.

it isn't his first time doing this. it's not your first time either, he's sure.

it's not romantic. it's not even sexy. it's quiet, practical, and methodical -

but oh. oh, does it feel good.

he doesn't know if it's just your body, or if this is something you actively do but it feels like you're clenching around him, like your cunt is embracing him and refusing to let go.

you're touchy, too. touching his face, his hair, his body. satoru is used to roving eyes (he's instructed never to say no; after all, what if a woman who fucked him bore a sorcerer child?) and hands.

but your hands aren't greedy. they're tender. gentle caresses like the sigh you make when he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

he nearly jerks at the feeling of your lips on his neck. kisses littered up to the underside of his jaw, featherlight fleeting. ghostly, even.

when he's rutting into you, quick, efficient motions to get him closer to the edge, you meet his ice-blue gaze and press your lips to his -

it's the first time he's been kissed on the lips.

he remembers your eyes watering the first time he penetrated you. next time, he makes a point to whet his fingertips, rub over your clit, kiss your breasts, your neck, until you're dripping over him.

he doesn't know why. it's unnecessary effort. all he has to do is release inside you.

but he supposes if you're both stuck here for a while, it might as well be... nice.

and it is nice. this time he feels one of your hands grasp his, a strange feeling churning in his gut as you guide his hand to your clit.

with just a few careful swipes, timed to the rhythm of your hips bucking into him, the sonnet of your little gasps and moans, he watches you start to shiver and quake.

you clench around him and something inside him lights up, tugging, bright and hot and bursting along with his climax.

it's never been like this before, never been this good. you squeeze around him like you're milking him, panting with your mouth slack and opened wide, eyes glossy and dilated.

irrationally, he leans in to cover your mouth with his, lap at your tongue, steal away your desperate breaths and feel you moan and squirm beneath him.

when he moves to pull out, your arms dart around him, holding him close. like you don't want him to leave.

and even though it's never been like this, even though he's never tried this hard or liked it this much, satoru still thinks this is the strangest part.

laying there, bodies entwined, chests rising and falling as you fall asleep against one another.

it's warm. it's hot and sweaty and full of the stench of sex and bodily fluids, and it should be disgusting, but it's not.

maybe he's just too tired to care. when his six eyes finally close, the darkness that embraces him is warm, enticing, and absolute.

he can only just make out your heartbeat within it.

there's a few days of that, until your fertile period is over and you part, without words.

in fact he can't recall if he even spoke to you. you might not even know his name, though he's rather infamous, and with his hair and eyes he's hard to mistake.

satoru thinks about you sometimes. in the dead quiet of the night when his brain refuses to stop churning. in the midst of battle.

in the beds of the others he's meant to breed, cooling bodies laying against him as he brings himself to climax inside them and then pulls away.

it doesn't even feel that good anymore. not now that he'd had it with you.

sometimes he wishes he'd never had you. most times, he wants you there with him.

none of it matters. he knows that. he kills curses, he mates with fellow sorcerers. they're walking wombs, and he's a sperm donor. an impersonal exchange.

the worst is when he's summoned to fight a curse that seems just a little too low grade for him.

usually because the sorcerers originally dispatched failed.

in jujutsu sorcery, failure is death.

but high-level sorcerers like him aren't usually dispatched against lower level curses. it's almost invariably weaker sorcerers - younger ones.

it takes him an instant to exorcise it. seconds, really.

how many people died trying to do what was second nature to him?

how many of them were children?

it's his fault, in the end. for not being able to be everywhere at once. having to breed more to replace the sorcerers that wouldn't have been lost if he didn't have to spend so much time breeding.

the system churns through sorcerers like a meat grinder. anyone who comes out alive is squeezed for raw material, to make more of them.

an unending marathon. all that's waiting for them on the other side is death, death or being reduced to breeding stock.

he wonders what happens to female sorcerers who can't be bred anymore. are they just worked until they die?

do they ever get to see their children?

it's been years. if he'd gotten you pregnant then his children might be old enough to be sent out by now. if he has any children.

at the rate they've been having him fuck, he must have at least a few.

where are they? where are you? useless questions.

there's only been one fellow sorcerer he was able to keep track of throughout the years, and he...

well. he won't be seeing him again.

but he does see you again. years later.

do you remember him? he remembers you. how many others have you been bred with? was there a dark, long-haired sorcerer among them?

someone with sharp violet eyes and a warm smile and large hands? did you have any children by him?

is there anything left of his friend in this world?

the questions bubble in his chest, staining the back of his throat like bile.

if he asked, he's sure you would answer. you smile when you see him.

but instead he buries himself inside you, in your arms, your tight embrace. this is the only time he gets to feel good.

is this the only time you get to feel good, too? during this week of your fertile window, when they send you in to anonymous sorcerers to get fucked pregnant?

breeding stock, he remembers. what will be done with you when you can no longer bear children? what do you have to look forward to?

satoru wants to ask. did you have any children by him? did any of them survive?

but instead he buries himself in you to the hilt. until you keen and stretch underneath him.

even if he did ask, you wouldn't know.

you hold him too tightly for a brood mare, for an encounter that will only last as long as your fertile window.

do you yearn for these moments, too? do you miss him, do you want to see him again?

did you bear his children? did you want to show them to him when they were born? did you want him there?

did you - you're looking up at him hopefully, arms that hold him close, it's time to leave now and your eyes are wet and empty and your shoulders drop as you lay back on the bed limply -

geto was right.

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize, Part 5

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

All the other chapters

TW: dubcon. Also remember Shanks isn’t a reliable narrator

Shanks POV

Shanks was a little sad your heat was finally abating after five days. Your demands for his touch and comfort were coming in increasingly longer intervals and you expressed a desire for food and drink. On one hand, he was glad it was ending. You looked worse for the wear, run down, and exhausted. Hongo had been right that the heat would be challenging for you physically. Heat had caused your appetite for food to be completely gone and in conjunction with the intense physical activity you’d lost weight off your already malnourished frame. You had dark circles under your eyes and had scratched at your healing neck wound until Shanks had Commanded you to stop touching it. You’d be able to recover after the heat was fully over but it was dragging out over the course of long hours.

On the other hand, he had enjoyed your heat - maybe a little too much. Through sheer force of will Shanks hadn’t descended into rut and was able to keep his immense power contained. He’d fucked you in every conceivable position that kept you under him and even had allowed you on top once. But the real reason he’d enjoyed it so much was because he’d Commanded you to love him. A Command he repeated quite a few times, most of the time if he actually stopped and thought about it. Shanks was addicted to the way you’d look up at him through your lashes, pulling him in for tender kisses with your tongue meeting his own. How you’d moan his name, not his designation when he made you come on his cock or tongue. How you’d smile at him when he came in you, urging him to cuddle with you afterward, to hold you closer for just a few minutes longer. You’d laugh when he told you sweet nothings into your ear, happily giggling as his stubble tickled your cheek. When he Commanded you to love him, your body language changed - you were carefree, sweeter, and more romantic. 

It was like a glimpse into a world he’d heard about but never experienced before. Shanks had fucked thousands of times before he met you, it wasn’t anything new for him. He’d even made love a few times when he found a stable someone to enjoy it with. But every new beginning came with a prescribed end. No matter how sweet the love or how rough the tumble, Shanks would be leaving in the morning, the Red Force would be sailing away, and his newest lover would remain where they were. He didn’t have the time to let himself get attached or to let anyone really enter his life beyond his crew since he was always leaving, the future uncertain. There was no question about the inevitable outcome, fucking only granted him a few hours of respite from the loneliness that threatened to consume him whole. 

Shanks had long felt like there was something in his heart that was missing or somehow walled off from everyone else. Like there was a piece of glass wedged in, separating his true emotions from those he held dear. He hadn’t always felt that way - as a child, his life was filled with love. He had Roger, Rayleigh, Buggy, tand he whole crew always with him to provide support and guidance. But Roger died, Rayleigh abandoned him, Buggy left, and the whole crew blew away like dust after Loguetown. Shanks had no one and nothing, only the memories of the world’s most hated pirate and the loss of his family. He’d eventually found Beckman while at the bottom of a bottle and had built himself a crew and a name for himself. But the feeling of aloneness, of never wholly belonging to anyone or anything had become a permanent scar on his heart. He’d tried to find a connection through Luffy but he ultimately had to abandon the kid all the same. 

But you - you were different. You weren’t able to leave him, not now or ever. He had kept his word, he hadn’t marked you this heat. It had been incredibly challenging, every fiber in him wanting to bite down on your soft flesh to warn off any Alpha who would dare look your way. Shanks had persevered, you could walk away at any point and he would have no physical claim over you.  Except you had nowhere to go. You couldn’t reintegrate back into society with so many people knowing your designation and your Beta cover thoroughly blown. You couldn’t go to the Marines, they’d turn you into the Celestial Dragons who would make a slave of you. You couldn’t join another pirate crew, no one was powerful enough to challenge Shanks for you and win. No, you were his and his alone. He could keep you and you’d always be with him, no matter what. 

He looked down at you as you slept tucked into his side facing him, your hair a mess after so many days without bathing. You looked like a fallen angel, innocent but ruined under his hand, his marks littering your skin like a series of tattoos. He’d been purring for you for the last few hours, keeping you relaxed and sleeping until one of the final rounds of heat. Hongo said that once the heat ended you would want to clean up but Shanks hoped you kept at least a little of the copious amounts of cum on your skin. There wasn’t an area on you that he hadn’t bitten or marked or rubbed his cum into or kissed; he’d consumed you whole. He trailed his fingers down your side, making you jerk in your sleep. Really, he should let you rest. But his cock had other ideas and well, Shanks was always one to listen. He thought by the end of five days of heat he’d be sated but every movement you made had his cock throbbing like it was the first time.

“Love, do you need me? You were moaning in your sleep,” Shanks said quietly in your ear while pushing your hair off your face. Your eyelids twitched but you didn’t open them. Shanks rolled you gently onto your back as you mewled a small protest.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ll care of you,” Shanks rumbled through his purr. It wasn’t exactly fair to keep purring while he attended to you but he knew you’d want what he was going to give you. Shanks parted your legs, your tired thighs falling to either side. He kissed a bite mark he’d left on your inner thigh, pleased it was still there after four days. Seeing the healing bite from Kid in the crease of your leg made him scowl at the other Alpha’s mark - he’d have to work on that one later. Settling himself on his stomach between your thighs, he set one calf over his shoulder followed by the other. Your glistening core was bared to him and still weeping with the cum he gushed into you mere hours before. Shanks gave you one long lick up your slit, making your thighs tighten around his ears. Your muscles were shaking from exhaustion but one more round wasn’t going to hurt you. 

“Alpha?” you said groggily, rolling your head on the pillow with your eyes still closed. You brought your hands down to run your fingers through his hair, as if in question that it was truly Shanks.

“Shh, just let it happen, I’ll help,” he assured you while remaining in his position. You whined but didn’t protest further as Shanks sucked gently on your clit. He knew it had gotten a lot of his attention but the swollen bud was calling to him. Shanks was gentle this time, lapping at you with care and ease as he wound your desire tighter. The taste of his cum mixed with your slick was like ambrosia for his taste buds - he needed to have more. Fucking his tongue into you, he tried to gather as much of the fluid as he could. You’d still produce slick after your heat fully ended but it was a touch sweeter during your heat. Your hole started to throb again, pulsing around his eager tongue.

“ Aah aah…Alpha - I -” you said, your voice straining under the onslaught of pleasure he was giving you.

“ Call me Shanks ,” he Commanded you, pulling his tongue out of your hole to speak before continuing to tongue your swollen clit.

“ Sh-Shanks - I -I’m g-gonna -” you stammered, your thighs clamped tight around his head. Ah, you really were coming out of heat. Previously you didn’t have control over yourself, coming when he made you either on his cock, fingers, or tongue. A few times he’d made you ask him or beg for it but he found it wasn’t as fulfilling for him. Sure, he liked making you whine and squirm but Shanks found he liked it even more when you came naturally, when the amount of pleasure he gave you was so overwhelming and intense that you had no choice but to come. 

Shanks pulled back to halt your progress toward your climax. Resting his chin on your pelvis, he smiled at you - and you growled back. He kissed your outer thigh but let you feel his canine teeth press against your soft flesh in warning to remember your place around him.

“Al- Shanks, please?” you asked, now deferent to him. He smiled at your submission, it was always a fine treat to enjoy. You tried to use his designation but were unable to under his Command. Shanks idly wondered how long the Command would last - would it extend beyond your heat? He hoped it did. 

“Of course, all you need to do is ask,” Shanks replied before giving the silky skin of your lower stomach a kiss. He wondered if you had gotten pregnant from this cycle, though he doubted it. Hongo said the first few heats weren’t generally productive and you weren’t in optimal health to begin with. The idea of your stomach swelling with his child had him kissing your stomach again. He hunkered back down between your legs, applying pressure to your clit in the way he knew you liked after so many times together. You moaned in pleasure, Shanks sliding two of his fingers into your hole to find that spot that made you gush. 

“N-not - ah I can’t - it’s too much hah hah -” you protested, now using your hands to try and push him away. He clicked his tongue at you - you were not to tell him what to do, he was the Alpha and you the Omega. Ignoring your cries, he curled his fingers and continued to pump them in your aching pussy, rubbing against the slightly rougher spot on your walls. He wished he had his other hand to push down on your stomach to intensify the sensation but you were shaking even without it. Sucking a little harder on your clit, he felt the moment of your release as your cunt tried pulling his fingers in even further. Slick gushed from you and he slurped up as much as he could while continuing to move his tongue against your clit. He was grinding against the bed while watching you fall under the spell of his bliss, he’d satisfy himself in a little bit. He showed you no mercy as you yelled out his name like a war cry. Finally, your pleasure wound down, your chest heaving and your eyes tightly shut.

“There it is, that’s my good Omega, such a good girl for me,” Shanks cooed at you as he removed his fingers from your body and pushed them into your mouth. You sucked them obediently, as he’d trained you to do during heat, only stopping when he took them out. Crawling back up to you, Shanks pulled you towards him again, letting you curl up into his body heat. Pulling the blankets back over the both of you, Shanks resumed purring. After a few minutes, he felt your body go limp as your breathing evened out. Yes, he’d be sad to see your heat go. 

There was always next time to look forward to.

Your POV

You felt like you were waking from a long, vivid dream as you regained your sense of self after your heat. It felt like memories were almost in your grasp, disappearing like vapor when you tried to hold onto them too hard. You could recollect only bits and pieces - you remembered kissing Shanks deeply, your arms wound around his neck as he fucked you slowly. You remembered crying out for him to help you, your body burning with need only to be reassured by his touch immediately branding your skin. You remembered him pulling orgasm after orgasm from you easily and how he had you crumbling under his slightest touch. You remembered his calloused hand running gently down your back to rest on your hip as he fucked you from behind. You thought you remembered telling him that you loved him, though that memory was hazier than the rest. 

What you did know was that Shanks had kept his word and hadn’t marked you during the heat. You truly hadn’t expected him to keep his promise, fully expecting that you would come to with a Claiming Bite on the non-infected side of your neck. Your neck still hurt from Kid’s bite with the incision now an angry red and covered in scratch marks. Hongo would want to see it, you thought, but you wanted to shower off the gunk covering your skin. Looking yourself over, you grimaced as you saw the marks from Shanks’s attention during your heat. He had gone to get you food and water after saying you needed to keep resting in the bed. And truthfully, you agreed with him.

You were tired, a bone aching kind of tired you hadn’t felt since you were on the run from Marine patrols, sleeping only when you’d found somewhere safe to hide. You couldn’t leave the bed if you wanted to, opting instead to let Shanks take care of you. Shanks? You thought to yourself. When had he become Shanks and not the Emperor to you? Probably after a few dozen rounds of sex, you decided. He didn’t seem to mind being called by his first name, that’s what the crew did. He still called you “Love” or “Omega,” but you weren’t going to correct him. 

Looking out the window in the cabin, you saw it was morning as soft light fell across your face. Shanks told you that you’d been in heat for five days, quite a considerable length for a first-timer. Curling back up in your now destroyed but perfectly smelling nest, you thought about asking him to visit the island after your next nap.

About a day later, you were finally able to get out of Shanks’s bed. Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you stretched your arms upwards and felt a lingering ache in your back and limbs. You were sticky with residual fluids, sweat, and slick and wanted to shower. Shanks watched you stand up, following you with his eyes as you headed toward the bathroom. You heard the bed creak and felt his body heat behind you as you reached to turn on the shower in his en suite. He leaned down and kissed your shoulder with the action making you jump with the unexpected affection. You weren’t sure how to act around Shanks now that your heat was over - not that you ever did to begin with. Obviously, you’d been intimate with him many times but that wasn’t you. You hesitated now, your returned senses leaving you unable to act as freely as you did under the influence of heat.

“Relax, it’s ok. I’m gonna come in with you,” Shanks said into your skin, peppering your shoulder with small kisses. You nodded as you remained facing the shower, you had been looking forward to alone time but weren’t all that surprised to find him joining. Shanks considered you for a moment then gathered towels and placed them on the counter for when you’d need them.

“Nothing’s changed. You’re still safe, you’re still here with me,” Shanks said, leaning against the sink. You looked at him, knowing he’d want to hear and see your understanding.

“Thank you, Shanks,” you said, looking into his eyes. “Thank you for keeping me safe d-during heat and um, helping me, and ah, not g-giving me the bite,” you said, dropping your eyes in the middle of your sentence. He wasn’t your mate, you couldn’t maintain eye contact with someone so much stronger than you on the designation scale. Shanks gave you a small smile instead of the broad flashy one he usually did. 

“You’re welcome, Love. Now, let’s get in before the hot water runs out,” he said while ushering you into the shower. He followed immediately behind you, allowing you the majority of the hot water while he stood behind you, pressing against your backside in the small space. He grabbed a clean washcloth and lathered it up.

“Arms up,” he said, holding the wet cloth. You blinked - he was going to wash you again? You turned to face him but your eyes only made it up to his muscled chest.

“I c-can do it, I’m not that tired,” you sputtered in a failed attempt to exert some autonomy. Shanks had seen and touched every inch of you but that was during your heat. Now you were lucid and a little less afraid - he didn’t need to take care of you as much as he had before.

You thought about protesting but instead raised your arms. It wasn’t that big of a deal and you wanted to save your battles for when they mattered.  He began rubbing you down quickly with the mild soap. You didn’t think he did as thorough of a job as when you were in the bath but you could always clean yourself again later. As you ran your fingertips over your hair, you thought about his promise to let you cut your hair short. Detangling the rat’s nest would be a much faster process if you cut off about 8 inches. 

“Um, Sh-shanks? Were you - um, can I still get the um, haircut? That you mentioned?” you asked with a trembling voice while watching him run the washcloth over your stomach. He hummed but didn’t answer directly, continuing to soap you down. He was efficient, not lingering on your breasts or cunt like you expected. 

“We can check for a hairdresser but I don’t think there’s one on this island. And trust me, you don’t want Beckman cutting your hair. You’ll end up with something like Hongo’s. You can get one at the next island,” he said with a hint of mirth. 

“Alright, that - that makes sense,” you said and looked away while doubt crept in at his flippant answer. In your mind, you couldn’t think of any island that didn’t have at least one barber. You watched the suds fall down the drain as he finished washing your torso. He crouched down to wash your legs in the single person shower, which was made even more challenging by his broad shoulders. You were crowded into the back corner, the water still pounding your skin as Shanks ran his fingers up your calf. You could see his cock bobbing even as he crouched down,  already erect and leaking at the tip. Of course, you’d seen it before but not in such vivid detail that you could remember. 

“Put your foot up on my thigh, I want to check your injury,” he said calmly while still rubbing down your lower limbs. Leaning your back against the shower stall, you lifted your foot as he asked. Shanks was a tall man, so you had to hike your leg rather high to accomplish what he’d asked you. It was a little lewd exposing yourself to him so plainly, but you were glad he was taking a look at your cut. You had worried it would get too much friction during your heat and get infected like the one on your neck. Shanks finished scrubbing you and put the washcloth over his shoulder, using his hand to move your thigh to where he could see your wound. He prodded at it lightly, looking it over closely. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh and stood back up. You jumped from the contact but he was already standing up by the time you processed what happened.

“Your turn,” he said with a smile before handing you the washcloth off his shoulder. 

Shanks POV

Shanks watched patiently as you took the washcloth from him with shaky fingers and wide eyes. It was like he was handing you a loaded gun with how nervous you were. Your smaller fingers took the offered item as you turned to cover it in more soap. Shanks almost felt bad for making you feel so skittish but you needed to work through your fear of Alphas. Now that your heat was over, Shanks wanted to have to work to get you back to how you were, to feel you on his skin again. No matter how much coaxing it took, Shanks always got what he wanted.

You tentatively began washing his chest and gained some confidence when he began to purr softly for you. You were absorbed in the task and taking it seriously, using your lesser strength to scrub his skin. Shanks hadn’t tried to wash you very thoroughly with a part of him hopeful some of the scent and fluids would remain on your skin. If not, he could always replace them. Shanks was enjoying watching you take care of him, even if he had foisted it upon you. Now finished with his stomach and chest you passed the washcloth over his stump, washing it with care. He didn’t think you noticed but your tongue was peeking out of your mouth in an enticing way as you concentrated. You washed his back and legs, his full arm and hand, which he used to cup your face when you’d finished.

“Doing so well, thank you little Omega,” he said, kissing you on the forehead. You flushed adorably at the bit of praise and he couldn’t resist giving you a small smile. After all that he’d done with you, you still were embarrassed by praise and simple affection. He wondered if he was the first person to offer you any in your sad life before him. You certainly hadn’t had any with Kid, but maybe you’d been as lonely as he was when you were living incognito. You wouldn’t have been able to have intimate relationships or let anyone in too close for fear of your secret being discovered. Plus you were weak, unable to defend yourself, so it made sense you would have hidden yourself away from others. It had all worked out in a cosmic way, he was as perfect for you as you were for him. You were wringing out the washcloth from soap while Shanks mulled over this new thought. Oh no, you weren’t getting away that easy, he thought to himself .

“Wash all of me, Omega,” he demanded without a Command behind it. You were obedient enough that you’d do what he said without force even outside of your heat. Your face flamed again and you steadfastly avoided his eyes. He’d have to break you of that habit, he thought, he enjoyed seeing your expressive face when he talked to you. It might come in time, he supposed. After all, you hadn’t spent much time with him outside of the heat; you barely knew what he was like. He could tell you he wouldn’t hurt you and that he wanted the best for you, but you’d have to see it for yourself by his actions. So he allowed you to look at his feet while shuffling your own.

Shanks took hold of your hand that was closed into a tight fist and gently pried your fingers open. He grabbed the bar of soap from its holder and put it in your hand.

“Easy Love, nothing you haven’t done before,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head. You finally started moving, lathering up the rag and replacing the soap in its spot. There wasn’t much room in the small space but you brought yourself closer to him before raising your hand to his hard cock. You wrapped your slimmer fingers around his shaft with the rag in between, trying to quickly soap him off. Shanks covered your hand with his own larger one, keeping your hand wrapped around where he wanted it most. He pumped your hand up and down over his cock, letting the rag drop to the floor as the movements continued. It was heavenly to be stroked in your soft hand so unlike his own. You made timid movements like you weren’t sure exactly what to do. 

“A little harder, aah , there aah - good girl,” Shanks bit out as you increased the pressure on his cock. 

“Don’t stop,” he ordered as he removed his hand from atop yours. He cupped your chin in his hand and leaned down to kiss you as you continued stroking his cock. You allowed him to dominate the kiss, to do what he wanted to you without protest. It was pleasant but not the same as when you were in heat. During heat you reciprocated in delight, making it less of a kiss and more of a dance between lovers. Now you were accepting but not participating and Shanks didn’t like it.

“ Kiss me back,” Shanks Commanded you, wanting to relive what he’d had previously. You gave him a worried look but were unable to refuse as your body took over. He knew you’d eventually see that he loved you and that your fates had been written in the stars, he just had to lead you a little bit further. You hooked your free hand around his waist, bringing him even closer so there was no room between you. Your fist kept pumping as you began kissing him with passion, tongue thrusting against his own. Shanks moaned as you gently bit his lower lip before tilting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. 

“I’m close, Love,” Shanks said, pulling away for a moment to lean his forehead on your shoulder. 

“You want to be my good Omega, nh ? Then don’t make a mess,” Shanks bit out as he rode the edge of pleasure. He picked up his head and put his hand on your shoulder, pushing down gently. Understanding his silent cue, you got to your knees and put his cock head in your mouth while continuing to pump his aching cock.

“That’s hah that’s my girl - hah - a little more - ahh -” he mumbled as you sucked his tender tip then pushed forward so his shaft hit the back of your throat. He’d throat fucked you during heat but he refrained from putting his hand on your head out of consideration. Training that fear out of you meant being gentle when you weren’t in heat. Shanks could barely hold back as your tight, hot throat grasped him almost as well as your cunt.

“G’na come in - nngnh fuck fuck fuck swallow it all, that’s it, to the last drop,��� Shanks stammered through his orgasm and you did your best listen, your throat bobbing as you swallowed as much as you could. He watched as the overflow from his massive load started dripping out the sides of your mouth. His finger swept across the edges of your lips when he cleaned up your face as you swallowed his cum.

“Open,” he said, his eyes half lidded and hazy with spent desire. He pushed his finger into your warm mouth, allowing you to finish cleaning him off. Removing his fingers from your mouth, he pulled you to standing and turned off the shower. 

“Let’s dry off and see if breakfast’s ready, yeah?” Shanks said while handing you a towel. Unfortunately, drying you off wasn’t something he could do efficiently before you got cold. You nodded as Shanks leaned down to kiss you on the mouth once more. You hesitated but ultimately kissed him back with a touch of affection. Yes, he missed the heat version of you who loved him back more easily. 

Maybe he’d ask Hongo if there was a way to speed up the intervals in between your heats. 

Taglist: @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle @whore-of-many-hot-men @one-piecelover @anemonyee @joana7654-blog @mfreedomstuff @littlelovebug98 @hannya-writes @babi-lamb @sanjisleggy @princessuta061108 @twismare @iamrgo @littlelovebug98 @anonymousmuffinbear

[b1mbodoll]

i sent that reader baby trapping jake ask and saw someone ask abt the other way around and what if,,,they both had the intention of doing it to each other and it's just a rlly fucked up relationship ya know (giving netflix you vibes)

pairings: jake sim x f! reader

warnings: babytrapping + breeding + manipulation + stalking + dubcon + jealousy + panty sniffing + panty stealing + pregnancy ment + cervix fucking + daddy kink

💌: this has got to be my favorite idea yet omg???

the relationship you had with jake was confusing. it started off as the two of you fucking whenever you were horny, simple enough right? wrong. so wrong. the longer you two continued messing around, the deeper your infatuation with him grew, wanting nothing more than to be an official couple. but you couldn’t tell him, after all you were the one who told jake you didn’t want a relationship. he respected your wishes but every time he found himself in your bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what you’d do if he fucked you raw without warning. would you let him cum inside you? or make him pull out?

he was obsessed with you, scarily so, breaking into your apartment when you were out, seeking out your hamper and sniffing your dirty panties before ultimately deciding to stuff them in his pocket to take home. he was also constantly following you around at parties and scaring off any guys that tried their luck with you, hiding his anger behind kind eyes and a sweet smile thrown your way, asking if you wanted to head back to his house.

you knew, of course. how could you not? you were just as obsessed with jake, purposely leaving your panties on top of the rest of your clothes in the hamper, blushing when you realized they were missing because that meant jake had dropped by for a visit when you weren’t home. he was so focused on keeping other guys away he didn’t realize you had also been watching him at parties, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together while your eyes were locked on his clenched jaw, your pussy growing wetter by the second.

the two of you had snuck away from jay’s party, jake leading you to one of the guest bedrooms and locking the door behind you. “did you see the way sunghoon was looking at you tonight? fuck, i could kill him. who does he think he is?” he seethed, pushing you on the bed roughly. you could cum just from seeing how angry he was, “don’t worry ‘bout him jakey, ‘m only yours, promise. i’ll even let you fuck me without a condom this time.” the look on his face was comical, almost causing you to giggle at his reaction. “really? you’d let me do that?” he questioned. “mhm! just gotta pull out before you cum, ‘kay? don’t wanna get me pregnant right?” jake couldn’t believe this was happening, he had no intention of pulling out but he couldn’t tell you that so he just nodded, unable to voice his thoughts.

you were just as excited as jake, for weeks you’d stopped taking your birth control, planning to let him fuck you raw sometime soon and now that the time has come you needed to feel his bare cock inside of you. “please put it in, jakey. can’t wait anymore.” he wasted no time, coating his cock in your arousal and sliding deep inside, the two of you moaning as his lengthy cock hit your cervix. it wouldn’t be long before he came but he wanted to savor the feeling of your walls gripping his dick without a condom in the way, fucking you slowly, making sure you could feel every inch of him battering your cunt.

“you feel so good ‘round my cock, think you were made for me. made to take my cum, shit, i wanna fill you up so bad, sweetheart. can i?” he babbled, too pussydrunk to notice you’d already locked your legs around his hips in an effort to force his cock even deeper. “yeah jakey, you can cum. ‘m on the pill,” you lied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you felt your orgasm approaching. he sped up the pace, angling his cock in a way that made the tip hit the opening of your womb each time causing you to squeal, pussy creaming around him.

jake was already so close and the way your cunt was squeezing him drove him crazy, hips stilling as his cock spurted globs of thick, creamy cum so deep inside you, you thought there was no way he wasn’t successful in knocking you up. his mind was reeling after his own orgasm and all he could think of was how much he wanted you two to be exclusive, wishing somehow your birth control wouldn’t stop him from impregnating you.

you kept your legs around him even after he’d stopped moving, his cock keeping the obscene amount of cum from spilling out. “gonna make you a daddy, jakey, you can’t leave me now. ‘m so full, it has to work!” you couldn’t stop yourself from revealing your sick plan, muttering about how you weren’t on birth control anymore and how he’d be such a good daddy. jake wasn’t upset though, his cock hardening again inside of you, after all he had to make sure his girl was properly bred.

[squeebh8]

im listening to sabrina carpenter while drawing sharpwolf say gex what the fuck am i doing with my life

[seijorhi]

SHUDDER

Kozume Kenma x female reader

a Valentine’s Day Collab

tw: heavy dubcon, nsfw, voyeurism, murder, yandere themes, this one's a doozy y'all we're goin' out with a bang :))

The red light on the camera atop his computer blinks steadily.

Kenma’s not some sappy romantic, he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. This stream wasn’t even his idea to begin with. It just so happened that he was frustrated and pissed off, venting in the chat when one of the users made a comment that got him thinking.

(He’s not an asshole, either – he did remember to bring you a box of heart shaped chocolates.) 

He was gonna do this one way or the other, the timing just sort of worked out, and he supposes he can see the romantic side of it all. Girls are supposed to like this sort of thing, aren’t they – grand declarations of love and all that. 

“You remember the rules, don’t you?” he asks. 

Your cheeks shining with stricken tears, your lower lip wobbling, you nod minutely, eyes downcast.

Kenma frowns a little, and draws your chin upwards, forcing you to meet his eye. “I need you to say it. Out loud.”

You swallow audibly, risking a glance over towards the bed, the bound figure thrashing about, yelling desperately through his gag. Kenma’s fingers tighten, and you let out a startled squeak, quickly returning your attention back to him. “You– you’re gonna–” your voice hitches, “I h-have to–”

“Aw, c’mon Kenma, don’t be mean to the poor thing,” Kuroo snickers, driving his elbow into the gut of your soon-to-be ex boyfriend for good measure when he gets a bit too rowdy for his liking. 

Irritation spikes, and Kenma barely – barely – refrains from rolling his eyes and huffing. Truthfully, he’s not so sure he could’ve pulled this whole thing off without his friend’s help, he’d just appreciate it if that help were a little more silent. 

“Say it,” he repeats, the hand keeping you perched on his lap slipping down between your thighs to your bare cunt, the wet slick from your earlier efforts coating his fingertips as they rub possessively along your slit.

Kenma’s eyes drift back to the camera, tilting your face along with his, “Tell them what you’re gonna do.”

You look miserable, terrified, and so fucking pretty as you hiccup another sob, “I-I’m going to fuck you, a-and if I want… if I want him–”

“If you wanna win, you have to make me cum before he runs out of air.”

He’s already had you cum for everyone watching, made you play with your cute little pussy with the toys he’d bought for you. A part of him hates that others got to see it, but it was his choice to livestream this. Just for tonight – and then you’re for his eyes only.

… And maybe Kuroo’s. He does sort of owe him for this. 

Kenma doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready to start, he just spreads his legs a little wider, looks to Kuroo and bobs his chin. The plastic bag and duct tape thing isn’t exactly high tech or all that elegant – it’ll do the job, though, he knows that much. 

“I dunno how long it’ll take,” he tells you quietly, Kuroo grinning widely as he begins sliding the bag over your boyfriend’s head. “A minute or so to lose consciousness, I guess, after that…” he shrugs, looking almost bored at the prospect.

You, though – it lights a panic in your eyes, your whole body trembling as you lurch to your feet. Duct tape rips, your boyfriend’s choked and muffled noises growing more and more frantic as he yells your name and thrashes about. Kenma ignores him – there’s a part of him that kind of wishes he wasn’t here to begin with, but he s’poses he does have some value – as you reach for his boxers and pull out his aching, twitching cock and stroke it.

He looses a shuddering breath, fingers sinking into the armrest of his gaming chair.

You go to sit down on his cock – facing him, like lovers do – and Kenma barely has the presence of mind to stop you. “No,” he gasps, shaking his head and swallowing dryly. “Show them.”

You’re clumsy as you turn, flinching, half-sobbing with every distressed noise that fills the room. If Kenma were particularly vindictive, he’d tell you to hurry it up, because at this rate your stupid boyfriend will be brain dead before he’s even inside you. 

He’s far too invested in the way you settle your thighs either side of his and grip his cock – flushed pink to the tip, weeping with pre that you diligently swirl over the sensitive head – in a trembling hand, guiding it to where it needs to be as you lower your hips down to meet his. 

And the feel of your pussy, that warm, slick velvet that sucks him in has him moaning, every thought eddying from his head. Holy fuck, it feels incredible. Uncoordinated and sloppy as your movements are, you’re heaven and your pussy is a thousand times better than the fantasies he’d gotten off to before. He promised himself he wouldn’t do anything to help you along while you fucked him, but Kenma can’t help the hand that reaches for your breast, needily groping at the soft, pillowy flesh. 

Seated to the hilt inside of you, every sensation is heightened. Every hitch in your breath, the fluttering of your pussy, squeezing and pulsing around him, the shudders that wrack your body as Kenma’s other hand tightens around your hip. “Move,” he pants. “Fuck– please–”

You do, raising your hips until only the very tip of his cock remains inside and sinking down once more. Your chest bounces for the camera as you set the pace, your tears and sniffles lost to the sound of comments pinging, donations pouring in. Kenma can’t stop touching you – everywhere, every inch of soft skin he can reach, squeezing and pinching and groping. “Don’t look at him,” he growls when your head starts to turn towards the bed. “Watch.”

Your boyfriend’s hacking and gagging, the noises growing louder and louder, warring with Kenma’s moans and your sobs, the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt as you pleasure yourself on his dick. When the noises start to die down, and your boyfriend’s flailing turns into an unsettling, unnatural jerking and then not even that, you clench so tightly around his cock that Kenma’s vision goes white. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” he chants, clutching you closer with a rabid desperation. 

You’re wailing, scrambling in vain to get off of him and with a mind of its own his hips buck up inside of you, once, twice – and Kenma cums harder than he ever has before.

[necrotic-nephilim]

jaybrusteph. steph and bruce fuck on jason's grave, jason and bruce fuck on stephanie's grave, steph and jason fucking on bruce's grave. threesome where stephanie gets 2 cocks up her ass. they keeo her tied up in a secret part of the cave fir a week with a vibrator on her clit at low vibration and a fuck machine pounding her ass. they share her for another week straight and by the end of it she's mentally checked out and her face id smeared with mascara and cum. maybe they bring cass over once, and all of steph's holes are occupied at the same time. i want her to keep cumming so hard she walks with a limp for a month. she goes on patrol with a butt plug holding in both of their loads. remote controlled vibrators. just the kinkiest shit possible with these 3. any time bruce and jason fight, they take it out on steph. they both try to fuck her mouth and she chips a tooth and dislocates her jaw but they keep going

i've been thinking about this for *days*. bc idk how you intended this anon, but to me it reads as *delightful* non-con and *super* fucked up with grooming vibes. like in my head, i picture it as Bruce dealt with enough problems when Jason came back from death and he *really* doesn't feel like doing a repeat. so when Steph comes back, even if Babs gives her blessing for Steph to be Batgirl, Bruce doesn't trust it and he definitely doesn't like the idea of Steph wearing a Bat. he's been down this road before and this time, he's not making the same mistakes.

so he tells her she's allowed to be Batgirl but this time, there are more Rules. maybe he had a thing with her when she was Robin but Bruce feels like he obviously wasn't strict enough so, he sets new rules this time around. and Steph has no choice but to agree bc she wants to be Batgirl, she feels like she needs to prove herself again.

i love the idea of the mindbreak the first few weeks, too. esp if there are aphrodisiacs or some kind of drugs involved to keep her in a haze where it's all she can think about until she rlly just. breaks. and is okay with it and has no concept how fucked up it is. Bruce invites Jason just because he'll try anything to pacify Jason at this point, and maybe he had a fucked up thing with Jason already and they needed a sub as a buffer.

i also think it's fun if patrolling and missions are the one place Steph has an escape from all the sexual control. so she really leans into being Batgirl bc it's all she has so when they start making her wear plugs and vibrators out it breaks her a little bit. even as Batgirl, her life will revolve around pleasing Jason and Bruce. and Bruce is telling her that she has no idea how much she's helping with this, he's showing her numbers about how Red Hood has been much less lethal since this all started to really get in her head about how this is a duty and it's a favor that she's doing for Bruce and he's so thankful for it, he almost convinces her that she agreed to this somewhere along the way. so she agrees and is submissive when Jason is getting rougher and rougher with her until joints are dislocating and she's crying and doesn't even have the words to ask for it to stop so she can get a breather.

also like the idea of Bruce and Jason arguing while Steph is on a patrol and it's Jason who finds Steph first and without any sort of warning forces some kind of aphrodisiac drug into her mouth and makes her swallow, calmly telling her she has about an hour before it'll kick in so she better wrap up whatever she's doing and hope she gets to Jason's base so he doesn't have to find her and fuck her wherever she ends up when it kicks in-

and all the bruises and injuries she gets from the sex are explained away by vigilante work. i'm also really into the idea of like, gradual body modification without her awareness or consent. constantly having her on muscle relaxers so it's easier to fuck her without prep. adjusting parts of her body with supplements to their likings until she realizes she doesn't really recognize herself in the mirror. her nose has been broken by sex so many times it stoped healing right. her hips are a different size and she has to wear a plug most of the time bc she's usually so loose. just like. Complete Bodily Control over her, yk? and by the time she realizes how fucked up it is, she's in way too deep.

and pulling Cass into it is *really* fun bc Cass is someone she trusts. so if Cass is okay with this, leaning into it and fucking her mouth with a strap while stroking her hair, then it must be okay. bc it's Cass. and maybe Cass is also fucked up, maybe Cass is just trying to provide Steph comfort in a situation she can't get Steph out of. both are good options esp if Steph doesn't know which it is. she never knows if ppl just don't care enough to notice what she's going through or if Bruce and Jason are doing such a good job of hiding it all that they can't see it. and she gets so Stolkholm'd by the end of it there's no escape she even wants. bc it's not like she can go back to normal. it's not like she could come from regular sex that doesn't hurt to the point she cries anymore. so she just. accepts it.

but yk that's just my hurt/no comfort braincell being evil. bc i am evil and i love the psychology of being sexually broken as much as i love the sexual aspect of it. i think it makes it so much crunchier and realistic if there's this haunting acceptance that isn't necessarily a "oh she loves it now" but more of a "she knows escaping will make her feel worse" sort of thing. like she sees Bruce and Jason arguing and just starts to brace for it instead of trying to break them up. it's good food.

[9haharharley1]

Blackice Fuck or Die/Sex Pollen-type scenario

wherein Pitch punches Cupid in the face and then gets lust-dusted in retaliation, but it's not the first time this has happened because Cupid is an asshole and they can't stand each other, so he resolves to wait out the effects in the dark of his lair and maybe masturbate a handful of times to ease the building heat slowly burning him from the inside out and sleep in between.

Of course, this is before Jack decided to pay him a visit. What could the baby Guardian possibly want from him at a time like this, it's terribly inconvenient. But oh, Jack's skin is delightfully cool, it feels lovely against his burning hands when he cups Jack's cheeks. Is the rest of him just as cold? Pitch has to know, has to get his hands on more skin, has to feel more, so he forces Jack out of his hoodie, has to run his hands down pale, freezing flesh, has to feel all that wonderful cold pressed to him, he's burning, it's almost unbearable!

His room. His room is dark and chilled, so Pitch whisks Jack away into the dark of the lair and Jack has no idea what's going on, he only came to check up on Pitch, the man had been inactive for years and the Guardians were starting to get paranoid. He hadn't expected him to start feeling Jack up, start divesting him of his clothes, and Jack really doesn't know what's happening or why Pitch is doing this or even if he really likes it.

Pitch throws him on the bed, throws his own robe to the floor, crawls over on all fours above Jack, and Jack can finally see how dilated his pupils are, how brilliantly gold and hazy, unfocused. Something is wrong, there's no way Pitch would ever want to touch him of his own accord, and Jack tries to push up, tries to talk some sense in the man, to reason with him somehow, but Pitch only lays down on top of him, pinning Jack to the bed, groaning as his over-heated skin comes in contact with blissful cold. There's steam in the air from the extreme temperature difference and Jack is legit worried for the older spirit, but something distracts him. There's something digging into his hip, Pitch is making these noises Jack has never heard him make before, soft grunts and little groans, and there's a nose at his neck as Pitch inhales deeply. Jack really doesn't want to stop this.

[cum-a-calla]

.

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart (All Chapters)

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart -18+ / MDNI - DARK- Yandere Whitebeard Pirates (Marco x Thatch x Ace x Reader), complete, mind the tags.

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25

Chapter 26 Chapter 27

[deputyrook]

I literally cannot stop imagining Illario holding Rook in his lap and forcing her to come to try to show he can do one thing better. Maybe the pleasure is meant as punishment, maybe he's earnetly trying to win her over, but either way, it's hot.

God I just get the hottest anon asks, I'm so goddamn blessed.

The image that keeps coming back to me is like... some quick, hurried groping in a side room during a party, Rook half-bent over a desk with Illario's hand stuffed down her pants and his mouth on her neck as he tells he she needs to be quiet or they'll be discovered (and she doesn't want that, does she?) yum.

[aevallare]

for the trope asks: dead dove? (i know those words mean many things, but i'm using them as a synonym for darkfic in this case)

oh when I drop my dadstarion fic. then u will Realize

[interrogatormentors]

INTERLUDE 2: a king, a lord (an emperor, a god)

Sometimes, Eridan would lay in his cupe and he'd stare at the ceiling. He'd think about the things he'd been pushing away for so long.

He'd think about late morning chats with Karkat. He'd think about orphaner duties with Feferi. He'd think about his occasional lamentations with Kanaya (and the fact that he kept losing her name in the haze was both terrifying and comforting).

He'd think about his archives back on Alternia. He'd think about his hive, his lusus.

He wondered if the old skyhorse had moved on, already. If the ruins of his hive were repurposed. If the books had been pilfered. He wondered if the new inheritor cared as much as he once had about the knowledge he'd so carefully cultivated.

He wished, in a small way, that he was back there. Back then. When times were simpler, when his mind actually worked, when things made sense. He kept losing time. He kept losing himself.

But really, who was he anymore? Was he really anything before Her? His beloved Mistress. His reason to keep going. She was everything.

Thinking about this was always the worst. He shuffled out of his cupe, sighing as he went to shower instead. Once appropriately and impeccably groomed to the nines as was expected of him he made his way out of his blocks, taking his time to walk through the halls.

The lights, the sights, the stars, they never ceased to dazzle, nowadays.

Eridan felt like he was the center of the universe, for all intents and purposes. It made him feel warm and fuzzy in ways that he couldn't begin to describe, the things he had deserved all his life finally being given to him as he justly deserved.

He was a fucking marvel, a gift to the Empire.

(She laughed more genuinely, She smiled more pleasantly when he wasn't sober, so he'd do whatever it took to keep Her happy. That was all he was worth, after all.)

He fished out his flask again. He took a long swig from it and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, letting the sting of the alcohol on the back of his tongue ground him. A notification pinged on his palmhusk and he pulled that out from his pocket, brows rising as he saw the notification. His presence was required on the HBC Condescension, with the DC Reichenbach having already been given instructions to land in the docking bay.

He approached the massive pressurized doors in the loading bay, tapping his feet impatiently.

"Dock," he snapped out, eye twitching with the pang in his temple. God damn it. Not now.

"Dooooock? What's the magic word, Amps?"

"Shakes, none'a this runt grub nonsense outta you. I got summons. Dock." At least this request wasn't horribly fraught with time sensitivity. He hammered at the button nonetheless, annoyed.

"Ughhhhhhh you're no fun anymore. Fine. I'm docking, dude, just chill." The snotty fucking helmsman devolved into grumbling that Eridan couldn't possibly retain care less about retaining. There was more important information he needed to keep track of.

"I don't need to be fun, I need to be good at my job, maybe you should try it one night," Eridan snapped back. He ignored the mock offended gasp from Shakes as he stepped out of the ship, staring up at the docking bay of the HBC Condescension . It was a familiar sight at this point, almost comforting even if it felt too big to fit sometimes.

He slowed as he saw another figure coming straight towards him. He recognized the outfit, decorated with Head Admin certification badges as well as medals and pins that spoke of countless experience and demanded respect. The figure was a seadweller, significantly older than him with age-darkened skin, grey hair and a sharp-cut beard, so he reflexively saluted. It was still strange to receive the respectful gesture in return, but it was slowly becoming less jarring and more expected of his station.

"Head Admin Ashvar Zysgin," Eridan greeted coolly.

"Head Admin Eridan Ampora," Ashvar replied in an equal formal tone, looking down his nose at the smaller seadweller. "The Empress filed for your temporary transfer to assist in Head Admin duties for the next two perigees."

"My what?"

Eridan stared blankly at Ashvar, as if expecting to be hearing things. He was clearly not, though, as the silence stretched on before Ashvar clucked his tongue in annoyance.

"You were supposed to be sent notice." The tone of voice was distasteful, and it made Eridan's blood boil. True to his conditioning education under the Empress, Eridan didn't respond aside from straightening his back, annoyance clear on his face. No stress. No panic. He had to be better. Do not let emotions rule your head. Turn it off.

"I was only sent notice of summons," Eridan said slowly. "It seems a miscommunication occurred."

Ashvar's lip curled. "Clearly." He turned his nose up, clearly annoyed. "Can't trust shitbloods to do anything these nights."

"Clearly," Eridan agreed simply, keeping it short and concise. This one seemed to be far more old fashioned.

"In any case, there is no sense in dallying. I was informed that my duties for the night were to get you caught up. The crew of the Reichenbach will supplement the crew of the Condescension for the next incursion; it's a colony expansion. Captain Nekara will manage orders ship-side, to ensure our magnificent Empress can focus on her glorious conquest as necessary. Consider it an honor, Consort, that she is putting her trust in your capabilities."

He was quite proud of himself for maintaining the calm, casual air that he was meant to carry, even as he preened at the attention and the reverential title of Consort. "Understood, sir. Ever may She reign."

Some of the tension eased as Ashvar clearly approved of the appropriate deference. Good. One step done correctly.

—

Managing a ship as massive as the Condescension was one that took several admins, Ashvar explained as they walked. Eridan kept his eyes focused out as he listened to the senior Admin, taking stock of the surroundings. The interior arrangement of the ship always made it felt more like a mobile city than a ship, in his opinion, but it was fascinating to see. The changes made throughout trollkind history were obvious. Despite having been in the ship multiple times, it never ceased to enthrall him.

Now a bit of that wonder was occupied fiercely by the route memorization he was fiercely committed to as it was explained to him. The maintenance sector was manned by Sector Admin Talawa —and wow, Sector Admin! A whole subset of admins for each corner of the gargantuan ship! It wasn't something taught in schoolfeeding, that's for sure— while the sector by that was engine technology, under Sector Admin Elagya. The culinary sector, responsible for maintaining the meal hall and providing for the fleet, was overseen by Sector Admin Uareon, and the armory was manned by Sector Admin Julien. The mediculling unit was managed by Sector Admin Isopre, and Sector Admin Daunus was in charge of personnel.

He was glad he was recording all the discussions dutifully. He'd upload them to his pandrive later.

"I've called for all the sector admins to meet," Ashvar droned on, gesturing grandiosely, "so they can meet with you and understand that you'll be filling in with... who was the junior admin on your ship again?"

"Ysseol Holkaf," replied Eridan. Ashvar seemed to take Eridan's presence in stride, and there was actual hope that maybe Eridan would find himself fitting in here, better than the rapidly alienating presence he held on the Reichenbach.

Meeting the sector admins unfortunately coincided perfectly with running into someone else. Someone rather unexpected that would blow all those hopes out of the water. 

The admins that had gathered were all stiff at attention, and even Ashvar was taken aback at the towering presence of the Empress where She sat, waiting for them all in the meeting block. Her massive mane of hair easily took up a huge portion of the block, let alone Her horns. She smiled coolly, eyes narrowing in amusement.

Eridan stepped forward immediately as She stood.

"Mistress," he breathed out, taking a knee and bowing deeply, hand over his pusher and other tucked behind his back. Perfectly executed, as She'd taught him. He opened his eyes after waiting the requisite three seconds to see that She had closed the gap, holding Her hand out with Her wrist facing him.

Oh, truly, what an honor. He leaned in and pressed his lips reverently to Her pulse, and he relaxed as he felt Her claws curl around his jaw.

"Stand, guppy," She said coolly, and he did so at Her command, hands now tucked behind his back. "Good buoy. You're in charge."

Eridan froze. Ashvar followed suit. "...My Empress?" Ashvar asked, dimly confused. The other admins, loathing the risk of being singled out, all stayed eerily quiet in the block as it seemed to instantly grow more suffocating.

"Did I stutter, Head Admin?" She asked, coldly. "He's shrimpressed me. You whale do as he says. He has no otter will than mine . For this incursion, I trust no otter."

Eridan bowed his head numbly, eyes shut in reverence to Her judgment. He felt fit to explode.

"And, Eridan," he stopped breathing as he heard his name on Her lips, looking up in wonder at his dear, beloved Empress, "you'll come to my personal blocks after shift's end. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," he murmured, awestruck. "Glory be. May your reign be eternal."

There was a playful spark to Her eyes that hid vicious satisfaction, cruel amusement that he wanted to see more of. So caught up was he, that he missed the reviled rage thinly hidden behind Ashvar's eyes.

As She took Her leave, he watched Her go, taken by Her presence as he always was. He was rudely shocked back to himself with a firm, sharp clearing of the throat. Turning on his heel, he saw Ashvar, looking less calm and collected than he had been prior.

"I will not fail," Eridan said firmly, straightening his back. "Introductions, then. If we're goin' to be workin' together for the next incursion, we ought to know each other. Head Admin of the DC Reichenbach, Imperial Consort to the Empress, Eridan Ampora."

He learned more than a few names in the brief meeting that followed. The spindly, long-haired cerulean that looked down his glasses at Eridan with derision was Quetus Isopre, and the stocky, burly purple that stood by his side was Baldur Daunus, his brow set in a wrinkled scowl. Fidice Julien was a buff butch blueblood with a sharp military haircut, a gnarly scar over the right side of her face that took her eye with it, a broad chest and a mean grin that didn't reach her eyes. Vigare Uareon was another seadweller, not as old as Ashvar but not the youngest of the group, hair tied back in a clean ponytail. Asavra Elagya was a tealblood, the lowest blood of the admins and the shortest with a bush of hair and large, thick rimmed glasses, while Toptan Talawa was another purple with subjugglator-style face paint, and seemed the youngest of them all. He'd have to pull their files to know for certain.

Another thing that Eridan learned, with a sinking feeling he carefully hid, was that none of them were particularly excited at the sudden shift in power.

—

When Eridan reported to the Condesce's private blocks as instructed, he expected everything to go as it always did when She summoned him to Her chambers. Casual chatting about the state of the Empire, some quips thrown in by Psii, Her best alcohol with that horrible powder served in his glass, and everything to go hazy and foggy as She did whatever She so pleased took care of him in a way he'd likely never truly earn the right to claim. He certainly wasn't about to question anything She did to him so graciously gave him in the way of attention.

And that it was. He would never deny how much he adored these quiet moments that only he was so blessed to be privy to. Even if remembering everything that happened wasn't exactly an option...

As usual, Eridan came back to himself tucked away in the Empress's embrace, feeling sore all over and finding it hard to breathe, everything between his knees and stomach feeling raw. He blinked slowly, tucking himself up against Her as She played with his hair, claws curling around his horns. They ached as She did this, but he couldn't react, he'd learned. He needed Her touch more than he needed air.

"One night, if you keep up your current performance," She murmured into the skin of his neck like a kiss, cool, plump lips skimming over tattered gills, "this will be yours. Zysgin's on in his sweeps. I won't have need of him soon enough. A lame troll is of no use to me."

He swallowed. "Such faith in my ability, I could never ask for more, Mistress," he replied hoarsely. His throat ached. He wondered if She'd had him screaming. He didn't really need to know.

"I know you'll be a wonderful extension of my will, guppy," She crooned.

He let out a happy little hum, curling further against Her, simply basking in the attention and the affection, listening to Her breathe. He didn't say a word as Her hand began to wander over his skin again. It didn't matter what he wanted, after all.

He just did as She wanted.

—

The next evening began bright and early. He woke up alone in Her chambers, unsurprising but still disappointing. His pan pounded as usual, displeased with him for falling asleep without being in sopor. Unfortunately, he always fell asleep like this after late mornings spent in Her chambers, and so it was a reality he'd just have to deal with.

Arming himself with his flask, taking a quick shower before dressing himself up as normal, he took his leave from the blocks.

His first stop... personnel. That'd be the biggest doozie, considering how he was certain the sector admin had to speak to each of the division heads on board for morale, health and livelihood reports. It was guaranteed to be the biggest headache possible. Laughsassins, threshecutioners, cavalreapers, ruffiannihilators, interrogatormentors (he shuddered, bile in the back of his throat), subjugglators—well, they all had force deployments here on the HBC Condescension. This was the forward ship for all military campaigns, after all, the stuff of legends. He was excited to read into the stuff.

He was less than enthused when he arrived to see no sign of Baldur. He frowned. The purple should be here somewhere. Where the fuck was he? Something itched in his pan; he sought another swig from his flask.

Wasting too much time trying to find him, at least Eridan actually found him. He saw the jackass brawling with the head of the ruffianihilator squad, which most certainly wasn't part of his duties.

"Admin Daunus!" Eridan barked, bewildered and taken aback. "Where's your report?"

"Somewhere else, shortstack," Baldur snarled in reply, "don't fucking interrupt me."

"The— this is your fucking job!" he snapped, completely blindsided by the sheer disrespect. The other ruffiannihilators all laughed, and Eridan burned in a rage, lip curling as he sneered down the whole lot of them.

"Just like your ancestor, aren't you? Complete stick in the mud. That can get your pail kicked, chumbucket," a purple ruffiannihilator called out. Eridan's eyes narrowed, incensed by the sheer disrespect he was being afforded.

"Show some fuckin' respect, you're talkin' to the acting head admin of the HBC Condescension on Her Imperious Condescension's illustrious order, cannon fodder."

The expression on her face fell into severe unease at this revelation. A subtle glance she gave to Baldur was all Eridan needed to know; the other admin had rigged this interaction.

He turned his ire on the larger purple. "Report, sector admin. That's an order and I am done tolerating your disrespect."

The dry amusement drained off Baldur's face, leaving only annoyance behind as he flipped the ruffiannihilator he was sparring over. "Left it with the threshecutioners, Head Admin," he drawled, and the title felt like an insult.

He bared his teeth and turned off. The report he ultimately found was dismal; damaged and barebones, barely legible and an insult to administrative work as Eridan prided himself on conducting. God. Fucking. Damn it.

—

Next admin... okay. Surely, it couldn't go as bad as Baldur's sector. He hated the smell of antiseptic, of course, and he'd been in this area more times than he'd like (the sight of his horn being removed, the tendrils in his pan crawled and writhed and hurt and hurt and hurt and—) but reports were reports and things needed done. The rota needed to be established, and Eridan was hopeful that Quetus would keep notes as diligently as he appeared to from a glance.

Instead, Quetus was doing something completely unrelated. No reports were prepared for him. After stocking something that most certainly was not his job, he looked over slowly, taking his sweet time to acknowledge Eridan who had been standing there for the past ten minutes.

"Do you know about Orphaner Dualscar?"

Eridan blinked. He glanced over, confused at the line of questioning. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Quetus looked over to him, eyes crinkling in vicious amusement. "Did you know he died a disgrace? Pathetic and washed out, culled by the Grand Highblood?"

His mouth went dry. His eyes narrowed. "Hell are you implyin', Admin Isopre?"

"Watch your step, pupa," Quetus merely said, turning off. Eridan struggled to comprehend what the hell that was supposed to mean, insulted at the way his rank was so casually disregarded .

"Oi!" he called out, frustrated and annoyed. "Where the fuck's your report!?"

"The table," came the infuriatingly vague reply. The way the docterrors and assistants all looked at him, knowing full well who he was and what procedure had been done to him in this very hall incensed him more, and he frustratedly scoured the goddamn block until he found the stupid fucking manila folder. Much like Baldur's report, he realized in quiet dismay, it wasn't worth jack shit. But he was now running late and low on time. He couldn't afford to redo this shit. He needed to keep going.

—

Once was strange. Twice was a trend, and Eridan wished it wasn't so. Because the third time was simply enough to piss him off, which sustained as he merely continued floundering about, unable to get a purchase with any of the sector admins.

He couldn't get a single goddamn report delivered correctly. Each sector was either missing its admin, or experienced its admin doing things they had no business doing. Fidice was outright neglecting the job to drink and play poker with the guards! Come on! She didn't even need soporifics to keep functioning! 

The packet that he ultimately ended up with was disgraceful, a great lump of barely legible shit that didn't get any of the required details a report should have.

He was losing his mind. And by the end of the night, he was summoned by his Mistress. He arrived at Her throne, lowering himself in a prostrate bow and horrified at the fact that he had nothing to show but substandard, cobbled together reports.

He was incensed to see Ashvar showing up with a much nicer looking report folder. He realized at that moment that he'd been duped . And as Ashvar handed off the report to his Mistress, Her expression held only disapproval that cut him far more to the core than anything else She could have possibly done in that moment.

"Oh, guppy," She said softly, disappointed, "I'm gonna have to prawnish you today."

Eridan's shoulders stiffened, panic flickering over his face. "Mistress, I, I swear I—"

"Shhhh. No excuses, buoy. You're bein' two shrimpulsive. What are you?"

Eridan felt humiliated, for Her to bring this up now while the saboteur responsible for this daymare was in the same fucking block? "P-please, Mistress—"

Her tone grew colder. "What are you?"

Eridan squeezed his eyes shut, shame rising up. Don't cry. She would hate that more than anything in the world, at this moment. "...a failure."

"Good buoy. To my private blocks."

The taste in the back of Eridan's mouth was sour as he looked down at his feet. "Yes, Mistress," he croaked quietly. He could feel smugness radiating off that grandiose piece of shit, but he couldn't afford to feel rage in that moment. He wouldn't give the fucker the satisfaction. 

He had to accept his punishment.

—

His throat was sore the next evening. Everything hurt, bruises covering him under his uniform as a reminder of his incompetence. Moving was a misery in and of itself, but he knew he'd deserved it. It wasn't like he could say anything against Her, after all (the heretical audacity of the mere thought gave him anxiety), so he simply sucked it up, showered, and with a thundering pan, he went off to start his rota for the night.

"Hey, Amps!"

He snarled in annoyance, pinching his brow as he turned his attention to the usual troublemakers from his crew. "What?" he asked, sharply, "I'm busy."

Shakes squinted at him and let out a low whistle. "Jeez. What crawled up your nook and died?"

The acrid glare that Shakes got in return had him holding up his hands. "Okay, okay, bad line of convo. Something up, dude?"

"Head Admin Ampora, and no, I'm—I'm fine. Just. Just stop distractin' me, I have reports to get!"

He turned off, paying no further mind to his ship's helmsman. He didn't even pause to wonder why the guy was out and about, considering how outright hostile a lot of people on the HBC Condescension were to lowbloods and, in particular, mobile helmsmen. Traditionalist fucknuts, the whole lot of them.

It's not like it mattered to him, anyways. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Any hopes he'd had of the first night being a fluke were firmly dashed. The second night went just as poorly, this time overrun by the fact that he tried to do all their reports for them. This took too much time for one troll to do, for the ship was simply so massive that it was impossible to get the work done in a single night. He showed up that night with half the packet clearly done by him alone, and the other half still the same, low tier work. Ashvar, again, showed up with a comprehensive report.

Eridan was once again ordered for punishment.

The punishment that morning was immediately soured by Ashvar intercepting him after they were both dismissed, as Eridan was making his way to Her chambers. The other seadweller had simply smiled, a hand placing on his shoulder, claws threateningly tight against his uniform;

"You know, it's not as if this is unexpected," Ashvar said. "Your ancestor was a disgrace to the empire as well. Vying for something he had no business vying for. You could simply admit to the Empress that you're not cut out for this work, pupa, surely she would allow you to take second position."

Eridan yanked his arm away from Ashvar, not deigning to give him a response. "I have my orders," he simply said, making his way to her blocks again.

How the fuck did this spawn of a bitch know anything about Dualscar?

—

Night three didn't go any better. Supplementing the holes in their shit reports rather than rewriting the shit from scratch didn't work when Elagya simply lied on her report, coming up with bullshit that didn't match the report she'd given to Ashvar. Collapsing on the job didn't help matters, either.

This time he remembered screaming until his throat gave out. Forget it forget it cast it aside. Don't think about it. Just shut down. Keep going. You have to keep going.

God, he was so tired. And, of course, because he was actively being punished, his pathetic plea to see Psii for a moment of relief was immediately and firmly denied.

"You need to do betta for that, guppy," She'd told him.

God, he wanted to cry.

Turn off. Turn it all off. Focus on the work.

—

Alright. No more relying on their reports. He just had to get up earlier. He just had to work harder. He just...

...who was he kidding? Another night, another sinking feeling that he wasn't going to survive to the end of the week. Three nights of failure leading into three days of consecutive punishment and sopor denial was starting to wreak havoc on him. He couldn't afford the time needed to cover up the deep, heavy bags under his eyes, punched in with restless, worthless sleep. He should honestly have just worked through the day, once She was done with him.

Even still, he got up early. He showed up to personnel before Baldur was even conscious, ignoring the annoyance at the troop heads at being bothered before the shift alarm had even gone off, and got the data he needed. He had mediculling's reports written up as well and was walking and sorting through his list of what needed getting, pan going a mile a minute to meticulously micromanage his timing when something changed in his fortunes.

Eridan groaned, scrubbing at his temples, but took pause as he saw a figure approach. Teal on her uniform, expression carefully controlled, he recognized her, first by the shift in her gender-presenting pheromones.

"Admin Holkaf," he said slowly, tucking the still burning anger and betrayal (and hurt so much hurt what had he done to deserve her betrayal, he tried so hard to be an admin worth respecting on that thankless ship) deep in his pusher until he never had to think about it again. Ysseol saluted, and he noticed something in her hands.

"...reports I gathered, sir," she said quietly. "From the armory and culinary sectors."

His brows shot up, genuinely taken aback for a moment. He slowly took the folder and opened it.

He recognized this handwriting. This wasn't Ysseol's, but he wasn't about to bring it up. The second report, of course, had her neat handwriting in it, but the first one... well, that was Spoons. 

What the fuck was a helming tech that had no reason to like him anymore doing, preparing a report? But as he read it over, it was a breath of fresh air that twinged his sore, aching lungs. This was comprehensive. This was excellent work. If her blood had been a couple shades higher, he'd always thought, she'd make an excellent admin. Now he was wondering if that long-standing rule should be twisted for her, but... well. By now, he knows her. She would hate the kind of work that came with administrative tiers. She liked working with her hands, staying busy—

— Why did any of this matter, guppy?

The thought, sounding eerily like Her voice, shook him out of his mystified reverie. He took a slow breath.

"Good work."

Ysseol tilted her head back subtly. He ignored the look on her face. "Of course, sir," she said quietly. "Do you still have additional sectors needing to be gathered?"

Eridan felt a sting in his thoracic cavity; doubt, anxiety. What if she was plotting against him too? The admin crew of the HBC Condescension saw no desire to step back and let him have an easier time of things by any means. She'd already betrayed him, once. Spoons had all the more reason to see him burn, after what he'd done to Bricks he didn't remember he didn't remember why didn't he remember? Wouldn't he have remembered? Wouldn't he—

He took in a slow breath. "No," he lied, and he turned away.

Despite the hustle and the tireless struggle, he ultimately managed to get the rest of the reports. He felt a mix of annoyance and gratefulness when he saw a familiar teal-written folder waiting for him at the entrance of the engine technology sector that he viciously smothered, knowing full-well that he needed a better poker-face. He took the report anyways. He'd arrange for Ysseol to have a night off when the DC Reichenbach was on its merry way, after this horrid shit-show was said and done.

Night four was the first night that ended in his position as acting Head Admin where he didn't get pushed by Her. Ashvar looked fit to spit nails. Eridan did not give him the satisfaction of a response as he was pulled into Her lap and postured like a lap-fitted woofbeast spoiled rotten as his station deserved. 

He simply stared, blankly, turning his mind off and letting Her do as She pleased. 

As he was made to do.

—

It came to a head when, by the end of the week, Eridan was run ragged and exhausted, beyond annoyed. Ysseol and Spoons continued to pitch in when they can (he ignored the report that looked like Bricks's handwriting, pushed that far back in his pan until he'd forgotten who that handwriting belonged to) and his workload became slightly easier. But it wasn't ever supposed to be like this.

He would never complain about his crew on the Reichenbach again, he swore, because if this was how his beloved Mistress's people ran her ship, he felt so, so sorry for Her. Never before had he understood Her troubles more than in this moment, with sheer incompetents sullying Her illustrious name with their panrotted drivel.

His mind made up, he called a meeting to discuss the problems he was seeing. He arrived at the room with the pathetic excuses of reports he'd had to hand the Empress sorted (because yes, he'd been told that he had to keep them, read them over, and solve the issue, of course he had).

He also came with a lighter.

So he waited, there, for the meeting to start. This would hopefully clear the air between them. Just a proper meeting, where he set the groundwork for how their relationship was going to be from here on out.

.....a meeting where no one fucking showed up.

Eridan took a deep breath. He let the breath out. Turn them off. Turn your emotions off. Do not let your emotions rule your head.

"...Psii," Eridan said, lowly, hands splayed across the table, the results of the disastrous week scattered across as much as they well deserved. "You're not too busy at the moment, are you? Could you do me a favour?"

"You know the answer to that question, but I can multitask for you. State your request."

Eridan closed his eyes, breathing again. Slow. Measured.

"The sector admins have elected to not show themselves at a meeting I specifically called. Nor has your head admin. Find them."

Not even a second passed before the Helmsman was rattling off locations. "Admin Daunus is napping. Admin Isopre has invented a maintenance request and is currently meandering through a supply closet. Said supply closet is on deck seven. Admin Fidice is carving the ice for her soporific. Admin Elagya is in a tepid excuse of a hot tub with Admin Talawa and Admin Uareon. Head Admin Zysgin is finalizing routes through the next system. All alerts for the meeting have been snoozed manually in their systems and thus I had no authority to reinstate them nor alert you."

Eridan closed his eyes. "In my position as acting Head Admin of the HBC Condescension, and as the Imperial Consort of the Empress, this is my order. Make them come."

"Would you prefer promptly, or humbled?" There was something like amusement on the edge of the Helmsman's voice, despite the deadpan death-rattle he always spoke with over intercoms.

Eridan smiled slowly, each tooth bared straight to the gum. "Humble them, my dearest diamond. Show them what happens when they disrespect the will of our Mistress."

"Understood. The query was a formality. Your poker face still needs work, Eridan. This request has been deleted from the Imperial Network and shall commence shortly."

Eridan let out a mirthless laugh. "Let me have my fun, snowflake. For now, I'll wait."

There was a scratchy exhale that had an echo of a laugh to it that trailed into a cough, and then the intercom went silent.

Eridan sat and waited, patiently. He flicked the lid of the lighter on and off, feet kicked up on the table. He would outlast them, after everything they'd put him through. It took half an hour before the scumfuckers finally showed up, all of them irritated and annoyed and clearly displeased at the methods visited upon them. He would have to ask Psii for recordings of the merriment later, if only to observe the best ways to get under these dipshits skins.

"How highly immature of you," Ashvar sniffed indignantly. "You would set the Helmsman, an important tool to the Empress, on us? And for what? Because you're unhappy?"

"Object lesson, Ashvar," Eridan said slowly, flicking the lighter on. He stood slowly, eyes flicking slowly, purposely down to the meeting table. "This is the work you all presented me in this past week."

He touched the lighter to the surface of the table. The table which had been cleanly drenched with ignition fluid, and thus lit up like a trash fire. Which, truly, it was.

"I am disgusted with your conduct," he said, calmly, in the midst of their shouts of alarm. "You hem and haw about immaturity, and yet in your illustrious tenure, you present me with trash. I would expect this out of wigglers. I would expect this out of unorganized rebel scum." His eyes glared into each of the admins eyes, all of them appalled at the way the table between them all burned. "Is this how you respect our wonderful, radiant Empress? Undermining the sanctity of Her well oiled machine, when we're gearin' up for a new colony?"

"You set a fucking meeting block on fire! Are you fucking insane?!" Vigare yelled, eyes wide. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Eridan placed his hand on the table. The flames licked around his fingers, around his rings, and they all stared, put into an immediate hush. "What's wrong with me? Me? My problem is that I'm surrounded by incompetent fools who have grown complacent and resistant to change. There's a new Head Admin in the picture at a critical juncture, one who holds the Empress's confidence more than any of you remora ever fuckin' have." He pulled his hand slowly back, wiggling his fingers. He could barely feel the angry blistering of his hand where the rings grew hot. He'd had worse.

"Do you think I'm some sort of yellow-bellied weaklin'? That I wouldn't catch on to your game? 'Cause I was on it from night one. Your Head Admin, I'm afraid, is not subtle in the slightest. So if you think I'm stupid, naive, well, you are sadly fuckin' mistaken."

He rounded the table and approached them, nose turned up in the air, eyes narrowed to slits. "You know, I know intimately well how to dismember corpses. I was an Orphaner in my youth, much like a certain undeservin' whisper of an alleged ancestor you shitpans keep tryin' to foist on my person. So it should come as no surprise to hear when I tell you that once you have a skeleton, yer wretched meatsack follows a pattern. Doesn' matter if you're a troll, or a lusus. You've got joints. Those can be broken, easy. Claws? Those can peel off much easier than you'd think. Muscle fibers need the right angle, but they'll tear, even with a blunt instrument. With the right technique, nothin' lasts."

There was a sharp sound, and Eridan reeled for a moment, blinking slowly as he felt dull pain spread through his face. He looked slowly to see Ashvar, violet in the face and enraged, his teeth pulled back in a snarl.

"How dare you," the other Head Admin snarled. "You miserable little brat. Barely out of your fresh molt, and an accident has convinced you you're worth something? When such a critically important assignment looms over us as a guillotine? You should have accepted your failure on that first night and conceded that you were ill-equipped to handle this task."

"You raised your hand to the Imperial Consort," Eridan commented, eyes dragging up to the intercoms. The casual threat only incensed the usually composed seadweller.

"You're nothing," Ashvar roared, grabbing Eridan by the lapels, the fuchsia of his consort cape bunched under his undeserving grubby claws. "Nothing but a little runt clawing at the worthless legacy of a disgraced Orphaner who died in pathetic misery! Even she thinks you're nothing, she tore your ear off, left you mutilated— marked you a wretched little slave! I owned dozens of you in the prime of the Empire, hundreds of sweeps before you were even spat out of the mother grub's brooding sphincter!"

Eridan snarled. He lashed out, but without claws to dig in, he could only grab Ashvar's throat and squeeze. The man threw him aside, laughing, and he slammed into the wall. He collected himself quickly, pushing himself up to his feet as he glared over furiously, eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a declawed, defanged little plaything pacified by a crippling dependence on soporifics that she's winding up to watch break! You–" Eridan was kicked in the side with a sharp bite of pain that he dared not voice, "–are–" another kick, another bloom of pain, more unvoiced rage, "–nothing!"

The admins laughed in amusement. The laughter circled in his aching, roaring pan, twisting the band of sanity tauter and tauter until it finally snapped in a moment of pain, humiliation, and cold, nauseating fury.  

The red overcame him.

Last longer. Punch harder. Tear flesh and scales apart with your teeth. Be every bit the monster that people think you are. But do not let emotions rule your head.

Do not let emotions rule your head.

DO NOT LET EMOTIONS RULE Y

Eridan sucked in a slow breath as his vision cleared. He was sore. He was tired. He was panting for air, gills burning, teeth bared to the gums. The table was slammed into the wall, cracked clean in two, the charred remains of shit reports scattered uselessly and soaked in violet.

He could taste iron and flesh in his mouth, and he blinked slowly, staring blankly down at the fallen limb in front of him. He could see it was impaled in multiple parts, and he noted that tacky coldness was dripping slowly down his horns. Fingers were missing off the hand, and he saw shredded remains of them scattered around in a barbaric bloodbath.

Ashvar was down on the ground, dry-heaving from the pain. His only hand with what fingers remained clung at the jagged stump of his arm. Eridan moved forward, slowly, boots squishing on the tacky violet blood that stained the pristine floors of his Mistress's ship.

He placed his boot on the stump, and shoved the older seadweller down without remorse.

The resulting shriek made his fins ring, dimmer in the slave-cut fin. He ignored it. He only felt cold anger, slowly drenched in the arctic waters that filled his lungs.

"Crawl," Eridan said, frigid. "Crawl to the fuckin' medbay and pray to the good will of our Illustrious Empress that the Docterror on duty won't turn you away for bein' a dumb sack of shit waste of genetic material. And th' next time you think of somethin' smart, watch your tongue or I'll rip it out of your withered sack of meat, you panrotted hasbeen. I am the Imperial Consort of the Empress, executor of Her will, extension of Her radiant, everlasting splendour. I can and will always rank above you, and lip service will earn you a visit from the drones, if you're lucky enough to miss disciplinary action from the Imperial Network." His eyes rose slowly, needling each of the other admins purposefully.

No one was laughing at him anymore.

"Ashvar Zysgin is an example," he continued. The rage he felt was drained out of him entirely; only cold remained. "If any of you have any complaints, by all means, come forward. We'll settle this the old fashioned way. I don't need any'a you dead-weight swill to get this job done. I've already made that painfully clear."

None dared to move. He wondered, dimly, what he'd done to earn the looks on their faces. He decided that, having seen the aftermath, he didn't actually care.

"Good. So you understand," he said softly, "that if you ever, ever disrespect me or mention the Orphaner Dualscar to my face again, you will not survive your next breath."

Everything felt cold, so fucking cold. He didn't think he could feel cold like this. They kept shooting glances at each other, and he couldn't make out the details, the aura in his eyes unbearable. The silence burned colder in his throat.

"I expect an answer out of you, bottom-feeders. Are. We. Clear?"

Uareon stumbled forward, clearly ousted into the speaking role by her co-conspirators. She immediately shrank back, nauseated and pale as death as she looked down at the sobbing mess that was once a tenured Head Admin. "...crystal, Head Admin Ampora, sir. This will not happen again, sir. A thousand apologies for the disrespect, sir. Your will be done, sir."

He saluted automatically, demanding respect as they responded in kind with the additional deferential tilts of the head to expose their necks. He felt cold, cold, colder than ice as he turned on his heel. He saw Nekara at the door of the meeting block. He couldn't make out the expression she wore. The aura he saw was overwhelming. He needed relief a drink.

"Captain Fyrane," he said, coldly, the only acknowledgement he offered as he passed her out the door.

There was only one person he needed to respect anymore. Only one person he could trust. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard so fucking hard, but realized in futility that he would never belong anywhere. He only belonged in one place in the whole cruel, unfeeling world, and it was a place he'd never leave. 

He understood now, understood why She ruled through fear, understood why none dared cross Her, and he felt pity for Her. To be so alone in the universe, with no one to understand Her... what a sad, lonely existence.

But he was there. And he would let Her do anything to him. Because he was so, so desperately flushed for Her.

And as he saw Her standing further behind the gruesome scene, simply watching, judging, and waiting, saw the vicious approval, the too wide smile, the amusement at Her toys playing approval and pity and affection on Her face, he stopped before Her.

He bowed, followed the cues he'd learned so well, and finally received the pleasure of kissing the palm of Her hand with all the tenderness he could possibly muster in the universe. Violet blood and bits of gore smeared in his wake. She smiled wider, deeply amused by his grand show.

He felt nothing at all.

(Somewhere else, choked out and unheard through a suffocating web of necrotic wire, someone sang a funeral dirge for the person he used to be.)