#far future fantasy does something to me

[lorelune]

anyone around these parts read the broken earth trilogy because i am having. thoughts.

[thatonegayship]

I had to

Wait, does the cheating thing on the bond always works? bcs that would be kinda freaky for R!Dipper like imagine you get pinned down by someone in the corner of a br or smthng and then said person kissed you and proceeded to explode into red mist and you literally have no idea what happened.

Also, would the constellation mark be a "cursed" Mark over the years, like you would give birth to a baby and the doctor says "😟 I am so sorry ma'am,,, I'm afraid your baby has the Cipher Companion mark. ( could also be something equally as science-y like Ursa Major, Constellation Calamation, etc idk)" And you just burst into tears.

Would that mean that dipper would get into a special program(demon wrangling program or smthng, demonologist? Maybe)? Or would the parents hide it away hoping that Bill would never take their child away?

(Sorry this au is just very interesting to me,,,, I hope u get more motivation, keep writing author 💪)

These are all options! The fun part of reincarnation AU being left ambiguous is that technically any of them could happen.

[tainbocuailnge]

this is a final fantasy fourteen dawntrail post. it speaks incredibly for the desperation of the people of alexandria in its decline that they both couldn't bear to remember the dead and couldn't bear the thought of the dead no longer being remembered, and thus created this contradictory system where the dead are only remembered by something other than those to whom that memory is meaningful. so crushed by collective trauma and grief that they directed every effort to eradicating awareness of mortality altogether and it's resulted in a paradise where everyone is incredibly blasé about dying because the dead live forever in the cloud until they run out of spare souls and are completely paralyzed with fear of their own mortality.

but even more than desperation it speaks of a naive sincerity that the scientists and officials behind the project just actually genuinely built and maintained this giant memory database to preserve the deceased at increasingly large cost, rather than just lie that they totally did that to a populace who won't remember those deceased anyway. they're not harvesting souls to power the war effort while using a recreation of the beloved princess as puppet figurehead, they completely sincerely recreate the dead from their memories and simulate them living happily ever after, started by a sincere desire to not lose their beloved princess. living memory is an eternal theme park that actively goes out of its way to facilitate letting people who remember each other fondly meet again. it's the manifestation of a childish wish for a world where there are no partings, only reunions. it's a theme park rather than an actual city with a dmv and shit like amaurot was precisely Because it's a childish dream. it's fundamentally an artificial experience, but one which sole motive is to bring joy and relief from everyday sadness.

and sphene is the first and most prominent victim of that naive sincerity. she's the mascot of this theme park, and because she's the mascot in charge of providing this artificial but kind experience she can't ever break character. the people of alexandria couldn't bear the thought of her being forgotten, so they created a memory of her that would last forever, but they also couldn't bear to actually remember sphene, so she's a mascot instead of a person. she loves her people, and they love her, but none of them can possibly understand the weight that love puts on her shoulders. the sphene we meet is fundamentally trapped by other people's deeply limited understanding of her.

it's so so so important to her character that she's a small dainty feminine woman that exists to take care of everyone emotionally and be loved by them for being so nice and sweet and loving, and when she tries to arrange some kind of secure future she ends up with an abusive husband who ignores her wants and needs for his own ambitions, and she is fundamentally unable to act outside this highly gendered framework. sphene reads like the commonplace tragedy of the straight woman to me to the point where making her in lesbians with wuk lamat is like. I can certainly understand wanting to grant sphene the sense of liberation and comfort that many lesbians themselves feel at the realisation that they don't have to marry men, so far be it from me to say anyone is wrong to do so. but it's kinda ignoring part of what her deal is for the sake of that comfort I think.

not that lesbians have never ended up in abusive marriages with men but sphene very explicitly does not have other options, part of the tragedy is that you fundamentally cannot actually grant her that liberation and comfort. cahciua explicitly says there's no way to know what the real living sphene would have done because this sphene is a recreated memory of the beloved princess whose job is to sustain living memory. their darling sphene who will always listen to all their troubles and is always nice to them and will always take care of them. she's literally trapped by the role society assigned her, and that role is essentially to be their tradwife mother. the living sphene may have been into women, but the people who recorded her to create the sphene we meet never even considered the option.

do you guys know that tweet thread where OP describes going to a funeral for a woman they didn't know who'd died young of a heart attack, and the husband spent most of the eulogy talking about himself instead of his recently deceased wife, and by the end of the ceremony OP had learned nothing at all about what this woman was like beyond being a wife and mother? everyone fondly remembers the princess and queen of alexandria, but nobody remembers sphene. and just like all OP could still do for this woman was go to her casket and acknowledge that she too had been a full person in her own right before the stress of swallowing everything about herself killed her, all wuk lamat can really still do for sphene is think of her as the full person she must have been.

we're not told anything about what sphene was like as a leader, what her policies were, how she actually did her work, her vision for the future of her country before she died and was reconstructed. they only tell us everyone loved her so dearly because she was so kind to them. we're shown her dying moments and it's her using her airship to shield a civilian, so we can assume her love for her people was indeed true. but none of sphene's history that we're shown and nothing of how otis (who knew the living sphene) talks about her tells us anything about what she was like outside her role as beloved princess. her memories from after her "revival" are dissonant and corrupted and possibly not even real, and her policy of preserving living memory no matter what is a wish implanted in her by the people who reconstructed her. we don't even get to see what she looked like when alive. the only sphene the people know is the theme park mascot of living memory.

cahciua was exactly as erenville knew her and was true enough to herself to be able to turn against the system, so we're not given reason to believe any of the endless were tampered with. but sphene was already dead by the time they even tried to figure out how to preserve her memory, her actual soul and memories definitely long gone by the time the technology worked. we're explicitly told that nobody in everkeep really cared who or what sphene was as long as she adequately fulfilled this role of loving them all so much. she can't even tell you her favourite food, none of the people who labored so intensely and sincerely to bring her back bothered to write down even her most basic personal preferences when they reconstructed her. she has to deflect the question with "when I think of the people who make the food I can't pick just one" because the only preference she's allowed is loving all her people equally. she's completely thrown off that wuk lamat would even ask.

and it's precisely because she is remembered only as this kind loving woman who gave everything for her people that she is weak and powerless to actually do whatever it takes to keep them safe. she does not have the freedom to assert herself, let alone to be cruel or violent or take extreme actions. society does not give her that freedom, because she is a small dainty woman and (therefore) the only role allowed to her is to be their tradwife mother. so while her desire to protect her people is as real and true as it can be part of her plan to lobotomise herself in order to become someone capable of violence and cruelty also reads to me as that specific female frustration of wanting to destroy the sweet babygirl image of yourself by doing something extreme. like britney spears shaving her head. but in sphene's case destroying the babygirl image amounts to destroying herself completely, because the babygirl image of her is all that comprises her. and so when all is said and done the only fragment of sphene that is restored and lingers just a bit longer after that image is destroyed is the sphene that wuk lamat sincerely wanted to get to know.

[ma1dita]

a wish your heart makes

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.4k

summary: (established relationship) The one where you share dreams, burn cookies, and it still reminds him of home. You try to do something nice for your boyfriend and everything goes wrong, or so you think. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: I thought about May Castellan, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come ho—OH FUCK OFF, UNCLE RICK. sidenote this haunted me.

(posted 1/26/24 unbetad)

—

Luke’s dreams were always different from yours. 

Both when he’s awake and holding your hand up until sleep finally rips him away from your earthly embrace, he’s always been certain of who he was and what he wants to achieve. To be a hero providing salvation for the needy, to be a half-blood son worth the love of a god, and to be a fierce soldier, leading his troop into battle for glory. These are the thoughts he routinely pounds into his brain, so much so that anyone who knows him knows of his aspirations.

You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone so insistent on wanting to be remembered. Luke wants to leave a legacy worth dying for, worth talking about for millenia to come. And your boy persists, despite the trials of life, the ignorance of his father, and the strings of the Fates.

Your dreams, however, were always much simpler. 

Cuddled under your covers and brushing your lips against Luke’s forehead to quell the growing unease that occupies his brain, you whisper what you deeply wish for.

“We’re getting old,” you mumble, and the breath of his laugh tickles your ear. He lazily runs his nose against the slope of your collarbone, sighing when he finally hears the steady beat of your chest, “We’ve definitely surpassed the average life expectancy of a typical demigod. Look at us…” he jests.

Your breath jumps in amusement as you feel his lips against your sternum, and then your boyfriend is smiling against your heart, using you for comfort as you both pass the time waiting for Hypnos to come calling.

“In a year, we’ll be nineteen…And I know you never wanted to stay here forever, so… What’s next?”

You hold in a bated breath, always unsure of where to place yourself in rank of his priorities. Who were you if not his biggest supporter?

Luke contemplates for a moment in the silence of your bedroom. It’s much easier to think and have more adult… conversations… without the many meddling children of cabin 11 always asking for one more lullaby, one more glass of water, and one more tuck-in goodnight. Here in the privacy of your room, he gets to be a boy void of his responsibilities besides hiding under his girlfriend’s duvet, giving her another shirt of his to wear, and kissing her until Apollo’s rays of light gently help you wake.

“You tell me, Trouble. What does the future have in store for us?”

Us.

He’s sweet to indulge in your fantasies like this, and you stroke your fingers through his curls as you speak, ‘I think it’d be nice to go to college. Made it this far, so maybe being normal won’t be so hard…”

A soft noise leaves his throat, urging you to continue as you bite your lip and smile.

“Maybe someday, we could get a house. One on top of a hill. I don’t need much, something like the Big House, but one we can call home.”

You can feel the teeth of his sleepy grin against your skin as he whispers the next words into your heart.

“We could do that. House with big bay windows, and the smell of my mom’s chocolate chip cookies in the air. Sounds nice, baby.”

And it does.

Luke’s eyes flutter shut shortly after, but your mind is awake with how to make the dream you now share a reality. Perhaps you couldn’t give him glory, or pray hard enough to Hermes so that he’d talk to his son, but you reckon that chocolate chip cookies would be easy enough. 

—

At least, it was supposed to be��until you set off the smoke alarm again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” 

Clouds of grey are billowing from the communal kitchen oven after your multiple attempts of trying to get this right. The dryads had both partially given up on the havoc you wrecked upon their workspace as well as your increasing frustration towards them. It wasn’t their fault, you knew that—but as a perfectionist who followed the recipe to a t, how was it possible that everything was still going wrong? The first batch, you got too excited and mixed all the ingredients together, making them lumpy and inconsistent. The second batch was over-creamed, and you had to scrape them off the tray, and with this one… well you had the oven setting on a bit too high.

You sigh deeply, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes as you try to will away the mania creeping up your neck. Being the daughter of the god of insanity was hard, having to consistently control your emotions for the sake of others. Taking a shaky breath, you stare blankly at the darkened cookies, close to being burned to a crisp. The jingle of the windchime against the door rings across the room and you barely hear it until you feel Luke’s hands skate past your waist to go open a window.

“What’d you get into now, Trouble? Been looking for you,” he says, coughing lightly from the smoke.

You groan, trying to cover the mess behind you on the counter and accidentally catching your arm on the hot tray, making you flinch.

“Ow! Ugh, babe, you’re not supposed to be here yet! I thought you were still sparring…”

Your boyfriend approaches you, squeezing your arm to examine if you’ve gotten hurt and tugging you towards him.

“That was an hour ago—how long have you been here, baby?” Luke pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss on your warm wrist, instantly soothing your anxiety until you see his eyes meet your latest failure.

“You bake now?”

“Clearly not, Luke, I’m sorry…I tried but I kept getting it wrong and then I got mad at myself for fucking up something so…” your voice weakens, tears welling in your eyes again thinking you’ve disappointed him.

Luke steps away from you and towards the kitchen counter, warm cookies browned to a crisp. He reaches out to pick one up before you can stop him, crunching down on it, the bittersweet taste filling his mouth as he sniffs.

Just like his mother would make them, through her madness and all.

He’s transported back to a memory of a house with big bay windows, kind of like the one you two dreamt up last night, but he’s nine and sitting at the kitchen table drinking Kool-Aid while his mom makes peanut butter sandwiches. May Castellan forgets the cookies in the oven again, and for a moment, Luke forgets that the last time he saw his mother was a lifetime ago. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels your fingertips brushing away the saltwater from his cheeks.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, angelface, I’m sorry…” you mumble, but stop speaking when you see him take another bite.

“They’re great.”

“What?”

He chomps on another singed cookie, his lips quirking into a soft smile. Luke’s not going to let you throw the rest of this batch out. Chuckling weakly, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter as he slots himself between your legs, rough hands patting your thighs.

“Well, they’re not great. But they’re perfect. Just the way I remember them,” he smiles, kissing the furrow in your brow. You don’t bother trying to comprehend his statement, happy that you didn’t mess up a memory he holds dear. 

Luke wonders if maybe he’s been blessed by his father after all, to have such extreme luck to exist at the same time as you. He doesn’t answer to the gods, to fate, but he does answer when you call his name, and settles into your arms. Love is an action after all, uncontained by just words, and he knows you tried your best, which makes it more than enough.

“She would’ve loved you, I’m sure of it,” he says rubbing his nose against yours before you can interject again, “I love you, so I know she would’ve too.”

Luke presses a tender kiss against the palm that caresses his jaw, before meeting you in the middle and finding your lips. It’s a dance you two have memorized, sweet and breathless as you meld both of your grins together. To him, you taste like chocolate chips and feel like home.

“I love you too, angelface. Almost burned the kitchen down for you,” your chuckle is cut off when he goes to press against your pout again hungrily, tracing patterns against the soft skin of your thighs as he just eats you up. The sound of your moans escapes between kisses as you wind your legs around his waist and it dampens the sound of the kitchen timer when it goes off. 

(You forcibly have to detach from Luke’s embrace, much to his displeasure so that you don’t burn the next batch too.)

—

"Your name is humming inside my chest. I think this is what it means to love. I think this is what it means to be living." -Emma Bleker

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

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[galactic-rhea]

WDYM Anakin is Luke and Leia's dad

I dunno if this post will reach the Star Wars fandom but I hope it does because I'm sure you all will get a good laugh at me.

As of recent I have developed a good hiperfixation for Star Wars, the thing is I knew nothing. NOTHING about Star Wars besides the fact it had aliens and...a war...in space? And funny swords. And main character is Luke or something, I spent over 20 years ignoring anything about Star Wars and somehow missing most references out there.

And recently, literally less than a month ago I saw a gif and said to my partner "oh this guy this guy looks cool, this gif looks nice" and he said "Oh well, he's a good character." And it all developed into me watching Clone Wars, the animated series you know and...and I was kinda blown away, on my opinion the show IS GREAT. And I love every character and their interactions, I love how much they focus on side characters, and they all seem very well written. I got hiperfixated really fast and saw Anakin and I was like "Omg, babygirl. He's a blorbo now."

And because of the show, this was super unexpected, but somehow I also got, really got, into the ship with Padmé because omg, cool woman. Literal happy squeaky noises of someone who was in a bad state and needed some good ol' distraction and comfort.

Now, like I said I knew nothing about Star Wars as a whole. And I still haven't watched the movies, besides the ocassional gif?

So imagine my shock, my surprise, my...bewilderment when I realized.

"Wait a minute, LUKE IS ANAKIN'S SON?! HOLY-"

Ladies, gentleman, and others, I think I came very late to this party and I don't even know how it took me so long.

Not only that, but because of this sudden love for the series, I went to my friends circle like "BESTIE, GUESS WHAT, I HAVE A NEW BLROBO AND A NEW FAV SHIP AND EEEP"

And my friends are like "omg that's amazing, what is it?"

I tell them, and of course they all know these characters and they all react like they know this very bad secret fact and I got told several times already "Please, don't watch the episodes 2 and 3 alone, it will hurt."

I feel like blissfully walking among rainbows and blue skies while everyone else know that my future is doomed. Somehow.

(Uncomfortable silence)

Not only that, but then I spent a whole deal of time thinking "Where the heck I have seen these guys" cus there was some fmailiarity I couldn't just point out and then one day I woke up, brushed my teeth and of all sudden I realized and it was such a shock.

Do you know how SURREAL is to get very into a character, and into a ship, and then realize they're the same from that super widespread meme that has been around for who knows how much time?

I swear I thought that meme was from some old medieval fantasy movies or something.

But alas, Star Wars now is EVERYWHERE. People do references to Star Wars ALL THE TIME and it's just now I'm catching them.

I got spoilers. From a meme. In a youtube review that had nothing to do with Star Wars hah. Everything is a spoiler, the world is an apparent spoiler. Now I'm here, trying to avoid spoilers from something everyone seems to know, even my family knows. It's so surreal and I wouldn't have it any other way 😂

Anyways, if you read until here, know that a wild ride still waits me, cuz I'm only starting Season 3 of Clone Wars and I don't plan to watch the movies until I finish the series.

And yes, I made this blog just to ramble freely about SW and draw stuff because it sparked my inspiration after a long art block.

Have this doodle I drew after watching the two first episodes, my offering for you reaching this far.

Note: Wouldn't Anakin and Padmé's ship name be Animé? Cuz that's hilarious.

[writing-the-stars]

A Second Chance Romance

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Unnamed OC x Fem!Reader

Summary: It had been years since you last heard from Klaus Mikaelson, and just as you were finally ready to move on, he decided to remind you of the love you once shared.

Warnings: Angst (As Always) and Emotional Cheating. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Hey guys! I'm baaaaaaaaaaack. Did you miss me? It's been far too long. I'm alive and I have been slowly ramping up to my return. Starting with this story! The title, to be frank, is not greatest, but I think this is a nice little story to raise me from the dead. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!!! Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

You perfect the practiced smile you’ve been working on for weeks. It should be easy for you by now– it should come naturally. Everything about this day shouldn’t feel as forced as it does, and yet, on what was meant to be the happiest day of your life, you could only feel the apprehensive dread pooling in your gut. 

The heirloom gown from your soon to be mother-in-law feels heavier than it should, almost suffocating, magnifying the doubts consuming your mind. This was supposed to be the genesis of your new life, the start of your would-be happily ever after. Yet, that menacing fear of regret whittles away at any persuasion you used to get yourself to this moment. You were so sure this is what you wanted. The venue, the menu, the flowers, the seating– all meticulously chosen for this day. But with the weight of vows looming in the horizon, the word “mistake” seems to have made a home in your mind. Were you really prepared to commit yourself to a lifetime with this man?

He was good and pure-hearted– kind, caring, and devoted. He treasured you, loving you in a way that you could never fully reciprocate. You do have an affinity for the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle and you know he could give you a stable and contented life. Yet, the allure of the security his last name would bring pales when you reflect on the life you are now trying to shed. 

Memories intricately woven with passion and adventure. Each day an unpredictable surprise filled with experiences that reshaped the person you once were. The encompassing romance that breathed new meaning to your life, sparking a deeper fulfillment as you were pushed beyond your familiar boundaries. A chapter of your life where your heart had found its rhythm. And despite the inevitable challenges, especially given his past, you were unwavering in facing them with him, and your life was richer for it. 

That danger of living on the edge wasn’t something you realized you craved until it was suddenly taken away. But that was not a sustainable life, you remind yourself as you latch on to a new flaw in your appearance to occupy your mind. 

Your groom is safe— a predictable and reliable anchor in life. A mundane routine you can easily fall into. He promises stability and security, granting you a solid foundation for your future. Which is why you convinced yourself to marry him. It wouldn’t be the life of fantasy that you longed for, but you would be content. 

“Hello, love.”  

Everything within you stills at the sound of the ghost of your past. Your eyes travel the expanse of the mirror, landing on the reflection of his figure propped against the doorframe of your bridal suite– emulating the way he used to watch you get ready. 

“Your beauty is nothing short of breathtaking.” 

“What are you doing here?” the words a mere whisper as they are pushed through your constricted throat. You force yourself to stare fixedly through the mirror, resisting the urge to turn around. Because if you do, if you physically lay your eyes on him, it would shatter all the progress you have made the past three years. And you're determined not to grant him the satisfaction and reward of rejoicing his return as if his actions did not hurt you.

“I’ve heard about your impending nuptials. I couldn’t possibly miss your big day.” 

You laugh, a hollow sound. After all this time, the man you spent years waiting by the door for has finally returned, just as you've made the decision to move on. Bitterness saturates you at the audacity of this man to appear today of all days, wearing that brazen grin. Did he truly believe he could waltz back into your life after everything?

“Why? So you can stop me from ridding myself of you. Starting over and actually having a shot at happiness.” 

Your voice is sharp– venom drips from every word, aiming to puncture another layer deeper into his calloused over heart. His jaw ticks, the only indication you hit your target. 

“I like to think you were quite happy with me, love.”

You scoff, a pathetic attempt to dismiss the validity of his words. Your gaze returns to your own reflection, beginning to readjust the lacey veil pinned to your head, needing a distraction from the man who has an incomprehensible hold on you. 

“Why are you really here, Klaus?” his name falling from your lips as if your tongue had been molded to say it, “You didn’t come back to town just to watch me get married.” 

He steps into the room�� reflection growing as he steps closer to you. 

“I’ve come to wish you luck,” you watch as his turquoise eyes trail your frame before returning to your gaze in the mirror, “Though I can’t help but wish you were wearing that dress for me.” 

Something inside you breaks, setting free a torrent of long-suppressed emotions that had been brewing beneath the surface.

“You threw that away 7 years ago when you left me. I waited for you. For 4 years, I waited for you to come back like an idiot because you promised your heart to me and I was dumb enough to fall for it. And now, once I’ve finally picked up the pieces and I’m ready to start again, you want to come back and take that away from me!”

“I left to protect you!”

“No, Klaus! You left because you were afraid. Because for once somebody actually meant something to you and you couldn’t handle the responsibility of that reality. Because, in spite of all my best efforts, you have it solidified in that warped brain of yours that you are incapable of being loved. That no one could ever truly want to be with you. So what do you do? You run. You push people away to avoid your biggest fear and end up becoming your own self-fulfilling prophecy. Well guess what, Klaus? It worked. You’re alone now.”

You turn your back on the Mikaelson, finally ready to give yourself over to your groom. You open your mouth to dismiss the hybrid, but the words die on your tongue as your eyes meet his. His reflection reveals the glistening of tears brimming in his eyes, on the verge of spilling over, but you know Klaus Mikaelson is too prideful to ever let you see him cry. Yet, the thought of it stills you. You take in the sight of him—his clenched fists, his labored breathing—and for the first time, you truly see him. You see the vulnerability beneath the facade, the depth of his struggle, and it stops you in your tracks. 

The wounded boy who only sought his father's approval and his mother's affection. The scars etched deep into his soul, born from the torment of being a bastard cruelly shunned. The millennia of isolating loneliness that followed—an inhumane punishment for another's sin. Beyond that, you witness the fresh wounds your words have inflicted, reopening the scars you had fought so hard to help him heal. Your vengeful words have confirmed his lifelong fear. Here stands a man who has finally gained everything he ever desired, only to realize he is on the brink of losing it all. It moves you, the sight of his insecurities laid bare just for you

"Say it. Tell me you no longer love me, and I will walk away. I will leave you to marry this man, and you will never hear from me again. I will do that for you. But if there is any part of you that still cares, leave with me. Give me another chance."

You stare at the hybrid, conflict brewing within you. You desperately want to believe him—God knows you do—but if he walks away from you again, your heart couldn't endure another shattering. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, adorned in the gown of a woman whose son you could only truly tolerate.  

Is that really the life you want to live? 

You return your gaze to the Mikaelson, stunned by the single tear rolling down his cheek—his ultimate vulnerability. This simple, profound act compels you to accept what you've always known deep down. You can never truly walk away from this man. You love him too much.

Taglist: @catmikaelson20, @gamarancianne, @hazgold, @devotedlycrookeddonut

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know!

[razorblade180]

Union

In the midst of going over blueprints for their future home, Jaune’s concentration gets interrupted by flowing petals. He cracks a smile before turning around to see Ruby completely obscured by her cloak.

Jaune:Have you come for my soul?

Ruby:Might as well. Already have your heart.

Jaune:Heh, then I kindly ask for you wait. Your payment will be paid in full down the aisle.

Ruby:How stingy. I’ve already given you both of mine; and a little extra~

Jaune:*red* How was work, you gremlin?

Ruby:Patrol duty was fine. Starting to think crooks know my schedule.

Jaune:Or you threw most in jail.

Ruby:Organized crime calls for chaotic heroism. Anywho, house plans going well?

Jaune:More or less. If all goes well then we’ll be living outside Vacou before our anniversary.

Ruby:Always thinking ahead. Meanwhile I’m struggling with awesome vows.

Jaune:You brought a world together. I’m sure you’ll think of something.

Ruby:Feelings are a little harder than a battle cry or call to arms. Speaking of feelings, I have a little something for you.

Jaune:*looks at cloak* Is that so~

Ruby:*blushes* It’s not what you think! Not this time. This gift is way better!

Jaune:I don’t know Rubes. Last gift that started like this was pretty amazing. *smiles*

Ruby:Just close your eyes and hold your hands out!

The knight chuckles as he does what he’s told. Immediately something weighted and cool to the touch lands in hands. Jaune opens his eyes and stars at a white scabbard. Somehow, this took him by surprise. It had his symbol in the middle and was surrounded by red thorns.

The grip of the hilt was this dark blue with a spiral of fierce red that went up and outlined the golden hand guard that was modeled in the shape of his symbol. He pulled out the gift from the scabbard to reveal cold, shining white steel that had its double edge and tip run red like hilt. If Jaune was being honest, he’s never seen a sword look more like a work of fantasy. Ruby stood right in front of him and put her left hand in the hilt, showing that his symbol had subtle thorn and rose engravings that matched her gold and red on her engagement ring.

The accomplished and proud Huntress then took a step back and started twiddling her thumbs while swaying, finding it hard to meet Jaune’s gaze; so she pulled her hood over her head. At this point it probably matched her face.

Ruby Rose:So uh yeah, that’s a Ruby Rose Original.

Jaune:You made this!?

Ruby:*nods* I’ll be honest. I spent so long shopping for wedding bands with Weiss helping. I’m still definitely getting one! But none of them really… felt like they were saying how I feel. There’s not a moment I want you feel like you’re fighting alone; even when we’re far apart. With this, I’m always by your side ready to help. The scabbard is a shield too but if I’m being honest I’m still a rookie when it comes to that kind of smithing. Consider this my own form of engagement to you.

Jaune:Ruby this is…I don’t even know what to say.

Ruby:*trembly* I uh..it’s fine if you treat this as a ceremonial blade too. After all…there’s history in Crocea Mors and I don’t want to step on that or make you feel like you have to stop wielding it because of m-

Two hands gentle hands pull back her hood and reveal teary, anxious eyes. Honestly, Ruby felt so ridiculous right now. All this effort into a heart felt token of affection and yet anxiety gripped her mind on how he’d take the jester. His thumbs run across her cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

Jaune:Hey, talk to me. What’s with the tears? This is an amazing.

Ruby:I just…Crocea Mors is its own vow. It has been for years and I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty or nervous but I do. Gods, it’s so dumb hehe. Pyrrha would totally give me an earful for being so-

Jaune:Thoughtful? *smiles*

Ruby:..Heh, yeah. Yeah she would.

Jaune:Well, I don’t know if your beautiful brain and smithing skills have noticed, but you’ve really gotten good at knowing my style.

He briefly lets go of her and grabs his sword along with the new gift. Jaune pulls out both and puts them against one another. Yeah the hilt is different but it’s wide enough to work. Without hesitation, Jaune took the scabbard of Crocea Mors and slid it on the new sword easily; right down to the satisfying click in place that took Ruby by surprise.

Jaune:If you really feel guilty, then I can do this! Not gonna lie, I’d feel like shit getting that scabbard dirty in the future. It’s my first Ruby Rose original! Also gives you time to hyper fixate on shield crafting. As for the blade, I know this bad boy will keep me safe and sou-

Once again, petals flowed. Each one danced around him while the rose itself pressed her lips against his with gratitude and overflowing joy that dispelled fears like magic.

Ruby:Jaune Arc, you truly are my fairytale ending. My happily ever after.

Jaune:Hehe, And you said your vows would be hard? C’mere.

He pulled his loving fiancée into a deeper kiss before matching her smile. She was right. This present was the best.

Jaune:Does this engagement sword have a name?

Ruby:The deepest part of my soul wants to call it Bloody Moon but that doesn’t inspire luck as wedding gift.

Jaune:I kinda like what you said a few moments ago.

Ruby:Oh, so Ever After?

Jaune: Tale’s End

Ruby:That’s so- damn I’m marrying the right person. That’s such I good name! When our house is done I think my first order of business is mounting the scabbard with Crocea Mors somewhere nice and proud. Gonna need your height though.

Jaune:Naturally. And who knows. Maybe it’ll protect the both of us in a new way someday?

xxxxxxx

Several years later

Jaune:Alright squirt, ready for your first real sword sparring!?

A foolish question for a young girl waiting to dives out the front door and slide across a sand dune into a wide battle stance, her grin in full bloom with Crocea Mor ready to aid her first step towards greatness.

Carmine:Born ready!

Ruby:Do your best! Show him who’s boss!

Carmine:Ha! With this by my side, I might as well be invincible.

[plutoccult]

MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE

pairing: jean kirstein x female reader

description: a few years after the successful peace negotiations, you and jean celebrate his first birthday with your new baby boy, but jean can’t help but look back on what it took to get to this day after dreaming of it as much as he could hope to live without breathing.

word count: 1.2k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: something short and sweet that’s not soul crushing angst. a shocker on my end, really. BUT, the attack on titan anime has finally ended. it’s like a chapter of my life is over, but a chapter ending only means a new one beginning. i always wanted to write something that depicted some sort of event after the end of the story, so it’s nice to fully bring that vision into fruition. i love writing for jean and i’ll miss him and the rest of the characters so very much, but the writing doesn’t end here for me! more content will come out of me until i get bored of it. i do, however, hope you enjoy this little fluff piece.

when dreaming about what life could be without titans or any worries, jean always knew what the perfect life would be for him. it was always consisted of the same fantasy; sitting out on a balcony with a glass of the finest liquor in hand, wife inside the house, and a newborn baby with the cutest, most innocent smile in his wife’s arms. the ideal daydream used to have a faceless woman, then mikasa took over for a brief second after being struck by her upon their first meeting, but now it’s been the same face for many, many years. since falling head over feet completely, jean could now only picture his future with you bearing his love and his children, and only that would be the perfect life for him. nothing else, just you.

sometimes jean wondered what life would be like if marco were still around. who would have died in his place instead of him that day? who would’ve had to deal with the pain of losing their best friend instead of him? would he live next door to jean’s dream home and babysit the kids whenever? jean liked to imagine marco as the perfect uncle. uncle marco. if only it could all be real. even so, all these years later, he was grateful for the life he had been given.

after years of hell fighting for the greater good, jean was finally able to settle down and live that perfect life he so desperately craved in his youth. he wasn’t very young anymore; small wrinkles began to form, his muscles grew tired far more easily, signs that he was starting to grow old, but not quite just yet. there was still more life to live, so much more he could live for.

today was jean’s birthday, and just like his teenage fantasies, he sat on a balcony with a glass of whiskey just as he imagined. the view of the town he lived in was great, but not the greatest. the only difference between jean’s dreams and his reality that there wasn’t a barrier between him and what he wanted most; you, holding your little baby boy in your arms.

caught in the middle of daydreaming, you emerge from inside the house and join jean on the balcony with your son. you gently grab the baby’s hand and pretend to act like he’s the one waving to jean, which makes him smile.

“does baby marco want to say hi to daddy?” you coo while jean looked at the two of you in awe. naming your child after marco was always in the cards, neither of you doubted it for a second when you both expressed wanting children. it was just the most beautiful thing in the world when he was finally born, after all this time of knowing what you wanted.

“here, lemme hold him.” jean offered, extending his arms out for baby marco. you carefully hand him over then sit down and watch as the infant reached his hands out to grab jean’s face, who was gently cradling him in his arms. “he’s getting so big now, i can’t even believe it.”

“i know.” you say with a smile on your face. “by the way, some letters came in the mail for you.”

“from who?” he questioned.

“armin and mikasa, of course. reiner and pieck too.” you began to ramble, listing off the names of all who sent letters for jean on his birthday. “oh, can’t forget connie. and then levi sent something that gabi and falco seemed to have signed—”

“so… pretty much everyone?” jean interrupted with a chuckle.

“queen historia as well.” you end off the list, giggling to yourself for forgetting such an important name. you simply can’t forget the queen, after all. “oopsie.”

“well, i oughta write everyone back as soon as possible.” he said, but you disagreed.

“you can write after cake, okay? i’ll go grab it now.” you say, standing up from your seat so you could head inside of the house.

“i told you i could make it.” jean insisted. “i don’t like making you do the work for me.”

although his words were sweet, you wouldn’t do that to him today out of all days. “make your own birthday cake? please. i’ll be right back.”

jean sat with baby marco close to him while you disappeared into the house for his birthday treat. you come back with a cake that has an array of lit candles, gently setting it down on the table as far away from the baby as possible. you take the baby out of jean’s hands while you sing happy birthday to him and sit across the table, your voice as soothing as the breeze.

when it was time for jean to blow out the candles and make a wish, he simply couldn’t think of anything to wish for. he finally had everything he ever wanted; the love of his life, a family of his own, and most importantly, peace. you both fought like hell a million times over to get here, doing things you regretted all the time. the past you shared together was ridden with sin, but the future didn’t have to be, and right now, the future was bright and golden like daylight.

if there was anything to possibly wish for, it was for things to stay just like this, so jean closed his eyes and blew out the candles and wished just for that. his eyes opened up to the sight of you and your son, and he was so happy to see it right in front of him.

“happy birthday, jean.” you say softly. baby marco beamed with the most innocent grin, his youthful laugh almost bringing jean to tears.

“thank you, my love.” he mustered up the words to say without crying.

jean insisted he cut the cake himself. seeing as you made it, this was the least he could do, and you didn’t argue. he sliced a piece for you first and set it down in front of you, watching as baby marco eyed the cake in complete awe.

jean’s eyes stray away from cutting his own piece as he found himself watching you with the baby. you were trying to eat your cake, but you couldn’t help but laugh at marco trying to get some of it from your fork.

“ah, no, no, no. you can’t have cake.” you coo, booping baby marco on the nose.

it was times like these that made jean so grateful. he captured even the smallest grain of a moment, cherishing every single one with the thought that tomorrow is not always promised, even when you two were free of the burdens of a solider saving humanity. no matter how many times he made a wish on some candies, there was always that “what if?” thought in the back of his brain that this some day would be taken away from him.

you look up and catch jean staring at you as if he were frozen, like he was taking a million pictures with his eyes. “what are you doing?”

“remembering this.” he simply replied, the best way he could put it all into words.

the love you had for each other and the life that’s been given to you would always be yours, all yours, and it would last beyond the very last breath both of you would take. in the end, all of the hardships were worth living to see this day.

© plutoccult / 310802. please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my content in or outside of tumblr. reblogs are appreciated <3

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 4: Shadows in the Moonlight - A Fateful Meeting at the Ball

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

„I won’t wear this. End of the discussion.”

“Are you out of your mind, sister? Prince Satoru sent this dress himself and ordered you to wear it!”

“I couldn’t care less about what Prince Satoru tells me to do.”

“Lady (y/n), please come to your senses. This is a beautiful gown and apart from that, it matches your skin tone and eyes perfectly. I am certain he didn’t choose this dress himself. Do the maid who was responsible for it a favour and wear it to the ball.”

Just to hear her voice sends shivers down your spine and calms down your pounding heart. Well, what did you expect when you found yourself reincarnated into a fantasy world with Jujutsu Kaisen characters playing the royal main roles? Definitely not Shoko Ieiri being your first maid, that is for sure.

“Fine”, you grumble.

“But I’ll only do it because of Shoko. Now get out of here, brother.”

Naoya sends a row of sickening glares your way before storming off and finally leaving you some room to breathe. This slowly but surely begins to feel like a never-ending nightmare. All you did was asking Gojo for an invitation to the ball along with a bouquet of flowers. But this?

You take out the jaw-dropping gorgeous gown that is covered in glitter, allow your hands to feel the softness of the fabric. There is no doubt in the fact that this was way more expensive than anything you have ever worn, so finely crafted that you didn’t even want to touch it when you first opened the box. But Shoko is right.

“How likely is it that the maid responsibly for choosing this dress will lose her head if I don’t wear it to the ball, Shoko?”

She eyes you and the dress up and down in silence while pouting her lips. To be honest, when you first saw her in that black and white maids dress, you almost fell out of the window. How is it even possible that she’s considered your maid in this world? Luckily for you, she at least kept her sense of humor.

“Very likely. To be exact, she might lose her head the same evening if Prince Satoru lives up to his reputation.”

“What a great way to describe my future fiancé. Would you help me put it on, then?”, you mutter.

Oh, how much you hate the thought of doing this man a favour, of putting something onto your body he has seen before. He doesn’t deserve to even look your way for how he talked to you, for how he treated you. Your impression from him in the manga definitely wasn’t wrong:

This man is nothing but a womanizer and collector of hearts.

“Didn’t you like him at least a little bit, Lady (y/n)? From what I have heard so far, it is said that he is a true gentleman and treats women with all due respect. Just not everyone else”, Shoko comments while tying the laces of your bodice.

You can’t help but huff in sheer anger and frustration. Gojo Satoru? A true gentleman? Is she really talking about the man who endangered you, who didn’t agree on marrying you? Just after you put him down in front of your whole family and threatened him with revealing his biggest secret…

Well, nobody’s perfect. But especially he isn’t.

“Let me tell you something, Shoko. This man is nothing but a philanderer, a pompous prince who thinks he owns the world.”

“But this pompous prince will be called your fiancé after tonight”, she reminds you violently.

You huff to yourself while balling your hands into tight fists and looking at yourself in the mirror. That new sensation of lavender eyes, the stinging fact that you are responsible for marrying that man you never really liked that much. But what other choice do you have? Even though you just came into this world, you aren’t dumb. Just one look into Naobito’s and Naoya’s cold eyes is enough to know they aren’t joking around. If Gojo doesn’t propose to you tonight, you will lose your life all over again. Running away? What a ridiculous thought. They’d find you where ever you go, hunt you down like the prey you are. Jujutsu Kaisen taught you that life isn’t that simple, that you cannot get away like that.

That new-gained life, the only one you might have left…

You straighten your shoulders and put a smile onto your lips so forced that your cheeks start aching. If calling yourself Prince Satoru’s fiancée is the price you have to pay for a second life, you will take it. But you’ll definitely won’t play his perfect little fiancée until the end of time. No, despite all the horrible things that could happen, despite the fact that you can consider yourself lucky for an opportunity like that, you still want to live the life you always imagined.

You will find a way out. But tonight, you have to play along.

-at the ball-

“If you don’t behave yourself-“

“Can you shut your mouth just once? It’s not like I’m a kid and didn’t listen to your nonsense the whole ride to the palace”, you interrupt your brother with a yawn.

“I think you don’t get it, sister.”

Naoya grabs your wrist so tightly that your bones feel like bursting any given minute, his cold glare piercing through you like a knife.

“If you mess this up, you will lose your head. And even though I’d love to witness that, we can use you as the wife of the prince better.”

His eyes tell you that he definitely isn’t lying, that every cruel word coming from his mouth is nothing but the truth. You swallow hard, yanking away your arm in order to escape his grasp. Fuck, this is absolutely serious. If you mess this up, if that jerk changes his opinion-

“Lady (y/n), what a pleasant surprise to see you made it on time.”

Oh. You turn around in a mix of relief and panic. It’s him.

“Sir Suguru”, you breathe out.

As fast as you’re able to walk in that pompous dress and those heels, you storm away from your brother in order to greet your new-found saviour.

“Where do you think you’re going, sister?”, Naoya hisses through gritted teeth.

“He’s a good friend of Prince Satoru, don’t you think it’s my responsibility to greet him? Now get away from me”, you bark back at him.

“What a pain in the ass”, you mumble to yourself, cheeks burning in nothing but sheer anger.

Now that you think of it, getting out of that toxic household is definitely more important than keeping your distance to Gojo. You need this evening to be perfect. Everything needs to go according to plan.

“I see you arrived with your brother”, Geto comments with an oh so charismatic smile.

“Oh, you noticed. I tried to leave him in the basement where he belongs, but he keeps finding his way back”, you blurt out before thinking twice.

Fuck.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror.

Just a few seconds ago, you reminded yourself to act normally, to do everything in order to make this plan work. And now…you’re insulting your family in front of Gojo’s best friend.

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that-“

“It’s not a secret to anyone that Sir Naoya is a truly special contemporary. What surprises me though is how a Lady like you was able to develop in such an environment.”

“Please don’t tell Prince Satoru.”

The begging tone in your voice catches Geto off guard. You, who wasn’t even afraid of a Prince while rejecting him. What is it that you fear so badly?

“I’m a man of words. Of course, this will stay with us if you wish so, Lady (y/n). Now, let’s go inside, shall we? I know for certain Prince Satoru is already awaiting you.”

“Don’t make me blush, Prince Satoru-“

“Prince Satoru, there is something important I haven’t told you yet! What do you think about talking in private for a minute?”

“Now now, Ladies. I am not allowed to leave the ball I am hosting only to have a little talk. And apart from that, a noble man like me can’t meet a gorgeous Lady without a chaperone by her side. Your reputation might get ruined and I cannot stand the sheer thought of that”, Satoru replies with his voice so sweet that you feel like throwing up.

Is this guy for real? You ball your hands into tight fists, eyes too focused on the way he stares that bunch of needy women up and down with his eyes so sparkly that they might take their clothes of any given time. Didn’t this guy tell you yesterday that he wants to marry you?

“May I say that you look absolutely lovely tonight, dearest Lady Mei?”

“You always know just what to say to make a lady blush. But I must say, you’re looking quite dashing yourself. Perhaps we should make it a habit to complement each other more often, Prince Satoru”, she purrs back at him.

Mei Mei, the so called “Lady” who shared her bed with her little brother and cares about nothing but herself as your competition? Suguru side-eyes you up and down while trying to position himself in front of the cheesy scene, but you have enough.

Nope, you can’t do this. There’s no way in hell you’ll talk or let alone dance with that womanizer. Is this the only choice you have in your life? Getting killed by your so-called family or spending the rest of your days standing next to a man who has his mind and probably his body on a new girl every week?

“Disgusting”, you hiss through gritted teeth, not even caring about the look Suguru gives you while speeding off.

What are you supposed to do? Running away and trying to hide your traces? Risking it all and rejecting Prince Gojo once again? All of those thoughts are nothing but bullshit.

Your family will find and kill you if you decide to run away. And Prince Gojo? Who know what that guy is capable of.

“Don’t mind my comment, but you don’t have to feel nervous. I am more than certain that Prince Satoru fell head over heels for you”, Suguru whispers into your ear, following you around with ease.

“Are you forced to tell that every woman he wants to have as his trophy?”, you bite back.

You definitely don’t have any nerve to think about Prince Satoru or the stinging fact that you’ve landed in that strange universe for another minute.

“Drinking. Drinking sounds good right now”, you mumble while storming towards a buffet filled with beverages and biscuits.

Cup after cup you cough down the sweet liqueur that leaves your head dizzy and mind forgetting all the shit you’ve been through for a brief second. You were alive, you died, you woke up again in this strange world and now you’re supposed to die again?  Dying or getting married to a womanizer, a man who’ll never give you the love you deserve.

“Lady (y/n), are you feeling unwell-“

“I need to get out of here. Please leave me alone for a second”, you mumble without even looking at Suguru.

You need a few minutes or rather hours for yourself. Without anyone around, without all the pressure crushing your shoulders. Your feet stumble around without a real aim, shoulders bumping into strangers over and over until your eyes finally spot an empty hallway opposite of you.

Fuck Prince Satoru and that whole new world you now live in. Right now, you need some time to get a hold on your life and all the stuff that happened those last 48 hours.

You dart forwards, almost sprint when the crowd gets sparser. You need to get away from that place, away from the stinging presence of your brother, your father and Gojo.

“I can’t marry him. But I can’t stay here either. I need to…AH!”

Sparks fly, you feel your head bump into something rock hard, your body falling straight to the cold ground. Out of instinct, you squint your eyes together and brace yourself for bumping straight onto the floor butt-first. Were you really dumb enough to run against a wall or a statue, maybe?

But you never land. Instead, you feel a pair of firm arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, slowly allowing your lids to flutter open.

Your heart stops.

Can it really be? No, that’s impossible. There’s no way in hell a guy like him would attend a ball like that-

“I think your lost, the ball is right behind you, young Lady”, he speaks out with low voice.

“Toji Fushiguro”, you mumble when your glossy eyes fixate on the scar that decorates the right side of his mouth way too familiar.

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren

@sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls @hellkaiserinphoenix @skylarlyn823

@livmarauder @nothisispatrick300 @haileycannotcometothephonern @xstom @byakuya61085

@arehzhera @ttysmfwna 

[cy-cyborg]

It will never not be frustrating to me that amputees appear in fiction ALL. THE. TIME. and yet they're almost never acknowledged as such. The Cyberpunk genre is especially guilty of this: amputees and prosthetics becoming a normalised part of life are a defining part of the genre/aesthetic and yet no one even consults with any amputees about how we get represented there. Most writers in those genres don't even consider that giving your characters cybernetic arms and legs means they're an amputee.

CW: Ableism, dehumanisation

This makes it REALLY uncomfortable to engage with stories in the genre because another common aspect of cyberpunk is the idea of losing yourself and becoming something distinctly not-human anymore because you have too many cybernetic augmentations/implants. Shadowrun even has mechanics for this, which state if you get too many prosthetics, which is what cybernetics are 9 times out of 10, your character becomes a monster. These mechanics and discussions surrounding "how many robot bits make you not human anymore" are really, really uncomfortable when you remember this isn't something that's unique to a far-off future setting. Those people you're discussing the humanity of already exist. They're called amputees. If you reframe the question as "how many amputations can you have before you stop being a person" I hope you can see why an amputee like myself is not going to feel safe around you or in your fandoms.

And it's a shame, because I REALLY want to like Cyberpunk. I really, honestly do. I love the aesthetics, I love the idea of big corporations being the villains and the anti-capitalism at the heart of the genre, and I love the idea of prosthetics being not only destigmatised, but desirable. When written from a disability-inclusive lense, it honestly has the potential to be an incredibly uplifting and empowering genre. but as the genre stands right now, it's actively hostile to the very folks who are usually the stars of its stories: amputees, all because people just refuse to acknowledge us.

Cyberpunk isn't the only genre guilty of this, it's common all throughout sci-fi as a whole, but Cyberpunk is the only one where it starts becoming a serious issue due to its rampant dehumanisation of a real group of people. In other sci-fi settings, it's just kind of annoying and while it can be a form of erasure, it's not usually harmful, just...frustrating. Fantasy does it on occasion too, think pirates with a hook and a peg leg, but nowhere near as much.

If you, as an author or creator, use any of these words to describe a character or their tech in a sci-fi setting:

cybernetics/cybernetic enhancements

bionics

robot limbs

cyborgs

augmentations

You are probably writing an amputee. Please, at the very least, acknowledge it, and be mindful that those are real people who actually exist, not just a fantasy group you can speculate about.

edit:

I originally posted this article on my old Tumblr account and lot of people commented/reblogged to tell me that originally in cyberpunk, the "less human the more robot bits you have" only applied to people who opted for their limbs to be replaced by cybernetics, because it was seen as "renting out your body to corporations for money" but people who had to get cybernetics out of necessity weren't impacted. The thing is though, I really don't think that makes it better, for a few reasons. For one, where do you draw the line at "opting" to get a cybernetic prosthetic? This isn't a black and white thing, even in real life. Most amputations are done out of necessity, but there are situations where it's not the only option, just the best one. Talking from personal experience, I lost both my legs below the knee as a baby, that was a pretty clear cut case, I had a blood infection and gangrene and they had to act fast. But the infection caused lasting side effects and impacted my physical body's development and growth. By the time I got to my early 20's it was causing a lot of pain in my right leg, in my knee specifically, and when I got a bone infection in the end of that stump, I chose to have the whole thing amputated up to the knee. They only needed to take a few inches off the end of my stump, but I asked them to go higher, because of the ongoing issues in that knee, issues that would have been made worse by the shortening of the leg. I choose to remove the whole thing, knowing the joint was degrading and I probably would have lost it later in life anyway. Even if it was salvageable, it would mean much more surgery, and I've had enough of those. A boy I played wheelchair basketball with was born with a partially formed leg, it was half the size of his other leg and he wasn't able to use it al all, it was just dead weight, so he opted to get it amputated too for convenience and so he could use a prosthetic on that side. I worked with a girl who's hand didn't form properly in the womb, resulting in a normal palm, but tiny "finger nubs" (her words) with no bones inside. They weren't actively harming her usually, but she opted to get them and the top of her palm amputated after an incident at work where we were tying balloons and one of her nubs got stuck in the knot. She decided to get them amputated because it meant accidents like that would be less likely, and she could use a prosthetic more comfortably. All 3 of these are considered "optional" amputations, so would people like us be penalised in your setting? does it make sense that the technology in your setting can tell the difference, or that corporations would care about the how and why? Even stepping away from medical grey areas, if your character opts for a cybernetic arm because the corporations will financially reward her, and she's struggling to put food on the table without that help, is that really optional?

Don't get me wrong, I do think that idea could work but it would take a lot of work to do well, and most works I've seen don't do the work. Even if they did though, it doesn't change the fact that most modern uses of this trope don't mention that bit or actively ignore it. It doesn't matter in most cyberpunk works I've seen if the amputation was optional or out of necessity, they still are more prone to being seen as "less human" and in most of the sci-fi writing communities I've been part of, the authors are genuinely shocked when I ask them to remember "people with cybernetics are real people already, they're not some far-off-distant future fantasy group, they're just called amputees". Like it didn't even cross their minds. These are the people creating the works in this genre. Even if it wasn't the original intention of the genre, it's still an issue in the modern version of it. Edit 2: Elaborated a little more on why I don't think the "only people who choose it" argument works in the edit. Also, please stop telling me that old cyberpunk doesn't have this issue, I literally address that in the post lol.

[spideyhexx]

MORE CORYO PISS KINK PLS!!!! BARK BARK BARK🐕🐕

AYE AYE (pls no one look at me idk what ive done) this is academy coryo

mdni; cw piss

coryo was disgusted with himself at first when he realized he liked it.

he jerked off in the shower one morning and pissed afterwards and for some reason, the feeling and the sight turned him on. So naturally, the next time he fists his cock, he imagines someone else pissing. Not on him, he tells himself that would be too far.

Anyways, it makes him come the hardest he has in a long while so now it becomes a regular thought to jerk off too. And this thought spirals. He finds himself liking the pressure of his bladder. Rubbing his cock when he’s desperate to pee. Not letting him go until he’s made himself come.

One day it’s too close. Too close and he almost wets his pants. Would he like that? He thinks it’s a disgrace if he lets himself but one day he drinks so much water, it just happens. He blames it on the water intake, not his inner thoughts wanting to feel his pants and boxers wet, warm, the hiss of his stream. He’d even try to take his pants off, only for his dick to come out and piss on the floor of his bathroom before he can aim it right. But he liked it.

Fucking hell, he almost couldn’t stop jerking off that night. He thought about a pretty person pissing their pants…or skirt or underwear because of him. Because of his hand pressed to their bladder. He wondered what the whines would sound like and he was desperate to hear it. But he could never tell anyone about this, could he? Surely, his future partner would hate it. Be disgusted with him.

So he kept it fantasy.

But when you are with him. Months, maybe even over a year into dating him and mention having to pee, you clock the way his pants get tighter and he hardens. You test it out, mentioning having to piss very badly a few days later and Coryo gets the same look in his eyes that he does when he’s horny. You’ve known that look.

You can’t deny the thought of it turning him on so much turns you on, that it’s something you’re interested in trying but Coryo embarrasses easily. So you ease into it. Taking a shower with him, you mention having to pee. Coryo is going crazy. He’d wanna ask you to just do it. But his words die in his throat.

And you fulfill them, asking if it’s okay if you just go. And he nods. He’s hugging you from behind and he goes to step away but you don’t let him. He looks down and watches you piss, he can feel a little bit of the warm liquid on his legs.

He can’t stop himself, he hardens and you tease him, trailing your hand down his chest to his cock, rubbing your thumb on the tip as you get him to spill his dirtiest secret to you.

[ataraxiaspainting]

There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined. 

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort. 

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be. 

Close to him.

[vigilskeep]

since we’re heading to minrathous in veilguard i’ve been thinking abt a tevinter rook - do u have any thoughts on tevinter’s gender roles? i was wondering abt the male chantry structure + dorian’s talk of the magister/altus class being obsessed w bloodlines and heirs… ik dragon age gender lore is inconsistent lol but i’d love to hear your opinions anyway 🙏 i absolutely trust u more than i trust bioware

i DO have thoughts!!

i think the most sensible reason for tevinter to have its more patriarchal structure is religious. in the south, andraste is venerated above all else, and this is (canonically) the given reason that women are looked to for spiritual guidance, whereas men are considered vulnerable to the dangerous passions of maferath. however, in the tevinter chantry, they like to put another male figure front and centre: archon hessarian, the tevinter leader who mercifully(ish) slew andraste on the pyre rather than let her suffer, and later converted both himself and the imperium as a whole to andrastianism.

everyone andrastian likes this guy; it’s his blade of mercy on the templar uniform, and so on. but the tevinters like him even more so (again, canonically) and consider him the most important of andraste’s disciples. (because he’s the tevinter one, obviously.) ergo, more important than maferath. so my line of thought would be a) they do not have the aversion to male spiritual guidance that the south does, because their leading man is hessarian not maferath, and b) hessarian was an archon of the imperium and the leader of andrastianism in tevinter in his day, so of course all future archons and tevinter divines should follow in his footsteps.

i can see how that would cause a serious religious divide in the early schism days. from the southern perspective, spiritual leadership is being handed over to the untrustworthy, and hessarian is being falsely idolised. from the northern perspective, perhaps the female leaders of the southern chantry are going too far by assuming themselves as heir to andraste herself, which i can see being considered blasphemous compared to simply following in the example of one andraste’s disciples. we do know canonically that one of the big pre-schism issues was the sunburst throne refusing to recognise tevinter’s male grand clerics. (which is why another big reason for initially choosing a male divine when the schism began would have simply been defiance. i’m trying to think through why that decision lasted aside from dorian’s comment that they’re still doing it just because it’s the done thing.)

anyway, it for sure makes sense for that to filter into culture more broadly, especially given that it affects who gets into the top seats of power in such a status-driven society. and as soon as that’s true of a group, the people who do have access to those seats are rarely quick to open them up to more competitors. i can see altus women instead taking political roles where their primary ambition is to push their husbands, sons, brothers, etc. into these positions. classic scheming mother historical archetype

the altus obsession with bloodlines makes perfect sense to me, it’s kind of the natural progression of venerating something that can apparently be inherited by blood, and seeing that thing as a sign of literal divine favour that puts you into a special class above the rest. the only thing i would dislike narratively is any implication that this actually works to increase ability, lmao. tevinter may produce more powerful mages because the study of magic is so much more supported there, and because they’re not, you know, preventing the mages having families and thereby decimating the natural population, but let’s not start acting like fantasy eugenics actually makes mages from these mage families inherently more powerful, because that would be incredibly stupid writing. they’re just more likely to be mages because their family are all mages, and then they have far more training resources at hand. and less religious hangups. (luckily all the evidence so far supports dragon age for once not taking a weird angle. it’s not like any of our randomly born mages are somehow not a match for dorian or danarius or whatever other altus we’ve seen in a fight.)

that got a bit distracted but those are some thoughts :)

[truefakegirlfacts]

"C'mon, look at those tits!" said Megan. "Tell me you wouldn't turn back into a boy for the chance to play with those!"

"Oh yeah, absolutely!" replied Zoe.

Sophie stayed silent, still in shock at the direction the conversation had turned. When she had moved to the city, she had been so excited about the chance to meet more trans women. She was a bit surprised when her two new friends didn't care as much as her about being percieved exactly like a cis woman. They didn't hide some of their more male mannerisms and didn't always correct people who misgendered them. But after a few weeks of getting to know them, Sophie learnt to see the wisdom in this. It was stressful always worrying how others percieved you, and in truth she had realised that there were differences between trans women and cis women, and that was ok. Still, discussing which female celebrities and porn stars were hot enought to get you to detransition was, to Sophie, a step too far. How could they expect anyone to see them as women when...

"Soph? You still there?"

"Huh? Sorry, lost in thought. Did you ask me something?" she said, dreading that they might make her name some big-titted straight girl she'd willingly be the boyfriend of.

"C'mon Soph, a girl you'd detrans for? Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. Every tgirl does. It's ok."

Was that right? Was Sophie just being uptight? The truth is, when she saw a hot girl, she did have to suppress thoughts she thought were unfeminine. Were her friends just being open about a side of themselves that she kept hidden? Her knowledge of celebrities was terrible, but she tried picturing herself as the boyfriend of actresses from films she'd seen. She imagined the envy other men would feel for her. She felt a stirring inside her, and another under her skirt. Still, she couldn't remember any of these women's names. Her horny mind soon turned to girls she knew personally. She flitted through friends and colleagues, imagining herself with them as a normal straight couple, and when one caused a particular swelling down below, she couldn't help but cry out her name.

"Emily!". She Covered her mouth, shocked that she couldn't contain her fantasies.

"Emily Howell? From your work?" asked Zoe. "Yeah, I can totally see that! Fuck, her ass..."

"Dude, she's single. You should totally ask her! And she's always going on about how she loves tall guys! I'm pretty sure you have a chance!"

"Yeah, with how much she says that, I'm pretty sure she's dropping hints."

Sophie tried to think of a reason to disagree with her friends, but couldn't. The vision of her as Emily's boyfriend was a life she'd given up on, but a life that still called to her. She could have the kind of relationship she'd been taught to want as a small boy. She felt a desire to try and make this vsion a reality, stronger than the one that had driven her to dransition in the first place.

"Ok! I'll text her!"

"Woo! Go get her dude!"

"You gonna send her a dick pic? That way she'll know you've given up on the girl thing."

"No no, send her a video of you flushing your E down the toilet. Show her you're commited!"

Sophie's head swam with thoughts of what he was about to do, but he felt a hope for the future that he hadn't felt in a long time.

[headcanons-n-shit]

Hello

Your newest post reminded me i had an idea. The bois comforting wol who is having a nervous brakedown from all the stress. Bonus Ardbert.

I really like your stories. Especially the angsty ones.

(TAZ The Breakdown plays in the background)

(Mild shadowbringers spoilers)

Thancred literally (accidentally but still) disassociated so hard from the stress that he gave up his body to the bad guy for a bit. If anyone gets what youre going through, its probably going to be him. Hes not going to waste his time on empty platitudes: hes going to get you a glass of water, a warm blanket, and a hot meal, and let you cry it out on his shoulder for as long as you need to.

(And if that still doesnt help, well. Sex is still on the table. Its rarely a good idea, but hes all out of those.)

Urianger is probably breaking down with you lets be real. Every future my mans has ever read has included world-ending catastrophe, and, sure, youve thwarted it every time (usually with his help) but. What if this time you dont? What if this time you fail???? Its an unreasonable amount of stress for one man to be carrying. He probably does a fantastic amount of fantasy weed to cope and still all it takes is seeing you break down for him to also start blubber-crying.

Graha seems kind of detached and distant at first. "Shower water food" he commands you, in the voice of Lynas grandfather the Crystal Exarch, firm and uncompromising and impossible to disobey, and you might miss the way his voice and smile are strained. The way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. Hes never regretted turning back time to help you save two worlds, but. Its times like this that he wonders if he shouldnt try again to give you a happier ending.

Estinien is a firm hand on your shoulder, a steady shoulder to lean on, because he gets it. The feeling of being trapped in your own body, puppetted by powers so much greater than you can imagine, almost greater than you can comprehend... Youre breaking down for the both of you, honestly, because hes spent so long training the iron discipline to resist nidhoggs influence that he doesnt know how to anymore. This is. Cathartic. For the both of you tbh.

Aymeric wishes in this moment, more than anything, that he could just. Just be with you. Out on your journeys, giving you support by your side instead of from a distance. And he knows, he knows, that the support he gives you is important, that his ability to move nations in your favor has helped far more than any single sword at your side ever would. But he bears the weight of a nation while you bear the weight of a star, and that just. Doesnt seem fair to him.

Haurchefant knows that theres some things that hot chocolate cant fix but. Its a good starting place if nothing else. Something warm and sweet right now couldnt hurt, neither would a soft blanket and a roaring fire. He'll sit with you, bundled up together, and just listen if thats what you need. Or he can talk-- he has plenty of embarrassing stories about Artoirel that he hasnt shared yet. Either way, he'll happily help you wipe your tears away when youre done, and then drop a delicate kiss on your forehead.

Stand tall, he says. A smile better suits a hero.

Sidurgu is surprisingly good at this. Or, maybe not so surprising? Rielle is very mature for her age, but shes still a child. He probably does this whole song and dance every other week. And you feel a little bit like a child, the way he bullies you into the shower and then bundles you up in blankets and pushes food at you, but. Beneath the gruff words and scowl you can tell hes worried. Frustrated. This is exactly the kind of injustice that as a dark knight he swore he would fight, but hes just one man, there isnt much he can do about the desolation of the star. But he also needs you to know that he'll always be in your corner. Whether in this little way or if you need him to help you kill a god, he'll always come when you call.

BONUS

Ardbert has never felt so helpless in his life. He cant touch you, cant be a shoulder you can cry on. He cant even fetch you a glass of water. All he can do is stand there and watch as you break apart in your bed in the Pendants, and its. Its torture, worse than anything any ascian could ever conceive.

Still. He does what he can. And if all he can do is sit at your bedside, his hand hovering half-through yours in a mockery of touch while he tells you stories of his adventures, or friendship and triumph and happier times, well. Its the least he can do.

[multiwreckedmess]

Two Princes (The End?)

Pairing: Prince!Hyunjin x fem!servant!Reader x Prince!Felix Genre: Royalty AU Smut WC: 9k (ish) Summary: The realities of life hurt more than if the two Princes were just a daydream. It’s time to be honest. 

TW: Sexual assault (not by the boys, I will include additional detail below the cut to review at your own discretion), threats of violence (not to yn) CW: Sir title, creampie, anal penetration, dacryphilia, yn referred to as “darling” “toy” “girl” “cocksleeve”, mentions of marriage and family.

Genuinely idk what ya’ll want me to tag there.

Normal disclaimers, this is fiction not a resource manual for how to do literally anything in life. This does not represent ANYONE real or fictional. It’s a fantasy AU FFS if you cannot figure that out I cannot help you. Please do not interact if you are under 18. This content is meant for 18+ readers so by continuing below the cut you agree that you are 18+. Also not proofread sorry, I’m a gremlin in a human suit.

Part 1 | Part 2 you might wanna read. i’m not your mom.

For the TW and spoilers I guess? There is a third party who has yn touch him inappropriately without their consent or knowledge. She asks the boys not to do anything about it. They EMPHATICALLY want to do something about it but respect yn’s wishes.

 Hyunjin’s sleepy rustling barely registers in your exhausted body, one of his legs kicking out from under the sheet. The room is lit with rich blues and pinks, calling in the morning light. Sweat sticks to your forearms where they press into his side, a small way to prove to yourself it’s all really happened, it’s all physically real.  Felix is far more wrapped around you, nose and forehead planted in between your shoulder blades, light breaths running down your spine. An arm drapes over your waist, hand slid between your breasts, his knees slotted behind yours. The throb of his cock, perfectly slotted between your cheeks tightens a knot in your stomach. You push back against him, wiggling happily.  Sure enough he responds with a gravely moan, abs flexing as he rolls his hips back at you. His thumb finds your nipple, lazily flicking back and forth over the sensitive nub. Slowly your lower halves slip and slide against each other, still tired from the night prior. Winding each other up little by little. He’s never been as interested in your chest as he is right now. Pinching and pulling and playing with your pebbled nipples, measuring your jittering hips to perfect his slow torture. Your clit throbs as you whine and wiggle your toes to relieve the tension growing in your gut. It does nothing. Felix is a small explosion of a half chuckle.  “Sir?”   “You can use my name if you prefer.” His voice is huskier in the morning, vocal cords still not used to moving.  “Sir, I need it-” your voice bounces as you tap your toe against his shin, pleading.  He plucks his hand from your breast, tracing down your side to the cleft of your ass, pulling apart your cheeks, cold air hitting your cunt, stale cum seeping from you still. Teeth grazing your shoulder, he slides in easily, the whisper of a groan vibrating from his mouth to your arm. With a shift of the covers and a slide of your knee, you're open to the morning light, his cock languidly rubbing against your inner walls.   “See doll, simply ask your future kings, we will provide.”  Neither of you are in a hurry to climax, the carnal need having been spent the night before, drifting between conscious and semi conscious as your eyelids flutter. You think you orgasm, it’s so gentle in comparison to your soul rending affairs it feels like a different beast entirely. A wave of pleasure washes over you like a summer tide lapping at your ankles. Your eyes roll back with a sigh, his fingers lightly circling your clit. “Is this real?” You wonder aloud, full body sunk into his chest.

 “As real as you want it to be.” You nearly jump out of your skin, Hyunjin’s smiling face turned to you, still puffy from sleep, naked and obviously aroused.   “Sir! I’m - sorry, Hyunjin? Sir.” Somehow you sound both panicked and sheepish, stuffed cunt on full display. “I didn’t think-” Your train of thought is interrupted with a harsh thrust, Felix’s cock lodging itself straight into your g-spot.   “Don’t be mad ‘Jinnie, you’ve been awake the whole time, you could’ve joined.” Felix chuckles.  You stare incredulously at Hyunjin, who shrugs with a smile.   “What can I say, darling. I love watching you,” his face softens, hand reaching out to stroke your hair, “and asking for us all by yourself. Such a good girl.”  “Do you want him to join?” Felix purrs in his low bass that makes your eyelids flutter. “As a peace offering.”  “Yes,” you gasp as he pulls out, the sudden emptiness almost uncomfortable.   Felix rolls you to face him, “but I'm feeling a little greedy today, if that’s alright,” he states with a boyish grin, pecking you on the nose before hitching your top leg over his hip.

  Rolling to face him, Felix kisses your nose, taking your top leg over his hip and slotting his cock inside you again. Hyunjin’s weight shifts the mat behind you slightly as he closes in on the two of you, hands roaming your buttocks and low back.   “Our toy has gotten bold,” his breath is as warm as his skin, fanning over the back of your neck. “Darling just relax and let us take care of your every whim,” Hyunjin purrs. “Now that you’ve asked, we can provide.”   Another shift in the bed that you barely notice, Felix’s face buried in your chest as he slowly and sloppily thrusts up into you. The telltale clink of the glass vase of oil uncorking, glugs of the slick liquid sloshing in the container. The press of Hyunjins fingers to your other hole sends a shiver up your spine.  “S-sir?”  “Yes Darling?”  You gulp, “just nervous.” Whining you feel the heat of embarrassment spread across your face.  “Oh darling,” Hyunjin plants a kiss directly between your shoulder blades. Two well oiled fingers slip against you as Felix slows. You can’t help but wiggle back against them. “It was nice last time right? Your kings weren’t wrong were they?”   Your head buzzes with lust, eyelids drooping in the haze. “Sirs were right. Always right.”  “So you’d like to? I need to hear you want this.”   “Please Hyunjin Sir, I want it. Just, slow please.”  A short puff of a chuckle escapes from his nose, “oh darling, of course.” He mutters, a finger slipping past the tight ring of muscle, a protracted moan ripping through the morning air.   “Keep doing that, I think she likes it Hyune.” Felix groans, slowing even further with his thrusts. “I can tell that by your cute little cunt, doll.”  With gentle touches and slow patient progress Hyunjin’s fingers work you open. It’s easy to lean into his sure guidance, letting the two of them work together to adjust the tangle of legs to better present you.   The heat of the sun streaming through the window keeps your skin warm as the three of you lay exposed and unhurried. No words spoken, the space between breaths filling with hushed moans and light giggles. Your world feels like a perfect golden bubble, glinting as it drifts happily along on the early summer breeze.   Soon enough slender fingers are replaced by the blunt tip of Hyunjin’s cock, pressing steadily into the space prepared. Your breath quickens as the pressure stirs your guts, no matter how much he did with his fingers it still was a tight fit. “Deep breaths darling, you taking us both so well. Just a little more, love.” Hyunjin's voice floats dreamily in the sunlight. Felix’s short but strong fingers massaging your hips, indenting your skin as he molds your flesh. “That’s it, good little darling,” Hyunjin groans as his hips meet the cleft of your ass.   “Really full,” you burble, clinging onto Felix in front of you. “‘S good tho’. ‘S nice.” Head swimming you can barely compute thoughts into words. Very much at the mercy of two royals there's no place you’d rather be stuck. The heat and pheromones buzz in your brain and drown out lingering worries and doubts leaving it empty, quickly filled with the sounds of the Prince’s slow labored breaths. Laying on your side you don’t bounce much, instead letting the two men lazily shift your hips back and forth, sliding you between their bodies. When one drags the other pushes and vice versa.

 “I can’t anymore-” Felix whines. “She’s so wet. Fuck she’s squeezing-”  “You can go longer,” Hyunjin grunts. “She’s not done.” Purring in your ear he whispers, “darling, cum for us. Show your Prince’s how good they’ve been to you.” Hands snaking around you to play with your chest, the tickle in your ear has you shaking already.   Felix’s breath catches, strangled in his chest. His hands grip you harshly, “oh-” he mutters as his face open in shock. His cock throbs, pushed up and fit as snugly as possible, cum flooding as your walls spasm. “I’m sorry,” he whines, “cumming.”   Something about his whined apology, the way his eyes slowly blinked open marveling at you like some sort of precious thing he feared he’d disappointed, it flips something in you. Your vision darkens as your whole body clenches, gasping and flooding the man inside of you. Juices practically drench them as you spasm. Teeth bump against your shoulder as you feel Hyunjin’s lips attach, sucking a purple mark into your skin as he folds forward, emptying himself as well, a cascade effect of your release.   Exhaustion overtakes you, fading in and out of consciousness as the two men adjust you and clean you and come back to lay with you. Happy bubble. Shining happy sunlight. Your skins pressed together feel tacky with dried sweat but you don’t mind. And neither do they. They don’t mind the mess and the grime or the work.

 The work.

 Eyebrows furrowing you think about the work that you aren’t doing today. The small chores that stack up to make bigger headaches. You want to lay and bask but the nagging thought won’t leave you alone. The reminder that your absence would be noted. Your legs have never felt heavier as you try to pull yourself down the middle of the resting men so as to not disturb them.   “Stay,” Felix mutters groggily, hugging you tighter momentarily before returning to slumber. Gently you roll him to his back, letting his arm slide off your body and gingerly crawling over the other outstretched on the bed.   As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed you watch your feet dangle over the ornate floors. Calloused from years of standing, they’re workers' feet. A permanent crack in your nail bed that goes unpolished is further proof of this. “I’m sorry for the offense of my trodding but I must make myself scarce,” you think wryly as your toes touch down as lightly as you can muster.  A hand grabs your forearm. “Would you stay if we commanded it?”   “That’s my duty sir,” you say without looking at him.   “Must we always command it?”   With a sigh you turn into him, Hyunjin, a measure of sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to command it, sir. I wish I could just stay as you request. I wish I could stay of my own desire.  In my world, a command means everything, sir, and desire nothing.”  He nods, hand trailing down to interlace with your fingers. “And would it be so terrible if I commanded it?” Hyunjin flashes a smile at you   “Not so terrible to me, but you are the Prince of a small kingdom and a host of a castle, so you must think of others.”  Hyunjin flops dramatically backwards onto the mattress, jostling Felix. “Fine. My darling must leave me. I can’t monopolize her time. I see. I understand. If you must.” He whines. “A kiss first. A command. You must kiss me.”   Leaning over you first kiss Felix’s outstretched palm, watching him as he reflexively curls. Then you look at Hyunjin, lips pursed dramatically at you, waiting. “One kiss sir. Exactly as you commanded, are you sure you want that kind of kiss?”  He leans up, hand extending to pull you closer by the back of your neck. Lips locking with his, you both press into the kiss, unwilling to be the first to break.  You chuckle as you leave, tearing a hole in your heart as you close the door.

 No longer new to the routine of the monthly meeting, you’d become familiar with the quirks and habits of the usual attendees. Those who were lucky to live close frequently settled in early while those who lived in the farthest reaches would sprint in just in time for the Princes to sit down from their small talk. As the season progressed your uniform adapted as well, much to their delight. Layers paired down to a simple sweat-wicking chemise, corset, top and knee length skirt. Still plain but lighter during the summer heat. Easier to put on, easier to remove.

 This month was different. You took note of a new member, sitting crooked in his plush chair, chest bare but shoulders covered in a rich velvet cloak. Not the usual fashion of the kingdom or her provinces. Stubble was already pricking his skin and tinting his jawline, his mouth quirked to the side, there was something in his smile that turned your stomach. Not the fluttering flip that the Princes gave you of excitement and anticipation, it was a jittery yank violently downwards of dread.  ”I’d have thought to come to court more frequently had I known you were hiding away treasures as this in this stuffy old castle,” the man comments to the Princes. Felix’s normally cheery smile and bright eyes fading, setting into stone.  ”We’ve made no effort to hide her,” Hyunjin plasters a cold smile to his face, ever the diplomat. “As you know, our kingdom has always had an open door to yours, you only need knock.”  The Princes watch in a tense uneasy silence as you refill the man’s goblet. The only noise that breaks through is the steady stream of dark liquid splashing into the vessel. From this distance you can tell he’s at least two decades your senior, glittering silver streaks flecking through his hair. You can feel his fingertips brushing the backs of your thighs, clammy on your warm skin. He’s careful to go just high enough to meet the hem of your skirts, not high enough to be obvious except to yourself and him. Alert bells ring in your head but you hold firm and focused. The second it fills you bow shortly, just enough to pass as polite, and go to skitter back to the safety of your corner. To hide where you know best.

 But he grabs you by the elbow pulling you back into place. ”How much?” Hyunjin’s vacant smile falters as both Princes stare at the man. ”How much for the slave girl.”  Felix splutters, “she’s a human, she’s not for sale.”  ”Everything has a price my naive boys,” he laughs, turning to you. “How much?” Eyes flitting from your princes to this man, you shake like a leaf. His hands move boldly; traveling the front of your thighs, visible now to the princes. ”I asked, how much? What’s the price for a lick of that sweet little cunt of yours?”  ”Miss,” Felix’s voice booms in the chamber. “Do you want that man to handle you as he is?”  You shake your head swiftly, yanking yourself back from him.  ”The next appendage that so much as brushes against her apron will be lopped off and fed to the pigs,” Hyunjin's voice cuts through, direct to the man’s ears, striking like a snake. The court sits on a knife's edge, teetering precariously, waiting for someone to act. The visitor smirks, slowly lowering his hand to his lap with the shake of his head. “Now can you behave yourself long enough to sort out the new agreements or have you been so enfeebled by your long day’s travel that your brain is soft and you need to be excused to rest?”   The man smiles, eyes cold, “little princes, all of this bluster is not necessary. It was a simple question, that is all. We can proceed as planned.”

 No matter how hard you try you can’t escape the feeling of being watched. His lingering gaze torments you in your corner. You had trained years and years to be as invisible as possible and now you were so clearly not. Not just to the Princes, but to others. Others whose attention you didn’t want. You’d been good at it too, making yourself small and silent and unseen, or you’d thought. Now you weren’t so sure.  Your leg bounces nervously. Hyunjin, you notice, seems particularly distracted by the visitor, back stiff and straight, eyes darting around the room. It’s difficult to tell exactly what the Princes were saying but by body language Hyunjin is on edge, clearly pressing the agenda forward at a rapid pace. The visitor sips his wine leisurely, staring. Making a show of the empty cup as his hand jangles it around, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Hyunjin almost breaks then, jaw tensing as you approach the man. The rest of the visitors and advisors don’t notice as you slip between the seats with your vase.   “These big mean boys keep you locked away?” His voice turns your stomach sour. “It’s okay you can tell me. Just whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”  You shake your head in a small tight back and forth, “no. My state is well, thank you.”  The man’s nostrils flare. “Tell me girl, have you ever seen such riches as these?” His hand dives into the deep pocket of his velvet overcoat, pulling from it a wad of bills and tossing them on the table. “Can you even comprehend the amount of wealth I have?”  “No,” you whisper. “Please sir, is this all you require? I don’t want to disturb the meeting.”  Slowly heads and eyes are turning to you as you stand, sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest of the seated table. What happens next happens in slow motion. You watch as the man’s hand reaches forward to grab the goblet but instead of grasping the stem, he punches it out from underneath, tipping his glass towards himself, sending the contents spilling forward onto his lap. Without thinking you grab a napkin and begin to dab at the bubbles of liquid before they absorb fully into a variety of thick, plush, fabrics. It was the training, the years of muscle memory to protect the image of the court, to care for the guests of the kingdom, to remedy any ills that could potentially fall on your head, that kicked into gear. His lecherous smirk doesn’t even register fully until his low gruff chuckle passes by your ear.  “It’s okay everyone, just a small accident,” he waves to the hushed table to continue their discussions. Then he turns to you, voice low enough for only you to hear, “such an eager little wench. Take some change for your troubles,” his hand covers yours, big and rough, taking the napkin from you and gesturing towards the stack of money on the table. “See how your state likes that.”  You feel something flex below your fingers. Wrenching your hand away and gathering it to your chest with the other, you feel sick. You don’t want to know what you felt. The man gathers the money and slides it into the front of your apron with the same lascivious smile plastered on his face.   “There you go, girl, for doing such a good job.”

  Lips cemented shut for fear of the nausea worming in your gut becoming something more, you sit back at your stool and pray. This room had been a sight of many unreal feeling events but this was something else. Front teeth biting the inside of your lip you fight the tears welling in your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, the Princes, radiant as ever at the front of the room. Instead your eyes search the room for any excuse to leave first, break protocols and abandon your position, any emergency that needs immediate attention would do.   But nothing appears. For the rest of the meeting there are no hiccups, not that there ever were. The rest of the castle knew just how important this meeting was and acted accordingly like a well oiled machine, practiced and precise. Except for you. No amount of oil could make up for the misshapen way you felt. No amount of elbow grease or pressure could fix it. Nothing had made you more certain of that than this. The outline of the wad of bills in your white linen apron reminds you of your place. Another person would’ve found a better way out of it, or wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. Your body holds itself so stiffly you start to vibrate, imperceptible to everyone but yourself.

 The meeting wraps up, advisors slowly meander past your post, some lost in deep discussion, others give you small nods of thanks until few remain. You steal yourself, waiting for the moment you know is coming. Eyes to the floor you can still feel him standing slowly, footsteps heavy and elongated, slowly making his way, server in tow, to your stool. You can hear him take a breath to speak as a third pair of footsteps intercedes.  “If you have a request, allow me to personally attend to it.”   An angel stands with his back to you, separating the man from your line of sight. Your angel, swooping in to save you. Prince Felix, unmistakable from his wide shoulders and small waist. He walks perpendicular to the man, continuing to block you from him as he corrects course to the door. He’s caught and by the Prince no less. Though you can’t see him you know he can’t act without causing more trouble than you’re worth.  “Ah well you see my clothes are still a bit damp and-”   “-and I will have an outfit more befitting the climate sent to your room where you can undress and bathe yourself in privacy.”   Their voices grow faint as Felix walks with him out the door and into the hall, leaving no room for arguing. Finally the room is quiet, your eyes search for Hyunjin who is uncharacteristically missing. So you clean. Gathering glasses and plates and papers. Separating and stacking. Carefully placing onto trays and those trays onto the cart. Finally carting the dishes into the small auxiliary kitchen, the opposite direction of the way you normally leave with the Princes. Pushing the door open with your back and pulling the cart with you over the threshold, the happy sound of water sloshing into the large basin of the sink greets your ears.

 “How much did he give you,” the water turns off abruptly, before you have a chance to turn. The tone of his voice could cut glass like butter. You drop into a low curtsey out of shock.  “Prince Hyunjin sir! Why-where-here?”  “How much did he give you?” Hyunjin’s shoulders hunch up to his ears as his palms press into the lip of the sink, biceps flexed and knuckles white.   “I don’t- I didn’t count. I didn’t want to touch it. I couldn’t, sir i could never, I would never-”  He whips around, hands still damp, he reaches into your apron pocket and tosses the bills onto the small prep table in the corner. “Count them. Count them and he’ll get as many lashes.”  You gasp. “Sir, no. I can’t. Lashes? For what?”  “He insulted you. Therefore he insulted me. Therefore he insulted the kingdom and should be punished accordingly.”   “Sir. No.” Your stomach flips as you shrink into yourself. “Not me. Not me at all. I’m not worth the incident.”   His eyes look wild with anger. You wish more than anything you could evaporate under the heat of his fury. “Why not? You’re a human. You have dignity.”  “To a powerful man like that, I’m nothing. It’s his right.” Hyunjin’s words have pushed you back, thighs and palms holding the small table behind you as he stalks forward.  “Not here. Not in this Kingdom. Not in my Kingdom. Is that what we are to you? Your Princes are just powerful men exercising their right?”   “No! Sir-”   “Stop calling me that. We aren’t in court or the bedroom.”  “Hyunjin.” It isn’t you who says it. Mouth ready and open to heed his request, instead Felix, at the doorway, speaks his brother’s name sternly.  “You’re scaring her. Look at how small she’s made herself. If she doesn’t want us to do anything, we can’t do anything.”   Felix is right, you’ve curled reflexively around your middle as best you can, body naturally protecting your vital parts. With a gulp a flood of tears spill silently to your cheeks.  “He tricked her, Felix.” Hyunjin's full attention turns to him. Your breath stays held as you watch their showdown. “He tricked her into touching him. Then he tried to pay her for it. Tried to take her away from us. It was bad enough when he did it to our faces but to try to coerce her during court? Assault her? As though we don’t take care of our people. It was an insult to her autonomy. It was an insult to our authority!”   Felix doesn’t budge in the face of his tirade, resolute.“Take a walk, cool off. It’s equally her right to ask us not to interfere.”   Hyunjin opens his mouth to fight but Felix heads him off.   “As you are so concerned with her rights, you agree, it’s her right to ask us to not interfere.”  His mouth flaps open and closed soundlessly. For a second you think maybe he’s going to haul off and punch Felix. Instead he pushes past him into the hallway, not missing the opportunity to knock shoulders fiercely. You can hear his frustration echoing down the hall, exasperated groans and angered shouts rattling the stones of the foundation.

 If a black hole appeared and sucked you into it in a violent vortex of wind you wouldn’t be surprised. You’d be thankful for the quick and certain death at the hands of a celestial entity that was not made of flesh and bone and blood. Face still streaked with tears your body responds with automatic protocol. Most painfully, despite it all, dishes must be done, time stops for no one, not even powerful men. And so you start cleaning, soapy water still warm from Hyunjin’s washing. Each glass, used or not, gets carefully dipped and swirled around. The silverware clatters to the bottom to soak in the suds. There’s a calmness in the rhythm of it. Reach for the glass, grab the stem, dip the goblet, swish the soapy water, rinse with new water, place upside down to drain, repeat. Reach, grab, dip, swish, rinse, place, repeat.   “He means well, you know. It’s just seldom that anyone asks us to not do anything,” Felix sighs. His shoulder touches yours as he hunches over the sink with you, grabbing a glass for himself and following your lead.  “Please,” you whisper barely audible above the soothing sound of the water, “you really shouldn’t-”  “I’m just a Prince, I’m not totally and completely incapable of household chores. Besides, our Hyunjin is not the only one who hates to sit on the sidelines.”   Tears bubble again, you’re not sure why. You don’t fight him about it, instead leaning into him as the two of you work to clear the pile. He doesn’t remark on your crying, softly humming as he works. You almost feel like a normal couple, not a Prince and a member of his housestaff. Slowly your head leans over onto his shoulder, his long blonde hair tickling your ear.   With two people the remainder of the cart is cleared quickly, which you are thankful for. Pure emotional exhaustion fatigues your brain. You hardly notice how much weight you’re lending to Felix until he shrugs, your head bobbing with him. He’s midway through wiping his hands on his trousers, normally you’d be horrified to see the dirty dishwater soak into the richly dyed fabric but now you simply offer your apron to him.   “You’re tired,” Felix softly smiles. “May I?” His waterlogged thumb wipes the dried tears at the bottom of your jawline. You nod into his palm. The small gesture has tears welling at your lash line again. You love his care, you love his smile, you love him so much it hurts and catches in your chest. Felix tuts. “I only want tears if they’re from pleasure.”  “Then make it so,” you sniff. “Make them happy. Make me happy.” Your voice trembles and threatens to crack. Through watery vision you stare fiercely into his eyes.  His expression looking back at you is so soft in contrast, eyes kind but troubled. He chuckles, “quite the demand. I’m only a Prince but I'll see what I can do.”

 The moment you feel the helplessness threaten to collapse inside of you his lips catch yours. Wet and messy your lips, teeth, and tongues clash against each other as if by force you could express the sincerity of your feelings.  “I love you, my doll,” Felix manages to growl into your open mouth. Hips pinning yours to the counter you pant to catch your breath even for a moment. It smells like soap and skin and sunshine as he covers your face with small pecks. “If my love alone could protect you, you’d have no stronger shelter.”  “But it can’t Sir-” his lips dip down the column of your throat, a fresh hot wave of arousal traveling down your spine with a shudder.  “And you know this, how? How many Princes have loved you like I?” He holds you just far enough away so you can see the sparkle of his eyes.  “None.”  “Then you don’t know for sure that it can’t.”  “But it’s not--!”  “Then join me in pretend,” he kisses your warm cheek. “What use is logic and reason if all it does is make you sad? Just for now, just me.”   With a pointed nip at your neck he forces a moan from you. It’s difficult for your rational side to escape how overwhelmingly good it feels to be with him, how eagerly he kisses every inch of skin, how consumed he seems by you, his slight of hand tricks that seem to magic you into a more undressed state. In the warmth of his embrace feelings pool and flow over, drowning that small voice that tells you to be critical. One hand slipping up your skirt, he kneads the crease between your ass and thigh, fingers slowly working their way towards your entrance. The other pulls hastily at your bodice strings, not bothering to fully unlace anything that didn’t need it. He hitches your leg up over his hip, his knee pressing into the cupboards below the sink, arm looping around your thigh to support you.   “Britches, undo them, now” he pants as he leans the two of you back. His length throbs with your swollen cunt.   Still nowhere near as deft with his toggles as he was with your ties, your hands fumble over the buttons confining him within the cotton panel. Each slip of a button from its hole increases the heat of anticipation in your gut, as though this were the first time you’d seen him. The swollen tip of his thick length poking over the draped fabric has you giddy, hand automatically migrating to circle it.  “Did I say you could touch?” His face scrunches, fighting an airy whine.   Fingers of one hand still fumbling with buttons while the thumb of the other glosses the beaded precum over the spongy head you watch him struggle to keep his strict facade. “Please?”   With a deep breath he forces the air from his lungs in one guttural groan, “I can’t refuse my doll now can I? Not when you ask so sweetly. Not when you’re practically dripping on me.”  “I need you, please, sir, please,” his cock nearly fully out, a few buttons separating you from him. “How many buttons do you even need,” you grumble.   “Fuck the fucking buttons,” Felix perches you on the edge of the sink, teetering precariously as he hastily pulls the breaches the rest of the way down, shirt completely untucking. Your skirts get shoved up around your waist before he pulls you to him, cock searching blindly beneath the flood of fabric for your core. Catching on the muscle, with a sudden prod his blunt head slips past.  You wince and yelp, “Felix!”   Brushing your flyaways back he kisses you, “okay? You okay? I’m so sorry usually we- I know I- I want to take my time love but-”  “I’m fine, just sudden, just big,” you bite your lip and try to breathe. Felix holds you closer to steady the two of you, rocking the rest of his length up as you slowly sink down, all the while murmuring praise against your throat.  You feel delirious as his full length fills you, clit grinding against the caught mixture of fabrics of his shirt and your skirt. “Feels so good.” Your skin buzzes with endorphins. “Felix you feel so good.” A sob catches.  “Pretty doll, why are you crying?” He kisses your trembling shoulders. Bouncing you up on his hips, speared on his cock he coaxes the tears free with each percussive measured thrust.  “Hap-py, real-ly hap-py,” you burble, words broken up by air forced from your lungs. “Fu-ull and ha-ppy.”   His arms add to the thrusting, pulling you down faster than gravity onto him. Usually one to reply, Felix pours his full focus into pummeling your cunt, your single leg barely adding support as you wobble on your tippy toe. The leg held on his hip tensing and shaking. Fingers digging into his shoulder blades and wrinkling his shirt you cum. He seems to reveal in the feeling of your cunt working him, kissing you with more fervor as it pulses around him, happy to clench around something so thick. Eyelids fluttering and eyes rolling you’re  Gulping air and overstimulated he doesn’t let up, instead hammering into you as he chases his high. Every ounce of strength you can muster is diverted to withstanding the smack of his hipbones against your ass. His hips stutter and pace slows, you can hear his heart; a comforting fluttering thudding part of him that reminds you that you’re both just flesh and blood and emotions in squishy little bodies. The part of him you like most maybe, the soft tender man that lives in the shell of a mighty ordained being. You don’t even realize you are whimpering in his ear until you hear the door click and shift squeakily on its hinges. You duck your head into his chest, trying to curl completely into his shadow.  “Get. OUT.” Felix practically roars, mid climax and not waiting on formalities. The door slams shut quickly before you have a chance to peek over your lover's shoulder. He looks more lion-like than he’d ever, halo of golden hair wild and mane like, panting and hunched over you like prey he’d feasted on.   “Do you think-” you gulp and pant.   “No. If anything they saw my ass.”   “What if-”   “Then we handle it. Together.”

 Hair fixed, clothes smoothed and righted, you head back to your room in the soft glow of the hallway. The only reminder of your day is the slow trickle of cum streaking your thighs. You suppose all lovers do this to some extent, waddle their way to their own beds until they’re married. Was there even a chance of that with him, with them? Or was the inevitable end of your tryst a quiet disappearance into wider society. Standing in the full ground level kitchen you stir your herbal concoction. Queen Anne’s Lace, willow, pennyroyal, myrrh, and rue. A mash of plant parts from roots to seeds all put together, a well-tread recipe at this point, still horribly bitter to swallow and best chugged when cool. It could be worse, for you all that happened was light bleeding and cramping. You’d heard for some the potion made them bedridden for days. It was inconspicuous as long as you refilled what you’d taken from the kitchen garden.  Still you can’t help your burning curiosity as to who may have seen you or what may be said. Taking extra hours in the kitchen, assisting with the laundry, really adding any of the known gossip spots to your routine of chores. Strangely nothing. Not a peep of anyone, much less a Prince, using the auxiliary kitchen for auxiliary activities. You’d at least expected speculative whispers of who the man could’ve been. In particular the laundry day gossip had revolved around one of the stablehands' sexual conquests, questions of paternity of a noble woman’s eldest child, and whatever was happening at the far away chantry. So maybe a consensual romp in a kitchen wasn’t interesting enough without hints at who it might be. As an upside your extra hours had grown your estimation in your matron’s eyes, always pleased to see your head down, nose buried in work, keeping yourself out of trouble.  “I’d had my doubts some days,” you overheard her speaking with the head of the staff, “but she’s really taken to work like flies to honey.”   But flies who feed themselves fat on honey stick and drown.

 Normally beds were made in pairs but your partner was sick in bed that day. Doubled over with cramps she was in no state to lift mats and shake out duvets with you.  “Really I can-” she sat on the edge of her small cot, one arm wrapped around her stomach, shoulders hunched over. Practically shaking with pain, you carefully helped her back down.  “It’s fine, I’ll make up for the both of us.”   Face contorted in pain she nods. “Please, ask anything of me and I’ll help you.”  “It‘s fine,” you assure her, “it’ll be better than nothing.”  “Really, I refuse to be a burden. If you ever-” an anguished clench of her jaw interrupts the thought process. Refilling her water jug and placing it in arms reach, you leave her small room. Some day you may have to use that offer but for now you had to get going.  The work wasn’t easy or efficient but it was better done alone than not at all and better alone than dragging your friend around like a ball and chain. Carefully tucking opposing diagonal corners of the bottom sheet in before rotating and attending to the other pair, you work methodically through the upper guest rooms. In the summer heat the heavy shades are draw and rooms dark to preserve what cool night air you could. Still the heavy work left you panting and sweaty, hair frizzing in different wild directions. The thin layer of dried sweat reactivated by new beads as you progress through the rooms.  You sit on the edge of a half made bed to catch your breath. Limbs starting to hurt and drag you focus on the promise of a nice cool bath at the end of the day. You think about how the water would prickle against your overheated skin, numbing as you soak the pain of the day away. The air wicking the droplets off your exposed parts and cooling you further. Eyes closed the power of suggestion works it’s magic to refresh you even now.

 “Look at this darling present left all alone,” Hyunjin’s voice calls in a cheerful sing song as he closes the door behind him, leaving the two of you in near darkness.  Your heart beats wildly. “Prince Hyunjin, your royal highness?” You respond into the black.  A sigh from behind you has you spin on the top sheet. “Are we so unfamiliar even now?” You wish you could see his expression, but he sounds almost sad. “My darling, my gift, my love, I’m sorry.” The bed bends in behind you, his voice drawing nearer. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  “Can I speak honestly?” You mutter sheepishly.  “Of course darling. Always. Forever.” You gulp down to ease the clench of your throat, “our worlds are so different. Yes they intersect but there are parts of mine that you’ll never understand and parts of yours I’ll never be privy to.”   “I-we know. But we-”   “Please. I need to finish before I regret this,” you take another breath, silence settling across the two of you. “I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know what I am to you. Either of you. And you can’t protect me from what may come of whatever we are. And I don’t want what may happen to hurt you. And no matter what we do you are who you are and I am who I am and we just- and, and, and-” you search for the words to express the depths of the helplessness you feel. Instead a sob rips the sudden silence apart at the seams.  “Oh my pretty darling, may I-” you feel him inch closer. You nod wordlessly, he doesn’t need to complete the request. You’re not even sure he can see you but your throat is so tight you can’t even squeak out a yes so you have to hope he can feel the slight bounce of the bed. Like a ray of god shining through the break in the curtains a beam of sun illuminates a sliver of bed. It hits his arm first, muscular and bare. As he leans towards you the strip travels his face, the area around his lips looks red and puffy, his nose too. The slight glimmer of his cheek tells you he’s been crying. Shoulder dipping as the weight of his cheek pours over it your head naturally falls onto his.  “Have you thought about country life?” His question trails into the dark nothingness. “I think about it a lot. Taking a cart and a horse and a wife onto some unsettled land. I’d still be a king even then. Just of a much smaller domain.”   “You would. And would you rule over your wife then? And children?”  “And cows and chickens too, and any of their babies,” he chuckles wryly. “Why? Would it bother you?”   You sigh and shrug him from your shoulder, collapsing back into the half made bed. “I don’t know, my lord, I think I’d like to be a partner in a marriage more than a subject.”  “My lord? You’ve gotten so cheeky,” he says with a swat to your thigh.   “Sir. Prince. His royal highness-”  Hyunjin lets out a deep sigh, a burst of air hitting you as he collapses backwards on the bed. The air itself is hot. Laying there in silence you feel his fingertips brush the back of your hand lightly, asking for permission from you.  “Hyunjin.”  “Darling?”  “If that’s what you want-”  He grips your hand so tightly it stops you. “You know what my father -our- Felix and my father said when Felix joined our family? The decree?”   Your heart pounds out of your chest. In all your years within the castle no one dared to broach the subject to the point where you could’ve sworn it was a punishable offense. You of course were too young to remember those years clearly, shortly after the passing of the sister queen and king to your land. Not related by blood but of bonds much deeper. “Something about no more queens to follow but I thought-”  “None. We may have heirs but neither Felix nor myself is promised a queen. Nor can we make a person a queen. No more Queens.”   He’s clearly eager but you don’t quite follow. “So if you marry…” your words trail slowly, waiting for him to finish your thought.   “They would be our partner. But nothing to the land. Only ours. Not a subject nor royalty. Just ours.” His hand shakes yours, he’s either excited or scared and you aren’t quite sure, even with your eyes adjusted to the dark.  You gulp, “but surely if they already were a princess or a queen…”  “They lose all status. Making us as princes, virtually worthless to their kingdoms.”   You’re not sure exactly what he is saying or why he is saying it to you now or what it means for any of the litany of worries you’d unleashed only minutes earlier. Pressing your lips together you try to follow his line of thought.   “Darling, I will die if I have to spell it out,” he sighs, exasperated.   You remain silent. The mattress tremors with the shifting of his anxiety.   “We’re cursed Princes. A death to Princesses and useless to those seeking to increase their social capital. Please. Think.” He rolls so that his slight frame leans over you, eyes staring directly down into yours for the first time since the incident. “What do you want from us? What do you want most of all from this relationship? If it’s Queenship, we cannot grant this. If it’s power, we cannot guarantee it.”

 Hardly breathing or maybe breathing too much, you can’t decide between the two, the tension holds invisible in the air, buoyed by the humidity. Gulping hard you watch him watch you. Study you. Eyes flitting over your features searching for your answer.   “Love.” You blurt, cracking under his intensity. “Care. You. Both of you.”   Hyunjin leans over, eyes crossing as he closes in on you, his hair curtaining down and tickling your cheeks. Slowly he tilts to the side, lips meeting your cheek. “Good,” he whispers, lips tickling the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through your spine.   Sweat droplets travel down your body soon followed by his hands, carefully stripping you. As Hyunjin works to undo the various ties you realize his hands are shaking ever so slightly. It was always Felix helping you from your garments, he was faster, more sure. Hyunjin was more cautious, as though he could rip your bodice from your body with the wrong flick of his wrist. The moments between your breaths the world feels still. You can hear him breathing too, holding for a moment as he fully inhales and again as his lungs empty, deep slow breaths.  “Sorry if I-” you mutter a half hearted apology.   “Sorry? For?”   “I’m sweaty. I probably smell. I’ve been cleaning all day-”   Interlocking his fingers with yours he presses another kiss to your cheek.  “It’s hot. You’re hot. That’s all.” Releasing your hand he slips down the outside of your thigh, tracing your outline on the covers.   “It’ll get on the bed,” you giggle as his fingers run across your skin, tickling all the way.   “And?” His voice is cocky as you spread your legs easily at the mere press of his knee.   “I just made it. It’s a waste.”  “If you sleep here, is it a waste?” Hips slotting between your thighs, warm skin to warm skin, still the upwards sweep of his fingertips against your shoulder leaves a wake of goosebumps on your body.  “I can’t sleep here I-”  “If we sleep here?” Hyunjin quickly interjects. Heavy and hot his erection lays waiting on your belly, pulsing as want courses through his veins. “Together. You’ll sleep here with me? Then it won’t be a waste.”  “Hyunjin, we have beds. Our own-”  “Then the floor.” He kisses you hurriedly, “I want to have you. Now.”  Another day of half work. You sigh. Heart and head tugging you in opposite directions again. Kissing the tops of your knees he waits attentively for you. “Hyunjin…the floor?”  “Anywhere. Anything. Let me take care of you.” The kisses move down your inner thighs, slowly enough that you could stop him if you wanted. “The castle won’t fall apart if a few beds are less than perfect, darling, trust me.” Hyunjin gazes up at you, plush lips hovering above your mound, hair curtaining down to you. He looks like a lion hunched over downed prey. To be wanted so desperately, so recklessly, excites you, sending shivers coursing through your body like white hot fire.  “Sir?” Your voice shakes in anticipation. “May I touch you?”  A short burst of hair escapes his nose, mouth closing and lips quirking into a small smile. “Darling, whatever you want from me. Whatever you need from me. Take it.”

 Fingers threading through his hair, pushing it back, your gazes lock as he lowers to kiss your cunt. A spark seemingly from his lips sends tingles to the base of your spine. Tongue dipping between your folds his breath fans across you. Your grip on his hair tightens as you moan, tugging as he tries to dive deeper. The intrusion of his tongue probing has you squirming and squealing.  “Darling?” He emerges, chin shiny. “Are you okay?”   You both pant, staring. “I’m sweaty…it can’t be…I’m sorry.”   “If you weren't delicious I wouldn’t, darling. I am a Prince after all.” Licking his lips, his eyes narrow, “if it’s alright with you, I’d like to eat what’s mine.” He nips your inner thigh, leaving a red mark of his presence. Pressed into the mattress his hands hold your trembling thighs apart. He feasts as though you’ve greatly offended him by suggesting any part of you was not the perfect fit for him, growls sending pleasant vibrations into your heat. It’s sloppy and wet as his tongue works to map every fold of your cunt. Giggling and shrieking and moaning your hips buck with abandon against him until you’re both left a mess of spit and slick.   Finally you tug at his hair to pull him to you, eyes unable to focus, fingers twitching. Lips locking with his in a messy expression of lust you can taste yourself on him, not unpleasant as you’d feared. A mix of salty sweat and natural sweet musk.  “Ride me.” Hyunjin tumbles backwards, pulling you over him. His eyes rake over you, “want to watch you take me. You look so beautiful. Let me watch you.”   Quaking like a newborn fawn you straddle his hips, he looks gorgeous with his arms up, cradling his head forward. You lower your palm to his chest to steady yourself and reach between your thighs to position him. The muscles in your legs burn as you slowly take him in, inch by inch.  “Gorgeous,” he says as you finally steady on top of him. “Bounce for me darling, I think you can take just a little more.” Hyunjin thrusts upwards, jostling you.  Your eyebrows shoot up as he slides just a little deeper, just enough to kiss your cervix, stirring in your gut. “Ha-Hyunjin!” Yelping and moaning as he fucks upwards again, letting gravity push him into you. Craning back with your chest to the sky, your mouth lolls open. Primal need overtakes you as you grind back against him.  “That’s it,” he coaxes, “does that feel good darling? Tell me how good I feel.”  A shiver runs through you, a hunger that’s indescribable. The ache of absolute need opens the pit of your stomach. A thirst that no water could possibly satiate coats your throat and dries your mouth. “Hyun-hyun-sir,” you babble, “I’m-I need to use you. I’m sorry it feels so good. I feel so good.” Repeating yourself over and over you steadily grind back and forth in time to your own chants. His hands join your hips, helping hold you to him, soft murmured praises fill the fuzz between your ears. Your pace increases steadily as the want grows, body burning and exhausted but driven by the promise of release. The wave of pleasure hits suddenly, the swell rocketing you forward, collapsing to his chest as you shake. The resistance of his cock filling you as your walls clench around him has your vision swimming even in the darkness of your closed eyelids. Holding your hips he continues the slow grind through your orgasm, not enough to push you over the edge again but enough to leave you in a state of bliss.  Hyunjin smothers your shoulder in kisses, hands running up and down your body. “You work so hard,” he says with extra honey to his tone, “you did so well.” He half scoops and half rolls you onto your back again. “Since you used me for your pleasure, it’s only fair I do the same, right? What do you say, darling?”   “Please, sir,” you mewl, senses lost as your minds float amongst the clouds. “I want nothing more than to be of service.”  “Good,” he growls as he practically picks your hips up and stacks them, folding you almost in half. Nothing could prepare you for the vigor with which he fucks down into you. The angle leaves you open and vulnerable, lungs sandwiched in on themselves so you can only manage half breaths. Your legs hang half over you uselessly wobbling even with the support of Hyunjin’s torso and shoulders. The first slam of his cock rams him right into your gspot, nearly knocking the wind from you. Mouth gaping in a wordless scream as his hips pummel against your ass, your body tenses and braces itself as best it can for the onslaught. Your hands search for anything to stabilize, finally reaching up to the headboard just before the top of your head makes contact. Blurry above you Hyunjin’s chest is red and coated in a thin layer of sweat, droplets slowly saturating his blonde locks.   Hyunjin pauses, resting his head on the headboard, panting. “No matter how much we fuck you, you’re still so tight. Our darling.” He thrusts pointedly again, smiling as you squirm and squeal, speared by him. “Such a good cocksleeve.” Another thrust that you can feel tickling the inside of your belly button, crying out again. His thumb brushes against your clit as you whine pathetically below him. “Going to cum again, darling?” Hyunjin teases.  “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you repeat, only able to find one word at a time.  “Want me to cum in you? Fill you up like the good darling you are?”  “Yes,” you continue to chant like a stuck cuckoo clock.   Hyunjins thumb rubs more insistently as he slowly drive into you, both sliding easily with the natural lubrication. Inhuman noises gurgle up from your lungs although you are unable to hear them. The rush of dizzying pleasure fills your ears and eyes as your entire body bears down on the man fucking into you with abandon. As you cum his hand retreats, grasping your hips to better steady them for him to pull up as he plunges down. The room evaporates as you feel him spilling into you with a whine of his own. Making true of his word to fill you, a mix of your juices leaking out around him as he slowly presses himself tight to you, leaning to kiss your forehead gently.  Small orgasmic aftershocks follow you both, panting and sweating in the dark. Every time he shifts you whine and clench around him, forcing whats left from his withering cock deep into you with a groan. Slowly unfurling, your tendons burn as they release from their uncomfortable position. Hyunjin continues to mouth and nuzzle at your neck and shoulder gently, almost appreciatively.  “When we marry,” he whispers, “we’ll keep you stuffed full just like this. All the time. Our darling partner. Our favorite toy. Our love.”  “We?”   Hyunjin laughs, “didn’t the matron teach you? The Princes get gifts in equal pairs accepting where there is only one, which then will be shared. And you are the only one.”

Thank you all for all the love this unintended series has gotten! I really hope you don’t mind as I take a break to write some other things. Upcoming ideas include an angsty as fuck changbin oneshot, a smutty hongjoong best friend oneshot, and a semi-professional dom!san series. As always i respond well to requests so folks who are 18+ my asks are open. I have some basic rules (18+, i reserve the right to say naaaah) so please don’t be shy. I AM actually on here even though i’m bad at it.