#naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood.

I love this part so much because my mind instantly goes "Bolton looks" and my Theon x& Cersei (interpretative dynamic I like ships when they are unclear) au involves a Tywin who didn't die and sent Cersei to be married off to Roose and everyone is miserable. She would be horrible to Theon, but I think it would be hilarious to witness this terrible contrast in the way both of them deal with public humiliation and overall distaste for life.

This is a dumb concept of course but I'm still fond of it. I know the theoncersei ship is mostly a joke but I read that one fanfic on life journal and I think it could actually be so interesting if it were taken as a serious idea. Especially if we have a Theon who has been at the hands of Ramsay, but not enough to be so visibly changed as to not be recognised anymore. The idea of him being suddenly trusted back into society with people expecting him to act like nothing has happened because there would be no visual evidence is so interesting and painful to me. It has the type of trauma one develops after a failed suicide attempt, but even more complicated. An AU where he is expected to be functional (or as functional as he was during agot-acok) while internally dealing with everything that has happened to him...

I think there is something liberating about the Reek persona in the sense that there is no one who expects anything from him anymore (Alexa, play Bob Dylan's "Like a rolling stone"). He was so indignant when Jeyne asked for his help and to me that was entertaining because there was anger and rage at his internal treatment of her (What had she been thinking, that he would whistle up a winged horse and fly her out of here, like some hero in the stories she and Sansa used to love?) How dare she demand something from him? And then there is even more of that during TWOW when he is mentally raging at her for not remembering Mikken's name (Really Theon? Are YOU going to get mad at someone for hesitating at names?). Anyways there is so much anger in Theon during and after his torture, but it is always purely internal. From the outside, he is every whump fan's perfect protagonist. Poor little soggy meow meow who has been rivalling Dante's concept in Journey through Hell. From the inside it's a completely different thing (I like both of them. He is a reversible sweater and you can find beauty on both options); The way he refers to his torturers as "The Bastard's boys" (a nickname he doesn't dare to speak out loud but has given them himself. He indirectly refers to Ramsay as "Bastard" even if he is terrified of him) , the snark, the "she'll pray for you to march, Reek thought, and she'll pray that you never come back to her bed.", the way he thinks about the spearwives.

And yet all of that has to be repressed in order to keep himself alive and (considering the circumstances) safe. He has to swallow his pride and fury and his defiance and endure and I love that. Swallow your pride, my friend, it's not the worse thing you could swallow.

Cersei is different. Cersei almost always openly shows her disdain and fury at everything and everyone surrounding her and even after going through the cruellest humiliation she has suffered (Alexa, play Bob Dylan's "Like a rolling stone" again but this time the live version where people are booing him and he is sarcastically telling them how wonderful they are) she still keeps her head high, or as high as she can.

I don't know, both of them are on my top 5 pov characters and I would like them to interact beyond comedic relief type of dynamics (although I like those too) and I think there could be interesting explorations. I think in this weird nonsensical scenario where she becomes Cersei Bolton she would probably act like an anti-Jeyne in the sense that she too would demand for him to act more according to her notions of Theon Greyjoy but replacing Jeyne's soft and tender pleads for help with unjustified harshness and cruelty and a mocking type of defiance. Jeyne pets the dog, Barbrey taunts the dog, Cersei just straight up kicks it. I like imagining she would steal him from Ramsay as to have something mildly diverting in her boring Northerner lifestyle and that could be fun to explore.

[valtsv]

mods find him, bind him, tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters, drag him to a hole until he wakes up, naked, clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[diejager]

Hello! Your works are really great could you please write a Non-Con For Philipp Graves? 🦅 EAGLE SCREECH

Shackled

Pairing: Philip Graves x fem!reader

CW: CONSENSUAL NON-CON, DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, P in V, creampie, unprotected sex, BDSM, leather cuffs, torture/interrogation, rough sex, soft Graves, kinda aftercare?, tell me if I missed any. WC: 1.6k

You shuddered, the hair on your skin standing high from the cool air of your isolation room. You were strung up by your hands, leather cuffs wrapped snugly around your wrists with the short chain hooked over the claw of a clasp, holding your weight firmly. Two other chains linked the cuffs of your ankle, spreading you open for whoever would walk into the cell. You flushed in shame and embarrassment, naked in the cold cell, tied to the ceiling and spread open by leather and chain shackles. 

You were weak and vulnerable, unable to fight off anyone or anything that’d come in the room and the low temperature made your numb, fingers and toes curling in an attempt to stave off the cold. Squirming would be useless, hips swaying and legs kicking in all ways would make you waste energy, precious energy that could be used to escape your imprisonment when - if - you were free from your restraints. You grumbled, staring at the metal door, eyes burning the hate and anger into the door. 

Sudden, loud steps heading towards your cell had you biting back a flinch, imposing and strong steps made to scare you, to intimidate their captives. You especially, the commander’s prize. Keys jingling, followed by the click of the lock, the door cracked open and you caught a foot breaching the entry of your room. 

“Shaking, ain’t y’a, sweetheart?”

The familiar drawl in his words, the cocky and teasing tone he used in every visit had you wishing he could shut up, but you were more annoyed that he was so pretty. His cobalt, blue eyes framed by luscious lashes and a caramel-like tan to his skin, glistening under the white light of your cell, thick brows and beautiful, light brown hair. Age had only made him prettier, his rough stubble and rugged wrinkles made him look sinfully appealing, and the scar that stretched when he smirked added to his appeal.

Phillip fucking Graves. 

You glared at him, burning into him your shameful anger. He only smiled, closing the door behind to give himself a bit of privacy with a lazy kick. He approached you brazenly, arms crossed over his chest as he admired your nakedness. His eyes wandered over your perky nipples and round breasts, down the valley to your navel and between your open thighs. His eyes narrowed, a lustful gleam when he placed a hand on your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your freezing skin. 

“Why the frown? I thought we were getting somewhere,” Graves cooed, standing flush against you, hands wandering to feel you up. 

He ground into you as he chuckled, his cock poking at you from the confines of his cargo pants, the harsh cloth chafing your soft folds. His expressions tempted you, coaxing you to lash out, to scream and fight, to bite down on the finger that lingered too closely to your face and to curse him to hell. Against your better judgement, you let him touch you, his warm palm cupping your cheeks. The harsh pads of his calloused digits drew a line under your eye and down to your sneering lips, pressing softly on your lower lip. 

You shuddered from the gentleness of his acts, the almost loving touch with that soothingly calm voice cooing at your current submission. He pushed his thumb into your mouth, the sudden dryness of it had you sucking at his finger, swallowing what little saliva you had left. Your eyes fluttered, taking in the warmth Graves exhumed with a sigh. Your time alone in isolation had you craving warmth and attention, but the nagging part of your brain shook you awake, eyes cracking open and lips pulled back. Your teeth sunk into his finger before he pulled it out with a hiss, waving his hand around to ease the sting off.

“Fuckin’ Christ-” he growled, seeming shocked that you tried to bite him. He frowned at your laugh, the sweet, yet smug sound riling him up. 

He backed away, face flushed angrily, he pulled his hand back and backhanded you, throwing your head aside. You groaned, teeth digging into your lower lip, the force he used left your cheek pulsing, burning with the promise of a bruise. You whipped your head back, spitting at him with a red-tinted liquid. You missed horribly, landing your spit on his shoulder rather than his face. 

He chuckled, launching himself at you and pressing himself to you, his hands grasping at your scarred skin with hard, bruising grips. Your chest swayed, squirming against him to fight him off from undoing his pants. His cock sprung out, the angry, leaky tip slapping his clothed navel. His hardened length stood proudly, drooling from the slit, down the slight curve and the base, where hung heavy balls, engorged and thick. 

“Fucking bitch,” he cursed, forcing himself on you with the vigor and vitriol of a berserker, rutting against your moist pussy lips. “Who’s laughin’ now?”

You jerked, a scream retching out of your throat when you felt his bulbous head bob between your folds, drawing a line of pre up and clit and down your ass. You forgot every thought of taunting your captor, to tire him until he decided to untie you from your hooks and simply cuff your hands to the back of a chair, to be left alone and escape by yourself once Graves was tired of you. You squirmed and fought, feet kicking from their bent position and voice rising to an outraged cry, calling him names that would most likely shame Price. 

He cackled, hands holding your waist still, flush against his hard, throbbing cock that drooled over you. His hips pushed off you, pumping himself with a hand as he led it towards your wet cunt, the slipperiness easing his way in. He groaned, mind numb to your screams and cries, he was solely drawn into the heat that wrapped around him, the tightness and the wetness. 

He pushed in slowly, taking every second to enjoy the sensation until he bottomed out, hips against thighs and balls to your ass. Graves’ only thought were to fuck you and keep you, maybe drug you into a clumsy and submissive doll, but still having that bratty spitfire. He rolled his hips, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix, pulling out and slamming back in, the head bruising your ring of muscle. 

His chest rumbled with a satisfied hum, ignoring your useless struggle as he fucked you, teeth nipping at your collar, placing red marks on your sweaty skin. Every thrusts had you moaning, body jerking upwards with bouncing tits, your body burned, sweaty and exhausted. Your once cold tenure became boiling hot, the heat from Graves searing its way into you with heavy strokes of his cock. Your toes curled and legs shook, the chains holding you up rippled with the same force as Graves’ strength. 

He drove himself deeply, his angry head bruising your cervix, he groaned and grunted, hung on your cunt’s tenseness, throbbing around him with a pulse, tightening and loosening, close to coming, but never really falling from the edge. He lips trailed a line down to your nipples, lips wrapping around your perky button and sucking, the sound as equally erotic and as disgusting. He sucked as if he was searching for milk, rough and toothy, before he let go with a wet pop. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he slurred, pulling back and slamming in with a loud, dirty squelch. “Gonna come, doll? C’mon, don’t be shy.”

You hated how sensual his voice was, how it called to you and coaxed your body to react in ways that he wanted, that he willed, even against your mind’s wishes. Your back arched, cunt pulsing and clinging onto him, the knot in your navel tightening to an unbearable urge. He grew sloppy, his fast and rough pace slacking in haste but still holding on his deep and rough strokes. He was slow but deep-hitting and rough. You mewled, pleasurable sounds pulled from your throat by Graves, moaning and gasping, seemingly asking - pleading - for more, for it to be harder and faster, rougher, but never uttering a word. 

When he tilted his hip, changing the position, he rubbed against your g-spot, his bulging veins massaging you while his head pounded your crying cervix. It was all it took for the knot in your core to pop, furling outwards as you clamped down on him, milking him for his worth. You came with an embarrassingly loud cry, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock, under the thickest part of him. He groaned, curling into you as he stuttered, bottoming out as deep as he could before he came, spurting ropes of potent cum from his tightened balls, painting you with the marks of your torture, of your mistake that led to a failed mission. It was your sin, one you’d hold onto you for the rest of your miserable life like a visible scar. 

“Fuck, doll,” Graves slid out, his flaccid cock plopping between his soaked thighs. “You all right?”

You hummed, watching him untie your ankles and kneeling to place your feet down before uncurling your wrists. He hissed at the red chafing on your skin, soothing it with kisses and promises of aftercare. He wrapped a blanket around you, holding it over your shoulder for you to grasp, kneeling before you to pick you up, one hand under your knees and the other on your back. 

“You were amazing, sweetheart. Thank you for indulging me.”

You giggled softly, dried lips finding his chiselled jaw with fluttering pecks.

“Anything for you, Phil.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog

[eldritch-spouse]

*me accidentally summoning a demon, using a ritual I didn’t know would work*

*trying to shove them back through the portal before they can fully emerge.*: sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry-

[You rolled a 1, that demon is Mervin.]

You have the audacity to summon him during his after-work bath. Summon him with enough resources that he's not given the option to deny it.

Mervin yells hard enough to probably startle his brothers as the water floods out, supernaturally splashed away from the tub, where a large rift now sucks him into the surface. He's afforded no inch of dignity or self-respect, thrown into a lopsided summoning circle naked, wet and cold.

The first thing he sees after catching his breath and rattling at the temperature is a human. This small, insignificant bug frozen in place like a deer entranced by headlights.

And then, before he can even bark a word, you're trying to shove him back into a closing rift by the top of his head. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!

Idiot that you are for touching the demon you summoned without establishing a deal first, Mervin can very easily grab your forearm and yank you into the circle, effectively throwing you off and avoiding getting a limb amputated when the rift finally zips closed. Just the mere realization that you could have gravely harmed him in that stunt has the pride demon snarling from the chest, loudly enough to make you scoot back, still spewing apologies and clutching your likely injured arm.

He's seeing red.

It's not long before he's squatting to pull you towards him, hearing none of your frightened bleating and snagging a flailing ankle that is used to reel you close forcefully. A purple figure looms over yours, droplets of water staining your clothes as Mervin studies your paralyzed form from top to bottom. There's nothing about you remotely serious enough to indicate you know what you just did. In fact, you look like a complete buffoon that somehow got their grubby hands in a summoning grimoire. He's so angry he thinks a blood vessel is going to burst.

" Idiot! Moron! Brainless, mumbling child! " He growls, knowing damn well you're a grown human. He'd expect this out of a stupid teenager.

" I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorry-! " You keep heaving like a chant, cheeks heated, palms limply bared.

Mervin has to snap you out of the fit. An index and thumb pinch soft cheeks until you mouth has puckered into an 'o'. " What. Do. You. Want? " He warns.

" Wh... What? "

The claws tighten their hold, piercing into skin gratuitously enough to make you whine and squirm. You're not so annoying when you're quiet. Pretty, even, for a human. He catches himself staring at your lips for longer than he should and frowns. " Why did you summon me, you half-witted maggot? "

" I didn't- Didn't mean to. I didn't think it'd work! "

In that moment, Merv can only shriek internally. This will take so much longer than he thought possible. Honestly, he could just kill you. End the encounter, find a way back home. But... You're cute enough to bully some, especially after how you've inconvenienced him. Might as well get some entertainment out of you.

" There are sewer rats more dignified than you. " He mutters, then harshly rolls you out of the circle before standing tall.

You're confused, naturally, cowering under his judgemental stare and trying to appear minimally composed. " ... Now what? "

He wants to bite you.

" Now you make a deal with me, dumbass. " He flicks water droplets off his shoulder.

" But I don't kn- "

" I don't care! Finish this! "

" Well... " Your fidgeting hands shake, your throat sounds dry. " What kind of services do you provide? "

Mervin looks at the ceiling so the urge to choke you doesn't overwhelm him. " Would it kill you to read before inviting the demonic into your home? Lords, if I knocked on your skull there'd be an echo, wouldn't there? "

You only shuffle your feet closer, looking away.

" I'll kill anyone you want. "

Your eyes nearly pop out your sockets. " N- None of that! "

" I'll ruin the reputation of someone you know. I'll make people worship you. I'll frame- "

" Stop- Stop please, I don't want that. " Your meek interruption has Mervin stalling. Humans are usually easily swayed by rather simple suggestions, you must really be in the wrong side of witchcraft to look this scandalized.

He shakes his head, pinching his brow ridge. " Suggestions? "

" Can't... I dunno, can't you just watch a movie with me tonight? Like, I didn't mean for any of this to happen- "

" You want me to watch a movie with you. " Mervin interrupts, unreadable.

" ... Yes, please? "

" And what am I getting in return? " Any self-respecting pride demon would honestly have torn you to shreds by now.

If you weren't stumped before, you are now. It's clear you're not going to come up with anything in the next five minutes, which Mervin can't be fucked to wait through.

" Clothes. And you're serving me for a full week. " He provides.

The gasp you let out almost endears him. " S- Serving you?! "

" This is beyond disrespectful, I should gut you, but I'm offering you a place as my servant for a week. " The demon huffs. " Take this as the mercy you know it is. "

There's a pause.

" Okay... "

You fucking idiot.

Mervin grins for a moment. The deal has been struck (very poorly, might he add), so he can now properly step out. The first thing he does is sit on your couch, legs crossed, an impatient yet mildly self-satisfied tail swaying around.

You scurry like a terrorized house cat, he hears you devastating a closet, eventually coming back with a long robe, who you shakily offer to the mid-ranker. Mervin rips it off your hand and allows himself some modesty, finally, leaning back with his eyes fully closed. This will do as minimal relaxation. Not as good as his bath, but passable.

Fortunately, you make the wise decision not to sit too close to the demon, reaching to open a bag of popcorn on the coffee table. His nose crinkles at the noise. " What are we watching, human? " He prods.

" Uhh, the Star War- "

" No. Pick something else. "

Mervin peeks at you nervously channel surfing, smirking to himself.

This next week's going to be so amusing. If he can keep his no-good brothers out of it.

[honourablejester]

I was reading something about that trope where one character is trying to talk another character down from bloodily avenging someone they loved (and thereby losing their morality) by appealing to the memory of the lost loved one: “You’re [spouse/parent/child/friend] wouldn’t have wanted this!”

And then I remembered the Mariner’s Revenge Song by The Decemberists, in which the narrator could reply to this tactic with an entirely honest: “Oh, no. My mother gave me explicit and graphic instructions on how to avenge her. But thanks anyway. Excuse me, I gotta go find a man, bind him, tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters, then drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave.”

Gotta love a backstory dead parent, dead mother, at that, where she was fully, no, no, I need you to go hunt this man down and graphically torture him to avenge me. None of this morality shit.

(To, like, a five year old, mind you).

Now, there turned out to be logistical issues to this mission (to the tune of a giant whale and the difficulty of burying someone naked and broken in a grave while you’re both inside said whale), but hey. He gave it his best shot!

[foone]

date ideas:

find him

bind him

tie him to a pole

break his fingers to splinters

drag him to a hole

until he wakes up, naked

clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[omnybus]

"I could fix him" well I could find him, bind him, tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters, drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[befuddled-calico-whump]

"Find him, bind him

Tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters

Drag him to a hole until he wakes up, naked

Clawing at the ceiling of his grave”

-The Decemberists, "The Mariner's Revenge Song"

[commodoregrimes]

"I could fix him." "I could make him worse." Well I could find him, bind him, tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters, drag him to a hole until he wakes up, naked, clawing at the ceiling of his grave.

[cosmicabsurdism]

hbombertroll is almost at 12k im gouing to. join a ship at sea to avenge my mother and find him bind him tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[varian-ross-horror-author]

Hey sorry about this but, your boyfriend? Yeah I found him, bound him, tied him to a pole and broke his fingers to splinters. I've dragged him to a hole and soon he'll wake up naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave. Sorry.

[bracketsoffear]

Hades (Hadestown) "In addition to existing “way down under the ground” Hadestown’s version of the afterlife also suits the less literal aspects of the buried. Hades’ wife Persephone feels stifled and trapped, and the denizens work endlessly until they are ground down to shadows of their living selves. Eurydice goes to Hadestown to escape crushing poverty on the surface, and then she gets put to work on the endless wall-building project which shuts Hades and the rest of his workers off ever more from the outside."

"Also: listen to the song 'Why Do We Build the Wall.'"

The Mariner (The Mariner's Revenge Song (The Decemberists)) "Trapped in the belly of a whale at the bottom of the sea. Backstory characterized by his family being trapped with and destroyed by his stepfather's gambling debts. Commanded by his mother to ""Find him, bind him / Tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters / Drag him to a hole until he wakes up, naked / Clawing at the ceiling of his grave"--"buried" by obligation to the dead. Implied to spend his last moments telling said stepfather his mother's last words as he carries out that command."

[hematomes]

get the ginger away from my dashboard i need him dead kill him find him bind him tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked clawing at the ceiling of his grave

[inkshine]

Day one of being sick: hm I feel mostly fine! Day two of being sick: huh I feel kinda bad…

Day three of being sick: *laying in bed staring up at the ceiling* find him, bind him, tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters, drag him to a hole until he wakes up, naked, clawing at the ceiling of his grave…

[foone]

So it's no secret that I'm a big fan of The Decemberists. They're probably my favorite band. I could easily name 10 songs that I consider to be some of the best music ever made. But The Mariner's Revenge Song, off Picaresque (2005), is the song that will be remembered in a hundred years after all their other songs have faded from the radio, even the oldies channels. It's their Bohemian Rhapsody.

It has everything!

Revenge!

Pirates!

Whaling!

Biblical allusions!

Orphans!

Dashing young men who seduce rich widows and ruin their fortune, driving them mad!

"It took me fifteen years to swallow all my tears"

Violation of confessional privacy!

Haunting accordion interludes!

Audience participation! (you have to scream like you're being swallowed by a whale)

Revenge destroying both the victim and the perpetrator!

Living just long enough to ensure they die alongside you in a horrible way!

Implied but not actually sung final chorus!

The entire song is a flashback!

It's a sea shanty for the ages but it's from the 2000s!

The word "roustabout". Do you even know what it means? It doesn't matter! It sounds great!

The Victorian Novel Disease! (tuberculosis)

The final words of a dying mother to her young child being an angry list of exactly how they should find the rake and kill him, slowly and painfully. The ones that echo in their head for the next 15+ years.

Ambiguously supernatural! Is the narrator's mother a vengeful ghost, following them around for decades, repeating her mantra and ensuring the whale happens and that both they and the rake survive? Maybe!

Is the whale supernatural? Yeah, real whales can't swallow people, but that's normal for mythological fiction. Also, the sky goes black. Poetic license, or is this a supernatural occurrence? Is the whale the dead mother? Who knows!

Nearly nine minutes of epic folk rocking!

"Find him, bind him / Tie him to a pole and break his fingers to splinters / Drag him to a hole / Until he wakes up naked / Clawing at the ceiling of his grave!"

LISTEN TO IT!