#not rarer but like. more uncommon

[boyybites]

what if i made offbrand tieflings that were just giant hell cows huh, what then?

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 1

tw: explicit content, 5k+ words, reader/sukuna. female!reader, beta!reader, alpha!sukuna, true form!sukuna. oral (male/female receiving), PIV, size difference, sukuna has a knot, sukuna is lowkey a masochist, some anal (not the reader's ass).

Prompt: Betas serving as royal sex concubines without fear of pregnancy.

It wasn’t as bad as one might expect, being Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine.

Oh, he was terrifying, certainly. Death wasn’t uncommon in the household, though rarer than some might think.

Sukuna traveled often, sampling both the lands and the people within them, returning to the estate only when it pleased him to do so.

Everyone in the estate knew their master’s expectations and the consequences for not meeting them. Only the rare missteps resulted in punishments, though they were indeed brutal.

On some occasion, the lord’s aide would bring half-dead curses - or corpses of enemy sorcerers - to a separate building on the estate for some strange and nefarious purpose.

It made no difference to you. The estate was clean and well-maintained, the servants attentive, and the stocks never ran low.

You were living the perfect life.

No one denied you anything. You could summon merchants, make the odd trip into town, and entertain yourself however you wished, provided you fulfilled your responsibilities as a concubine.

You were a nobody before you came to the estate.

You’re still a nobody, but everyone here is a nobody in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes.

Your lifespans are determined by how useful you were to him at any given moment.

And he had an unexpected use for a common whore like you.

It was probably more surprising that you were a beta, and not an omega – infinitely more desirable for an alpha like the lord, one would assume.

You’d never presumed to pry before, but it’s easy to speculate, after having known him long enough.

He’s a powerful man, utterly indifferent to societal standards or norms. His desire and satisfaction were above all other things, just as he was above everyone weaker than him. And everyone was weaker than him.

It was hard to imagine him at the mercy of an omega’s potent pheromones, longing for the comfort of his partner’s nest, pining for the love of his mate, or driven madly to lust by the scent of a rut.

Or perhaps he indulged plenty, but so much fervor could only end in bloodlust on his part. Any omega summoned to his chambers to serve his pleasure never returned.

You do fare luckier in that respect. He may not have been gentle lover, but as long as you’d served him he’d left you with no more than bruises and bite marks.

And he could hurt you, destroy you, utterly disfigure you in permanent and terrifying ways… with just a casual glancing blow.

Sukuna is present on this night, though, and it appears he’s summoned you.

His aide, Uruame, is far closer to him than any of his concubines, and by now you know the sound of their footsteps slowing as they near your door.

They smile at you as you open the door for them, bowing before your eyes meet theirs.

Uruame is not fond of any of their lord’s concubines, as a rule. Being a beta themselves, it’s unlikely they understand Sukuna’s needs as an alpha any better than you do.

But what they can understand is that you respect their lord immensely. A sorcerer yourself, you know enough to appreciate the scale of his power, and you had never made any secret of your admiration.

Unlike many other concubines brought in, you had very little arrogance to show for your beauty and bedroom skills. Uruame probably does appreciate that.

You’re a beta from a brothel, so you have no delusions of self-importance, but Sukuna, and by extension Uruame, couldn’t care less where you came from.

You know their purpose as soon as they arrive; they don’t need to engage in any inane conversation or instructions.

As soon as Sukuna had returned, you’d readied and dressed yourself in case he were to summon you. It happens more often than not whenever he’s back at the estate.

You suspect you’re the only one he summons during his rut.

His omega concubines are… single-use. Your fellow betas are few in number, and he’s no more forgiving with his concubines than he is his other servants.

You follow Uraume to his room. You can’t tell if he’s in a rut or not, but your suspicion is confirmed as Uruame gives a short nod, then strides off.

Sukuna doesn’t like being seen during his rut. Many have learned the hard way.

“Well? What are you waiting for, an invitation?” His voice is as gruff as ever. Low, heady, a delicious groan that sends shivers down your form.

He didn’t ask to be answered, of course. The only appropriate response to Sukuna’s question is action.

Quickly you slide the door open and shut it behind yourself as you fall into a low bow. You don’t meet his eyes without permission.

“Get up.” Your cue to sit up, to not bother with any further formalities. His rut must be well underway. “Come over already.”

You don’t waste any more time. He sounds impatient, and he probably is, but any less deference could see your head separated from your body. It’s especially important not to touch him first, to let him touch you.

Sukuna loathes being touched without permission.

It’s not something you have to worry about, though. As soon as you’re within reach, one of his hands bears down onto your shoulder; to him, it’s as good as an explicit instruction.

You never subject Sukuna to the indignity of having to voice his desires.

Perhaps that’s why he likes you so – there’s a flash of something pure alpha, an intense delight in his eyes as you kneel and attend to him in prefect obedience and submission.

Falling to your knees at his feet, wasting not even a second, you work to free his painful erection from the confines of his clothes.

Practiced hands accomplish it easily, and you’re rewarded with a large hand that strokes through your hair, brushing it back out of your face and holding it there.

His erection springs forward, as impatient as he is. His knot is already swollen up.

It’s red and flushed, pink to match his hair, heavy and thick like all the rest of his limbs.

Even an omega would blanch at taking such a monster. You are well-trained.

It’s enough just to lick at it, some cursory strokes to wet the shaft with his precum, to touch your lips to his heated flesh. Searing, really.

Wide, open-mouthed kisses dragged along him until his cock is coated well enough with spit and his own pre.

Without any further hesitation you open your mouth wide and take him all the way down to the knot, lips thinning where his cock swells and throbs.

The head is already lodged in your throat, and you swallow as you take it down, pressing your lips in. A moan tells you he’s already growing sensitive.

It wouldn’t feel very good for him to knot in your throat – he’s never bothered with it before – but there’s always a flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

Sukuna doesn’t want to knot your throat, but it pleases him to think that he could. That you are willing and ready to take it, if he wished.

“Good little beta." The mouth on his abdomen seems to grin at you, wide and dripping saliva.

A fire ignites in your belly at the praise, face heating up, your own mouth opening wide.

No matter what you are, Sukuna is an alpha through and through, and the desire to please surges as his hand presses you forward.

As a concubine or a common harlot, you’d always been good at your job.

Sorcery had delivered you from the streets and into Sukuna’s estate, and diligence, determination, had kept you alive throughout it all.

Others died around you. Weak. You would do whatever it took to survive, however ugly it may be.

Taking cock down your throat isn’t even close to the most degrading thing you’ve done, and at least there’s only one man now for you to serve.

He’s not even a bad lay. Either a suppressed instinct to please his mate as an alpha or some fortuitous chemistry has always ensured he brings you to release whenever you fuck.

The unmarred half of his face is undeniably handsome, and after all you’d seen, you’re utterly indifferent to the deformity. It’s just there. A part of him like any other – the other arms, the other mouth.

You’re sure you yourself have flaws in his eyes, but if he truly did not want you, you’d never have been allowed in his chambers to begin with. Sukuna is a man with absolutely no interest in pretenses. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, always.

Sometimes, you think that you and Sukuna aren’t all that different after all.

An alpha who was malformed, cast out by society, recognized only in disgust or fear.

And you, sold by a father eager to make any money he could off a pretty beta daughter.

You were unfit to be an alpha’s bride, but perfectly suited to be every alpha’s whore.

If you wanted happiness, you had to seize it, even if it meant choking the life out of someone else.

Both of you were worth only as much as you could curse others. Sukuna’s worth is greater than yours, but in his shadow everyone is equally worthless, and in his gaze – at least for this moment – you are worthy of him.

The fingers in your hair tighten; a hiss, “Take it!” and you suckle diligently as you bob backwards, diving forward straight away to take him to the root again.

Inhuman though he may be, his cock is much the same as any other alpha’s, if a bit larger.

Hot, smooth skin, veins that pulse and bulge inside your mouth. A salty taste you’d grown accustomed to, a stretch in your mouth and your jaw that you ameliorated by focusing on hollowing your cheeks, dragging your tongue along it.

Betas can’t purr, not like omegas or alphas can, but you approximate it with a hum, a gentle sigh through your nose and fluttering, lowered lashes.

A low exhalation. Controlled. “There she is…” The hand in your hair goes to stroke possessively over your cheek. “My little beta. All for me.”

His eyes dilate in lust – you always meet his gaze while you do this, for as long as you’re able, you know he likes this – and you know before you feel the touch of his hand on your jaw to begin drawing back.

His hand barely ghosts you before you move, leaving trails of saliva strung between your lips and his shining cock while you gaze up at him.

Another theatric he enjoys. His tongue darts out from his lips, grasping and stroking himself, hand coated in a sweet-smelling oil you recognize.

His other arms reach to grasp you by the shoulder, pulling you up to stand and burying your face in his neck wordlessly.

They wrap around you, pulling you into him as he steps back to sit on the bed where you follow.

It surprises you every time, just how much your body comes alive at his touch.

Heart racing as if it can jump through your skin and into the hands that trace your throat, your collarbone, down your chest, dragging the slip of a robe you’d worn down with it.

Sukuna likes undressing you, alpha that he is.

Like you’re a sacred treasure to be unveiled only by his hands. You always wear something easy to take off, and nothing else.

His touch is your leave to respond in kind; he’s fully bared, now, all tattooed skin and corded muscle.

A warrior’s form, conveying power and strength in every divot and valley. Your heart races as you lay your hands on him.

Maybe it’s the thrill of it.

Sukuna is utterly untouchable. The greatest sorcerers of your time had died failing to scratch the smooth, unbroken skin he offers to you so freely.

As a concubine, you don’t get much contact. Less still, since no one would dare lay a hand on a consort Sukuna summons so often to his side.

Normally that suited you just fine, but sometimes with him you feel like a dog straining on a leash.

Desperate for him to reach out, to feel him on you. Lust and adrenaline coursing through you the instant he makes contact.

Even as a beta, this close, it’s impossible not to smell him; he’s pulled you to his throat on instinct.

His scent glands are right there, and you don’t hesitate to lick at them, letting your breath ghost over the hot, spit-slicked skin. Dragging your teeth along the swollen flesh.

That’s one of the things he likes best. He knows you’re a beta. You have no fangs, you couldn’t mark him if you wanted to. Not with anything but curses.

But still, it is a pleasure. The salt on your tongue, the flesh that yields beneath your teeth, even without breaking, as the alpha’s aroma fills your senses.

Sukuna is spiced; harsh, in some ways, like cinnamon, but warm like a pleasant woodsmoke, like the heat of oil burning in a lamp. Just this side of decadent – opulent, almost, and still primal and raw.

It doesn’t affect you like you imagine it would an alpha or omega. But it’s nice. He smells nice.

You don’t hesitate to nip at his lips when he presses them to yours.

Perhaps one of the reasons Sukuna hates being touched without permission is because he also doesn’t care to be touched gently.

If he weren’t in rut, you would have dragged your teeth over his cock while it was in your mouth, but he’s not able to savor such services in his current state.

They’re red, so red, all his four eyes staring into you. Burning in want. In want of you.

“Fierce little thing.” You can taste his grin, you’re close enough. “See how fierce you’ll be when you’re full of me. My beta. Mine.”

“Yours,” You agree breathily, and lean back in to catch his mouth with your own.

His lips are one place you’re able to make him bleed, dragging the bottom lip beneath your teeth and pinching it, then darting your tongue in to taste.

Sukuna hums at the taste of metal in his mouth, sucks your tongue between his lips to press and purse and suckle on at his leisure. Brilliant red eyes half-lidded in lust.

Your hands get to work, one of them cupping his jaw and then his hair, brushing it back in a way that makes him preen now that he’s in rut and can’t suppress it.

Alphas love getting petted, and Sukuna loves the scrape of fingernails over his scalp, a tight tug against his hair; it all sends his knot pulsing against you.

“Here. Your mouth had a taste, let’s see how your cunt likes it.” His arms lift you up just enough to sit over his well-muscled legs.

Your thighs spread while his cock falls forward, between your thighs.

Sukuna holds you there, just far enough, letting it rub against you with little tugs to your hips. Desire sparking like flint where his length rubs against you. Fuck.

Oh, you want him. Ache for him. It pulls low in your core, to lean into him, to feel his arms holding you in place, to feel him all against you.

You wrap your arms around him in return, clawing at his shoulders as the mouth on his stomach tongues between your legs. It’s exquisite and agonizing all at once. Slick and dragging against you, heavy and broad.

He’s already purring at the taste of you. Hands clenching in desire over the roundness of your hip.

You want him. You want him.

You can have him, take him, touch, touch, touch. Dig your teeth into the firm muscle against his neck to feel his purr grow louder under your teeth.

Your curse technique flickers at your fingertips, dancing over the open canvas of his back.

Inhaling sharply, you think you hear him swear, and then, “Yes.” He laughs breathily, “More. Put more into it. That can’t be all you’ve got.”

It isn’t. The sound of him is everywhere now, vibrations that shake you all the way to your core.

The mouth on his belly still laps at your folds. It drools on your folds like you’re a meal he cannot wait to savor.

Sukuna is already running hot. It’s too easy when he’s like this, all heated, blood pumping heavy through every part of him.

Just beneath the surface you feel it; searing, boiling, heat jumping up to meet your touch. Like liquid fire underneath his skin, you’d heard it described. Exhilarating, Sukuna had called it.

A talent half-learned by accident in the steamy, lurid, filthy recesses of the brothel you’d worked at. A dark place filled with malice and jealousy, reeking of curses in every corner. One day you’d awoken with a strength that sung in your veins, screamed to be used.

You had learned to vanquish shadows with a flick of your wrist, the creatures bursting from the inside.

Once, on a lark, you’d tried it on a client who struggled to maintain his hardness. It had been remarkably effective, pooling blood in his cock, and with a little work you were able to reproduce it in other ways.

It had all been success from there. Climbing the ranks, scoring pleasure into the flesh of those who paid you well enough.

Oh, it was painful, too, but what pleasure in life came without a little pain? If you wanted something, you had to be willing to sacrifice for it.

A founding principle of jujutsu. It’s no wonder Sukuna so delights in battle, either against sorcerers or in his own bed; when you heat his blood in his veins it sends his knot pulsing, throbbing, twitching in excitement as pre drips out.

With him holding you so close you can feel his purring throughout your whole body.

A rare pleasure, a prize you win with vicious effort, cursed energy surging in your hands as you rake your nails over the glorious, muscled expanse of his back.

“Open,” Sukuna commands.

It’s a tone that never fails that make you tremble in anticipation. Your cunt is already dripping with it.

The part of your legs widen, and you lean back to look down at where he’s settled against you.

He’s so large. Always so large. The knot swelling already.

You’re clenching already, quivering, like you’re the one in heat and not he in his rut.

God, you want him to fuck you already.

One massive hand reaches down, stroking over his cock, wet with your saliva, his precum, and the oil substitute for an omega’s slick.

It nudges at your cunt and you let out a short whimper that sends him snarling, thick fingers digging sweet bruises into your hips.

“Always so sweet for me,” His lips ghost over your temple as he stares down, “Delectable. Strong little thing, you can take it.”

The head of his cock slots against your entrance. Fuck, it’s hot, burning, searing, you’re so fucking ready, your cunt is weeping and you feel like keening for it, “Please. Alpha, please.”

You can almost see it in his eyes, red and feral with need. Omega, my omega, my mate – all the things you’ve heard from alphas before.

Clingy, possessive, biting at you, rutting into you like they can breed you. All the filthy things whose beds you’d warmed in the past.

They all pale in comparison to the King of Curses. Hot and throbbing and silken against your entrance, the deep grunt of effort that you feel when he lines himself up and drives himself in.

The very sensation knocks the wind out of you.

Sukuna slides in easily but it’s tight, so tight, always. You feel him feel it, too, all those muscles growing taut before you as he sinks into you.

Your arms tremble before they remember what to do; grasping carelessly at his shoulders, clawing for purchase as the whines claw their way up your throat. They’re shoved back down by the deep moan you make when he reaches the end of your passage.

“F-fuck,” it’s good, it’s so good, it hurts so good and there’s nothing you can do but sit there and take it. Just as he told you to.

It’s always a bit painful, but there’s a pleasure in it, too, the piercing delight of being so thoroughly fucked into. You swear you feel yourself dripping out where he enters you, and you moan again at the feeling of him dragging himself out.

A low noise, a chuckle; like every sound Sukuna makes, you feel it just as much as you hear it.

“Do it again.” He demands, and you would never make the alpha wait.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He pushes into you again and your moans crack, because he slides through easier this time but it’s just so big, so fucking huge you feel your walls trying to flex, envelop him, desperate to find any give at all, but there’s just no give.

It’s like having solid steel lodged inside you, burning hot and smooth against your core.

“Good beta.” Sukuna effortlessly lifts you up by the hips, dragging you off his cock and savoring how you whine at its loss, “My good little beta. Squeezing me so tight.”

He drops you down, down, back onto him. Cock thrusting up into you, cleaving your cunt apart, hitting a spot that makes you wail. Sukuna laughs, and you can feel his cock twitching.

“Need my cock, do you, little beta?” The rut is at its height now, pulling him in, smearing possession all over his face, his evil grin. “Even if it breaks you apart?”

All you can do is nod while you pant. He pulls you up and down by the waist, fucking you on his cock like a tool for his pleasure –

And Sukuna has never failed to use a tool to its fullest extent. “Fuck, fuck – fuck, alpha, please – please, please – ”

His own laughter is broken up by heavy breaths. One of his huge hands grasps you by the scruff of your neck, and you try to go obediently limp but your whole body jerks with the unrestrained force of his fucking into you.

Tight and unforgiving, baring your throat for him to dive into. An alpha in the midst of his rut. His teeth graze over your neck, licking where scent glands would normally be.

“Please,” Your breath catches in your throat at Sukuna’s kiss, all teeth and feral smiles pressed into your skin.

He stays like that for a moment, knot pulsing desperately just outside of your cunt.

Grinding into you like he thinks he can fit it in – you both know it can’t, you simply don’t have the anatomical space of an omega. But it feels good.

So good. It rubs, hot and throbbing against your clit, and fuck if you don’t nearly cum from it right there, tightness in your core heavy and ready to burst.

“Sukuna,” You say his name in a broken moan.

Teeth in your jugular. Hot tongue over your throat.

Hands gripping your sides. Moving you up and down like a puppet.

Cock pressing and pressing into you, relentless. Pleasure lapping at your insides as his cock rocks into you, begging to be let in.

A thumb on your clit, rubbing circles. “Cum, beta. Cum for your alpha – hngh – cum now – ”

Pleasure bursts through you, as if brought to life by his words. White hot and overflowing, every part of your body floating on air.

It’s like you’re a feather in his hands. Airy lightness fills you and even the stretch between your legs feels pleasant, a welcome intrusion, cunt blissfully numb.

Sukuna fucks you through it all the while, breathless, determined, on the brink himself as he chases the friction of you squeezing the life out of him.

You twitch in his grasp, aftershocks trembling through. He holds you upright easily, letting your head fall forward while he drags you up and down, mindlessly brushing his burning knot against your entrance.

It’s several moments before you catch yourself; it makes no difference to Sukuna. Your climax brought him closer, but not there, not just yet.

It’s with the giddy sort of warmth your afterglow brings that you lazily grope the space next to the bed.

You find the vial of oil he’d used earlier, and easily unscrew the top and spread it across your fingers with a single hand.

Sukuna had stared a moment the first time he saw you do that. So you have a sorcerer’s dexterity after all, he’d said, and it was the compliment you’d treasured most to date.

This time, his eyes don’t leave your body. All four of them, red and fiery and burning into you. Your chest. Your face.

They linger where your bodies are joined, at the stretch of your cunt taking him, the hole that has no more to give him but squeezes him anyways.

You can tell by his ragged breaths he needs more stimulation, heavy in rut and knotted tight as he is. That’s fine. You’ve done this before.

Slicked fingers find his waist, and then lower, to his ass. He parts his knees further, as if for more leverage to thrust fruitlessly against you, and you take the opportunity to squeeze one well-muscled cheek with your dripping hand.

The sharp inhale – you’re sure he’d hate to hear it called a gasp – “Beta!” –  tells you you’re free to go ahead.

So you do, digging your fingertips into his ass, into a hole too well-oiled to not have been prepared beforehand.

A rumble swells, in his chest, his throat, pressing hard against you along with his cock, nudging his knot further against your entrance.

You tease along the rim and then drive into it. He hisses as it burns, knot throbbing against you, massive hands squeezing bruises and then caressing them as soon as they bloom.  

It’s delicious, the way it clenches at your fingertips, tight and furled up, but you slip in easily with his preparation and your oiled fingers.

Darting into the yielding warmth of his insides, a pleasure that has him seizing against you, all muscle and magnificent form trained on your touch.

Your cunt clenches at the thought, the power you have in this moment; it squeezes the cock spearing you and sends tremors through his form.

“Clever girl,” He rumbles as you drag along his insides, “Clever fingers,” another heavy thrust, fingers twitching, “More,” thrust, shudder, “More!”

With a heated urgency your fingers curl, feeling, pressing around in a way that has Sukuna panting, teething at your shoulder, kneading hands against your hips while you search for just the right spot.

His knot presses insistently against your entrance, where there’s no space for you to receive it, but it catches on your oversensitive clit enough to make you gasp and whine.

Sukuna grins, mouth wide open, drooling like the feral, satisfied monster he was.

“Beta…” he hums, and it feels like he’s saying your name, as close to a loving coo as a creature like him can make.

And then, then, you find it, as you have so many times before. A high, keening noise Sukuna would be otherwise unwilling to part with, drawn out from him in the height of his rut.

You press into a bundle of flesh through his insides. A spot that sends him rutting wildly against you, unconcerned with his knot or anything besides fucking and feeling more of that pressure into him.

It’s almost all you can do to keep it coming, your other arm flailing desperately to reach around him for any kind of purchase while he thrusts your mind away.

Pleasure finds you again but this is liquid flames instead of white hot.

It pours out from you, spilling everywhere, the feeling of his release spurting inside you.

Full, full, fuller, so full you swear you’re bursting, it feels so fucking good. Flowing out over his cock, against your cunt, where his hurried thrusts squeezes it into a lewd, sopping met against your clit.

This one brings tears to your eyes. The sound of it, wet and squelching, utterly lewd, like you can feel the tremors of pleasure that have you milking him for cum that cannot impregnate you.

His hands are all that ground you, points on your body where his touch had ceased to be painful, to be anything but a feeling of him against you, the warm and powerful alpha who’d taken you to his bed, monster or not.

Sukuna groans and pants his heart out, still fucking into you while your eyes are glassy and all movement has left your body.

Your clever little hand fallen to the side as its purpose was fulfilled, his knot finally unraveling into the delicious joy of breeding you.

Ahh. He can admit the look in his eyes when he looks at you is fondness, to some degree. His perfect little beta. Wicked fingers and the smartest mouth he’d ever seen. Always so good for him.

He lays himself down alongside you on the bed, still buried deep in you, cum leaking slowly away.

The mess never bothered him, not in the torrid, heated moments of bodies entwined. He’d bathe with you later.

So warm. Always warm and welcoming him, your cunt is the most exquisite hole he’s ever known, but it’s the rest of you that makes it worth his time. Every time.

There’s something about it that sends a frenzy through him.

A hurried urge, like a desire to run or jump or lash out, but instead it makes him want to wrap his entire self around you and laugh in wicked delight.

It feels like fire on the battlefield, blood on his tongue, power coursing through every pore, seas ready to part at his command. It feels like strength, but he’s not even holding you very tightly.

He takes a deep breath, face pressed to your hair; beta. A faint, pure, neutral scent, so unmistakable in its cause. It elicits no particular reaction, stirs no great curiosity or lust.

But you do. It’s easy, natural, to wrap all four arms around you and squeeze. Your perfect figure yielding in his grasp, compressing beneath him, legs folding as he swings one over yours.

A purr rumbles deep in his chest as the sensation envelops him.

Touching, holding, entwined. You, completely full of him, made docile with his cum and his knot, surrendering to his embrace. All his. All for him.

Your boneless, weak figure in his arms, the little sigh of bliss you let out… it’s a feeling that’s only come to him in the midst of battle, curses coursing, glorious, in every direction.

A thrill of triumph that enervates, lightens every one of his limbs and sets him with a feeling of utter satisfaction.

Sukuna is purring in earnest now, and he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed by it.

Why suppress his instincts for the beta that so perfectly warms his bed? Why restrain himself in any way, when you’re wholly incapable of binding him, of bearing pups or marking him, and serve him with such delectable vigor?

An arm, so much smaller than his, slowly slips itself over his waist. You’re barely conscious, pretty face all flushed from your climax, unable to even open your eyes.

But your head drifts towards his chest even while asleep, where the vibrations are the strongest. Tucked under his neck, nestled in him and his scent.

An alpha’s purr is usually a sign of contentment, but it’s supposed to be soothing to omegas. As far as he knows, it doesn’t have any particular effect on betas.

Sukuna supposes it’s probably just you.

It’s so easy to reduce you to want, to unrestrained lust, pure and devoted entirely to him. Why should he need an omega when he has this at his beck and call?

You can’t be bred, of course – that was the whole point of using a beta. But sometimes he does wonder.

What you would look like if you were with child. Breasts heavy with milk, the mild scent of a beta humming with the life nurtured within.

You’re strong. You’d produce fine offspring. Your curse technique is interesting in its own right – igniting a person’s own cursed energy from beneath their skin. Not remarkable in effectiveness, but wholly unique in its operation.

Would it stop his ruts, to see you pregnant for some time? You’re the only one he spends them with, so seeing you pregnant might just delay them, without the influence of an omega’s hormones. 

Would he grow more aggressive as you neared delivery? Would his instincts command him to slay your spawn so he could fill you with his own?

Uruame is a beta, and has the necessary parts. He could breed you without all the tiresome mechanics of a bond between alpha and omega; place his two favorite subjects together and watch as his loyal subject bred his most treasured concubine for him. 

Watching you take in the seed of someone other than him… but Uruame is a beta, and belongs to him as much as you do. If he scented them as well, perhaps? They always had very little scent of their own.

Heat stirs within him at the thought. It’s too early to tell if it’s anger at the idea or arousal, especially in the state he’s in.

You make a little noise, and all four eyes shoot down to look over your form, all sweat and heat and dripping cum.

He shifts to move some of his weight off of you, sliding onto his back and settling your head on his chest so you can drift to sleep to the sound of his purring.

After all, his rut is just beginning. Sukuna can spare you some rest…

For an hour or so.

[vhaenaera]

Queen Vhaena Targaryen

Vhaena Targaryen, the only daughter of Queen Visenya and King Aegon the Conqueror, was born just a year after Queen Rhaenys’ death. Inheriting her mother’s stern features—the sharp cheekbones, silver-gold hair, and piercing violet eyes—she bore little resemblance to her aunt, Queen Rhaenys, yet it was her temperament that most recalled the late sister-queen. Where Visenya was cold and unyielding, Vhaena was warm and wistful, her mind often adrift in fancies. Unlike her mother, who wielded Dark Sister and commanded armies, Vhaena was a creature of gentler pursuits, preferring poetry, needlework, and song. Yet there was another gift—one far rarer, and more troubling—that set her apart: the sight.

Vhaena was among the first Targaryens in settled Westeros known to possess the power of prophetic Dragon-Dreaming, a gift both feared and misunderstood. It was said she spoke in riddles and saw things no one else could, glimpses of futures yet to come and pasts long forgotten. Though some in court dismissed her mutterings as the prattle of an idle woman, others whispered of madness. None were louder in their condemnation than Tyanna of the Tower, who openly derided the queen’s visions and worked to ostracise her from court. Maegor’s other wives paid her little mind, preoccupied with their own suffering in the Black Bridegroom’s grip.

Her frailty only worsened her standing. An ailment unknown among the Targaryens before her birth plagued her from youth; her skin was pale, her body thin, and oft she grew weak and lightheaded, forced to retreat to her chambers. Some maesters sought to cure her with leechings and tinctures, but none could explain the bloodless pallor of her face or why, at times, she struggled even to mount her dragon. Whatever the cause, it left her at the uncommon mercy of Maegor, who tolerated her presence but offered no great affection in public; behind closed doors however, he assured her comfort.

At court, she was often a silent, spectral figure, her body present but her mind far away. When Maegor grew impatient with her distant stares, he would recall her to the moment with a hard squeeze upon her wrist. She flinched, but never spoke against him. Yet one thing she would not abide was the presence of Tyanna. Whenever the Pentoshi witch was seated at the council table or among Maegor’s wives, Vhaena would press herself as far away as she could, her hands turning the rings upon her fingers, her gaze averted. The sight of Tyanna made her shudder, and it was said that in her presence, the Queen’s blood pounded in her ears like a war drum.

Few sought her company. When Maegor’s other brides or the ladies of the court attempted to speak with her, they found themselves unnerved by her ways. She answered questions with riddles or fell into silence altogether, too absorbed in her embroidery to respond. In her solitude, she stitched dragons, flames, and winged figures upon cloth—symbols whose meaning only she seemed to understand.

Some cuter facts about her, is that she has a love for butterflies. Oft does she leave her windows open so they can flutter in and enjoy the floral arrangements within the princess’s chambers. One time, Maegor had visited her under good will. He found his sister at her balcony with the delicate insect perched upon her pale finger. He fed his curiosity about her fascination, asking her why she bothers with such weak, fragile bugs. In response, Vhaena responded with a smile and proclaimed that they spoke to her. The butterflies batted their wings ever so softly to communicate, the words translated by the wind into a soft breeze in which she can understand. Maegor just scoffed and decided to quell any protest that lingered on his tongue.

Vhaena also struggled to share a bed with anyone, as nightmares plagued her youth so she took to hiding within another’s bed for comfort. The peaceful moments never lasted long, as she often sought out warmth in her sleep and in turn woke anyone who she touched with her icy hands or feet. So rules were set for her to don stockings and gloves before sharing a bed.

She would hate sherpa.

[aphrogeneia]

Altars in Ancient Greece

A disclaimer before we get into it: this is a brief explanation of how altars functioned in ancient Greece. I am not telling you how you should set up your own personal altar(s). Rather, I hope this can serve as foundational knowledge for you to consider while figuring out what works best for you and your practice.

Pentelic marble altar from the ancient agora of Athens. Dedicated by the Athenian Boule to Aphrodite and the Graces. c. 194-193 BCE.

The purpose of the altar is to receive offerings for the deity. It is the sacred place where worshipers pour their libations of wine, deposit their gifts of fruit, honey, or cakes, and burn a portion of the sacrificial animal. Offerings in ancient Greece were a key component of religious life; it is how mortals express their honor and build χάρις (kharis, favor). The altar is a highly important point of contact with the divine, and is an essential physical element for any cult to be established.

In fact, we can determine whether or not a deity was worshiped in ancient Greece based on if there were any altars dedicated to them. A god or daimon with no altars was very likely only part of the mythological or literary tradition and did not receive any sacrifices or worship. Altars were generally dedicated to one god or a group of related deities. In rarer cases, they may be dedicated to the whole pantheon (example: the Altar of the Twelve Gods in the Athenian Agora).

An altar for a heavenly (ouranic) god would be a raised surface or pedestal, and it would be oriented towards the East. The typical Greek altar consisted of bricks which were white-washed with lime, or it was carved from stone such as marble or limestone. They could be plain, or they could be decorated with volutes and narrative scenes. They often had the name of the deity inscribed into them. Altars could also come in a variety of shapes, the only real requirement being that the surface on top was flat so it could hold the offerings.

More prominent cult sanctuaries may feature a large, elevated altar with steps leading up to it. There were also natural rock altars, or in very rustic sanctuaries, a collection of stones was grouped to form an altar. If one was worshiping a khthonic god who dwells on or within the earth, they would provide sacrifices at a low-lying altar such as an eschara, or a simple open pit called a bothros.

Indoor altars were very uncommon. At sanctuaries, the altar would be outside of the gods temple, often in front of the entrance. Though a sanctuary could contain several altars and sacrificial sites. Households would have had one in their courtyard for private worship. Other altars were located outside of public buildings or in community gathering places like an agora.

The reason for being outdoors was so that the gods who reside in the sky could observe the sacrifices being made and enjoy the rising smoke of the incense. Meanwhile, a libation poured directly onto the bare earth would seep down below to the khthonic gods. Every altar was ceremonially sanctified when its first sacrifice was performed; from then on, it was considered part of the property of the deity.

Below are my sources. I'll likely make a part two of this post where I go over some ideas for how we can construct our modern altars. Thank you for reading!

Ancient Greek Religion, Jon D. Mikalson

Greek Religion, Walter Burkert

Ancient Greek Cults, Jennifer Larson

[markrosewater]

Hi, Mark! I'd like to formally request a return to form where that form is that rarity determines complexity, not raw power. I understand that it's easier for more complex cards are easier to make powerful, but I'm always put off when a rare is strictly better than a similar uncommon just because it's rarer

Of course, I'd also be interested in hearing about why making rares invalidate commons is a good practice that I'm just not considering. Learning's learning, after all

Here's the issue. Common and uncommons have their power level set for limited play, as they are the core of the limited experience. Rares and mythic rares have their power level set for constructed play, as that is where they mostly get played. Constructed play is just a higher power level than limited.

[quasarwake]

Wholly Unwhole

Starscream x original Seeker Character (Cadet) for @radioactiverats! They've given me permission to publish this lil gift for them as a Chapter 20 to their Cadet au! Chapter 19 can be found here, please give their stuff a read! This was supposed to only be like 1000 words. It is. 4300+. Oops.

Featuring: Starscream, Original Seeker Character Cadet, OC Seeker Echo, pining, possessiveness, jealousy, and hints of reciprocated trining feelings!

Truly, having the understanding of just what his Cadet was going through should have made him more wary of his own trining instincts- there had been the rare flares of jealousy, when he had heard about 'Girls Night'- but ah, he had had work to do, work that would keep all three of those idiots safer-

So why had Starscream felt like the idiot for missing out? It wasn't a feeling he'd liked. Had they spoken of him, had they missed his presence? There was that latent instinct trying to tell him 'They're taking them away- and who can blame those two? How long has it been since the three of us shared that bond wholly together-'

And he had to remind himself that the little blue jet's rampant trining needs could genuinely be triggering old instincts. Old instincts to reaffirm his own claims, pin Skywarp, those pretty new claws he'd noticed clinging to his chassis and scraping red finish. To mark Thundercracker, sweet Thundercracker, who had helped him corner Skywarp, all those vorns ago, whose gentle presence had become a rarer and rarer bond, and how much of that had been on himself?

The thrill of their bond had grown distant, that flight nearly a fond but faded memory, but still, he felt part of that in his core- could feel it still, whenever the three of them flew together. The need for the three of them, that bond and connection.

And when he looked to his Cadet, the one good thing he had managed to save throughout this war…

He could understand the emptiness you must be feeling, the aching need spiking through your EM field at regular intervals while you slept, or the flare-ups while handling what had otherwise been regular tasks. Or at least, he knew that clawing need must be there, must be the trigger for those spiking anxieties, those flashes of anger that you no longer seemed able to hold in wholly. Before you had started your own shift, your own change, optics picking up more of that vermillion tinge to them, it had been just about keeping his student safe.

Keeping the last piece of Vos that seemed so precious safe.

But there was that realisation that the things he found precious of Vos weren’t always the things others might call gentle. No, he remembered the cackling laugh of seekers cornering each other around spires, flying daringly towards cliffs, dancing in the heat of updrafts and spiraling in deadly stunts down wind-wells. The energy of pinning or being pinned, of feeling somebody’s servos just miss tailfins or thrusters, of finding the way back to whatever bar and leaning against it while a daring opponent or try-hard wannabe trinemate stumbled their way back in.

The rush of flight and the danger of falling but knowing, especially with a trine, that gravity was just another toy to play with.

It wasn't a gentle protectiveness he was feeling towards you, anymore.

Not after the incident with that dark, quiet Seeker- whose designation he had already lost in the buzzing of his processor over all of this.

The biting had been one thing- it wasn't uncommon to allow somebody close to preen another like that, even in fliers outside of Vos. It wasn’t even necessarily exclusive to trine-mates or Amica- though perhaps he wouldn't so readily admit how pleasant it had been, the hum of his fans low as his claws had hooked more firmly into blue hip-plates.

Maybe that's why he had started looking around again- a Seeker seeking a distraction. That former Winglord's trinemate could eat slag, but the bulky Seeker who gave him energon reports was competent, fast, a good flier- and as a single flier, he was good for filling in missing formations. Unusually chameleon about it, like he could mirror just about anyone he flew with- to a point. So why not flare his wings a little? Why not let himself look over those navy and black wings as they lifted higher, clearly enjoying his praise, his words, the accent of familiar Vosian between them another added pleasure-

So why did it feel like there was something massive behind him? Threat alerts pinged in his processor, but he had brushed it off as another anxiety spike, something new and unpleasant that made him less... rational. Another thing he could blame on the war.

And yet, that soft buzzing steadily grew as he spoke with the other Seeker, became more of a low, thrumming roar. The widening of the other Seeker's optics had him whirling, seeing you, his Cadet, wings spread wide in the hall, glaring with those new fiery eyes-

It had been so long since he'd last gotten to see it unfiltered that it was a shock when he realised what was going on.

Did you even realise what it was you were doing? It may as well have been a spoken word, shouted.

Mine.

It was a claim. Or, the sloppy attempt at an undirected one. And you were blaring it into the hall for all to hear, as though none of you had ever left those spires of Vos. There you stood, showing off those wings he had stolen for you, standing as tall as your frame would allow, your EM field loud as cannonfire with wildly misdirected intent-

It was certainly a sight to behold, in retrospect. In the moment, Starscream had snapped with surprise, frustration, his current hope for a bit of stress relief whirling away with a quiet 'nevermind' before Starscream could stop him-

But his Cadet looked almost pleased, and there was something in the way your eyes followed after the larger Seeker, something so proud of yourself, that you had secured Starscream's attention back to you, had frightened off his quarry. Your wings were held comfortable and steady, more yours than he’d ever seen them, and that had him hold back his words.

If you hadn’t been aware of what you had been doing, that was one hell of a show of power. Had he taught you that?

He felt the tugging at his intake, the smallest smile twitching away before he forced a more stern expression over his features.

"You're not sorry."

It hadn't been a question, but after all that training, all that time around him- could he deny the satisfaction, seeing that scarred face hold some of that glare for him? Like he was no longer looking at somebody broken by war, but one that would demand to stand as his equal looking him in the optics? And the way you responded flatly, admitting to your claim, even in part…

You certainly stood tall enough on your own if you felt you could challenge him.

So he let you busy yourself with his meal, returning to his reports.

Glancing an optic down the hallway where that lone Seeker had disappeared when he knew your back was turned. His processor buzzing on new ideas.

~~

Real rest was hard to come by when you were a Decepticon, but Energon flowed well after some of the latest missions (attacks, though you had plenty of justifications for those based on survival, and everyone had been in higher spirits after all, so don’t worry about it, don’t dwell on the little creatures that you were stealing the energy from-).

All these thoughts and more buzzing through your head as you laid back, fighting for the recharge you knew you needed.

Starscream had not been back to your shared habsuite that evening- and there had been a realisation, that perhaps he wouldn't be returning for a reason. There was something at least, after that shared moment in the grass, that felt sated after cleaning through his wings, gently polishing away the very few plant-stains that Starscream had made such a fuss about. Like this was a part of the experience you needed, that need to be needed fed, ever so slightly.

Something about it still hadn't been quite enough, and you knew it- but you didn't know why. Starscream should be more than enough for that empty feeling clawing in your chassis, at your very spark, right? All this time since that day, and still you couldn’t find the answer for yourself. Shouldn’t he be enough? Pits, even his trine had noticed that need in you. It should be enough, right?

Girls Night had only really partially scratched that itch in your processor, though. Like there was some deeper, roaring need that felt so awful in you, a storm that you were thrown into that kept you clawing for whatever secret thing it was you needed.

That day in the hall flashed through your processor again. It had been hard not to think about the way EM fields still pricked over your panels, shifting to vent excess heat that vacillated from frustration to a dark satisfaction.

The way that mech had turned heel after you had stared bullets right into him? Exhilarating. It was you that had done that, not Starscream's dismissal-

And something about that felt so right in your spark.

Did Starscream ever feel this, you wondered? Giving orders to others in his trine, seeing them executed with efficiency? There had to be pride in that.

Processor overwhelmed, you laid back onto your shared berth, aware of how... empty, it seemed, after having been preened by other Seekers, having shared it with Starscream so regularly, after spending all that time cleaning those handsome wings of his-

Sighing in frustration, you forcibly offline your optics, spreading yourself out on the berth and taking up more space than you usually might, hoping that might disperse SOME of this odd backup energy. After several kliks of forcing yourself to think about the most boring reports and the files you could possibly conjure up, you find yourself finally slipping into recharge.

As if sleep would offer you any real rest.

Was it normal to store datapads like this? You find yourself wondering, digging through an endless drawer in a wall below the ship’s bridge. You felt like you had spent joors looking for something that Starscream needed, something that would help him take a break, properly REST for a change-

Deep red optics swerving their way away from you as you worked and you can feel their absence. You feel heat in your chassis, too. You keep digging for a moment, before that tugging heat had you turning your gaze upwards, back to the source of Starscream’s eyes, and seeing-

Him.

That big Seeker, standing at the bridge above you, talking to Starscream. A dream didn't stop you from feeling that prickling up your spinal strut, your wings flaring as you felt that anger spread through them. Who did this Seeker think he was, talking to your commander like that, flaring his wings so prettily, so invitingly? Stars gleamed through glass above the bridge and you found yourself lifting- It was easy to fly up to the two, set servos on the larger Seeker, yank him back by the wings, the one who you hadn't even learned the name of and who was he, even, to speak so familiarly to Starscream??

From the one that had taught you to fly on old wings, the one that had drilled in the lessons you had to reteach yourself to fly on these new ones.

Something in your dream compounded that flight training, remembering Starscream’s ever watchful optics, his critiques, his notice, with this moment- flashing red optics landing on you, you could hear something in your programming, instinct woven into your frame-

You couldn't tell if it was your voice or Starscream's, but the words were clear:

'If you're going to make a claim, do it properly.'

In the dream your servos moved on their own, from large dark wings to the curve of his canopy. In the dream, the larger mech moves easily with you, wings spreading as your digits dig into panels- and that, too, feels right, like this wasn't acquiescence, but agreement, a question asked and responded to and answered. His frame leans into yours easily, comfortably, filling your palms. 

Do it properly.

Your servos and digits moved slowly up his waist, feeling that difference in size as you pressed yourself against his back, your wings rolling as you plant a palm flat between his wings and pushed down, watching with satisfaction as his rolled in their own want, the need to be claimed, his frame moving to your unspoken command.

It made your fans burn against your face, pressing your canopy to his back, your intake opening in the dreaming and the waking world to vent heat out. Pushing him down came with no resistance, your arms slipping around him as you press your face between his wings, nuzzling against those shoulder-panels. Your intake moves over his neck, mapping out the unique spinal spikes fanning out on either side of the strut, a detail you hadn't known you'd noticed, added Decepticon decoration that would prevent anyone or anything foolish enough from grabbing him recklessly-

And your glossa could move around them so easily, one by one, fans whirring away at the way that soft quiet voice had stuck in your processor, and how perhaps you wanted to hear him whimper a little, moan a little as you teased him with your glossa, teeth catching on plates, leaning him against the bridge railing in front of Starscream as your digits scratch over plating for trying to take your Commander's attention from you.

Mine.

Starscream's optics, glowing like dark fire on the both of you as you pressed this other flier down, showed Starscream that you were worthy of being looked at with such desire, your denta finding a wing and biting-

And for a moment, the dream focused only on that gleam of bright silver denta, your own sunk into metal derma, that Seeker’s intake parted with that deep navy his were stained with-

Starscream’s grin a wicked darksteel crescent cut into velvet blackness around you, his optics red suns above it.

The sound you made in your audials was loud, your fans roaring as you're woken by the way your wings nearly jolted you out of the berth.

And there was that feeling, like you had been caught in one of those Terran hurricanes, that you were being drenched in cold water. Over you-

Those red, pitfire optics of Starscream staring over you, a servo raised as if to shake you awake.

For a long moment, you hold each other's gaze, your fans stuttering as you take in the whole of his face, the red light of it illuminating the dark around you, casting his faceplates in black shadow.

Slowly, you watch as he pulls his hand back from you, and you feel your fans start to normalise, flickers of your dream bringing back the heat in waves, slowing the process.

"...sir?" You manage, your voice nearly too quiet to hear over your own fans. He had managed to rest his claws on the edge of the berth, and you can see it- a look of contemplation on his faceplate, as he looked down your frame.

"...quite the dream you must have been having," he stated, his voice measured and level. "Caught yourself in combat in your sleep?"

It was an out he was offering to you. You could see that- he was allowing you to lie to him, to give yourself that moment of dignity.

Because you heard the way your frame clicked when you deliberately closed your interface panels. And you knew he had heard it too, the only other noise in the room from your whirring fans, and the soft buzzing of his own.

So you nodded.

Raising a brow-ridge, Starscream looked over your frame, watched as you tried to force yourself to calm down, the way panels kept fluttering up and around to vent excess heat.

"...I hope you won, at least," he said carefully, and you feel another burst of heat burn through your face, your chassis, yanking your optics from him as you pull your legs to your canopy.

"...I. Yeah," you offered, the flashes of the way you had pinned the larger Seeker down in front of Starscream, trying to force the images out of your processor, your servos tight around your knees. "I guess I did."

Starscream nodded stiffly, before straightening his back, wings held high and stiff, unreadable all around.

"Good," he stated, before moving to the desk. "Get some proper rest now, will you? I won't have you exhausted from dream combat when real combat is always around the corner."

You almost snapped at him- maybe another night, you would have, considering this new wave of frustration that kept finding its way beneath your plates. But after that dream, how could you ask him to return to your shared berth? Instead, the words flying out of your intake were-

"I'm rested enough, I think."

Your pedes were swinging off the edge of the berth before you realised what was happening, but you commit, standing with forced ease.

"You get yourself some rest before you fall over. I'm..." You struggled for an excuse, before you found something at least mostly true. "I need a walk to clear my head.”

Something like a muddled concern brushes against your EM field- and there was that heat of frustration, embarrassment, like all of the Seekers around you knew a big secret that you had no access to, like you were the odd one out on some stupid puerile process that everyone was being so forgiving of.

And maybe for now, that was too much. So much had changed, and this difference was too much to handle. Before Starscream could agree with you, you’ve whirled around, making your way out of the habsuite and into the halls.

~~

Echo himself had his own schedule for rest and recharge- the higher in the ranks he had climbed, the more freedom he had been afforded, and soon enough, he had been allowed a fairly sizeable habsuite for himself, something that must have been made for a mech in a higher size-class than he was.

Or for a completed trine.

It made the lack in his life… noticeable. That emptiness a reflection of his own missing pieces. He didn’t spend a lot of time in that room.

So running into you was as inevitable as running into any other member of the ship’s higher ranking, really. If it hadn’t happened by now, it would have happened eventually-

And the fates, in his processor, had deigned it all too amusing to have him running into you on the turn of a corner, trying to rid himself of the whirring thoughts in his own processor.

Pits.

His wings lifted automatically when you caught sight of him, and he could feel the spiking of your frustration, could see the way your wings trembled with something held back in your processor.

And there you felt it again, that odd, discomforting spiking of concern, the older Seeker wafting waves of something that felt so like Thundercracker’s attempts at placation.

Gritting your denta, you feel your wings lift, and lean into the feeling, raising them on your back as you glared at the other mech.

“Watch where you’re going!” You hissed it out, a harsh parody of Starscream’s tone carried on your voice. The look on the other mech’s face had you reeling back as you recognized him, it was him-

And then came the guilt, your wings falling as you remembered the dream, images flashing in your processor and fans whirring harshly as you struggled with a myriad of thoughts in your processor.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” his voice was soft, thickly accented with Vosian, and you feel another wave of guilt- this was somebody from home, and it wasn’t his fault that Starscream had taken a liking to him, with the way his finish showed soft, decorative waves of navy and indigo on black, something artistic that looked so similar to old posters from the academy days-

And you’re shaking your helm as he continued to speak, his words mostly unheard until “-I was just on my way to drop off my report to Starscream-”

Those words had you snapping harshly back into your bad mood, lack of recharge buzzing at the back of your processor. You bristled at the sight of him, all huge and massive with those wings at a low, deliberately non-threatening angle, his optics flickering to your wings, back to your face. Flick. Wings to face.

Why did he keep looking at your wings?

"What's your designation?" You felt the way heat gathered in your chassis, the way your wings flared wider, as you glared up at the taller seeker. His optics ran along the jagged lines they made on your back, and you widened them for his attention, lifted them high as your frustration rose, trying to lift his gaze back to your face.

How often did Starscream have to repeat himself?

The larger mech collected himself, his wings rolling in that undeniably interested way, and you couldn't quite grapple with the feeling in your spark, the feeling that this mech was appreciating the attention, your glare, the heat thrumming through your EM field.

You spread the wings- your wings- a little wider, and raise your hand- setting it into the collar of his chassis, taking satisfaction in his little yelp as you yanked him down to look you in the eye properly.

You were Starscream's Cadet, and there was more than a small part of you getting a little tired with how little respect that had given you.

"Designation. Please," you added, a sudden wash of more of that twisted guilt trying to overcome you again, and you shake it off- what was this, what had gotten into you, where had all this viciousness-

But wasn’t it so earned? You were a Decepticon.

And at the very least, you were the Cadet of Starscream. You may not fully understand his actions, his crimes, the ways he had hurt other people- but truly, you didn’t need to.

All you wanted to do now was to command a little bit of that respect that you saw him wield on the best of his days.

You almost don’t hear that soft voice as he finally answers, your EM field spiking and rolling over his, drawing your attention to hear him.

"...it's Echo," the other mech murmured, his voice so soft and the feeling of whirring fans on your face so gentle that your processor nearly stalled. You can feel it- the waves of his EM field washing over you, against yours, and it really was appreciation, respect asked for and returned.

Your dream flashed through your processor, and your digits tighten on his plates. Echo holds still for a moment-

Before lowering his head more into your grip, his fans whirring softly as his wings twitched again- stilled.

A question asked and answered.

You cleared your throat, feeling your wings climb high on your back- but this time, Echo's optics stay on yours, flickering around to take in the details of your faceplate, the quirk of your browplates, the point of your audials, the crack over your nose. And in that shared moment, you could see each detail of his face, his frame- the spikes you remembered from your dream, the large, sweeping audials that could probably pick up even the quietest of sounds, optics a red that you had once heard Knockout refer to as cherry-

All the while, a hum was shared between you. A warmth of… something implacably intense between you, that threatened to overwhelm your mind, the way it made your plates lift and tighten in waves over your frame.

Alone here, in this hall you could do anything- claim this Seeker-

Pit, even if you weren’t alone, would that stop you?

In your dream you had felt those eyes on you and it had felt so right.

You don't know where the thought comes from, but you feel it settle firmly in your shoulders, your wings, your frame creaking as you tighten your grip for a moment, staring hard into cherry optics- before you manage to push it off, letting Echo go with a soft shove, staggering slightly as you feel the weight of your wings before righting yourself again.

"Echo, then," you state, trying to regain your composure, processor quieting from the distance put between you. "You will deliver your reports to me, from now on. Commander Starscream has enough on his servos, and you're going to help me carry that weight. Think you're up to the task?"

The words felt odd in your intake for their formality. But there was that thought again-

You were Starscream's Cadet.

Perhaps it was time you let yourself live up to that. And, perhaps one day-

Beyond that.

Echo straightened his back, and you wonder if you can hear the sound of his whole vocal processor reset- before the taller Seeker nodded, raising a servo in a quick, informal salute.

"...I think that's a task I'm up to," he returned, his voice low and quiet as he mirrored your words. "Is there... anything else you need me for, Cadet?"

His wings continued to flutter, and you consider what this mech could offer you-

That there was something so perfectly different from Thundercracker, but similar enough that it felt like…

You could understand why Starscream would desire for somebody so calm. Somebody that you could have at your wing-

Somebody that would lower themself into the pit to meet your gaze.

“...no, Echo,” you state, hesitating for a moment- before patting a hand to his shoulder, moving past him in the hall. “That will be all.”

As you make your way further down the hall, you feel the way his EM field almost seemed to cling to you, extricating itself reluctantly from you.

Down the hall, you don’t see the way his wings roll, but a part of you still does feel it.

Previous/Next

[naebaetwsog]

hiii :33 hope ur doing well love <33 whenever u have time, can i req smth ab sungchan n roommate trope?? love u mwahh

「・Roomies ft.sungchan°×

genre. Fluff; angst(?); opposite gender roommates

warning. Mention of fighting; crying; cursing

pairing. Roommate! Sungchan x fem!reader

note. I doing well thank you, I hope you are too. I tried my best and u hope you like it ml <3

Freshman year was already chaotic enough, but somehow, you found yourself in an even rarer situation—sharing an apartment with a boy. Not just any boy, but Sungchan. It was uncommon for the university to assign mixed-gender roommates, but due to a last-minute housing mix-up, here you were.

At first, it was a little awkward. Neither of you knew each other, but moving in on the same day helped ease things. You divided the rooms fairly, helped each other unpack, and even made a list of house rules together:

1. No shoes in the house.

2. No random hookups (out of respect for each other).

3. keep the house clean

4. Loud noises only allowed until 9 PM.

5. Wake each other up for classes.

6. No stealing food without permission.

7. Do your laundry.

8. Wash the dishes.

9. Please shower daily.

10. Grocery shopping is a team effort.

11. Mutual respect is a must.

12. Saturdays are cleaning day.

Despite the initial awkwardness, you and Sungchan got along surprisingly well. You weren’t polar opposites—just different enough to balance each other out. He was a gym rat, while you exercised casually. You loved to cook, and he… well, he could barely fry an egg. He made up for it by cleaning and handling other chores, though he had a habit of breaking dishes and constantly bumping into furniture.

Even though he was naturally goofy and playful, he was respectful, knowing you might not be used to living with a guy. He never overstepped boundaries or made you uncomfortable. But he did walk around shirtless a lot, which you quickly learned to ignore (or at least pretend to).

Over time, you became best friends. He loved teasing you, whether it was by stealing bites of your food or hiding your things just to watch you get annoyed. But he also looked out for you, making sure you ate, checking in after long days, and—most importantly—never bringing girls over without asking.

At first, you brushed off how comfortable you felt around him. How safe. You told yourself that dating him would be ridiculous—what if things didn’t work out? You’d still have to live together until graduation. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But then, everything changed.

—

That day, you came home completely different. No bright smile, no sarcastic comment about how he left his shoes in the hallway again. Instead, you walked straight to your room, shutting the door behind you.

Sungchan noticed immediately.

He hesitated for a moment before knocking. “Hey… you good?”

No answer.

He frowned. Sure, you weren’t always talkative after a long day, but this was off. Without thinking twice, he opened the door.

And there you were—curled up on your bed, crying.

His stomach dropped. He had never seen you like this.

“Hey, hey,” he rushed over, sitting on the edge of your bed. “What happened?”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes, before whispering, “I was seeing someone.”

His jaw clenched. He had never met the guy, but he knew about the situationship. He also knew you really liked him.

“What did he do?” Sungchan asked, his voice dangerously calm.

You swallowed hard before answering. “He told me he wanted to make things official.”

Sungchan waited, sensing there was more.

“But today… I found him kissing my best friend.”

Silence.

For the first time in your friendship, Sungchan wasn’t cracking a joke, teasing you, or making light of the situation.

Instead, he was furious.

His blood boiled at the thought of someone hurting you like this—someone you trusted. He wanted to hit something. No—he wanted to hit that guy.

But right now, you didn’t need that. You needed him to just be there.

So he did the only thing he could—he pulled you into his arms, letting you cry against his shoulder. “He’s an idiot,” Sungchan muttered. “And she is too. You didn’t deserve that.”

You just nodded against him, gripping his hoodie. You didn’t know when, but eventually, you fell asleep. And for the first time ever, Sungchan stayed with you, lying awake as he stared at the ceiling, wondering how anyone could hurt you like this.

—

The next morning, things felt normal again. Or at least, you tried to pretend they were. Sungchan, on the other hand, was not pretending.

You found out through a friend later that he fought the guy.

For the next few weeks, things shifted between you two. Sungchan was even more protective than usual. He walked you to classes when he could, made you laugh whenever you were down, and—even though he never outright said it—you knew.

He liked you.

And you liked him.

But you were still scared. What if it ruined your friendship? What if things got messy?

Sungchan, however, wasn’t scared at all.

One evening, while you were making dinner, he leaned against the counter and asked, “Do you ever think about us?”

You froze for a second before turning to him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Like… being more than just roommates.”

You swallowed. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Sungchan, we live together—”

“I know.” He smiled, but it wasn’t teasing this time. “And that’s why I know it would work.”

You stared at him. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I already feel like I’m dating you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“You wake me up for classes, cook for me, scold me when I forget to do my chores. I know all your little habits, and you know mine. And I like it. I like you.” He exhaled. “I’ve liked you for a while now.”

You looked away, biting your lip. “And if it doesn’t work out?”

Sungchan reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

You hesitated for a moment before whispering, “I like you too.”

His face lit up. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Yeah.”

Sungchan grinned. “So… can I kiss you?”

You laughed, finally looking up at him. “Sungchan, just do the dishes first.”

He groaned, but the lovestruck look on his face didn’t fade as he grabbed a sponge. “Fine, fine. But after that, you’re mine.”

And honestly? You didn’t mind one bit.

[leggerefiore]

🏜Ganondorf General Romance HCs🖤

cw: some amalgamation of totk Ganondorf in a modern era, fluff

💎 Love… Romance… To the Gerudo Chief, he saw no point. Marriage was a tool for power and to gain what he desired most. There was little interest from him in even entertaining truly connecting with someone – much less some Hylian that stumbled into the desert like a fool. Outpost guards brought the outsider to him for his final opinion to decide their fate. Utterly pitiful before him, something in him made the choice to spare them far too easy. Perhaps he just wanted to subjugate a Hylian in vengeance for the jealousy he felt towards Hyrule.

💎 You found yourself as something like a servant. It was clear you were not made for combat – at least not the kind the Gerudo participated in. Isolation was present. Outsiders were rarely accepted, and you had only been spared imprisonment (or worse) thanks to the word of the chief, whom you served. That was not to say you were alone. Ganondorf certainly liked to keep you in his presence, one way or another. Though, something changed when the chief saw you crying after being harshly berated for your cleaning by a guard. Unconsciously and desperate for relief, you mumbled to him about how unwanted you felt. It was then something snapped inside of him, or, perhaps, connected. Your role switched from simple to servant to something far grander. How different you were to the Gerudo... How excluded you felt. Ganondorf knew it all too well.

💎 PDA varied on whatever he was doing. In his throne room of the palace, anything could come from him. Arms would hold you tightly in his lap, or he would lavish your body with whatever attention he desired most. More often than not, you were sitting in his lap. Your much smaller stature as a Hylian made this far easier. Otherwise, you may be at his side and nothing more. Hand holding is simply something that he does not do. You were free to cling to his arm, so long as whatever he was doing would not require it, but otherwise, there was no contact between you two.

💎 In private, a different side comes out. Perhaps you, as an outsider, did not make him feel like he had to be a brooding, confident leader. Within his quarters, you still found yourself sitting in his lap, but he mumbled quietly to you about various things. Rare kisses are pressed to your skin to trail up to your lips. Deft fingers may even massage at overworked muscles. Embraces in bed are most common, too. You often find yourself held as he drifts off. He seems to find more comfort in you than most may realise.

💎 As for you, he allows mostly anything in private. He lavishes when you praise him and rub your hands on his well-trained body. Feeding his ego is never a bad idea. Massaging his overworked muscles leads to him becoming oddly limp and peaceful. Your kisses are allowed, while embraces are fully accepted. Honestly, he seems mostly uncaring to whatever you wish so long as he is not in the middle of anything else. A rare treat is being allowed to play with his hair… The silken, crimson strands are soft and calming to braid over and over again while bored.

💎 Dates are not really a thing… There is truly not much you two can do unless you wish to wall the streets of Gerudo Town or wander the desert. Though, sporadically, you both visit the oasis to see how the bazaar handles itself alongside the Gerudo stationed there. The rare greenery and coolness from the water present a situation to sit down and relax for a moment. It is a nice respite from the endless duties he seems to find back in the town, but you know it is passing. A rarer activity is riding sand seals together. There is something so amusing about the brooding chief on such a creature.

💎 Jealousy is not so uncommon, but it is rarely expressed. Within Gerudo Town, there is no competition around. He is the only male allowed, after all. The guards and townspeople have little interest in you like that as well. Envy comes up when you speak of your life so fondly back in Hyrule. The dreamy look in your eyes eats at his blackened heart. It almost feels like a betrayal, but he cannot deny that he finds the kingdom far better than the lands his people inhabit. Though, when you both visit the oasis, men are about far more. Should any be foolish enough to flirt with you, they may find a blade pressed to their neck.

💎 Domestic moments come almost naturally over time… You learn to cook a traditional Gerudo dish and surprise him with it. Ganondorf finds himself quite impressed by your talent. As you sit on his lap at any point, you both fall into a light conversation about various things. It is only so natural to feel at ease with one another. Really, he ponders why he feels so calm and similar to an outsider than his own people. He tries to push the thoughts from his mind. An adorable thing that happens is him spending an evening teaching you the language of the Gerudo. Your pronunciation makes him laugh far too much, a genuine show of his joy.

💎 You will be informed of his goals once they enter his mind. Unable to break his cycle, Ganondorf knows he will seek out the power latent in Hyrule by invasion or usurpation. If you ever speak so fondly of missing your home, he promises that you will one day return as its monarch alongside him. The promise makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you convince yourself it is nothing more than him attempting to cheer you up in an odd way.

💎 Ultimately, you have a relatively awkward relationship with him at first that shifts into something full of silent understanding and comfort. You become his spouse, decorating in the finest clothing and jewellery, but at the cost of still being unable to leave. Somewhere, in his own way, Ganondorf does truly love you. It likely holds him back from his plans more than he would be willing to admit. Yet, it still will always end the same way it does historically. At least the moments you do have are quite happy.

[miscling]

Hi <3

For what it's worth, I love love love enthusiastic subs, way more than the subs that act all blushy and scared!

Beating someone up is incredibly more exciting for me if the person in question is moaning and panting and telling me harder please (and it helps me with Dom drop). Also seeing a sub so pathetic that it submits without fuss in exchange for nothing just makes me want to fuck them harder.

You're not broken or unlovable, you just have a different way of enjoying kink~

this is a very sweet and encouraging message

tbh though, this thing doesn't think it's broken or unlovable, or that it's way of being subby is all that uncommon. just that bratty subs and the dommy types that play with them are pretty loud. it's hard to do a multi-post reblog chain when your response to being told what to do is to do it; when your response to being degraded and humiliated is to accept it.

but more than a few folks have come up to say they prefer obedient subs, even a few who make a public spectacle out of breaking and teasing brats, but it feels rarer to see posts where someone's obedient sub is shown off as an example for others to follow.

and it sees way more folks who are obedient and looking for guidance than it does bratty sorts. it doesn't think its way is all that different or unusual, just often unsung.

although it would like to correct you on one point: this thing submits without a fuss in order to be praised. it doesn't submit for nothing. it submits because submission should be rewarded. if anything, its calls for more recognition of obedient subs is a call for dommy types to reward their pathetically obedient things more.

however, this answer got a bit longer than anticipated! oops!

[crystalbeetle888]

Promising Future

1.8k Words - SFW - Hybrid AU

- brief mentions of kidnapping, violence, torture, minor fluff -

The darkness surrounding you seems eternal, not knowing where your body ends or the walls of the cold hard shipping container begins. At least the freezing nights were better than the sweltering days, inside that metal box it felt like an oven. Your arms ache, the thick chain holding them loosely above your head clinks as you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The rusted muzzle weighs heavy around your skull, its mouthpiece sharp against your tongue.

You had been in hiding for most of your life, living amongst a small rural community in Alaska. Before an unmarked militia group came through to clear the people out for an upcoming oil line. As they did they took you, a rare feral hybrid, Lupus-Versipellis, a wolf hybrid. Feral hybrids were rarer than domestic species like dogs or cats, and are often outcast and forced into hiding for being assumed dangerous. Which just makes them all the more allusive.

You couldn’t tell how long it had been since your capture, but your hair had since grown long down your back, matts littered throughout. You have had many different buyers all across the world try to break you into a pliant soldier. Various methods were inflicted upon you. From beatings to negotiations, from tying you to a post for days with no food or water, to attempted medical and chemical reconditioning. Key word, attempted. Little was actually known on hybrid physiology so it wasn’t uncommon for people to under-sedate you. They quickly learnt that wasn’t the safest method for reconditioning.

Your latest buyers seemed to be Mexican. They never spoke to you but based on the tattoos you saw when they came to feed you, the general climate, and the fact that you could hear them speaking Spanish outside of the shipping container, strongly hinted at the Cartel. You had only really heard about them through wild action movies and terrible bar jokes though, so other than that you were in the dark. Literally.

Your ears perk at the sound of distant gunfire, it echoes loudly through the previously still night. You rattle your chains in suspense. You can hear yelling and loud explosions. Then, nothing. You wait for what seems like forever before the shuffling of footsteps and the clanging of metal breaks the silence. A stream of silver light shines through the darkness as the door slowly scrapes open and two silhouettes come into view.

“Fooken hell, they av’ a hybrid” a Scottish man's voice echos.

You growl deeply at them, the noise vibrating through your chest. “A cranky one at that. Get the Colonel, he’s gonna wanna see this ""Yes sargent” the other man replies before disappearing from view.

You squint at the man, struggling to see him properly as he approaches. “Easy there lass, M’ not gonna hurt ya” he mutters, arms out wide in submission. You shake your chains violently, trying to scare him off. “Easy, Easy” he finally steps close enough for you to see him. He’s a stocky white male with a short brown mohawk and piercing blue eyes. “Easy there lass, I’m just trying to help ya”. Your heart pounds against your chest, panic overwhelms your mind as he reaches a cautious hand towards the back of your head “Hay I’m just trying to get it off” he reassures you. Your breathing is laboured, you eye his hand as it reaches behind you and lifts the heavy padlock. Your ears press flat against your skull as you watch him cautiously.

Suddenly three more silhouettes appear at the door “Dios Mio” a gravelly voice whispers. “Alejandro! We're gonna need some bolt cutters” the man next to you calls out. “Aye!” he responds before whispering to the other man in spanish. You swing the chains violently, trying to free yourself from their confines. A muffled wail ripping from your throat at your fruitless attempts. “Hay, hay, hay, take it easy!”, “Calm down niña”, “You need to quit that darling” the men unsuccessfully try to reason with you as you continue to thrash around. Pain shooting through your shoulders causes you to fall limp against the chains, the weight of your body on your arm causes you to cry out.

Suddenly, the weight on your arms is lifted as you’re hauled into the air, the Scottish man's thick arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, his head pressing into your stomach. You stop thrashing and stare at him, completely stunned. You’re finally able to rest your arms. You place them slowly on top of his head, groaning as the tension releases from your shoulder blades. “Better?” he squeezes your leg, you huff in response. “So you understand english” you huff again, staring down at him as he gazes back up at you. His stubble prickles your bare stomach as he talks, his skin radiating heat. “So she’s friendly then?” the southern white man asks. You growl in response causing the scot to chuckles “Careful Graves, she’s a feisty one” he pats your legs. “She’ll fit right in then camarada” Alejandro says.

Finally a young man walks into the shipping container holding some bolt cutters. “Let’s get you free then aye lass?” the scott smiles up at you. The young man approaches hesitantly before looking to his superior, “Go on” he says to the younger man. He turns back towards you, you can hear his heartbeat racing in his chest as he places the jaws of the bolt cutters around the padlock on your wrist. He struggles for a moment before…Snap! A cuff falls from you, the chain connected to the ceiling now hangs loosely. You grip onto the man's shoulder with your free hand, offering up the other. He readies the bolt cutters and…Snap! You’re so close to being free.

The scotsman squats down, placing you gently on the floor “Don’t try and stand up yet lass” he rubs your bare back in comfort before grabbing the padlock on your muzzle “Take it easy on this one amigo”. The young man nods, positioning the cutters and…Snap! The scott takes the padlock off, before unclasping the muzzle and pulling it off your face and out your mouth. You breathe out your mouth freely for the first time in years. The cold air graces your lips. You bring your now trembling hands up to your face, you feel so weightless. A sob escapes your throat as you sit there in your newly found freedom. “You’re alright, we’ve got ya bonnie” he places a warm hand on your back.

The hospital room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of chemicals you couldn't quite place. After cutting you down, the Scottish man named Johnny, escorted you back to the hospital at their base. Doctors and nurses fluttered around you, curious at your unique appearance. They placed you on a drip, bandaged your wrists and and sponge bathed the rest of you down. You were put in thin shorts and a shirt that tied up on the sides, the grippy socks they provided didn’t fit your feet as your claws had grown so long they tore straight through them.

You listened intently to the conversations down the hall, most of them were about you, but you weren't interested in all their gossip. They’re not who you’re waiting for. Heavy boots thumping through the hall towards you catch your attention. Your ears stand straight, focused in on the door as they approach. The handle rattles and the door swings open, revealing Johnny carrying a large tray of assorted meats “Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I had ‘em put a bit of everythin’ on” he smiles, walking into the room casually, he places the tray on your lap.

The smell of raw meat makes your hair prickle and stand on end. You were starving. Snatching the food off the tray you rip into it, snapping and growling as you eat. “Easy there lass, don’t want you to choke” he chuckles, sitting down in the chair beside your bed. Ignoring him, you continue to chomp through your charcuterie of meat until someone else enters the room. You glance up at them wearily, it was Alejandro, the colonel running this base. “How is she holding up?” he asks Johnny. “Enjoying the food, still hasn’t said a word though” he responds. Alejandro nods before directing his attention to you. Your ears flatten against your head, a growl rumbling from your chest. He huffs in mild amusement “You can grumble all you want senora, but eventually you’ll have to talk to us” he chastises you, folding his arms over his broad chest. You look away from him, nibbling timidly on your food. You don’t like being forced to do things, or talk, or anything really. Your capture has made you increasingly stubborn.

He grunts at your behaviour, “I’ll come back tomorrow once you’re healed more, maybe some exercise will loosen you up hmm?” He nods at Johnny before turning back around and leaving the room.

“We’re not going to be able to help ya if you don’t talk to us Bonnie” he whispers as gently as his thick accented voice would allow him to. You side eye him, huffing out your nose in reluctance. “Would you at least tell me your name?” He pleads with you, leaning his elbows the side of the bed.

Anxiety shoots through your body like electricity. You had learned early on in your capture that the less they know about you, the better. This meant no talking to anyone about anything, no responding, and certainly no trusting them. When they had nothing on you it was easier to act like a complete animal, after all that’s all that you were to them. A feral beast.

Your lip quivers as you try to muster up the courage to say something, anything. You wanted to trust him that this was all over, but you couldn’t. He was just another soldier following orders.

You clenched your jaw tightly and shook your head, brows furrowed in frustration. He sighs before standing “That’s alright lass, I’ll try to check up on you tomorrow aye” he says, as he makes his way to the door.

You let out a gasp as he is about to leave, trying to will yourself to say something. A moment passes in silence.

“Thank you” you whisper meekly, barely audible.

He turns to look at you, a wide grin stretched across his face, his eyes twinkling with joy “I’ll see you tomorrow dove” he says before gently closing the door behind him. Your face feels hot and your tummy flutters ‘Why did he smile at me like that?’ You think to yourself. Shaking off the strange feeling, you place the now empty food tray to the side before snuggling under the cover. It isn’t long before exhaustion takes its toll, and you drift off into a deep sleep.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

There were more Uchiha Sharingan users in the Warring States Era, BUT they still took up a minority of the clan. At most, 30-40% of clan members had it, and the rest just didn't have that dawg in them.

The Mangekyo was even rarer. I have a headcanon that while it wasn't uncommon to awaken it, that usually happened like 10 minutes before an inevitable death, sort of as a last resort defense measure. So like, there weren't a lot of Uchiha walking around with the Mangekyo (in fact people *alive* with it only popped up once every few generations), but a lot of recovered corpses would have tears of blood running on their face.

[desi2go]

Goodbye, Jeongin

pairings: Jeongin x reader

warnings: angst, cheating

Everyone knew that Jeongin wasn't fond of skinship, well, usually. From time to time, he liked to cuddle but that was rare. You knew he loved you eitherway. He is someone who shows his love through acts of service.

He always brought you coffee when you were busy with studying, putting the empty dishes away so that you wouldn't need to do that anymore even when he was exhausted from practice. He would massage your fingers after you have finished writing an essay or bring you flowers every once and then, filling your apartment with the fresh, sweet smell.

On busy nights where his mind doesn't seem to stop working, keeping him awake, he seeks your warm and soft body. Feeling you against him was comforting and relaxed him. It reminded you that you were always there for him, someone he could turn to no matter what even in the worst moments of his life.

At first you didn't notice anything. He wasn't fond of skinship after all which you accepted even if you loved to cuddle with him. But the occasions where he would let you pamper him, hugging him tightly, became even rarer if that was possible. You didn't thought much about it at first, whenever the stress was too much, he liked to have a moment for himself and you respected that.

Heck, you didn't even notice the change, it sneakily decreased. And he liked his space when he is stressed with a comeback. However, his weird behaviour didn't end after the comeback, no, it became progressively worse.

Sometimes, you wondered if he could be in the same room as you. Whenever you sat down on the couch, not even touching him since he was uncomfortable with that, he jumped up almost immeadiately, pretending to get something from another room. You often stared shocked at the place he sat just seconds ago.

But it hurt you to know that the person you loved so dearly avoided you and you just couldn't figure out why.

It was yet another night you spend alone at your shared apartment instead of being with Jeongin who had a day off. When he texted you that he would spend it with the boys, you firstly felt enraged. This was the first day in months that he would have time to be with you and he choose to spend it with the persons he saw every day 24/7. Then, you felt hurt. It hurt so damn much that he avoided you.

You tried to distract yourself with watching some movies while eating ice cream, when your front door opened and a tired Jeongin stepped into the hallway that was connected with your living room. Exhausted, you looked over your shoulder to see him undressing his jacket and dropping down on the other end of the couch so that you couldn't touch him. It just fueled your anger more that he didn't even greet you let alone asked you how your day was. He just looked at his phone, typing and probably texting some of the boys.

"How was your day?" you broke the silence.

He stayed silent for some time. "Good" he answered, not even daring to look up. You cleared your throat, blinking the tears away.

"Jeongin?" He gave no answer.

"Jeongin?" you tried to get his attention once more, this time emphazising it more. However, this time his gaze shot up, clearly annoyed.

"What?" he snarled, brows knitted together.

You were hurt that he spoke to you in that tone and the anger and humiliation took over.

"What? You really ask what? What is wrong with you?" you yelled, agitated and disappointed.

Just now, he looked up from the phone, wetting his lips. His eyes sparkled like they caught fire, a fire that seemed to burn everything down, including you. You two weren't a couple who fought regularly. It was very uncommon between you two since you hated to yell and often became very emotional. But from time to time, a fight would happen but they were rather small.

However, this one was fiery and intense. Nothing like any fight before. And you feared its outcome.

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? Why do you need to cling to me like that? You're overbearing and an attention seeker!" he screamed, his grip on his phone was strong and you wouldn't be surprised if it broke.

"I'm seeking for attention? What is wrong with trying to spend some time with my boyfriend? I miss you, Jeongin.", you sighed enraged.

"You are always there. I can't go somewhere without you worrying and texting me all the time. It's annoying. Don't you have other friends to spend your stupid time with?"

"But I want to see my boyfriend, you if you forgot that." you yelled, voice breaking.

"You see me so much! I can't even practise alone without you showing up!"

"I thought you liked it" you justified loudly. Well, in the beginning, he loved it if you could watch him dance. That was what he told you but clearly that wasn't the case.

"Well, it would be nce if you weren't that clingy!" he yelled, throwing his phone on the couch before jumping up, wanting to escape the fight. But you wouldn't let him, not this time after what he had said. You would clarify this issue now, not when he decided to come back.

"Don't you dare run away now, Jeongin", you growled, wiping the first tears from your cheeks while blocking his way.

"See? I can't even go without your approval now." he snarled, combing through his hair while mumbling something you couldn't quite make out.

"What did you say?" you asked, voice shaking.

"I said that Suhee wouldn't be so fucking overbearing", he repeated what he had said under his breath earlier, yelling.

You froze, eyes going wide. Suhee was his hair stylist and you thought that they both were just friends. But maybe there was more between them without you knowing. Why else should he have compared you with her?

"What?" you whispered. Maybe you just connected the dots wrong. Maybe it was just a misinterpretation.

He stilled, seeming to understand what he had said. A shocked expression appeared on his face, panicked when he took the last few steps to minimize the distance between you. Slowly, he rubbed his hands over your arms, wanting to calm you down.

"Y/n, I'm..." You brushed his fingers off your body. Finally, looking him in the eyes again.

"Did you sleep with her?" you whispered, your voice calm and dangerously cold.

"Y/n, wait-" you didn't let him finish his sentence. He concealed something from you.

"Jeongin, did you fuck Suhee?" you repeated your phrase emphazisingly. The silence ripped you apart. You hoped that it was a terrible misunderstanding, that he would negate it. But the painful look in his eyes told you otherwise.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. It was a mistake!" he cried out, sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to reach out to you but you just took some quick steps back. You couldn't let him touch you. You were disgusted by his appearance. Your heart was broken, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

You shook your head, distancing yourself more and more while your wishion became blurred. Never, you had thought that he would betray you. That he would cheat on you. It had happened to you before. Before you two dated, you were at the exact same position like now, hurt and broken. Jeongin was the one that picked every little piece of your heart up, one by one, and that why, it probably hurt even more to know that he was the one to do the exact same. And like before, you were left broken and in pain.

You pushed past him, trying to get to your bedroom. You couldn't stay here, not when every single happy memory haunted you. You just couldn't bare it. Quickly, you pulled out a suitcase and threw some clothes in it. Just the most important things so that you could survive some days.

You will crash at your friend's house for the time being, until you figured out, where you could stay for the long run.

"What are you doing?" Jeongin cried out, sobbing like hell. He knew of your past and that you hated to be betrayed. And he knew damn well that this was the end of your relationship.

"I can't stay here. I will get my other things during the next week" you said while strolling out of the bedroom. He followed you like a toddler, begging you to stay and to give him another chance even when he knew that it would never happen.

"Goodbye, Jeongin" you whispered, holding back from crying. You would wait until you shut the door properly before breaking apart. You wouldn't give him the chance to see how broken you are and how much his little 'mistake' hurt you.

[evolutionsvoid]

When one thinks of the seas, they think of the great blue expanse that stretches towards the horizon. The crystalline waters that have seen countless voyages and tales, a place of tempting unknowns. Compared to what is found on the lands, it is a Humor-less world, the waters neutral and empty. For sure, there can be floating globs of "sea snot" or bloody spots where fresh kills have been made, but the majority of the waters themselves are sterile. That is why the seafolk turn to the creatures and growths of the sea to gain these Humors and materials. Yet this does not mean that all seas are devoid of such previous fluids. Though it may seem like something from legend, there are indeed massive fluid bodies of raw Humor found out there. Seas of Phlegm, Blood, Black Bile or Yellow Bile. The reality is that they are smaller and rarer than the great oceans that separate continents. They tend to be "marginal seas," or that of inlets, gulfs and bays. Areas where surrounding land helps contain the excessive Humor, or where the very terrain weeps the Humor to feed it. Such seas are a sight to behold, where the blue vastness is replaced with red, green, yellow or black. There is no denying a strange beauty to it, and the unfathomable awe of so much Humor in one place. With such a bottomless source that contains its own special ecosystem, strangers to these shores may wonder why the seafolk don't rush to these areas to plunder such treasure. All the Humors you could want! And sea life plump with the stuff! Yet the voyages into them are quite uncommon. Why so?

Well, for one, the Humors present within these fluid seas are incredibly crude and tainted. Purity of a Humor affects its potency and potential, and you can't have entire populations of fish eating, living, dying and defecating in your fluids if you want high purity. Then of course the weather brings its own fluids to add to the mix, and whatever may seep in from the land around it or the estuaries that feed it. Left open and exposed in such quantities greatly degrades the quality of the Humor, making it diluted and pretty foul. Of course, there are methods to filter these liquids and purify the taint found within. With the right equipment and plenty of patience, one can indeed squeeze out viable Humors from this bottomless well. No doubt the Academy of Veritas Mundus could do such a thing! They have the technology! Yet, such an industry is still rare in these Humor seas, and why is that? The bluntest way to answer that is to ask one of the seafolk, who will gruffly tell you all the ways the Humor seas absolutely suck.

One would be hard pressed to find a sailor alive who would prefer voyaging on one of these fluid bodies over the pristine waters of the open ocean. Yes, the water and waves present their own problems and dangers, but their emptiness in comparison to the Humors makes such seas feel predictable and calm. Because while the glut of Humor found in these bodies are indeed crude and foul, they still possess the energeiai found within. And then take the vast quantities involved and multiply that by a million. The end results are some of the roughest, craziest, most violent and miserable seas anyone has ever set sail on. The power contained within the very waves and fluids wreck havoc upon the environment and weather, and the sheer consistency and properties of it cause hell for any vessel. With regular water, the worry is pretty much getting knocked overboard and drowning. That's it. But with seas like the Burning Seas, you have to worry about the xanthic waves burning through your hull or reducing you to a pile of bones.

Ah, but perhaps seas of Phlegm are far gentler than the others? For it is the Humor tied to healing and general peace. No doubt their properties create something more calm? In a way, yes, as the Sluggish Seas do not face some of the violent storms and general aggression that may plague others. Upon first sight of one, it would indeed seem tranquil. Even the blue waves that crash into the emerald waters of the mixing seas seem to calm upon touching it. Here, where two fluid bodies mix, everything seems alright. But once you start sailing into the Sluggish Sea itself, away from the diluted edges and further into the more concentrated heart, you quickly realize it is no paradise.

One would say that the first thing you notice is the slime, as the Phlegm seems to constantly generate a thick coating of it. The gunk builds up on the hull, clings to nets and lines, and sailors swear it seems to just appear on every surface and garment exposed to the thick air. But it is the very air itself that may stop you from even noticing the endless slime, as if you aren't wearing the right protection, you may be passed out long before you see these globs. In such quantities, the medicinal properties of Phlegm betray the flesh, as its evaporation creates a miasma of sedative vapor. Recall the feeling of calm and peace that washes over you when the Church burns censers full of Phlegm, now pretend that it replaced all the air you breath. The air on the Sluggish Sea is thick with the stuff, capable of knocking a full grown oliphant out within minutes. Folks who breath it in will find their body plagued by insidious relaxation, causing muscles to ignore orders from the mind. The head will grow light, the brain blurry. It is like one being dosed with tranquilizers, but it is in the very air. If one does not put on protective masks or filters, they will soon pass out. Thus, those who sail the Sluggish Seas must constantly wear masks and devices to filter the air and remove the stupefying effects. Including when you sleep or are below decks if the ship isn't specially designed to keep that haze out. Add that to the fact that the slime seems to practically grow on you, and you can see why folks absolutely hate this place.

But despite its troubles, there are wondrous prizes and materials to be gained from these seas. Congealed globs of sea snot are far more plentiful here, which means more medicine and healing Phlegm for those who scoop it up. And of course there are beasts that live within these fluids, their flesh dripping with the stuff, but in better quality than the crude sea. The resources pulled from their bodies are truly unique and valuable, infused with incredible properties. The Humor seas may be torture to sail upon, but the rewards can be well worth it. And thankfully, there are many creatures from those regions that have spread to nearby waters, where the Humor has been diluted and weakened to make the sea far less miserable. The Snothead leviathan is one such beast.

As mentioned, the Snothead originates from Sluggish Seas, which makes sense for a creature seemingly made entirely from congealed Phlegm. Unlike other leviathans, you will find very little bone or ivory here. Save for their spiky jaw and spines, there are no hard materials within its flesh. The whole thing is like a fleshy bag of fluids, with thick hide made of tendrils and congealed scabs. They swim about with the use of flippers and undulations from these tendrils, lazily drifting through the deep. Their porous body allows them to absorb nutrients from the fluids around them, though a diet of more solid food is needed to keep this hulking body moving. The Snothead feeds upon soft bodied prey, like squid and jellies, as they can easily be snagged by their barbed jaw and sucked down their throat. Though they aren't the fastest leviathans, they have ways to slow their prey down.

When food is detected, the Snothead will do one of two things. If the prey is in front of them, they will use their nasal orifice to fire out clouds of slimy, sticky Phlegm. The Humor is quick to congeal into snotty globs, gumming up gills and fins. Prey caught in the cloud will be trapped, allowing the leviathan to slurp them up at its leisure. If its food is all around its body, it will vent Phlegm from its many pores and infuse the surrounding water with a sedative. Prey is quick to grow numb and slow from the effects, making escape from its snaring jaw difficult. These same weapons are used against predators and foes, either knocking them out or trapping them in slimy goo.

While the Snothead does look pretty foul for many, there are treasures to be harvested from its corpse. Though the meat is almost more liquid than solid, it is ripe with Phlegm and it can be cooked or distilled into a variety of medicines, tranquilizers, recreational drugs and delicious soups. Its gummy scabs are used as wound sealers and topical painkillers, as rubbing one of these snotty chunks on an agonizing injury helps dull the bite. The thick rubbery hide makes from excellent materials when it comes to containers, shrouds and garments. With its infusion of Phlegm, the skin holds the ability to heal itself, creating a material that seals up any cut or hole that is put into it. This same property has also been used to repair vessels, as they are built from organic parts. Using the skin and scabs, crews can create wet "bandages" for their ship, spackling it over gashes and cracks. After a few hours, the stuff will wash away to reveal a faint scar where the wound once was. The jaws and spines are crafted into harpoons and weapons, as they carry a tranquilizing effect within them that can help calm angry leviathans and weaken their thrashing. For sure, the Snothead has many great uses, but one has to find and kill one first!

Snotheads do leave the Sluggish Seas, but they always remain close to the region, as they return there to reproduce. This means that crews have to seek out these biomes if they want to hunt one, and that typically calls for a whole lot of travel to reach these rare bodies. While the Snothead can be found in heavily diluted waters, your better chance of spotting one is deeper into the Sluggish Sea, which obviously has its downsides. Even if one can detect this leviathan in thinner waters, the beast must be slain before it can retreat back into the emerald tide. At that point you either have to give it up, or gear up and sail into the choking sea to finish the job. When a Snothead is attacked, they will rely on different techniques than other leviathans. Their gooey bodies do not make good rams or weapons, thus one doesn't have to worry about it cracking the hull. However, it will use its Phlegm abilities to try and subdue the crew. The nasal orifice will sneeze out globs of Phlegm that can trap whalers and make them sluggish. Apparently, it seems to trigger the body's response to allergens, resulting in hours of stuffy heads, leaking noses and general misery which doesn't help when one is trying to finish off a leviathan. Their bodies can also vent clouds of calming mist that can knock out attackers, requiring the use of masks if one doesn't want to pass out in the middle of a hunt.

Their squishy hide and very few organs make them hard to kill, as the vital points are few and the damage is soaked up as if it was a sponge. The trick is to target the spherical "brain" that is floating in its head, as that is the vital core. One will find, however, that it can be a bit trickier than imagined, because this organ appears to be able to move freely throughout its head, meaning it will totally dodge away from harpoons and piercing blows. One has to trap it in a cage of spears and then land the killing blow. And then comes the final challenge: harvesting as much as you can before the dead leviathan collapses into a melting heap of sickly skin. For this reason, crews may trap the beast and try to harvest what they can while it is still alive. Because once it dies, it takes minutes before its body dissolves into the sea, leaving you with a layer of ocean slime and a deflated sac of skin.

----------------------------

Egads! A Germ Whale! Wait....not just any germ whale! Why, it is Moby Sick! The Great Blight Whale! Okay I'm done.

[aimadraws]

I think that in the Lost Cities, mental/physical illness is much rarer. So they don’t really research it, and assume it’s just what someone’s like in most cases, because it’s not a common thing- maybe ones that aren’t genetic (like depression) happen more, or PTSD (which I’m very sure Sophie has. Like why hasn’t she been medicated or looked into or something??) Since elves in general have better health systems or whatever, their brains don’t malfunction like ours as often.

And there’s also the fact that suicide is a known thing in the elven world (like the fact that Sophie and Dex were assumed to have a double suicide in book one). So I wonder how many elves have committed suicide, and for what reason- because the elven world’s supposed to be a utopia.

The fact is that many things for disabilities (like the fact that Terik’s prosthetic isn’t especially better than human’s, or even as good as some) or the fact that some elves have mental illnesses (like Marella’s mom having something a lot like BPD) aren’t well researched and treated means that elves with disabilities really are rare, or just uncommon enough to not have been noticed.

Thanks for coming to the end of my essay whoever actually read all this

[clockwise-works]

The Zora Royal Family

I don't really like uploading art without some sort of background, but I want to leave this open to continue adding the others and their families over time. So, for now, the finished Zora Royal Family baring King Dorephan, twelve-ish years Post Calamity, plus a little tidbit about each for this AU.

Link: 5 years after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, this timeline still experienced the Upheaval, but with some differences here and there. One such difference is Link, upon gaining Rauru's Zonai abilities, was left with markings on his face and body, those markings being the same ones the Ancient Hero himself had. I don't think he has Rauru's arm, I imagine it faded away once his spirit passed on, but the markings remained.

Mipha: Soon after being married and then the hatching of their first born, Mipha traded in her previous royal attire and jewelry for something new that signaled a new point in her life. Her original jewelry, passed down to her from her late mother, will be given out to each of their kids once they're a little older.

Sidon: When Lamina hatched, Mipha and Link, like any new parents, found themselves trying to balance raising a hatchling and attending to their duties. As a result, Sidon felt just a tad bit overlooked, given his still very young age. Link, to ensure Sidon knew he was included and would always be an important part of their family, gifted Sidon one of his own earrings.

Aryll: Unfortunately during the Calamity, Astor and Calamity Ganon's forces waged an attack on Hateno Village once they learned Link came from there. While the Champions and Zelda were able to save the Village, Link and Aryll's mother was sadly one of the casualties. With no mother and their father not being in the picture, Link knew he had to step up for his sister, Aryll only being 4. 2 years after defeating Calamity Ganon, Link and Mipha were wed. While not technically her parents, through marriage Mipha did become one of Aryll's guardians. Similar to Link and Sidon, Mipha worked hard to ensure Aryll was both included in their family, but welcome in the Domain as a whole. It was hard, trying to be a guiding maternal figure without overstepping and "replacing" her mother, but Mipha did her best.

Lamina: Lamina is their first hatched, and the first Half Hylian-Zora. While there was some debate early on over whether or not she'd even be eligible to inherit the crown one day, ultimately it was a battle Mipha refused to lose, fighting for her kid's right to be recognized as a Zora, no different from herself and her peers. Eventually, once Lamina was a little bit older, she came to realize her father wasn't actually a prince, it being one of the concessions he and Mipha took to appease Muzu and other conflicted Zora. Well, Lamina didn't take that info well, the young princess emotionally devastated that her father "wasn't being treated fairly." It was a long battle so to say, but eventually the Zora Council, relented and agreed on Link being titled a prince. The story goes that they agreed Link was overall a worthwhile addition to their community, but even if they never said it, the council knew they couldn't break Lamina's heart.

Solin and Serapha: The youngest additions to the family, these two are seemingly a miracle. Zora/Hylian children are already a very uncommon occurrence, and the likelyhood of even just one egg in a batch to fully develop was rarer. Years passed, and Mipha and Link essentially came to terms that they were already incredibly lucky to have one child. This remained the case until it came to light Mipha was carrying eggs once more. They've been through this before, unfortunately losing the eggs once before, so they kept their expectations in check. When the day came for the eggs to be laid, one was found to have been properly fertilized, the rest duds, or so they thought. There was a subtle rattle of one of the other eggs, and upon closer inspection, it too was in good health, resulting in the twins Solin and Serapha.

[cripplecharacters]

This might be kind of a weird question, but would someone who has had nystagmus since birth be able to have schizoaffective disorder, and if so, would they experience visual hallucinations?

Don't worry about questions being weird!

This answer is gonna be long, I apologize in advance!

Small disclaimer that we don't currently have blind mods, but this answer is based on research.

So, a 2011 research study seems to suggest that being born congenitally blind or going blind very early in life 'protects' against developing schizophrenia later in life. I know you mentioned schizoaffective disorder, but it is closely related to schizophrenia that it is relevant to this discussion; the treatment for both is very similar, as well. If you've ever seen the claim "No blind person has ever been diagnosed with schizophrenia," this is probably where it comes from.

The study itself has a 2012 commentary (which is what I linked above) that mentions that it might not be definitive, and that what might be happening is that both conditions are uncommon enough that a joint occurrence is therefore much rarer; especially because it specifically refers to congenital or early blindness, as opposed to blindness that can happen later in life. It also refers specifically to blindness as opposed to low vision/visual impairment, which may or may not be what your character has.

From it, I quote:

"[I]t is remarkable that in over 60 years, and with several investigations [including several before DSM-III (1980) when criteria for schizophrenia were broader than at present], not a single case of a C/E blind schizophrenia patient has been reported."

As well as:

"These data suggest a unique relationship between C/E blindness and schizophrenia. However, we acknowledge that the absence of evidence (of people with both conditions) is not evidence of absence."

Now, from what I know of nystagmus, it often causes visual impairment/low vision as opposed to exclusively blindness, which is a significantly lower visual acuity. The study speaks specifically of congenital blindness, which is often the lowest visual acuity or maybe just light perception or similar.

Doing elaborate research study math, if your character is visually impaired rather than legally or totally blind, this means your character is more likely to be able to develop schizoaffective disorder than a character who is legally or totally blind. The chances might still be low, but I feel it's an existing possibility, taking into account the information I have about all of these.

Additionally, whether they're able to experience visual hallucination will likely depends on whether they've ever experienced visual information. Someone who never has experienced visual information due to being born totally blind will not experience visual hallucinations, because that part of their brain isn't "turned on," so to speak, and wouldn't have anything to go off of. But they could experience auditory hallucinations, or tactile ones.

Anyway, I know this doesn't give you a definitive answer because I could not find one, but I hope this helps!

– mod sparrow