#nothing says love like a deprivation chamber

[theluckiestlb]

girl...WHEN??? WHERE????

what are you talking about???? when you kept him isolated for 14 years??? when you robbed him of bodily autonomy???? when you exposed him to his mother's corpse to akumatize him, TWICE????

wait, wait—OH you mean when he was terrified for his life, literally begging you to stop after you beat him up. my bad.

no? OH, you mean when you forced him to leave the country and the love of his life.

Huh.

[haruchi-slit]

JEALOUS, JEALOUS GIRL!

pairing: true form! sukuna x concubine! reader | synopsis: the king brings a girl and it just makes his favorite so jealous! | warnings: double penetration, sukuna 2pps, creampie (?), teasing, switch, lots of kissing, m receiving (blow job), biting (slight?), porn with plot (?), not proof read properly! chi-list

"I'm a jealous jealous jealous girl, if i can't have you baby, no one else in this world can."

you were trapped in this endless circles of boredom since the king left for a trip to China to meet its emperor, it's been months since he left and you missed him so much, you were left with uraume, they're fine to be with, but they're too busy to talk to you, too busy to make small talks. you were completely bored to death, until one day uraume happily announced that the king is coming back, "really he is?" you asked happily shaking uraume's shoulders. your endless circles of boredom will finally come to an end!

"yes, how many times would i have to repeat it for you?" uraume responds with a frown, removing your hands from them.

you were over the moon! you twirled around like you were a teenager getting her allowance

"the kinggg's finally baackk~" you hummed skipping towards your room.

evening rolls by faster than light, you heard the temples heavy doors creeping open, and the king's sorcerer murmuring "Sukunaa!" you yelp, running carelessly to the main entrance. you saw sukuna being escorted by the gaurds, sorceres and servants, you and uraume bowed your heads as soon as you saw him after passing the two of you, you looked up, with your eyes shining as bright as the northern star, smiling from ear to ear. until, you noticed a unfamiliar face, walking behind sukuna a woman who's about your height, brunette hair tickling down her shoulders, wearing a black and red kimono just like yours, but yours were adorned with gold roses and the red fabrics of your kimono were much more bolder than hers, your smile completely dropped as you saw sukuna's hand resting on her head, ruffling her hair, and she seems to love it, your eyebrows were quick to frown as you saw this gesture, you glared at sukuna and the girl with full of...jealousy. you knew that you weren't in the place to feel this, but still.

you learned that her name was qika, of course from uraume, they know everything about the lord's activities. qika is from China, she used to be the emperor's main whore, but the emperor gifted her to sukuna, because she is the only one who knows how to speak Japanese.

"it's pronounced as: i-ka" uraume says, carrying scrolls full of jujutsu in their hands, "anyways, why are you asking and aren't you supposed to be at the dinning room now?"

you rolled your eyes "I don't want to.." you clicked your tongue, "the lord's gonna be upset if you're-" "i do not care uraume" they raised a brow hearing you raise your voice, "are you jealous?" you rolled your eyes and walked out, striding straight to your bedroom, you didn't ate dinner that night you were too upset that the lord brought a concubine even though he could've just declined the offer.

"bullshit" you sighed softly laying in your bed, as you realized that the lord hasn't called you to get to his chambers. you let out a heavy, heavy breath as you rolled over to the other side of your bed, grabbing the soft pillow close to your chest hugging it tightly with a sour look in your face, when you were about to fall asleep, you heard lewd moans and squelchs from the other room, sukuna's room; your eyes shot open as soon as you heard it, 'fuckkk!', you could only thought to yourself as you sit up leaning on your bed's headboard, while you hear them fucking non-stop. "aaa my-my lord!" the woman yelps, you could only roll your eyes and do nothing about it,

you clicked your tongue; pulling your blanket on top of your body, then falling asleep eventually.

after that you were avoiding him the next day, depriving him even from your glance and presence always occupying your schedule with tons of other activities, you were lonely and fucking jealous, as he spends time with his "new favorite concubine", you could only clench your fist and frown your eyebrows, giving qika and sukuna dirty looks, sometimes even mocking qika for her forced voice while working with uraume "awh thaynk kyu my lowrd" you cursed under your breath, "did you said something?" uraume inquired "huh? no what did i say?" you respond with a defensive tone.

sukuna noticed that you were avoiding him. avoiding him in the hallways, dinning room, throne room literally every where, not batting a care for his presence. though, even if you were a brat, he let's you slide, you're still his favorite after all.

"let's see how long that brat's gonna take it. " he thought to himself. and boy oh boy he didn't expect to see you this fucking desperate. maybe he should make you jealous more often.

you're now on top of his lap, with his half naked body, his broad muscles flexing, as you stare at him intently, you just wanna smack that stupidly handsome smirk he has on his face, for fuck's sake you to do that immediately.

"trying to top me? hah...go on princess, I'd like to see you fail, yeah?" he chuckles leaning on the bed's headboard, as you stare at him with lust and desperation in your eyes, he laughed, "did you heard me and that girl yesterday, are you jealous?", he doesn't even know her name... "were you thinking of me while you were fucking her?" you spat back, grinding on his clothed shaft, he paused, in fact, he was thinking of you- , you glide the tips of your fingers on his markings tracing it gracefully you tilted your head to your left, "I'll take that as a yes. can she take you whole? can she grip your needy cock like i do?", you spoke. "cocky aren't you?" he grunts in respond while clenching his jaw, his lower set of hands creeped to your hips, squeezing it like it depends on his life, you continued to tease him, peppering his chest with sweet kisses, he threw his head back as your kisses travelled down to the mouth on his belly, you gave him a quick kiss as you proceed to his clothed cocks, you rubbed his cock slowly with his undergarment on, you held his clothed cocks on your tiny hands while locating the tip of his cocks, he lets out another grunt, placing one of his upper set of arms on your back as the other covered his face, he might not last long, letting you top him, but he loved seeing you on top of him with your alluring demeanor and dominant side it's just different, he threw his head back once more as you took one of his clothed cock into your mouth, as you circled the tip of the other cock with your thumb.

the king lets out heavy, silent grunts as you gave him an unbearable pleasure- to make it worst the fabric on his dick gave so much friction, enough for him to cum sooner, even though he tried his best to deny his climax, he failed miserably as he paints your pretty mouth with his thick cum, while his other cock spurted cum all over his mattress and yakuta, you snickred "what a mess" you glanced at sukuna with flushed face with his hand on top of his lips "bet she can't do that huh?" , his hands still lingering on your body, you smirked before untying your kimono, letting it pool down on the mattress, "you're such a fucking tease aren't you?" he grumbled, while you took his soaked yakuta off his body throwing it across the room, his cock is still hard, even after cumming, "f-fuck" he murmurs as you aligned his cock on your entrance, while you align his other cock on your ass, "you sure you can take all of me?" he let's out a whimpy chuckle, cupping your waist with his large hands, you didn't respond, you were too focused on proving him wrong and that you're better than qika. she was never better than you. you slowly put his cocks in you, your lips gapped as you take him whole, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you whimpered, your gummy walls swallowing him instantly as you collide your hips to his taking him full, from base to tip sukuna swore you almost made him whimper, you paused for a moment before moving your hips- you placed your hands on his chest as you bounced lightly on his cock, with every bounce sukuna tries his hardest to not let a single whimper out off his mouth, he bit his lips so hard it started to bleed, you watched his blood drip down to his chin, you sucked your lips between your teeth before licking sukuna's blood and latcing your lips to his, before letting out a giggle "ooo c'mon cursed king, don't hide those pretty moans, pleasee. for me?" you teased "s-shut up" he babbled as his hands support your hips from bouncing, you'd giggle on his grumped scowl while he throws his head back on the headboard, you could feel his pre-cum dripping from your pussy mixed with your arousal. you continued to bounce on his dick, you'd whimper every time his dick hits your g-spot you nuzzled on the crook of his neck bitting it, out of pleasure, while his cocks penetrate your tight holes...you can feel your climax brewing in your adomen, your bounce getting sloppier as your cunt drip uncontrollably, "hah-mm fuckk..!" you moan as you feel your climax creeping closer, sukuna's cocks throbs with every whimper that came out off your mouth. "fucking woman," sukuna growled, before pinning you down to the mattress "i should make you jealous more often, huh? "he adds putting you in a missionary before tucking your hair to the side so he could see your beautiful face, "you're so fuckin' gorgeous when your jealous, turns m-me on s-so damn much" sukuna grunts without missing a beat as he feels his climax near.

your gummy walls sucking him in with every thrust, your nails scratching his biceps and back, knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets of the mattress, while sukuna buries his cocks in you- "mfmmgh-" you whined before cumming all over his cocks-

"that's right, fucking cum on my cocks...h-hah-"

sukuna moans softly before nuzzling to the crevice of your boobs, snapping his hips to yours once more before reaching his climax, you could feel his cum oozing out off your pussy and ass, the both of you were catching breaths while sukuna's cocks is still intact, he does his final thrust fucking back the cum that oozed out off your cunt and ass, your toes curled while your eyes rolled to the depths of your skull, goodness...

"I'm getting rid of that girl, I'll get uraume to get rid of her... jealous brat."

a/n: idk lmaoo... Don't ask me why i named the other concubine "qika" i just want it to be different and unique haha, i kinda have a neutral feeling abt this cause whenever i proof read it, it sounds cringe and yuckie I'm not good at writing... anyways does anyone wants to be my anon/mutual?

[thelov3lybookworm]

Soon, My Love.

Summary: Eris never thought he would be much of a poet, but being with Y/n has proved him wrong.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1845

Warnings: hints of beron being a meanie, curse words ig, uhh and a beaten up eris :( uhhh also its kinda cheesy ngl lmaoo

A/n: yall these two are adorable i cant omg 🥺 again, ily all soo much for everything🥹

anyways, enjoy!

P.S BERRY ILY THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME AND LETTING ME YAP (yes i will say this in every days post leave me alone)

p.p.s: this is again based on an indian song....

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

It was one of those days again. The high lord was mad again, and his eldest son had once again been dragged to the dungeon.

No one talked about why he was taken to the dungeon so often, nor did anyone question why he always ended up locked in his quarters with healers at hand for days after.

But everyone knew why.

He was beaten.

Like some training dummy, he was always dragged to the dungeon by his father to be beaten to a pulp, within an inch of death before being tossed back to his rooms.

No one was allowed to enter his chambers after these beating sessions, but being a maid, Y/n was let in to clean his room.

Being a maid, she was underestimated. After all, what would a lowly servant do? Heal the wounds faster? Give him the things he was deprived of? Love and comfort?

Yes, yes she would.

He had been summoned by the high lord a few hours before, so Y/n knew it was time for her to go check up on her lover.

She had heard through some of the older servants that Eris had been taken to his room moments prior, and that the healer seemed more calm than usual. It in turn calmed Y/n, knowing Eris’s condition was probably better than any of his previous beatings.

Broom in hand, she scurried through the winding corridors, her head hanging, her shoulders curved inwards as she knocked on his chamber doors. The door swung open, and the healer's assistant let Y/n in. Quietly, she began her work, trying to peek into the bedchambers.

She was rewarded.

He was naked from the waist up, bruises littering his torso, decorating his face. It made Y/n’s heart thud in pain, watching him hurt. But this was still better than him being covered in blood, unable to move without assistance.

"My lord, are you sure you don’t want me to heal-"

"Are you deaf, Wood?"

The healer’s mouth shut with an audible click, and moments later, he was shuffling out of the bedroom into the sitting area, his assistant hot on his heels as they left, closing the door behind them.

Y/n released a sigh, then leaned the broom against the closest wall before she entered Eris’s bedchamber.

His eyes met her, instantly lighting up, a barely noticeable tilt to his lips.

"How are you?"

He shrugged like she was asking him about the weather and not his health. "Been through worse."

She gave him a stern look. "Can you never answer like a normal person?"

"Am I a normal person?" She shook her head, tired of his antics as she stepped closer, now within touching distance. "Then I suppose I can’t."

Y/n sighed, eyeing the healing bruises on his face, under his eyes, on his jaw, his cheeks.

Her hands were shaking, but she tried to force them to still as she reached up, gingerly touching the black-blue spots.

He hissed, and she jerked back, tears in her eyes.

"Does it hurt?" She whispered, vision blurring.

"I told you, Y/n, I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive-"

"But I won’t!"

He leaned back like he’d been slapped, his eyes fixed on her. She huffed, angrily swiping at her cheeks, cursing the damned tears that rolled down the expanse of skin.

She cursed herself for already crying.

"How long, Eris? When is he going to stop?"

Eris swallowed. "My love, It’s not that easy to kill him-"

"I know that, Eris. But I can't see you getting hurt every other day. Can’t see you get beat over nothing. I- I just can’t."

Y/n sniffled, her hands roving over the multiple bruises on his torso, avoiding his gaze.

"Y/n." His fingers reached up to cup her jaw, lifting her head, the other one reaching out to grab one of her shaking hands. "I know, my heart. I know it pains you to see me hurt, but there is nothing I can do by myself. I have to wait for my allies to formulate their plan, so I can have aid-"

"And when are they going to be done formulating their plan?"

The vanserra sighed, shaking his head. "They say they are planning, and as much as I wish to ask them how long it is going to take, I cannot rush them."

Y/n glared at her secret lover. "I swear to the mother if they don’t get that bastard to his designated hell soon, I will."

Slowly, a grin spread across his inviting lips, and Y/n surged forward, burying her head in the crook of his neck. "I want you to be happy, Eris. I just want you to live freely, without worrying whether breathing a little too loud will get you in trouble."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

He pulled her closer. As close as he could while sitting on the table, his legs swinging as she stood between them.

Eris pressed his lips to the crown of her head, sighing.

"Soon, my love, soon."

She nodded against his skin, closing her eyes.

"And when he’s gone, I can finally let the whole world know I belong to you." He teased, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/n giggled in response, pulling away as she slapped his chest. She met his gaze, the warmth, the happiness in them warming her insides.

Even the sight of him simply smiling brought her indescribable happiness. She did not know what she would do when he actually found the happiness he deserved, without restraints.

Watching him now, she was reminded of the lines in a poem she had once read in a book when she was younger, the book as worn and loved as the lines were to her.

I laugh when you sing,

I cry when you wither away,

I get drenched in the shower of your love, my love.

She had not understood how someone else’s emotions could affect the other’s happiness so much, but now as she stared at those eyes she could hardly breathe without, she understood.

She used to think being in love would be like finding yourself someone to come home to. Someone to kiss and hug and live with.

But oh how wrong she was.

Love was so much more than that.

It was having someone to tend to your wounds, someone who would do everything for you just to see that flash of happiness in your eyes.

It was waking up to a warm world on the coldest winter night, it was the first sun after long days of rain, it was the first spring flowers after a long desolate season of grey.

It was knowing that your heart, mind and soul no longer belonged just to you, and still being happy to share yourself with someone else for the sole reason that you trusted this other being.

It was knowing happiness after a lifetime of suffering, it was peace after a century of restlessness.

It was hugging Eris, giggling after long days of sobbing together.

Soon, he had said.

"I’ll go now, or someone is bound to come looking."

Eris’s mood instantly soured. He grumbled under his breath, but Y/n only laughed, standing on her tiptoes as she pressed her lips to his cheek.

"I’ll see you later, hmm?"

He nodded, his sad eyes following her back, his lingering gaze like a soft caress as she closed the door behind her.

Soon.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Everything stopped in a moment,

When you held my hand with yours .

I shall follow wherever you are going.

You’re always by my side when I look,

I am the season and you’re the breeze, Sweetheart.

Eris smiled, leaning back as he surveyed his work. He had always been much of a literature freak, but he had never thought his love for reading poems would then turn him into a poet too. He could write poetry, sure, but he had never had the desperate urge to.

But maybe that’s what love does to a person.

Ever since he’d met the shy little baker on the outskirts of town, he had begun writing poetry in hopes it would help him decipher the unknown beating of his heart, the different rhythm he had never experienced before, the unnatural warmth that made his whole body tingle every time she even blinked his way.

Of course, he had been right in that it helped him understand what this feeling was.

He just didn’t think he would be in love when he started.

You gave me all the colours of love,

And pulled me towards yourself,

Let’s get lost somewhere,

Where the time shall stop forever,

And tomorrow never comes, Sweetheart.

The day he had confessed his love- however unexpected- had been the happiest day in his life.

He’d had a nightmare that morning, of Beron finding out about the bakery his son had been frequenting a little too much for it to be considered normal. He had jerked up in his bed, panting and trying to hold back his sobs.

He had decided then that he would have to either stop visiting without letting her know his feelings, or he would have to stop visiting after confessing his feelings.

He knew which he preferred.

So he had gone to a jeweller early in the morning, picked two rings, and then ran to the quaint little building.

Y/n had been surprised when he had shown up to her doorstep, huffing as he begged her to follow him to the nearby forest because he wanted to talk, but after a lot of pleading, she had agreed.

That day, he had asked her to marry him. He had slipped the ring onto her finger, and then told her he would have to stop meeting her because it would then put her life in danger.

The next week, as he was strolling through the palace lawn, he had spied a new maid.

He had been over the moon that day, catching himself smiling at times when no one was present.

That day, Eris had made a vow to himself.

If you want, I’ll give you a million dreams,

If you’re happy then so am I

And as he had watched her leave, just a few hours prior, he had decided that maybe, rushing his allies would not be too bad.

Fuck waiting, he was tired of watching her eyes flash with sadness everytime he had to tell her that she would have to continue watching him get tortured every time his father threw a temper tantrum.

So he had written a letter just after she left, telling Rhysand to, basically, get his shit together or their deal was off.

If they wouldn’t help him kill his bastard of a father, then he would do it himself, consequences be damned.

He had promised himself that he would do anything to make her happy, and so he would.

Even if it forced him to choke his father to death.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[novaursa]

Maybe a story with reader being the bastard son of the mad king aerys? Idk what fem characters you write for got, any of them would work :)) (maybe lyanna or elia) like aerys betroths them out of spite or as punishment(?)

Love ur work btw <3

The Bastard Prince

- Summary: Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North.

- Paring: male!reader/Lyanna Stark

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The towering doors of the throne room loom before you, their weighty presence nearly suffocating under the shadow of the Iron Throne. Two kingsguard flank you, their white cloaks brushing against the stone floor as they lead you forward. It’s rare for the king to summon you so formally, and your gut churns with unease as you step inside.

The hall is filled with lords and courtiers, their eyes turning to you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. They know who you are—Aerys’s bastard son, Y/N Waters, a living reminder of the king’s indiscretions. You can feel the judgment in their stares, each gaze piercing through the thin armor of indifference you wear.

King Aerys sits high on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming against the jagged steel as you approach. His eyes, sharp and blazing with a manic energy, settle on you. There’s a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you sense something dreadful lurking behind it.

“Ah, here he is,” Aerys declares, his voice booming through the chamber. “My own flesh and blood, though born on the wrong side of the sheets.” Laughter echoes from the gathered lords and ladies, a sycophantic chorus that grates against your ears.

You bow stiffly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Your Grace.”

The king rises, a rustle of fabric and metal, his gaze now shifting toward the northern delegation standing at the base of the throne. Lord Rickard Stark stands at the forefront, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes watchful. Beside him, his son Brandon, tall and proud, and then there’s her.

Lyanna Stark.

The girl is a storm wrapped in furs, her eyes dark and defiant as they meet yours. Her hair, a wild cascade of brown, frames a face flushed with either anger or unease—you can’t tell. She’s beautiful, even more so than the songs suggest, but there’s a fire in her that promises no easy submission.

Aerys gestures toward you with a grand sweep of his hand, his grin widening as he looks back at the Starks. “Lord Rickard, it is with great pleasure that I present to you my son. A gift, you might say, to seal our new alliance.”

You glance at Lord Stark, his jaw tight but giving nothing away. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment or resignation—you’re not sure which. Brandon’s fists are clenched at his sides, his face thunderous, but he remains silent.

“And as promised,” Aerys continues, his voice dripping with mock benevolence, “your daughter, the lovely Lyanna, will be wed to Y/N. A union that will bind the North and the Crown in unbreakable bonds.”

The words crash over you like a wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. He’s promised her to you? An alliance, yes, but you can see it in the king’s eyes—this is a convenient way to rid himself of you, to send you far from King’s Landing. The North is the furthest he can exile you while still keeping you under his thumb.

Lyanna’s face is a mask of outrage, her lips parting as if to speak, but her father’s hand on her arm stops her. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and tense, and then Lord Stark nods once more, his voice steady but strained. “The honor is ours, Your Grace.”

You force yourself to breathe, your heart hammering in your chest. This is what you are to him, a piece to be moved, a pawn in his dangerous games. And now, it seems, Lyanna Stark is caught in that same trap.

“Of course, I couldn’t deprive the North of such a strong, loyal companion,” Aerys says, his gaze flicking back to you. “I’ve heard tales of your valor, Y/N. You’ll do well up there, won’t you?”

There’s a twisted delight in his words, a promise of torment to come. You know better than to challenge him here, in front of all these eyes, so you simply bow your head. “I will serve as best I can, Your Grace.”

Aerys laughs, a high, grating sound that echoes through the hall. “See that you do. Now, join your new family. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted before you depart.”

He waves his hand dismissively, and you’re left standing there, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. With measured steps, you move toward the Starks. Brandon’s eyes blaze with fury, and Lord Rickard’s face is as impenetrable as ever. But it’s Lyanna who holds your attention, her stare unwavering, challenging.

“Lady Lyanna,” you murmur, bowing slightly. It’s all you can manage, unsure of what else to say in the face of such hostility.

She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t flinch. “Ser,” she replies, her voice steady but cold. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than you expect. “I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly, though the words feel inadequate, hollow.

Her eyes flash with something unreadable, and she lifts her chin. “Neither did I.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lord Stark speaks, his voice low and firm. “We will discuss this in private. There’s no need to make a spectacle here.”

He guides Lyanna away, Brandon following with a dark look cast your way. You watch them go, feeling the weight of the king’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

As the doors close behind them, you’re left standing in the center of the hall, alone and exposed. Aerys’s gaze is still on you, his smile lingering like a poison in the air. He’s won today, sending you far from his court, from the city that’s never felt like home.

The cold wind bites at your skin as you ride north, the chill creeping through the thick layers of your cloak and settling deep in your bones. The southern sun seems like a distant memory now, replaced by the overcast skies and vast, snow-covered landscape of the North. The journey is a long one, and the company keeps mostly to themselves. The Starks are quiet, speaking in low voices among themselves, the anomasity between them and you palpable.

You steal a glance to your side where Lyanna rides, her expression as fierce and guarded as the first time you met her in the throne room. She’s wrapped in heavy furs, her hair whipping behind her in the icy breeze, and though she doesn’t look at you, you can feel her presence like a beacon in the cold, vast emptiness.

For days, your conversations are limited to polite greetings and the occasional exchange of necessities—a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’ve known among your companions in King’s Landing. But the North is not the South, and these people are not your friends.

One evening, camp is set near the banks of a frozen river. The northern men build fires and huddle close for warmth, the cold seeping in as night falls. You sit alone, apart from the Starks, staring into the flames, the crackling wood a welcome distraction from the silence that has settled over the camp.

A rustling sound draws your attention, and you look up to see Lyanna approaching. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers herself onto a log across from you, her eyes steady and searching. There’s something different about her tonight—less guarded, though still wary.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water,” she says, her voice soft but carrying the hint of an edge.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the flask in her hand. “I’d welcome it, my lady.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses the flask to you. The burn of the Northern spirit as it goes down is harsh but welcome, and you hand it back with a nod of gratitude.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, watching you carefully. “One might think you’re not looking forward to your new home.”

“I’m not sure what to look forward to,” you admit, meeting her gaze. “Winterfell is a world away from everything I’ve known.”

She studies you for a moment, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why did you agree to this? The marriage, I mean.”

You look at her, surprised by the question. “Did I have a choice?”

She huffs, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration. “There’s always a choice. Even if it’s a poor one.”

You think about her words, the weight they carry. “And what choice did I have? Refuse and be cast aside by my father, or agree and be sent away to a place where I’ll never belong. Neither seems particularly appealing.”

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze turning inward. “I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t belong.” She pauses, her fingers tightening around the flask. “I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to be just some man’s wife, to sit and sew and bear children while the world passes me by.”

The honesty in her voice surprises you, and you find yourself leaning forward, wanting to understand her better. “What do you want, then?”

“I want freedom,” she says fiercely, her eyes meeting yours with a burning intensity. “I want to ride and fight and live my life as I choose, not as some king or lord decides for me.”

You feel a pang of guilt then, knowing you’re a part of the cage she’s railing against. “I’m sorry, Lyanna,” you say quietly. “I never wanted to be the one to take that away from you.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “I know it’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re as much a tool in this as I am.” She takes a sip from the flask, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll make this easy for you.”

You can’t help but smile at that, a genuine one that catches you by surprise. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She studies you, and for the first time, you feel like she’s truly seeing you, not just the bastard son of a mad king forced into her life. “You’re different than I expected,” she says finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You don’t seem as... desperate to prove yourself as the other knights and lords I’ve met.”

You shrug, the weight of her words settling over you. “What’s there to prove? I am who I am. No amount of posturing or pretending will change that.”

She nods, as if she understands that better than most. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks like that, especially in court.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence then, the fire crackling between you. The cold seems less biting now, the company warmer than you could have hoped. You talk late into the night, sharing stories—hers of the North, the wild, untamed lands and the fierce people who call it home, and yours of King’s Landing, the treacherous courts and the fleeting moments of beauty hidden within its walls.

You learn that she loves to ride, that she dreams of seeing the world beyond Winterfell’s walls. She tells you about her brothers—Brandon’s wild temper, Ned’s quiet strength, Benjen’s mischievous spirit. And you tell her about your life as a bastard in the Red Keep, the half-smiles and whispered slights, the shadow you’ve always lived under as the king’s unwanted son.

When the fire finally burns low, and the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, you feel something shift between you. An understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. You’re still strangers, bound together by forces beyond your control, but you’re no longer enemies. Not entirely.

As you rise to return to your tent, she stands too, holding your gaze for a long moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she says softly, her voice carrying the promise of something more.

“Goodnight, Lyanna.”

The next day, and the days that follow, she rides beside you more often. You talk, sometimes for hours, other times sharing only a few words. The others notice, Brandon especially, his eyes narrowing whenever he sees you together. But Lyanna seems unconcerned, her defiance burning as bright as ever.

You know you’re still an outsider, a southerner in a land that will never truly accept you. But for now, that doesn’t seem to matter as much. You have this, whatever it is, with her. And for the first time since the king’s decree, you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be a cage for either of you. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something more.

[matcha-milkies]

LIKE AN OLEANDER

Summary: Bill Cipher needs a footstool and a thoroughly Stockholmed Ford is happy to oblige.

Relationships: Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Pyronica is there too

Content Warnings: Abuse, Master/Pet, Psychological Torture/Horror/Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Victim Blaming, Sensory Deprivation

Tags: Triangle Bill, Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon, Bill Cipher Wins, Collars, Chains, Whump, Hurt No Comfort, Bill Cipher is a Jerk

Word Count: 1,306

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Based on @jellyskink’s immaculate Domesticated Ford AU, in which Bill mentally breaks Ford in the 1980s and brainwashes him into an obedient and fawning pet. Weirdmageddon started early, and over time the weirdness bubble surrounding Gravity Falls naturally expanded to contain both California and Oregon. If you want to learn more, there’s a lot more tidbits on their blog, though fair warning it’s a pretty dark and sad AU.

Thank you, jellyskink, for giving me the green light to write a fic for this!

I saw someone say this au is “all pain, no sex” which is really at the heart of what I look for in fics, but is so painstakingly absent in most fandoms, so this is a godsend •⩊•

If you haven’t listened to “Oleander” by Mother Mother what are you even doing with your life /lh

Bill Cipher is in a particularly good mood today. He and Pyronica probably broke a record for largest bonfire in California, even counting all their previous antics over the years. Not the dream demon’s most creative endeavor by a long shot, but hey, sometimes you just gotta start a blazing inferno to let off some steam. Nothing wrong with a bit of simple, straightforward arson now and then.

It’s only when he returns to the Fearamid, practically glowing, buzzing and high off the screams of the innocent, that he remembers the state he left Sixer in.

The man is in a kneeling position, collared by the neck. His hair, fluffy and disheveled, feathers down to around his shoulders, brushing against the cruel blue metal. His twelve fingers twitch and grasp at nothing, futilely, as though groping for purchase on a rugged cliffside. His purple sweater is rumpled in places, like he had pulled and grabbed at that too, to no evident avail. He’s whimpering to himself, words that are at first indiscernible as Bill enters the massive chamber.

The scientist is tethered to a ring near the base of the Throne of Frozen Human Agony, staring vacantly into the middle space, unseeing. It’s not his fault. Bill severed all input from his optic nerves, so he literally can’t see. Or hear. Or feel. Yeah, he cut off those nerves too. It was supposed to be a punishment that lasted a few hours. And then Bill had left and gotten carried away with his fun, and well, it had been an entire day.

Whoops.

Make no mistake, he doesn’t feel bad about it. If anything, it’s kind of funny, like forgetting to feed your dog! Wait. Humans don’t find that funny. Well, who can expect them to understand the emotions of an all-powerful chaos god? He draws closer, and the previously indiscernible words sharpen into clarity.

“I love you, my muse. I love you.”

Repeated ad nauseam to the uncaring void.

“Aww,” Bill clasps his hands together and brings them closer to his eye. “He’s so pathetic!” Pyronica, who came in with him, nods her agreement and laughs along. This must be what it’s like to catch your puppy mid-dream, its little tongue lolling and leg kicking at nothing.

He can’t remember whether he instructed his pet to repeat those words or not. Honestly, it’s anyone’s guess. Bill’s will and Ford’s are so inextricable at this point that Ford often does things without needing to be told. Of course, they’re not entirely on the same wavelength, or else punishment wouldn’t be required in the first place.

“Eh, remind me to snap him out of it in another half an hour,” Bill says, settling himself on the throne. With a wave of an arm he summons a martini glass. “I’m gonna have myself a drink.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He summons a glass for her too, and hipshot, she accepts. “Hey, you think we should’ve put the fire out before we left?”

They both share a hearty chuckle over that. “Would be a shame if it all burned down!” Bill sighs as the laughter dies down. “Nah, but seriously. California will still be there for us to play with tomorrow. And if it isn’t, we can always just rebuild it! In my image! Ha!”

“Yeah. Technically the fires are my image though.”

“Touché!”

They talk for a while, maybe 20 minutes or so in this fashion, casually sipping time punch and discussing unnatural disasters like they’re music festivals. Ford goes completely untouched and unnoticed, until suddenly Bill returns his attention to the human, and a light bulb goes off next to his hat.

“Wait. Do you wanna see something hysterical? I have the best idea.”

Every sensation returns to Ford at once in a flood of color, touch and sound. Sometimes, when Bill is feeling merciful, he eases him back into it, but his merciful moods are few and far between. More commonly, he likes to toss the scientist in the deep end and watch him flounder, tears quickly beading at the corners of Ford’s eyes and spilling fatly over his cheeks. His body convulses in a singular, broken sob, and before he can finish another apologetic, “I love you,” Bill hits him with a hard command.

“Stanford! I need a footstool!” The demon extends his legs and wiggles his feet a little. He whistles as though beckoning a dog. “Come ‘ere!”

Despite his disorientation, Ford rushes to obey, lurching in the direction of Bill’s voice and falling flat on his face. Shakenly, he picks himself off the ground, letting loose a singular groan.

“I’m still waiting!” Bill sings, swinging his legs a little for effect. Pyronica snickers. Ford tries again, following the sound of his muse’s voice, although he is quickly dismayed to find that he’s already reached the end of his chain. He falls just short of Bill’s feet, and no matter how he chokes himself, no matter how hard he tugs at the collar or the chain attached, he can’t go any further than this. His distress is evident in the way he keens.

“What are you doing?” Bill demands, rolling his eye. “All I asked for was a simple footstool and you can’t even do that? Bad! Bad dog!” Ford sobs.

“I-I’m sorry, my muse!” he rasps, the cold metal of the collar pressing in on his windpipe as he strains to obey. “I’m so sorry!”

Pyronica is practically in stitches at this point, and Bill is a showman, a class clown ever chasing the next laugh. “Are you really though?” His eye wanes to an amused crescent. “Do you even love me, if you can’t even follow a command as simple as this?”

“Yes!” Ford insists with a cry. “Yes, my muse, I love you! I’m sorry that I’m so useless… Please, please forgive me…”

“Why should I? Do you think you deserve forgiveness?”

“N- No,” Ford sniffs, “but—”

“Alright, alright. Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll give you a hand.” Bill waves his hand in a circle and the chain elongates, allowing just enough slack for Ford to crawl under his waiting feet. Bill settles them heavily on top of Ford’s back and sighs. “Ahh, that’s better.” The man shakes under the weight.

“Thank you, my muse,” he says. Normally, he would be a lot happier about serving Bill like this, but he’s clearly still torn up over his recent punishment and failures. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, kid!” Bill rests his hands behind his ‘head,’ or rather, the tip of his topmost vertex. “Maybe after this, if you’re good, you can have a treat.”

“R- Really? Oh, thank you so much, my muse. I promise I’ll be good.” His voice is still wavery from the earlier-shed tears, but his cheer seems to be returning. It’s not difficult to keep the man happy when he’s so thoroughly and hopelessly smitten with his muse. Bill could have Pyronica drop-kick Ford off the top of the Fearamid right now and when he reached the bottom he would find a way to smile and thank Bill, no matter how many broken pieces he was in.

“Yeah. Now shut up while I get some reading in. Hasn’t anyone ever told you footstools don’t talk? Sheesh.” With a sigh, Bill summons an extradimensional magazine and floats it in front of his eye, every so often flipping through the pages. Pyronica says she’s off to see what Teeth and Keyhole are up to, and Bill acknowledges her departure with a little grunt and wave. Ford stifles a whimper. His back has already been giving him issues lately, and this definitely isn’t helping matters, but he soldiers through it for his muse. He’s determined not to mess up again. He’s determined to be a good footstool.

A/N: This is my first time writing from Bill’s perspective! I don’t usually write him this cruel, so it was a fun change of pace to lean full force into that side of him. Thanks again, jellyskink, I hope you liked this little installment!

[wakeup01]

Hey, is it still open ? If it is, I've got something to ask. See, the university that I attend is apparently quite focused on sports, when compared to degrees such as mine in linguistics. It means that, on my way to class, I see a lot of hot men with great hairstyles, and I've always felt a bit jealous at that. Don't get me wrong, I love the eyecandy, but it always made me wonder what would happen if, one day, I entered the wrong building. Could you help me to see what would happen ? Just as an experiment, of course, I want to go back to my degree nice and easy after that...

Team Player

Linguistics? Oh dear, oh dear. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you won’t be getting anywhere with that. But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today. Okay, listen up. It’s very simple, all you have to do is follow that hot jock with the gelled blond hair to the left. No, no, not the right, the left. Take note of his smile. The way he laughs at literally nothing. Why? Oh, no reason…

Whoops. The locker room you say? What a blunder. Egg on my face, I tell ya. But while you’re there, maybe it’s worth taking in the sights and….smells. Every step is like walking through the humid air of the jungle, a breeze of sweaty jockstraps assaults you from every direction as the Football team get changed. You fail to avert your eyes from their hot glistening bodies, the display of pure strength and testosterone.

The jock you followed in notices you, notices certain inadequacies that need amending if you’re gonna be on the team. The team? Yes, the team. That messy hair for one. You barely get the opportunity to argue as he sits you down and scrapes the clippers across your skull. The buzzing sound makes you shiver. An overwhelming lightheaded feeling allows him to easily tilt your head down and mow the back. Running his hands through what little remains as he gells it up into a spiky jock style. Patting your strapped rear and padded thighs as the dirty, preused tight leggings pull up your legs and cover your cupped crotch. Your mouth opens, opens before your brain has engaged, just hanging ajar for several seconds. “B—bro.” The word is more of a proclamation than anything else. You impulsively adjust your junk, a clear shadow visibly outlines where your big balls push the cup outward.

He tells you that the newbies are liable if the team loses. That would be you. Taking one…or many, so to speak, for the team is the accepted punishment. He tells you this while stroking at his own cupped groin, a rather large bulge growing as you swallow hard.

Before you know it, you’re completely kitted out in the heavy uniform, a thick helmet lowering over your head - silencing those niggling doubts in the back of your increasingly tiny, sports obsessed mind. It’s like a deprivation chamber for your head, your inner monologue being blocked. The only thing that matters to you now is the game.

The game.

The ball.

The team.

The… punishment.

The twitching of your cock and ass makes you wonder if losing would be all that bad. You stand up and admire yourself. You barely recognise what you see, uncontrollably getting turned on by your own appearance. Were your arms always that chunky, that tanned? Like prime cooked beef hanging from your wide shoulders. Looking like a proper jock boy…smelling like one too. Huhuh. You turn, smiling dimly back at your bro. Laughing out loud for a reason you don’t remember. Uhh, I’m sure it’ll come to you…eventually.

I mean, you’re just trying out something new, right? No harm done, you rationalise as you sprint and achieve your first touchdown, your memory of…le..lin….lingizztics? Completely knocked loose from your ‘bro’d out, empty head.

Of course, the team loses anyway. Though you, and the rest of the team have suspicions about how accidental your ‘fumbles’ really were. Never-mind, that didn’t matter so much anymore, not while the whole team form an orderly queue behind your bent over rear. Your blonde bro is first up, he spreads your sweaty cheeks wide, spits on your crack and lines himself up for the ‘shot’. “You ready to learn how to handle some balls dude?”

“Hell yeah brah!”

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 9: The Space Between

Content warning: angst

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Shame - Mitski

* * * * *

Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

* * * * *

Shame, your familiar acquaintance returns, leaving you motionless on the futon for several long minutes.

What… just happened?

It takes a moment, but gradually, you come back to yourself, becoming aware of your inner thighs. The dampness there, it’s a little sticky, a little sore. The sheets, too, are a mess.

Dragging yourself off the futon and onto your feet, you feel a dull ache in your neck. Touching it gingerly, there's a sting and your heartbeat pulsing in the wound. You can make out the indentations and grooves of teeth—Sukuna’s teeth. When you pull your fingers away, they're coated in blood. Unfortunately, it will probably leave a mark and become a soft scar.

Moving quickly, you strip off your yukata, put on a fresh one, and head toward the door. As you slide it open, it rustles softly rather than its usual mournful squeal—Ren must have had it repaired for you.

With the door ajar, it presses open to reveal the dark, deserted corridor. You step out.

Despite it being the middle of the night, shame has you moving, desperate to cleanse and rid your body of Sukuna’s touches. Slowly down into the silent passage, you start walking left. You don't stop. After a few twists and turns, you reach the bathing chambers.

In the murky light, you fumble until your hands find a clean cloth and a basin of cool water. You dip the cloth in and then press it against your inner thighs and cunt. The cloth is scratchy and cold on your sensitive skin as you drag it over yourself. Although you soon feel clean, you continue wiping as if the repetitive motion could somehow erase what just happened.

There was always a possibility that you would find yourself in a precarious situation to fulfill your task. However, you were unprepared to relish being beneath the King of Curses. Enjoy his hands all over you. Enjoy it even down to the smallest touch of his fingertips.

The long deprivation of touch must have driven you to desperation. 

That’s all it was—nothing more. And now, it’s nothing but regret.

“You are pathetic,” you whisper to yourself.

Perhaps Sukuna’s muttered insult, spoken before he left your chambers with a look of absolute hatred and disgust, more accurately reflects your character: weak.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s labelled you with something cruel.

You clench your teeth and continue scrubbing the space between your thighs, the cloth now feeling like needles against your skin.

“How could I be so fucking naive?” you murmur, eyes beginning to sting.

You long for your sister’s presence—Yuna, sweet and lovely Yuna. Her gentle voice and soothing words have always brought you stability when you felt lost or when you would forget yourself.

But your sister is not here. She’s far away.

With your head tilted downward and your focus on the cloth, a tear slides down your nose, which you quickly wipe away.

A tiny sniff, and you dip the cloth back into the water, wringing it over and over again as you prepare to clean the bite wound next.

The soft flicker of a lantern’s flame suddenly chases back the darkness. You turn your head, still obsessively wringing the cloth in your hands. Cutting through the doorway, white hair and a white kimono pierces the blackness.

“My Lady?” Uraume’s monotone voice pushes into the space. “What are you doing here so late?”

They enter the room, the lantern casting a small pocket of light around the two of you.

You remain silent, holding the cloth in the basin. The soft sound of water droplets falling from your forearms is all that is heard. Uraume studies you with a wary gaze.

“You are bleeding,” they observe, nodding toward your neck.

You swallow, throat dry and tight.

“Yes.” Is all you say, unwilling to explain why you are awake or how you got the wound. Yet, Uraume's expression suggests they already know.

What if your desperate moaning and begging woke them up? What if others at the shrine heard you? Ren… and Sayuri.

Oh god.

Your stomach cramps and pulls with humiliation.

Uraume moves around the room, placing the lantern on a nearby bench before turning back to you.

“May I?” they ask, flicking their hand toward the cloth submerged in the water. You look down at it clenched between your fingers.

An offer to help.

If this had happened a few hours ago, you might have declined. But something compels you now. You unknot your fingers, the cloth floats in the water, and you step back, giving a subtle nod.

Uraume steps forward, slips their hands into the basin, and wrings out the cloth a few times before standing beside you.

They press the damp fabric against your neck, wiping slowly, downwardly, to remove the blood. Their actions are careful, as if you might shatter at any moment. And you feel like you might.

Sukuna has tormented you from sunup to sundown. In a single day, he has inflicted pain, compelled you to consume human flesh, pursued you, healed you, touched you, brought you pleasure, and ultimately threatened you.

For a moment, he almost lulled in, making you forget what he truly is. Yet, in a way, he has done you a favour by reminding you of his true nature.

A deep, festering bitterness begins to well up inside you.

Your hands clench into fists, nails digging into the skin, that familiar sensation pricking there.

With your eyes fixed forward, you breathe through your nose as another tear crawls down your face. You force yourself to stay still, even as more fall. Uraume remains quiet and focused, but aware of your distress.

After a few heartbeats, they pull their hand away.

“It is not deep enough to require additional treatment,” they remark as they step away and discard the pink-tinged cloth.

You swallow again.

“Thank you,” you manage to say, rubbing at your stinging eyes.

You don’t fully understand why they show you this kindness, but you are profoundly fucking grateful.

Uraume nods and moves to retrieve the lantern.

“This way. I’ll take you back to your chambers.”

You follow quietly down the corridor, trailing behind them. Upon reaching your room, Uraume enters first.

Before you step inside, you pause and look down the passage at the door to Sukuna’s chambers. The distance between your rooms stretches like an impossible expanse.

After one last glance, you enter your room. Uraume is already in the process of removing your sheets. The sight makes you feel ill, and you quickly move to assist them.

“Please, let me handle that,” you insist, face heating at how dishevelled they look, covered in wet drool from Sukuna’s stomach maw and a few droplets of blood.

“It’s fine,” they respond, but you ignore their reassurances. Instead, you help them remove the items, and Uraume places them into a wicker basket in the corner of the room before retrieving a fresh set of sheets from the wardrobe.

In an unexpected turn of events, you both quickly start making the futon together.

“As the weather cools, a method for keeping your chambers warm will be provided in the coming weeks. If you need it sooner, please inform me, Sayuri, or Ren,” Uraume says, placing the soiled sheets into the basket and picking up your discarded yukata.

“Thank you, I will,” you murmur, following them as they head towards the door.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, my Lady?” Uraume asks.

You hesitate for a moment.

“Actually, I do have a small request.” You cross the room quickly and return with the letter you wrote last night. “If possible, could this be delivered to my sister?”

Uraume takes the small missive and tucks it securely within the folds of their kimono.

“Of course.”

You both linger in the doorway for a moment, your hand resting on the door, eager to close it and finally get some rest.

“An animal, when cornered, will not hesitate to attack,” Uraume says abruptly.

What?

You stare at them, struggling to understand their sudden, cryptic words. 

“Goodnight, my Lady,” they add, bowing, then pinning you with a purposeful look before picking up the lantern and disappearing down the shadowy corridor.

Who is the animal in this situation?

“Goodnight,” you reply faintly, watching them leave before sliding the door shut with a soft click.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 10

[stardust-kenobi]

4, 18 and 49 with Obi Wan please <3 xx Reader is about the same age as Anakin

may I just say, these are EXCELLENT selections, my dear. You did not specify gender preference so if fem reader is not what you wanted let me know and I’m happy to change the wording :)

4. “Can you guys just fuck already?”

18. “I don’t care about consequences”

49. “Swallow. All of it”

Consequences

Obi Wan x Fem!Reader drabble

Warnings: smut, rough-ish sex (at least by obi wan’s standards), 18+ minors DNI

“Can you guys just fuck already?”

Anakin’s words from earlier in the day played on repeat in your head as Obi Wan tore your clothes from your body. The tension had grown too obvious, and your best friend Anakin took notice. He was loud and bold, knowing that if he didn’t hint at it, you and Obi Wan would never have the chance to express your feelings.

“Obi Wan” You breathed, Obi Wan’s lips attacking the supple skin on your neck, “what about the council?”

“I don’t care about consequences my love” He said so seriously. He meant it. You were worth any consequence to come. This kind of self indulgent and lustful behavior was already forbidden, but a Jedi and a padawan sleeping together? You’d both be exiled from the Order if you were caught.

There was an inexplicable need for one another that you both felt whenever you were near him, which was nearly everyday. You knew the tension was bound to break eventually, and all it took was Anakin’s little comment, and that was it. It was lucky timing to pounce on each other in this moment, but you didn’t have long before someone would notice you were alone in Obi Wan’s room.

“Then, please, fuck me” You whimpered while his fingers circled around your clit, igniting your heightened arousal for him.

He was hungry for you, and it felt so primal within him that nothing would change his mind about fucking you senseless right there in his chambers. The material of your dress worked in his favor as he laid you down on his bed. Slipping up the hem of the skirt, it was revealed that you wore nothing beneath it.

“Maker, you will be the death of me” He whispered with a tone of weakness as he melted for you.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, your body begging for his cock. Obi Wan swallowed hard in anticipation of ravaging you, taking in the view of you sprawled out on his bed, just for him. He hurriedly pulled his stiffened length from the restraints of his pants.

The risk of it all meant you had to be quick, but for you, it just made it all the more exciting.

As he lined himself up with your entrance, you gave him a pleading, desperate look, which was all he needed to see before he suddenly buried his length inside of you. You both breathed out in relief, whimpers softly trailing the end of your sigh. He didn’t give you much time to adjust before he began pounding into you deep and hard.

“Fuck, Obi Wan” You whimpered. What was it about not caring about the consequences? Yeah, let’s hope not. Considering you were anything but quiet in that moment.

“You are so beautiful, darling” He praised, enamored with your body writhing beneath him and the way you took his cock so well. He was deprived of this for so long. To be taking you like this was a dream to him.

Maybe it was the excitement of how wrong this was. Maybe it was the way Obi Wan looked so handsome and dominant towering over you. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been pleasured in so long, but whatever it was, your senses were over loaded, and your orgasm was approaching very quickly.

Obi Wan sensed it, and brought his fingers down to your clit, and began rubbing your most sensitive area, pushing you even closer to your climax.

“That’s right, sweetheart, come for me” He purred.

With the perfect rhythm of his fingers, and the way he thrusted harder sent you over the edge. You threw your head back and cried out his name as you were overcome with pleasure. It radiated through your entire body, relentless in its intensity as Obi Wan continued his motions.

As you floated back down from your high, Obi Wan pulled out of you.

Quickly getting down on your knees, you finished him off with your mouth, tasting your own arousal slicked all over his length. The taste of you lingering on him turned you on. His cock twitched in your mouth, the tip of it beginning to stiffen, which let you know how close he was to his climax. You could barely fit him as you swirled your tongue around his length.

“Don’t stop, Y/N, fuck” He cursed, losing himself in the slickness and skill of your tongue.

Suddenly, the warmth of his release coated your tongue while he gripped the back of your head, overwhelmed by his own pleasure.

“Swallow, darling. All of it” He commanded as he rode down from his high.

You happily obeyed, taking all of his release and swallowing it. His hand cupped your face, admirable of your messy hair and rosy cheeks as he looked down at you.

“I believe we have a meeting to attend, right?” You teased, mentioning the Council meeting that was open to all Jedi, and it was crucial that you two attended.

“Better get ourselves cleaned up quick, then” He chuckled.

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[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

It's well past the timeframe that I saw this trend (like one, maybe two months? My memory is shit), but whatever. I have a headache from not eating today, barely been able to force myself to eat, and overall feel like shit so I'm gonna ramble. Or be self-indulgent, depending on how this is interpreted, I guess

Everything I see about people liking vore for comfort, or protection, or yada yada yada, sappy stuff. Which, like, don't get me wrong, I love that shit too

But for me it's about the ISOLATION

I don't know how to describe it exactly, and I don't know if my attempt will get the point across, but I'm just fucking tired

Like 'Say I'm fine then thousand yard stare for the entire work day, oops, now it's three months later' kind of tired, the 'Just gotta make it one more day' kind of tired, the 'I find joy in nothing I do but I'm too stubborn and exhausted to do anything about it so I sit in it' kind of tired

Coupled with work to being called lazy and irresponsible by older family members, again, and just thing after thing after thing after thing after Thing After THING

I ain't special, I know this. Everyone deals with these kind of things, especially as adults, but I've always been easily overwhelmed. It just wasn't an issue growing up cause I'm a Shutdown rather than someone who maybe cries or gets frustrated enough to lash out first. Now I'm an adult, have been for over half a decade, and you're just kind of expected to know how to handle things even if you weren't taught them, expected to roll with the punches and live with the stress

Point is, I see vore as an escape above all, seeking comfort in the isolation and alone of it. Yeah, I'm surrounded by someone or something, but I like to think of it as more of a reprieve. No one can touch me, or talk to me, or fucking bother me if I'm literally placed away from existence (basically I want my own sensory deprivation chamber lmao)

I definitely won't say no to the trope of the prey being liked by the pred though. I'm not gonna say admired cause that feels narcissistic and I can't think of other words rn (loved doesn't quite fit either in my brain), but, like, kind of the happiness I feel when looking at my cats. They just exist and I'm happy about them

Idk why someone would feel the same way about me, but considering I feel like a worthless, unproductive piece of shit who can't even exist right half the time, being eaten kind of feels like a decent trade off to a pred (yes I think about friendships kind of like transactions, yes I know it's unhealthy, but if my friend just wants me to sit with them quietly like a Creature or play games in return for their fantastic company I'm down, I just want to do more for them but am tired and broke lol)

Like, I'm not good at working many things, or organizing, or being productive, or good at conversation/comforting, or even existing, but the thought of being eaten kind of gives a sense of purpose, in a way

Kind of, like, when I pet a stray cat or feed it and it's happy. Like, someone else maybe would have reached out and made them happy, but maybe they wouldn't have and how lucky am I to be making them this happy, you know? Maybe I feel like shit and don't necessarily want to see tomorrow, but I can keep making them happy

I don't fucking know if I made any sense and the phantom smells are kicking in, so I'm gonna go lay down or whatever. Fucking, isolation and purpose, I guess

[gibbs88]

exposure therapy - (coyle/fem!oc)

short fic i wrote for my other OC who i never talk about because she has a ton of pre-trials lore i still haven’t physically written lol. no smut but it’s a bit suggestive. probably gonna vomit all these finished Coyle WIPs into a collection on ao3 soon.

Even in this Hell of stainless steel and fluorescent lights she can’t forget him. They shove experimental pharmaceuticals down her throat and lock her in a chamber full of nothing but one long sustained beeping noise and nothing changes.

Injections. Sensory deprivation. Electroshock therapy. 

Some days she wakes up forgetting her own face, her own name. Never him. He’s bigger than her own ego. 

Dr. Easterman visits her personally one day (over the television in her room, of course) and tells her that she’s ready for her first Trial. Exposure therapy, he says. It’s a special experience just for her, because he’s so invested in helping her get better.

She can barely sleep these days but that’s okay. They give her a drug for that, too.

She dreams so vividly that night that she can’t even remember closing her eyes.

“Mia.”

She jolts awake and she’s back home, back in her bed, muslin cloth sheets drawn up to her chin. It’s a humid summer night and she knows it’s raining before she even looks outside the window, because she remembers this exact night. The night when everything changed. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She doesn’t want to get out of bed because she knows what will happen, but she seemingly doesn’t have a choice. Her feet touch the hardwood floor and it’s so humid that they’re slightly sticky. Was this a dream at all? Maybe she had died and that sterile Hell was actually Purgatory. 

The cute little Oklahoma farmhouse she loved so much is empty as if she had never lived there at all. Maybe she’s already forgotten what the furniture looks like.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and she feels it vibrate in her bones like the throaty growl of some kind of animal. Maybe it's a warning. 

Don’t open the front door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Lightning illuminates his silhouette through the screen door and still she opens it, the scene playing out like a film reel. She’s dreaming and perfectly lucid at the same time.

“Mia.”

Her name, not a series of numbers. He’s soaked to the bone and seems possessed as he backs her into a wall, his hands greedy and rough as he hikes the hem of her nightgown up over her thighs. 

Their relationship had always been torrid—passionate—but on this night he seemed to want to forget something. Maybe himself.

Leland Coyle is a hulking shadow that leaves dark handprints on wherever he touches. He kisses her and it tastes like whiskey and blood and smoke. It chokes her and she wants to breathe nothing but him at the same time. 

She doesn’t understand. 

You liked feeling wanted, even if you were just a possession, not a person. 

Just like those war trophies of his. Dog tags, a Japanese katana…

Those gold-capped human teeth.

But maybe you’re special. You can walk and talk and fuck.

Did you think you wouldn’t end up like the others? That if you ignored it, it would all go away?

That you could just go away…?

—Nine-Tenths of the FUCKIN’ LAW—

Mia jerks awake to a high-pitched sound and hears someone cursing before she’s blinded by pain at her temples. Her instincts force her to vomit up a shriek and two people in white outfits have to hold her down while another injects her with something that makes her bones turn into jelly.

The next time she wakes up she’s being strapped to a chair and her head still really hurts. 

There’s a weight that wasn’t there before and she nearly screams again as she feels something metallic seemingly attached to her skull now. It reminds her of the visor that her father would wear at his welding job but also more complicated. 

She tries to think about her father to distract herself 

but it only makes her want to cry instead, so she stops. Her eyes are sore too. 

After a few minutes she realizes that she’s moving, or at least whatever she’s in is slowing down, and the restraints attached to her chair retract. She blinks a few times and just stares at the green light above the doors. Is it a trick?

Why does it say “Police Station”?

[mercillery]

hey there!! can you please do a part 2 about the zenon x cheating reader where zenon finally lets the reader out but reader does not love zenon anymore and eventually whispered the words, “I dont love you anymore…” to zenon.

I really love your writing style! ❤️💕

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + YANDERE THEMES + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: Although I’ve been unmotivated to write, I’m glad that I’m getting requests for the Zogratis siblings again. I missed writing for them. If you sent in a request or a message, super duper sorry that I’m responding late! Take care and have a nice day <3

In my cheating on Zenon with Dante post, I mentioned that the reader cheats on yandere Zenon with Dante, and I said that weeks would pass. So, let's assume Zenon finally decides to let you out of that soul-sucking, isolation chamber of a room after about a month. I mean, he’s not exactly known for his mercy, and you can bet he made sure you felt every second of those long, silent weeks.

The man probably left you with nothing but the bare minimum: a cold floor, dim lighting (because heaven forbid you feel comfortable), and enough food to keep you alive but never satisfied. And now, after what feels like an eternity, he lets you out, probably because he’s convinced you’ve learned your lesson. Classic Zenon logic: “I’ll break you down emotionally and physically, but hey, at least you’re free now... kind of. Not really. Not at all, actually.”

So when Zenon finally decides to let you out—let’s be real, you’re a total mess. You’re obviously traumatized and just barely holding it together. I mean, who wouldn’t be after spending all that time in a room so silent and lonely; it might as well be a sensory deprivation tank? The kind of silence that’s so loud it’s almost like it’s mocking you. Your only company for weeks was probably the sound of your own breathing, and even that started to feel too loud.

But then there’s the relief. Sweet, glorious relief. The moment the door opens, it’s like you’re seeing sunlight for the first time in forever, like you just stepped out of a cave and rediscovered the world. Your brain probably can’t even decide if you’re happy or just shocked that there’s more to life than four walls and Zenon’s twisted form of punishment. So yeah, traumatized because you’ve been isolated for what felt like years, but also ridiculously relieved to see the outside world again, even if it’s just the cold, dark castle of the Zogratis siblings.

When Zenon finally lets you leave that miserable room, the silence is so loud it feels like it’s practically screaming in your ears. It’s the kind of silence that makes you paranoid, like any little noise you make will set him off. And Zenon? He’s just standing there, not expecting you to say a single word. Not a “sorry,” not a “please forgive me”—nothing. He knows you’re probably too freaked out, too paranoid to even look in his direction, let alone speak. And honestly, he’s fine with that. He doesn’t need your words; in fact, he’d rather you stay quiet.

Because, yeah, he let you out of that room, but let’s not kid ourselves—he’s still holding a serious grudge. The whole “cheating with Dante” thing? That’s not going away anytime soon. In his mind, locking you up for weeks was the perfect way to drill into your head that cheating isn’t just off-limits—it’s unthinkable. If being in that prison of a room didn’t teach you that lesson, well, then you’ve got a serious problem.

So as long as you’ve learned not to even entertain the idea of cheating on him again, he’s content. But that doesn’t mean he’s forgiving you anytime soon. In fact, he’s probably hoping you stay quiet and small for a while because, yeah, he’s still mad. You’re out of the room, but you’re not out of the woods.

So even though Zenon’s already pretty sure the rest of the day is going to be one long, awkward, silent standoff between the two of you, you still manage to catch him just the tiniest bit off guard. Not by speaking—he expected you to break the silence at some point—but by what you choose to say. The words you let slip out of your mouth? Oh boy. They’re the kind of words that make him instantly regret not leaving you locked in that room for another month, just for good measure.

Because out of all the things you could’ve said—“I’m sorry,” “It’ll never happen again,” maybe even just a polite “hello”—what do you go with? “I don’t love you anymore.”

And oh, trust me, he’s definitely offended. You’d have to be out of your mind to think Zenon’s not insulted by that. But heartbroken? Nah. He’s not standing there, devastated, like, “No, please, I need you!” This isn’t some dramatic rom-com moment where he falls to his knees, clutching his chest in despair. No, this is Zenon, so he’s more like, “Oh, you don’t love me? Is that so?” in a tone that’s about as menacing as a horror movie villain’s monologue. You know the one.

It’s not that he’s shattered emotionally—more like offended on a whole new level. He’s almost amused in a twisted, dangerous way, as if your declaration of not loving him is just... funny to him. Like, “Oh, you don’t love me anymore? Well, let’s see how that works out for you.”

Honestly, what happens next? Your guess is as good as mine because Zenon could take this in a hundred different directions—and let’s just say none of them are pleasant. He could straight-up lock you back in that soul-crushing room before you even have a chance to get another word out, like, “Oh, you don’t love me? Well, guess what? You’re going back in time-out.”

Or, if he's feeling especially cruel and petty, he could make you say you love him—over and over—but not just casually. No, he’s going to force you to say it like you mean it, to the point where your voice cracks, you’re sobbing, and you can barely breathe between the words. He’s probably standing there with this icy, emotionless expression, just watching the tears roll down your face. You might feel like you’ve used up all your tears after this one.

And then, there’s always the chance he might snap just enough to resort to violence—not enough to kill you, of course (you’re too important for that), but enough to make you wish you’d kept quiet. He’s not going to slap you with his hand, though. Oh no, that would be too easy. Instead, he might bring out that dreaded bone magic of his, because why not use what he’s good at, right? And dang, do those bones hurt. It’s like getting smacked by a rock-hard skeleton fist that leaves you aching in places you didn’t even know could hurt. Whatever happens, though, one thing’s for sure: Zenon’s not going to just let that “I don’t love you” comment slide. You’re in for a rough time, one way or another.

Yeah, the second those words, “I don’t love you anymore,” left your mouth, you pretty much signed your own death warrant—or at least, walked right into Zenon’s emotional meat grinder. It’s like you willingly marched up to the guillotine and handed him the rope, except in this case, the guillotine is Zenon himself.

You’ve officially gone to the slaughter, and the butcher is Zenon with his bone magic at the ready. There’s no coming back from it. You may as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull, except this bull has bone weapons and a grudge the size of a mountain. 

[trishacollins]

Afterimage

Please either feligami or felinette friendship. Would love to see sad smol Kagami hearing twins in her childhood au(hurt) then going to Feligami comfort of canon after s5 finale for the Feligami. For the Felinette just make them hug it out at some point after s5. You can also do Felix going to Mari for the cosmic macaroons and then going on flying date with Kagami. Whatever you like most :3

GiftFic for Anarchist Gang Server

*~*

To say that they were all feeling a little bit...under the weather was probably understating the facts by a considerable amount.

Felix had ended up in the center for the train ride back to Paris, Adrien on his left, Kagami on his right – though both of them were holding hands with each other as well.

Felix wanted a shower and to sleep for a thousand years. He could still feel his father’s hands around his neck, hear the way Kagami screamed as he fought his way through the nightmare to get to her.

But they were safe, they were together and safe – it was enough, wasn’t it? Except his uncle was dead, and Adrien had somehow managed to have a private chat with her and somehow ended up with completely the wrong impression as to the circumstances of his death.

Died defeating Monarch?

Felix supposed if it was true, in a logic-twisting sort of way.

He had to give Marinette credit for the mental gymnastics she must have been putting herself through. It was likely impressive.

But why? The why of it itched at the back of his brain, the logical parts of himself trying to make everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours make even sort of sense in his head. Gabriel was dead, the Miraculous were back with their mistress – save for Duusu, who was sleeping in his pocket complaining of a ‘cosmic level migraine’ – Adrien had been delighted and charmed by the Kwami, fussing at him and babying him.

Felix hadn’t stopped him. Duusu was the only thing that had kept him even sort of sane through the nightmares.

He didn’t know if he could have made it through without the Kwami.

Marinette – Ladybug – was waiting for them at the train station, dark circles under her eyes and an exhausted expression on her face.

She nodded politely to his mother before she stepped forward and fell into Adrien’s arms. They clung, and there was a nauseating sort of backwash through the Peacock as their relief wrapped around each other.

Kagami elbowed him lightly in the side, and he made a face in response. She had done it, if in the weirdest way possible. She had done it. He had to give her that. He didn’t have to give her credit for lying to Adrien about the character of his father.

But defeating him? Ending the nightmares?

He probably owed her coffee or something.

“Kagami.” Marinette let go of Adrien long enough to hug Kagami, and then they both pulled Adrien into the hug.

Felix tried to tamp down a bit of jealousy, but she turned to look at him anyway, red eyes studying him. “Felix.”

“Don’t hug me.” He warned.

She snorted. “Why? You don’t want a chance to pick my pocket?”

Felix’s hand refleively came up to rest on his pocket. “Honestly, I know what you’re capable of. I’m more afraid of you picking mine.”

Marinette’s face softened slightly. “I’m not planning on anything of the sort.” She offered his hand, and he shook it cautiously. “Thanks for breaking them out of there.”

“Some backup might have been nice. But I understand there were other concerns.”

Marinette snorted, shaking her head. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“We’re glad you’re here now.” Kagami said softly. “It’s only been a week, and I feel we have so much to get caught up on.” Kagami took his hand, leaning into him.

Marinette glanced between them, slipping under Adrien’s arm. “I still have questions about this?”

“Getting kidnapped is very romantic.” Adrien deadpanned, resting his face on her shoulder. “Which is why I’m sorry to say, but I’m leaving you for my sensory deprivation chamber.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “He really gave you nothing?”

“Well, I had a foosball table.” Adrien looked thoughtful. “I don’t think he realized it was a two person game.”

“He could have at least kidnapped Nino and left you with a friend.” Marinette muttered.

“Nino’s mom might have been upset.” Adrien pondered it for a moment, then shifted his head on her shoulder, arms wrapping around her waist.

Felix was familiar with the posture. It was Adrien’s ‘I’m about to make a terrible joke to change the subject’ stance, though he had never seen Adrien tuck himself behind anyone like this before.

They loved each other. His cousin was in love with Ladybug.

The girl that had saved them.

“We should go somewhere.” Kagami offered. “To catch everyone up.” She glanced at Marinette when she said that – but Felix had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be something they talked about until – well, later. Much later, probably. Maybe never.

Which saved Felix from the incoming terrible joke.

“I thought coffee and something to eat.” Marinette was aware of Adrien hiding behind her, but she was gentle, careful. Lacing their fingers together and letting him pull whatever it was he needed from her.

It was fascinating to watch. He hadn’t been sure what he would think of this Marinette – the one without any secrets, the one that he knew everything about. He hadn’t been sure when he shared the story that she would even listen.

But she had, and she had acted on it, and the fact had settled somewhere oddly inside him.

Marinette had done what no adult in his life, no person in his life had done – she had believed him, and then she had done something about what she had been told.

But at the same time, he barely knew her. He knew things about her – told to him by others, discovered on his own through accidental encounters. But they weren’t friends. They were at best reluctant allies on the matter of Adrien’s safety. Something she had killed for, unless his uncle had managed for once in his life to do something useful and just dropped dead.

(A part of him hated that he hadn’t been there, but the rest of him knew he couldn’t have been anywhere but where he had been, desperately trying to get to Kagami and Adrien.)

“They’re putting up a statue.” Adrien was saying to Marinette.

She pulled a face, but quickly turned her head so Adrien couldn’t see it. Which put her right in Felix’s line of sight.

He raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes before turning back to Adrien with fake cheer.

Well, if she didn’t want him to say things like that, she shouldn’t have lied to him about the sort of person Gabriel Agreste had been.

*~*

She stops by his room on the way out, after hours spent ‘catching up’ while avoiding the elephant shaped problem in the room.

“Is he actually dead?” Felix asked over his shoulder, studying the windows critically. His mother had come into the house with a notebook and a remodeling crew, and gone room to room. There were bare spaces on the wall already from where pictures of the man himself had been. But he had a feeling that Adrien wanted to take a sledgehammer to these stupid windows.

“He’s dead.” Marinette confirmed, sliding down the wall.

“Did you kill him?” He wants to know the details, the truth of it. Not the pretty sanitized story she’s letting the media believe.

Marinette’s face is half in shadow, expression concealed, but she still shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

“Shame.”

She snorted, pulling her hands to her chest. “He’s your uncle.”

“Sure.” Felix turns and sits on the floor facing her. “And if you or someone hadn’t killed him, he would have set his sights on me once he had what he wanted.”

She winces, looking down at her hands. “I thought I had reached him.”

“So you let your guard down?” His uncle was a brilliant manipulator, if nothing else in his life was his the way he twisted and remade people – Sanculur was a good example of just how far he could drag people down. His aunt, too, probably. Adrien. How many people had his uncle left ruined in his wake?

“I did. He used Venom.” Her hands pressed against themselves. A ring, her earrings.

She was wearing them both. She was casually wearing two objects of utmost power on her person.

She had better be glad he had decided he liked this world, imperfect as it was.

“He made a wish.” Felix intoned, frowning.

“Except, I don’t know what he wished for. Plagg and Tikki won’t tell me- can’t tell me.”

Duusu popped out of his shirt, peering at her. “What about Nooroo?”

Marinette’s face fell, hands lifting to her hair. “I can’t find him.”

Felix felt his stomach sink. “You can’t-”

“He’s the only one. I recovered the rest.” But Nooroo, the one that had been suffering the longest.

There was pressure on his chest, the edge of a panic attack, the twisting, sinking feeling.

“It’s not over.” His mouth says.

“Until I find Nooroo. It can’t be over.” She whispered, hands in her hair, pulling the dark strands.

“And Duusu?” Felix asked carefully.

Marinette’s eyes darted up to him, blinking. “What about Duusu?”

His mouth was dry as he ran his thumb over the broach. “You’re the guardian.”

“Yes?” Marinette stared at him. “Oh. Well. As long as you don’t plan on any more world destroying Sentibeings, I think he can stay with you. He seems to like you. Right, Duusu?”

“Felix is great!” Duusu chirped, rubbing against his cheek.

Something in his chest unraveled all at once, a relief he hadn’t been expecting flooding his entire body. “Really?”

“Felix.” She hesitated, looking away. “The person with the Peacock holds my heart. Because they hold Adrien’s existence in the palm of their hands. They hold Kagami’s – and yours. Anyone with the Peacock could destroy either of them if they decided not to value them.”

He nodded. “That’s why I needed it.”

She smiled, sad. “I know that, now. I didn’t at the time. I think...if we’d worked together sooner, we would have found a better way. But what’s done is done. Monarch is...is dead.” Her voice quivered slightly. “The Kwami are back, safe.”

“Except Nooroo.”

“Except Nooroo.” She answered, voice bleak.

Impulsive, he reached out to take her hand. “We’ll find him.”

Her smile was tentative, eyes on his. “We’ll find him.”

@paracosmicat

@ultear-tigra

[thedo0zyslider]

I Love You (I'm Not Supposed Too) - Chapter Six: Secrets Kept No More - 4k Words

Fwhip finally finds out what Jimmy wanted to say all those months ago.

A03 Link

The next few days in the Ocean Empire were pretty routine. And boring. Every day is almost the same, save for a few moments when he and Jimmy would either sneak away together, or they got too tired of each other's presence and retreated to their chambers for a few hours. Other than that, they would wake up, and head to the Cod Empire to do whatever needed done. Helping a whole group of people properly establish themselves was a lot of work, work Fwhip hadn’t signed up for. But he helped anyways, because there was nothing else to do, not really.

The work was pretty standard, all things considered. They helped people get back on their feet, did boring government stuff Fwhip always zoned out on, like he did at home, built things, helped with the farms, and sometimes they were even put on babysitting duty. Though the half dragon wasn’t very trusted in that department for a few obvious reasons. Mainly the bigotry and his usual impulsiveness, but he didn’t mind. Fwhip was never a big fan of kids anyways. And then, at the end of the day, when the little tasks were done, they headed back to the Prisma Palace for dinner and whatever the Ocean Queen wanted them to do. If she wanted anything.

The half dragon is given a guest room, one with a giant, plush bed and a lot of decor on the wall. Merfolk liked to line their homes with shell and other such trinkets, as he’d come to notice, and the guest rooms were no exception. Just like the rest of the palace, his room was also very pink and blue and white. Fwhip thinks he could go his whole life without seeing this color palette ever again, and be perfectly content.

One morning, maybe a week or so into the trip, the future Count awakens earlier than normal. He doesn’t know why, but he does know the sun is streaming through his room’s window; meaning he should get out of bed pretty soon. He has a feeling the queen doesn’t take lightly to oversleepers, even if he had helped carry loads of stone and wood and whatnot around the swamp all yesterday and probably needed the extra rest. But whatever, her house, her rules, the ginger supposed.

He dresses in his normal attire, minus the black coat. He hates taking it off, but less layers means he won’t get as sweaty. Especially since he does manual labor most of the day, or a lot of walking. Fwhip was used to extreme heat in the forge, not the humidity of a swamp in the summertime. Also, it’s just less fabric to get all muddy and gross. His poor boots though will need to be deep cleaned when he’s home, all the shoes he brought with him will. It feels like there’s water permanently in the leather nowadays, even when there’s not.

But that’s not the focus right now. The focus is getting ready and then getting breakfast. Ocean cuisine was a little….unusual for his tastes, but he did like a few of the dishes. Disturbing meals including both salmon and cod aside. Thankfully those weren’t usually served at breakfast, so he could avoid them until dinner or lunch time most days. Usually .

Fwhip steps out of his door a few minutes later, right after he finishes his morning routine…..and realizes he doesn't have a clue where the dining hall would be in this gigantic place. He ate there for dinner the previous night, but this place is so huge compared to the Manor. He has no idea how to even get back there, despite having a small tour when he arrived. Also, it would feel very awkward walking in without Jimmy.

He mumbles something to himself, grumpy from another bad night of sleep. It was hard to get any rest with waves constantly roaring all night long. His sleep deprivation, which was worse than normal, was probably making the whole trip more unpleasant than it actually was. The Ocean and its Empire were quite pretty, one had to admit, and the half dragon was sure he’d enjoy it more if it would let him sleep .

The ginger walks down to Jimmy’s room as he grumbles, the only place in the Palace he’s somewhat sure of the location of. That and his guest room. Mostly because they are in close proximity to each other, likely done on purpose, and because they’re the two most important rooms he passes every evening. He thinks he’s figured out where the library (the above water one) is though. He thinks.

He finds the Prince’s room, with less struggle than he had a few days ago. Fwhip only turned the wrong corner a few times! Yesterday he’d done that like, six or seven, so, progress! And while he’s never really…..knocked on Jimmy’s door, he knows the other is awake around this time. The cod had woken him up from a restless sleep far too often, enough that was decently familiar with the others' general sleep shedulce. Visiting him real quick would be fine , especially if he got breakfast at the end of it.

Fwhip opens the door, and he really, really should've knocked. He opens the door to a shirtless Jimmy, presumably in the middle of changing, and it takes the half dragon a good minute of shocked staring to realize that a binder is covering his chest. Jimmy whips his head around to face him, some kind of fear clearly in his gaze. The future Count kinda wants to punch himself for being so stupid.

Once he has that realization, the half dragon feels himself start to fumble out of embarrassment. “Oh, shit , sorry —I didn’t know you were-" He stumbles over his words, feeling a blush start to creep up his face. He politely keeps his gaze on the floor, his hand searching for the doorknob once again. The young prince is not having any of this, and the half dragon can’t really blame him.

“Just leave, okay!?” The cod snaps at him, and Fwhip listens to this guy for what has to be one of the first times ever. He ducks his head back out as soon as he finds the knob again, closing the door behind him with a rather loud slam. Silently, he slides down against the nearest wall, and resists the urge to scream into his own hands. That had been mortifying for him, making that big of a mistake. He can’t even imagine how Jimmy must feel right now, being seen like that. Being seen in what has to be some kind of vulnerable moment, by someone he certainly doesn’t want to be vulnerable with.

He sits there, slumped against the wall for a few minutes; hands running over his face and through his now messy hair. The future Count isn't really sure what to do after…. that . Mainly there are just a lot of things going through Fwhip's head as he sits there. He's pretty flustered, not ever intending to do that, and is sure a fierce blush is currently coating his face. Part of him knows it might be better that he leaves, because Jimmy will very understandably be scared to next confront him. The other part doesn't feel right just leaving. He feels like he needs to apologize. No, Fwhip wants to apologize. He feels bad, which certainly is a new emotion around the young cod.

The castle is still quiet, and it seems their little encounter hadn't disturbed anyone, thank god. Fwhip didn't want their screaming to accidentally out Jimmy to anyone else, for he had already heard some terms the staff used towards the prince. No servants have even begun moving towards the hall yet, and no footsteps can be heard in the distance. The Ocean Empire has rather quiet mornings, as opposed to the Grimlands rather loud and explosive ones. Which is good right now, he supposes. A quiet castle gives you more time to regain your bearings.

There is some shuffling by the door, and the doorknob starts to turn once again. Fwhip, still pretty stricken by the whole ordeal despite his best efforts, looks up in surprise. His suitor doesn't emerge instantly, taking his time to fully leave his bedroom. But when he does, the sight only makes the half dragon feel even more guilty.

Jimmy slowly shuffles out, his bedroom door being shut quietly behind him. Probably not to disturb anyone else in any nearby rooms, if there are any. He's finished changing, now wearing a green tunic. Not a skintight one like merfolk usually wore, but one that was clearly meant for a bigger person. One clearly meant to hide things, Fwhip would now notice. He suspects it isn’t the first time Jimmy has denied his species traditional attire in front of him, and probably won't be the last. The cod's face is red, his eyes puffy, and a weak frown painting his face. Fwhip feels a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of Jimmy crying because of him and his dumb mistake.

"Are you okay?" He asks, meeting the others' gaze tentatively. The future Count has no idea if the other is angry at him and, for once, wouldn't blame him if he was.

"I'm fine." Jimmy says, and it is clearly a lie. He's shaking, and leaning on the wall for support. Like he'll collapse and break down if he doesn't do so. It's not hard to believe that he will, either.

"You're shaking, and your eyes are red." Fwhip points out, scanning over the blonde's face. He's been crying his eyes out, that much is clear. So much so that if Lizzie were to walk by, she'd probably punch the future Count on the spot.

"Why do you care?" The cod asks, slumping down next to him. He's even surprised Jimmy wants to sit next to him after that, but he lets it happen anyway. They sit a few inches apart, not enough to touch, but not far enough to feel fully awkward. It's just enough space for the time being.

"Because I'm not stupid. I know what I just did." Fwhip says, feeling a frown stretching onto his face the longer this conversation goes on. He doesn't like the tone the other has, whatever it is. It's upsetting.

Jimmy forces a smile, and lets out a broken sounding laugh. “Well, didn’t want you to see my boobs. But you were gonna one day I guess, since the mar-”

“Don’t.” Fwhip cuts him off, running a hand over his face again. “Please don’t joke about….any of that stuff, okay? Not a good time.” It will come to concern Fwhip slightly, the kind of self hating jokes Jimmy makes about the marriage and himself. Because he'll make more in the future, and the half dragon will have to knock the habit out of him he supposes. “Also, not really our thing.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I know, bad joke. I’m just…a little upset.” The cod mumbles, hanging his head a bit. Not in shame, just lingering embarrassment. Fwhip feels a wrong sort of feeling settling in his stomach, and frowns. “And yeah…that’s not our thing.”

“I know….you’re probably upset.” He says, wholly sincere with Jimmy. Probably for like, the second time ever if he’s being honest. Because he would hate himself if he was anything but sincere under today’s circumstances. They were far too serious for his usual attitude. "Sorry about walking in without knocking or anything…I won’t do it again."

Jimmy takes a moment to respond, the back of his head hitting the wall with a dull thunking sound. "It's fine, really. You were gonna find out eventually. Probably. I just wanted it to be under…different circumstances is all."

Fwhip hums, and wraps his tail around his legs. It had been awkwardly laying on the floor before now, and it was…..strangely comforting to wrap it around himself. Even though he wasn't the one who needed comfort right now. "Sorry about that too."

"Not the worst thing in the world." Jimmy hums, watching his movement. He seems like he's zoning out a little bit, his mind wandering elsewhere. To other things and other trains of thoughts, more troubling ones probably.

"I kinda already knew. Thought I should mention that." Fwhip hums, glancing away to stare at the wall. He doesn't want to see Jimmy’s face when he responds, whatever that response may be.

"Oh?" Is all the cod responds with. He sounds…curious, and only that. Thankfully. Fwhip didn't know if the other would've been angered by that or whatever.

He glances back at Jimmy when he explains it, and is met with a look of slight curiosity. Which is fair, to Jimmy’s credit, he passes very well. Fwhip is just very good at noticing details. “When they told us about the marriage, our parents called you a princess and stuff. And the staff have been too. I just didn't want to assume anything, y'know?"

"Yeah, my mom's probably the reason for that. I didn't take them for… that type of person." The blonde nods, taking the others' explanation into consideration for a moment. The ginger would pay so much money to know what's running through his head right now.

"No, they're not like that." Fwhip confirms, briefly thinking back on his parents. Despite whatever way they might have failed him and his sister before, they had always been nothing but supportive of their children's identities. One of the few good qualities they both shared, if they shared any at all. "I could mention it to them….?"

The offer is said tentatively, but Jimmy looks so incredibly relieved at hearing it. "Please." He says, and Fwhip nods. He cannot help but wonder what hell this boy has been living through for so long, to be so relieved when even the most basic decency is shown to him.

“Sorry about how we left things, when you were forgotten at the manor. By the way.” The half dragon adds, somehow remembering to say sorry for that. Take that , memory issues. “I was just….I was starting to guess and didn’t know how to ask you.”

“It’s okay..” Jimmy says, trying to crack a smile. It's weaker than he would probably like it to be, but it's a start. Fwhip grins back, and neither of them have anything more to say. Not immediately, at least.

“You don’t…have a problem with it do you?” Jimmy nearly whispers the question into the silence. They've been sitting in quiet for a few minutes, and Fwhip had grown content to stare at the Palace's prismarine walls until one of them decided to move again.

Fwhip tilts his head to the side curiously, a little scared of what the other is about to ask. “With what?”

“With me being….with me having girl stuff. And you having to marry that. ” Jimmy spits out some of the words with such venom, that Fwhip is shocked by it. He feels a surprising wave of pity wash over him, for this boy he hates so much, and it's the first time ever he has to stop himself from hugging the young cod.

“No, I don’t. Why the hell would I?” He says, like it is the easiest thing to say. Because it is. To the blonde it's something he never expected to hear.

“Oh…” Jimmy sounds…..so genuinely surprised at his answer. “It’s just…some people would. Some people do. ”

“Those people suck.” His answer is spit out in an instance, full of more passion than he thought was possible. Those people do suck. They suck a lot .

“Yeah.” Jimmy agrees meekly, hesitantly slumping down and resting his head on the half dragon's shoulder. Fwhip lets him do so, not caring that a merfolk is touching him right now. He needs it a lot right now, he figures.

They sit in the silence for a few seconds once more, in the white and blue hallway of the Prisma Palace. Two people who should, and do, hate each other, but aren't really acting like it. They haven't had the energy to act like it for a while, Fwhip thinks, with how shit everything is. How the world constantly throws terrible things at the both of them and expects the boys to just cope . That's what it feels like, anyways.

Maybe it'll be better when they're older.

"You do know you're not the only one of us who's like that, don't you?" Fwhip mumbles, his cheek now resting against the blonde's head. He doesn't know how long they've been in the hallway, but the palace hasn't started its normal routine yet. So he guesses it can't have been too long. Maybe one of the maids or cooks will find them, and ask why in the bloody hell two royals are sitting in a dirty hallway, cuddling.

Jimmy gets a little excited, as told by his tail smacking the wall a few times before he realizes it's moving. "No…?"

"Well, Xornorth’s nonbinary, and Sausage is pretty gender nonconforming.” Fwhip says, trying to remember everyone who's come out so far. He doesn't know all their labels, if some people have any, but he tries his best to get them right. “And Shrub isn't entirely a girl."

"Oh…I didn't know that." Jimmy hums, sounding happier than he had before. The half dragon briefly wonders if, when the thirteen of them are together again, that a labels debrief would make some people feel more included.

"None of us are straight either, I don’t think." Fwhip might’ve not been up to date on all the labels, but he was pretty sure of that fact. That their whole group were all horribly not straight in some way, some more obviously than others.

Jimmy lets out an amused snort at that. "Of course." That's the right phrase for it really, of course . Of course all the royal children are queer as hell. Of course most of their parents suck too. How else would it be with their little group?

"Why're you being so nice to me over this?" The cod adds on after a moment, cautious, and has every right to be so.

Fwhip resists the urge to roll his eyes, and spits out the honest truth. He really wonders if Jimmy thought that lowly of him before, say, maybe twenty to thirty minutes ago. The half dragon wouldn’t be surprised if he did, not after everything. "I don't like you and I think you're annoying as hell, but I'm not cruel ."

"Thanks for that, I guess." Jimmy mumbles, sounding shocked and surprised again. Fwhip hears that tone, he’s heard it too many times today, and truly starts to wish the world would be kinder to this poor fishboy. Sans himself and his very justified hatred, of course.

"Don't thank me for treating you like a human being." The half dragon snorts, and fixes Jimmy with a look . He’s pretty sure the meaning of it goes right over the blonde’s head, too. The utter idiot “And we have that truce, remember? No being assholes ‘till we’re hitched?”

“Yeah…the truce. Almost forgot about that.” Jimmy mumbles, sounding a little thoughtful once again. Maybe he’s been full of thoughts this whole time, and Fwhip’s just shit at noticing. Or he’s running out of words to describe the cod, because they have never interacted like this before. He has a very limited vocabulary when it comes to describing Jimmy. Today he is running out of words he hasn’t used, and also adding new ones. “We’re not good at following it, are we?” Jimmy keeps talking, and Fwhip barely hears him, lost in his own thoughts it seems. He hated how easy that was to do.

(Adding new ones like sad , and mistreated , and stressed , and traumatized and a whole bunch of other words he has no more room for in the half dragon’s never ending whirlwind of a mind.)

“No, but I like to think we’ve gotten better.” He mumbles out a response, taking a few precious seconds to clear his head. They’ve certainly gotten better, or at least more tolerable of each other’s presence, because Fwhip isn’t pinning Jimmy into a wall and holding him hard enough to bruise anymore. They had to have gotten better, because his mental health hasn’t. Both of their have probably gotten worse over the years, actually.

“We have to be. Because they’re all buying it. Every single one of them.” Jimmy says, and it’s the most confident he’s sounded in a while, and will sound all day. He also sounds more than a little scared, and Fwhip can’t help but share the sentiment a bit.

“Good. Good.” He mumbles, and doesn’t want to admit that he feels some of the same fear. They are going along with this whole thing out of fear, it’s the whole reason why they’re even sitting here in the first place. Fear of judgment, of failure of duty, of disappointment. Of what their parents would say. Even if they don’t really talk about it, both of them know that’s what’s happening. Body language always says a lot more than both the boys wish it would.

Jimmy changes the topic back to their earlier, less daunting one. It seems a lot still weighs on his mind, which is to be expected with a situation and life like this. "I want to get…the surgery for it, but, ah.…my mum won't let me.."

"Well, maybe you can get it before the wedding….?" Fwhip threw out the suggestion lightly, and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. Before the wedding was a vague timeframe. Realistically, that could be as soon as they’re both legal adults, or within the next five years. But it was a time frame that they could aim for, and that was better than nothing. And if Jimmy's mom wouldn’t let him get that surgery, than Fwhip would be the one throwing him in front of the healers instead, shitty parents be damned.

He’d really had enough of shitty parents recently.

"Hmph, maybe…" Jimmy mumbles. He hopes the sound in the other’s voice is hope, faux or real. They need some positive emotions right now, he’s already feeling emotionally drained from the guilt and the shame and whatnot. It’s not even seven in the morning, either.

“The truce extends to that too, by the way.” Fwhip adds, nudging the others shoulder with his own. He feels a grin start to bloom on his face. One of his shit-eating ones that always makes Gem groan and Sausage mirror it.

The cod gives him a confused look, his face scrunching up with the feeling. He’s not despondent anymore, so that’s a win for Team Fwhip! Sadly the only win today, but he might get some more as the hours wear on, especially if he keeps this attitude up. “Whaddya mean?”

“That means if someone’s being a transphobe, I get to deck them in the face. Even when we're married.” Fwhip explains, his grin getting larger. He does one of his normal hand gestures as he speaks, like he does with all his other explanations. Jimmy, well accustomed to the half dragon’s quirks, pays it no mind.

“Even my mum?” Jimmy asks, and sounds a little stupid when he does.

Fwhip nods, and feels tension unknot itself and leave the cod’s body from where they’re still pressed together. “Even your mom.”

“Heh, thanks.” Jimmy giggles, eventually having to muffle the laughter with his hand after a few minutes. Aannddd that’s two wins for team Fwhip, all within a minute or so of the last one. He better savor these — and this rare companionship with Jimmy — while the moment allows and before their normal bickering starts up once again.

“Again, don’t thank me.” Fwhip shrugs again, his tail finally uncurling from around himself. He doesn’t need any comforting measures, not immediately anyways. The tense and upset mood from earlier is long gone, now replaced with something lighter, even if both the royal’s hearts are still heavy with a lot of things.

“Force of habit, being polite is.” The cod says, his own tail swishing dully against the floor. It’s good to see he’s cheered up, and not crying anymore. And also not having to think about all the terrible treatment he receives. It’s good.

“So I’ve noticed.” Fwhip snorts, watching as the other starts to stand up. Jimmy gives all his limbs a stretch, since they’re still probably stiff from the night’s rest, and then holds a hand down to the other boy. The half dragon takes it without any complaint, or grumbles under his breath about having to touch a fish. Jimmy just helps him up, and it's probably the most simple yet complex interaction they’ve ever had. To date, anyways.

The Prince then starts to move down the hallway, past his door to where Fwhip thinks the dining hall is. The dining hall and a million other passageways and rooms he can’t remember. Dumb castles and their dumb, beautiful architecture. “Let’s go get breakfast, or something.”

“And where are we going after that?” The ginger follows behind, already mentally preparing himself for another six or more hours of helping the dumb cod people out. Him and Jimmy might be cool for today, but that doesn’t mean he suddenly likes all that mud and grime the swamp carries. Jimmy hums, sounding a little cheeky, and like he has his own shit-eating grin now smeared across his face. “Well, mom never said we had to be in the Cod Empire today. I was just scheduled there for three days this week…”

“So we’re getting a free day?” Fwhip thinks everything about him visibly lights up, from his voice to his demeanor. The mere thought of a free day, of finally being able to hide in his guest room, or the castle’s library, or wherever this dumb kingdom invented stuff, was enough to make his tail wag slightly. Anything, literally anything , but the horrible swamps and gross water again was going to make him beam.

“Basically, yeah.” Jimmy confirms, turning a corner without even thinking. Fwhip envy's everyone who has the dumb Palace mapped out already, and doesn’t struggle getting around. So he basically envies everyone who lives there.

“Finally, time away from you.” The ginger huffs, gloved hands being shoved in his coat pockets. He tries to commit the winding corridors to memory again, and hopes it goes a little better this time.

“Finally.” Jimmy agrees, right as they reach the dining hall for breakfast. Either they walked really fast for some reason, or Fwhip’s memory of the place truly is horrible. He never thought it was that close to the bedrooms. But hey, they’re not serving fried salmon for breakfast again today, so as long as that keeps happening, he won’t complain about the proximity to food. Especially if a free day follows after it. He rarely ever gets free days, here or at home There’s always something, some project or dumb responsibility thing, to do. But now he’s finally getting one after what has to be months , maybe even years.

Maybe his stay in the Ocean won’t be so bad after all.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Absence

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Needed to make something this week. Hope everyone is hanging in there <3

Hesitation. Fear. Hope.

Contains: Intimate whump, manipulation, mental link, isolation, panic attacks, sensory deprivation, hallucinations

~~~

The winding staircase down into the dungeons was a gaping maw that threatened to swallow Elze’ith whole. He lingered at the top, just staring down, trying to muster the courage to take that first step.

Altair was frightened. He was frightened, and stressed, and in pain, and so many other things. And Elze’ith shouldn’t know that, shouldn’t know the contours of Altair’s distress or the magnitude of his self-loathing or the fear and grief he kept tucked away, but he did, and it crushed him. In the face of that,Elze’ith couldn’t bear to leave him alone, not any longer, not when he was so close. Only a set of stairs and a dark dungeon hallway stood between him and his beloved, and all he wanted to do was cross that distance and hold Altair so close they could never be parted again.

So why was he hesitating?

Was it the distance already between them, all but nonexistent and yet too broad for him to ever hope to cross? Was it the gnawing uncertainty that he couldn’t actually help at all, that even attempting would only make things worse? Was it his own shame, clouding his earnest desire to see the man he loved?

Or was it the memories of his own agony that the dungeon contained that he was too cowardly to revisit?

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t heard Lord Denholm approach, and yet the man was there, smiling benignly at him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, my light. Is something troubling you?”

Elze’ith bit his lip. Even if he had the words, what could he have said? There was nothing that wouldn’t have sounded like an accusation he wasn’t ready to make.

“It’s okay, my light. I understand perfectly. You don’t need to say anything.” His voice was smooth and gentle as he squeezed Elze’ith’s shoulder. Something cold washed over him. “Let me accompany you down.”

There wasn’t a moment to hope or to fear before the firm grip on his shoulder began guiding him down the stairs. Even with the perennial chill of the castle, the dungeons had their own desolate frigidity that made Elze’ith shiver as they descended into the dark. The shadows seemed ready to swallow him whole, making him fight the instinct to huddle near Lord Denholm for security.

But he did fight the instinct.

He hadn’t been to Altair’s cell many times, but he had been there enough to know the way. But that was not the path Lord Denholm directed him towards. For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, staring into the darkness towards the row of chambers that contained the most important person in the world. But Lord Denholm’s grip on him was firm, and he was pulled away, into a different part of the dungeons but one he immediately found was no less familiar.

The room Lord Denholm led Elze’ith to he had only been in once, but once was all he needed. White, unthinking terror surged within him as memories of the unending dark and silence and solitude threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t do that. Not again.

He didn’t mean to try to pull away, but before he realized what he was doing his feet were moving him backwards. Lord Denholm’s grip on his shoulder tightened in response, holding him in place. “Easy, my light. I know it’s hard, but I can see that you need this.”

He shook his head. He needed Altair, not this. The isolation had almost shattered him the first time. Enduring it again might break him entirely. He couldn’t—

“Come,” Lord Denholm said, and his last desperate lurch away melted into gentle obeisance. Lord Denholm walked him forward to that accursed chamber, and opened the door for him with all of the care of a gentleman. The only thing Elze’ith could do was walk in.

“I will return for you as soon as you are ready for me, my light,” Lord Denholm said. Elze’ith was barely able to turn around before the door shut, and he was utterly encompassed by darkness.

The next thing he knew he was on his knees, too overwhelmed by the terror freezing his blood to stand. Though he reached for the door, he couldn’t seem to find it; there was only the vague sense of something solid beneath him, and the oppressive and omnipresent dark all around him. He tried to scream, and maybe he just couldn’t hear it over his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, or maybe the shadows absorbed his voice entirely, because there was only silence.

He was alone. Alone, alone, alone—

Warmth swelled in the back of his mind, gentle but insistent. Elze’ith instinctively reached back, desperate for something to hold onto, needing a light in the storm to guide him to shore. The connection was hope, was love, was home, and when it washed over him, it became a bit easier to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually, the roaring in his ears subsided. His breath evened out. The fear still prowled at the edges of his awareness, but it no longer threatened to tear him apart, not with Altair’s light keeping it at bay. He was steadier, now. He could think.

But would thinking do him any good? He was alone, drowning in the dark, punished for a wrong he didn’t even know he had committed. He might be alright now, but how long would that last? How long until the nightmare began? How long until Altair abandoned him too?

The warmth pulsed in the back of his mind. Elze’ith took a deep breath in time with it. Focus.

He was afraid. So desperately, wretchedly afraid. He had never wanted this (all your fault, a voice whispered) and yet he couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t stop it from getting worse. All of this had been to save Altair, and now here Altair was, suffering alongside him (should have just left you) and for what? How could he even begin to fix things? Anything he did, anything he did, Lord Denholm would snuff out in a moment, so why even try?

(Should just give him what he wants, it’ll at least be easier that way.)

Again the warmth in his mind swelled just a bit. Elze’ith wished he could reach through and hug Altair, hold him, do anything other than just bask in his presence. It meant the world, and he was infinitely grateful to know that Altair was still with him, and yet he feared for the day when it wouldn’t be enough. They were so close, and yet so far. All they had was this, this strange and lovely connection, and—

And all at once, he knew what they had to do.

[priscilla9993]

how would you torture killian psychology in the underworld?

Psychologically... Hades would make him think that he's talking to his actual family members or support system when in actuality, they're all illusions. The magic would read Killian's regrets or nightmares and filter them into illusions. Liam would be telling him how hurt he is that Killian became a pirate and never stopped becoming an alcoholic, how he disowns him as a brother bc he can't believe he failed as an older brother to guide Killian to the good side. Maybe to rub it in, illusion Liam might rub in that he's in the underworld bc he had regrets over leaving Killian alone after a stupid death by dreamshade, but after seeing the pathetic mess that Killian had become, he feels ashamed to have wasted his life trying and sacrificing so much for Killian when his little brother never amounted to much. Brennan wouldn't be winning dad of the year, but I expect his illusion to make Killian regret killing him by leaving Liam 2 behind as a fatherless orphan. I also want him to say that he "honestly, bc being dead gives him nothing left to lose" was so glad that that he left Killian behind bc his kid self was so needy for love and attention, another mouth to feed with the wars and taxes going on, but regrets not taking Liam with him.

If going onto David, it would be how he'd never accept Killian, no matter what he says, but only tolerates him bc he doesn't want to ruin his relationship with Emma.

Emma, well, she would go on about how upset she would be over Killian being weak to the darkness to how Killian never shares with her his past, despite them living together and prepared to be with one another for life. She'd say about how she'd let down her walls but he can't give her one small bit about his past, even though she's supposed to be the one he can share stuff with. Maybe there'd even be a hint of how Killian is too stubborn for her liking and has the loudest snoring, a turn off for her.

For the whumpy bits, maybe the illusions could be tortured versions of characters, whether physically shown or just audio of screams, whimpers, and cries of help being echoed throughout the chambers. Hades taunting that he could make it stop if Killian decides what to do next, aka get tortured instead of the loved one, giving Emma or someone else relief from the suffering for an hour or so. No one is truly getting hurt but Killian, yet Hades loves to see his defiant and strong acting side drop as he grits his teeth and agrees to the torture, Hades not giving in until Killian begs for the pain to begin.

Keeping Killian always walking on eggshells, unable to anticipate his next move. Despite being dead, Killian can feel every physical thing as if he were alive, being kept on the brink of exhaustion, sleep deprivation, hunger pangs galore, and being messed around with mind games and rounds of torture. His punishments for being boring or mini breaks from everything are always solitary in that open cell area. I want to say that his cell is always filled with audio playing of his worst moments that he regrets or Captain Silver shouting commands at him, taking him back to his fearful days as a kid, but knowing he can't do anything fulfilling the orders.

I don't have any more atm but what a great ask! Thanks for asking, Abby! XD

[scotianostra]

Thomas, Lord Erskine was born January 10th 1750. During his lifetime he became Britain's foremost advocate, through his defence of people accused of treason and corruption.

His defence of Thomas Paine, accused of high treason for his work, The Rights of Man, cost him his position as Attorney General to the Prince of Wales. Later, Erskine totally alienated George IV by defending Queen Caroline against the king's attempt to deprive her of her rights and title.

Rather go into all the boring education, career stuff I will focus more on the man, the character, for I think Lord Erskine was a bit of a character, he had a favourite dog with him at all his consultations in Chambers a favourite a large Newfoundland dog called "Toss". He taught it to sit upon a chair in chambers with his paws placed before him on the table. Erskine would put an open book before him, a wig upon his head and one of his advocate's bands around his neck. What his clients thought of this exhibition we do not know, but it is unlikely that they would have forsaken him for another counsel.

He was obviously an animal lover a dog he kept by him was one he had rescued from some boys in the street when they were about to kill it. Later, on March 2, 1811, he sent a bitch to a fellow peer with a note to say that, "her name is Lucky and may all good luck attend your Lordship".

He also had a pet goose which followed him about in his grounds, a macaw and a great many other dumb friends. He even had two special leeches which he believed had saved his life when he was ill and which he called his "bottle conjurors". These he kept in a glass and, he said, he gave them fresh water every day and had formed a friendship with them. He would often argue the likely result of a case on how they swam or crawled.

Erskine said he was sure they both knew him and were grateful to him. They were called "Home" and "Cline" after two celebrated surgeons with quite different dispositions. He amassed the company at a party given at his villa in Hampstead, near "The Spaniard's Inn", by talking about his regard for animals and, in particular, those to whom he was attached. He then produced the leeches in their glass which he placed upon the table. It was impossible, however, wrote Samuel Romilly who was present, "without the vivacity, the tones, the details, and the gestures of Lord Erskine, to give an adequate idea of this singular scene".

He introduced into the Lords a Bill for the prevention of malicious and wanton cruelty to animals, saying that it was a subject very near to his heart. Disgusting outrages, which he said

"were too painful to describe, were being perpetrated upon animals whilst the law did nothing. This was because animals were considered only as property. They were entirely without protection from cruelty and they had no rights. Yet man's dominion over them was not given by God for their torture but as a moral trust.

Nature had provided the same organs and feelings for enjoyment and happiness to animals as to man -- seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking, the sensations of pain and pleasure, love, anger and sensibility to kindness. Such creatures might have been created for man's use but not for his abuse. Towards them, as in all other things, men's duties and interests were inseparable. Extending humanity to animals would have a most powerful effect on men's moral sense and upon their feelings and sympathies for each other."

When the speech was published as a pamphlet, its editor suggested in the Preface that it should be introduced to families and schools and deserved to be circulated "among the lower classes of society by the clergy, and by all moral and pious persons'.

When the Bill was in its Committee stage, Erskine pointed out that during his 30 years of Parliamentary life he had never before proposed any alteration in the law. He still had no wish, he said, to link a statute with his name; he had a better motive. If the Bill were enacted, it would not only be an honour to the country but would mark an era in the history of the world. In the event, the House of Commons proved not to be ready for animal rights and the Bill was defeated but eventually went through in 1809.

Lastly and briefly, perhaps our Lord Erskine was also a wee bit of a romantic, he survived his first wife, Frances, she passed away in 1805 after 35 years of marriage, on October 12, 1818 he married Sarah Buck in Gretna Green, he was 20 years her senior.

It is said he never missed a day in court and led a very healthy life but in 1823 Erskine set out by sea on a visit to Scotland with one of his sons, hoping to see his brother the Earl of Buchan. But he became ill with a chest infection on the journey and was put ashore at Scarborough.

He managed to travel to the home of his brother Henry's widow in Almondell in West Lothian, where they were joined by the earl. He died at Almondell on 17 November 1823 and was buried in the family burial-place at Uphall in present day West Lothian.