#of course concubines would often do this but it's thing for it to happen and go unsaid - another for it to be overt and be accused of it

[wangsejabin]

Chapter 62

A pair of perfumed hands held her up.

The fingers were long and white, and the little finger and ring fingers wore very fine golden nail guards. "Come on, you have such a big belly, what's the point of saluting. I would dare to accept it, but I'm afraid our Crown Prince won't like it." The Crown Princess said with a smile.

The first half of the whole sentence was not bad, but it changed in flavour at the end. With that implication, even if Pan'er did not want to salute, she had no choice*. Pan'er took two more steps back and bowed down to salute. With her huge belly, it was difficult for her to bend over, let alone curtsy.

As the Prince watched her struggle, cold air was visible on his face.

The Crown Princess also froze, she hadn't expected Pan'er to give in in public. Since Pan'er had been the only concubine taken on tour, as well as there had been no reports of anyone else having been accepted or favoured by the prince, the princess had expected that she would have grown arrogant after a whole year of being solely favoured. Obviously she had not let anyone else get close to the crown prince. Fully expecting that now that she was pregnant, Pan'er would use it as an excuse not to curtsy or be arrogant. That arrogance would have given her a handle on Su Fengyi, giving her a legitimate reason to deal with her and put her back in her place.

"Look at you, I was just joking with you, and you took it seriously. Get up, get up, don't hurt your stomach." Unfortunately, it was too late to say this, and it made the situation very awkward.

Hu Liangdi glanced at her and smiled as she walked up to support Pan'er, "The Crown Princess just likes to joke with us, so it's fine, I've has always had a tricky temper, I've always made the Crown Princess angry. So, the palace is really full of wit, this just arrived in front of the East Palace, before a few words are said, the jokes begin."

Hu Liangdi's words seemed to be speaking for the Crown Princess, but in reality, she was slandering the Crown Princess as jealous and harsh right under the Crown Prince's nose - and at the same time allying with Pan'er, a new favourite. You see, the Crown Princess is such a fool, let's join forces, shall we?

Pan'er didn't dare to answer, smiled gratefully at Hu Liangdi and stood by without saying a word. The prince withdrew his gaze and looked around at the crowd, "All rise." Then he took the lead and led the people inside.

Fu Lu was busy chasing after him, gesturing to the people around him to send two of them to escort Su Fengyi inside.

Who knew that Zhang Laishun would take the initiative to come forward and help Pan'er. This little rabbit was climbing up the ladder again," Fu Lu spat in his heart.

--

On the other side of the courtyard, Bai Jue and the others had already prepared themselves. Xiao Dezi, in particular, had been like a motherless child since his master had left, and he used to walk out as Brother De, but now he walked out without anyone knowing him. But no one gave him a hard time, and I must say that was a rare thing.

When he heard that the Prince would soon be back, Xiao De Zi counted the days on his fingers every day, and now that he was finally back, he waited at the door so that he would see his master the moment she returned. He was waiting at the door so that he could see his master at the first sign of her return, but when he saw her, but why was there this eunuch at his side? When he got closer, Xiao Dezi realised it was Zhang Laishun and was relieved. He was still thinking that it was because of some unscrupulous person who had taken his place, but Zhang Laishun didn't matter, as Eunuch Zhang was the Prince's man.

"My Master hey, my Master you are finally back." If it weren't for the fact that crying was not allowed in the palace, Xiao Dezi would have just about cried bitterly to show how much he had expected his master's return. He went back and forth around Pan'er, but he couldn't squeeze in, there was Aunt Qing on her left and Zhang Laishun on her right.

When Pan'er went in and sat down, he was still outside the door, looking like 'I want to go in, but I also need to show that I know the rules'. Pan'er was amused by him and beckoned, "Look at you, you're so useless! What's wrong, has someone's bullied you?" Xiao Dezi came in and knelt down and said sweetly, "No one is bullying me, I just miss my master. "

Xiao Tianzi, who was also outside the door, but did not go as far as Xiao Dezi, spat in his heart: "Horse's ass, stinking shit, you're the only one who can say such a thing with a straight! And he was the one who could! He was the one who knew that the master was back, so Little Dezi could be inside and he was outside.Xiao Tianzi slapped himself, telling you to be useless.

"All right, all right, look at your sweet mouth." Pan said with a smirk. As she spoke she rubbed her waist, she was about to say something when she saw Zhang Laishun still standing at the side, so she said, "I'm sorry to bother Eunuch Zhang, there's nothing more for me here, so Eunuch Zhang should hurry back and rest, you've been busy all day."

"I'm not tired, since there's nothing else to do here, I'll go back to my master." Pan'er nodded with a smile and glanced at Xiang Pu. Before Xiang Pu could react, Bai Jue was busy stepping forward and sending Zhang Laishun out, stuffing him with a purse on his way out.

He didn't want to take it, he dared to take anyone's purse but he thought it was back at the palace, so he accepted it as he entered the room, and thanked Su for being so polite. When Zhang Laishun went out, Pan'er hurriedly said, "Quickly, quickly, help me to lie on the bed for a while, my back really hurts."

When she had taken off her shoes and sat down on the bed, Pan'er poked her lightly with her hand and shook her head, "It's time for you to learn more from Bai Jue. "The scolding was affectionate, and Xiang Pu rubbed her head in dismay. She had been out for so long that she was not as responsive as the others, so she really needed to learn more from Bai Jue. Although Qing Dai was not reprimanded, she also looked thoughtful.

While Aunt Qing rubbed Pan'er's back with her own hands, Bai Jie and Bai Zhi were busy pouring water and serving fruit, coming and going, all with a happy look in their eyes. Xiao De Zi, in particular, would have come up if his master hadn't been so close to him that he didn't need to serve him. "All of you should not be busy, you are back anyway. By the way, has anything happened in this palace since I've been gone?" There was not much, but what there was, had happened mainly in Jidetang and in Hu Liangdi's place.

In less than two months after the prince left, Hu Liangdi gave birth to the fourth county princess, which made her very frustrated, as she had vowed that it would be a young imperial grandson, but it turned out to be a daughter. Since then, Hu Liangdi has kept a low profile and has stopped talking about the Empress and finding excuses not to pay her respects to the Crown Princess.

As for Jidetang, it is also very quiet, the child in her belly occupied the whole heart and mind of the Crown Princess, and she was only concentrating on keeping the baby alive. There were two occasions when she almost went into premature labour, but the doctor was able to stabilise her, even so the Crown Princess was still in premature labour for half a month and the eldest son was not too healthy.

According to Xiao Dezi's description, when the first prince was still in his first month of life, he was not very healthy. It was only after the 100th day that he got a little better, but the Crown Princess usually kept a very close eye on him and never took him outside of Jidetang. The Empress personally made a trip to the East Palace to see her grandson for the first time, but since then word has spread that the Crown Prince's eldest son is weak.

It was said that the Crown Princess was very angry about this. As for how and why she was angry about it, it was not for Xiao Dezi to find out. But Pan'er knew why.

Empress Fu was anxious for a royal grandson to be born in the Eastern Palace in order to secure the Crown Prince's position, while the Crown Princess was anxious to have a son in order to secure her own position.

Now that the legitimate imperial grandson was in poor health, it was tantamount to a discount on what both of them had wanted, and the rumours of the Crown Prince's eldest son's frail health essentially cut down the role of this imperial grandson, so it was no wonder that Empress Fu was disappointed.

In fact, Pan'er sincerely hoped that the eldest son would be in good health, because only then would the Crown Princess be less of a demon to her subordinates. Additionally even if she managed to give birth to a son, neither she nor her son would be used to prop up the prestige of the Crown Princess or the little duke.

Pan'er felt a bit of a headache and decided to stop thinking about it and get some sleep to refresh herself. It was only when Xiang Pu came to report that the Crown Princess had set up a banquet at Jidetang that Pan'er was woken up.

When Pan'er arrived, almost everyone had arrived.

After a while, the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess came out from inside together. Had he met the Grand Duke? She guessed in her heart. As it had been almost a year since they had seen the Prince, the banquet should have been extraordinarily lively today.

In fact, the Prince's usual silent nature had returned and the banquet was quiet. She was referring to the fact that, from what she could see, everyone except Ma Chenghui, who kept her head down, was making eyes at the Prince.

The Crown Princess was an exception, she was not frowning at the Prince, but was busy staring at the concubines below. After being gone for almost a year, today is the first day to return, and the Crown Princess has hosted a banquet with such an obvious gesture of goodwill, so naturally the Crown Prince will stay at Jidetang tonight.

Pan'er thought with a bit of astringency in her heart, and then she thought that she too had been outside for too long.

It didn't matter if she was jealous of the women who were sent up outside, she couldn't be jealous of the women in the East Palace.

Pan'er kept her head down and just ate the food in front of her, thinking about her past life and gradually calming down. So when it was time to retire, she didn't even look at the Prince.

The fact that the prince stayed in the Hall of Virtue and did not leave immediately after the meal was over was an indication of his attitude.

When Pan'er went back, she didn't shout about finding books to read, nor did she say that she had to walk after eating to take her mind off things, but went back and said she was going to rest.

Aunt Qing and Qingdi were still a bit confused, but Aunt Qing and Bai Jue looked like they had a clear view of the situation.

When they had laid Pan'er down, Aunt Qing stayed behind. "I'll watch you for a while, don't think too much, go to bed early." Pan'er was a little lost in laughter, and a little touched, and a little embarrassed, was it that obvious that she was doing that? She closed her eyes and let all her thoughts go, letting herself fall into sleep.

At first she couldn't sleep, she could even hear Auntie Qing breathing and gently fanning her, gradually her thoughts became more and more blurred. She felt herself being pressed down and subconsciously leaned back, but she fell short and woke up instantly.

She felt behind her, empty, and felt the urge to cry. A large palm reached out and embraced her curled up body.

"Why are you so dishonest even when you're sleeping?

[ann1-wr1tes]

Can you do an NSFW alphabet for Sukuna?

Dynamics: Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Spicy Alphabet

Warnings: Adult themes, obviously smut, Sukuna himself is a warning

A/N: Ah yes, the King of Curses. I hope you enjoy!

-----

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-Lets be honest here, this is Sukuna we are talking about. Usually he'd do nothing and just leave but lets say he likes you...he'd probably get rag and clean you up a bit. If you asked him to run a bath or shower he might do so begrudgingly.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-His favorite body part on his partner would just straight up your tits and ass. The man knows what he likes and he is unapologetic about it.

-On himself it would probably be his stature. Not really a body part, I know but he just loves the size difference. He loves how much larger he is than you and he makes sure he takes advantage of it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

-He loves to cum on your face. Its just so amusing to him when you get all embarrassed and flustered. The hazy, fucked out look in your eyes and his cum all over your face is one of his favorite things to see.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-He'd love to fuck you in his true form. You think that there's already a size difference now? Well wait until he fucks you in his true form not to mention having four arms rather than two can really come in handy when he's trying ruin you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

-I can imagine that back in the day, Sukuna had many concubines so of course he's got experience and he's actually quite cocky about it. He definitely knows what he's doing...

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

-Doggy. He doesn't really care about looking at your face or anything and when he fucks you from behind he can shove your face into the mattress and fuck you nice and deep from behind.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

-Nope. Not goofy at all. This man probably doesn't even know how to crack a joke normally so trying to be humorous while you two are fucking...probably not gonna happen.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

-Honestly Sukuna probably doesn't care all that much but he may trim it every once in a while.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

-You would have to be very well liked by Sukuna to even get close to any sort of romanticism. He's always rough and fast, not really taking much time to revel in any "ushy gushy" feelings. However, he could be a tad bit more gentle if you begged him. Then he might take the time to be a bit more feely.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

-Doesn't masturbate often. I mean why should he when he has you? But he has a pretty high sex drive so sometimes he does but he'd much rather just rail you than use his hand.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-Size kink. Obviously. he just loves getting to loom over you, looking all big and scary. He also has a bit of a degradation kink. He loves to see you stumbling over your words while he calls you a "his favorite slut" or "pretty little whore" and whatnot. He can be mean ngl.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

-This man does NOT care. Unlike other people, Sukuna has no shame and quite literally gives no fucks. If someone walks in on you two, he does not care and if anything it makes him feel more cocky about the whole situation. So he doesn't really have a "favorite spot". Anywhere will do.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

-He likes some feistyness. He likes it when you act like a brat because that really gets him going and gives him an excuse to just absolutely rail you. Or you could always wear something a bit more skimpy to get his attention.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

-Hate so say it, but this man refuses to be a bottom. Period, end of story. He just won't do it. Anything that makes him lose control, he's not into.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

-Receiving 100%. He loves throat fucking and is absolutely merciless when you decide to go down on him. He just wants to see you choke and cry when you try to take him in your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-You all know the drill. This man is fast and rough. I don't think he really knows the meaning of "slow and sensual". He has very little patience so going slow is not something he really likes to do.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

-He is totally fine with quickies. In fact I think he likes them. They get the job done and relieve him of some pent up energy. Though I don't think they'd be often. He is a god. He's got all the time in the world so he never really has to have quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

-As i've said before he doesn't care about risking it. he'll fuck anywhere and I think he actually likes the risk aspect of it. When it comes to experimenting he's not so eager. He's kind of straightforward when it comes to fucking and doesn't feel the need to experiment. But if you brought up something that peaks his interest then he may consider trying something new.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-I don't even know how long he'd be able to last but it would be a long time. Sukuna has been around for a ridiculous amount of time, he's the King of Curses...I think he'd enough stamina to last a while.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

-He does not own any toys and I don't think he'd be keen on using them. Why do you want to use toys when you have him? Of course, you could always show him just how fun they can be and that might get him on board with the idea.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-OH HE IS SUCH A TEASE. if he's in a mood he will not hesitate to edge you or tease you with your own orgasm. Remember, he likes to be mean and if he's feeling extra he might make you wait. He'll get himself off and then tease you until you start begging.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

-He's not loud when it comes to moans and groans but he's got a big mouth. He's constantly talking and uttering things under his breath, whether that be petnames, degrading remarks, or demands, he's always got his mouth running.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

-He would never admit it but he likes it when you leave scratches down his back. After he's done fucking you and he can feel a little sting on the skin of his back, he looks in the mirror and finds red marks trailing up and down his back. It kind of inflates his ego and he knows he fucked you good when he walks out of the room with an scratched up back.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-I am too scared to say how big but I think we can all agree that this man is huge. Taking him would be a tad bit painful and lets hope he preps you enough beforehand.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high. He honestly doesn't even need a reason to fuck you, he's constantly horny at this point lmao-

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

-He probably waits for you to fall asleep first. His reason being, he doesn't want to pass out before you and seem all soft and vulnerable. Plus, he can't lie to himself, sometimes when he looks at you while you sleep, you look so cute...

[pruneunfair]

The advantage of being a OI protagonist.

So I just started reading this manhwa called from maid to queen. As the title suggests it's a regression story about a maid who became a concubine and is set on trying again to live comfortably by making slightly different decisions to get there. Urania still wants to be the concubine and barely gives a damn about the queens feelings on the matter since the queen was a psycho to her in her first life.

I only read 3 chapters so far and almost immediately I thought "Huh, she kinda reminds me of Rashta." And it turns out I wasn't the only one who thought that, a few of the top comments were pointing out the similarities and it escalated to debates on double standards and perspective. The common argument that came up was "But Urania is good and the queen is being evil, Navier never tormented Rashta so it's not the same."

That's when it hit me, Navier is the protagonist of her central girlboss story so naturally you'd want to root for her and not the opposing woman, as I've said time and time again the authors of remarried empress did that by progressively dumbing Rashta down as a villainess but one so incompetent she was rendered a non-threat 90% of the time. With Rashtas evil and stupidity being exaggerated to a high degree, it would be hard to not look at Navier as the best one.

Now for Urania, she's in the position of the concubine that is often a hated role for a character to be in since she's considered a homewreaker but similarly to Rashta, it's hard to feel bad for the opposing woman, in this case: the queen, since she's described as sending her minions to torture Urania and likely was the one who got her executed in the first timeline so you wouldn't care that Urania was relishing as a concubine.

Thats what the advantage of being a Otome isekai protagonist has. They will almost always be guaranteed to look good when everyone else who opposes them gets progressively dumber and more wicked regardless if they are a concubine or the first wife. This isn't in every single manhwa but it is in a lot of them.

the same thing happens to this Isekai maid is forming a union. A common argument I see on reddit when it comes to critiquing it is how it overplayed how cruel OI protagonists and nobles are for maids to make you feel bad but in the stories Isekai maid calls out, the nobles always have a "good" reason to slap such as serving bad food or talking shit. Here's the thing though.. had it never crossed their minds that was the entire point of Isekai maids callouts, while it wasn't explained in early chapters it would be explained by the author that it makes little to no sense that the maids would risk their jobs and that it was just a quick way to make you feel bad for the FL. In those fantasy fufilment manhwas, you feel bad for the FL because the maids are bullying her and she's just defending herself but in Isekai maid union, the maids are realistic and just doing their jobs and the FL's jump to conclusions based on previous novels they read.

Most popular manhwa that involve workplace abuse, slavery, grooming and in rare cases: justified SA, always have some sort of reason ready to justify the FL/ML by making everyone else around them worse so they can look good.

What I'm trying to say is: of course Urania isn't gonna be as bad as Rashta, she's the protagonist so the author wants you to like her no matter what. The excuse of "but this character didn't do what that seperate character did-" to justify a protagonist acting similarly to an antagonist from another story is a poor one because the framing of those two stories are on the opposite ends of the spectrum.

[danmeiconfession]

My thoughts/rants aren't very coherent so just take it as me rambling instead lol .

 Although sj's treatment of lbh was awful, lbh is still sj's direct disciple and the matter of his discipline rests on sj, so it's awkward for outsiders to interfere. it's not right but hey neither is slavery or child marriage so them's the works.

LBH was free to leave Qing Jing Peak at any time - but perhaps not in his own mind. This is interesting bc imo him and sj never had a relationship where sj was gaslighting lbh into staying. in fact i'd say sj made it plenty clear he found lbh to be an eyesore but maybe in those years sj had some intermittent spots of mercy lbh latched onto and then just never gave up hope.

Unless, Well looking at SV canon and how the system didn't penalize sy for the medicine + carriage ride after sy explained his thought process, it wouldn't surprise me if those types of events happened with sj and lbg. if sj had to bring lbh out on a night hunt he prolly made sure lbh was patched up + looked presentable so he didn't ruin the cohesive aesthetic of his peak haha and well NYY is always a weak point. these things definitely wasn't usual but likely happened often -enough- for lbh to get his hopes up over and over .

As modern people, we of course abhor the way that LBH was treated and SQQ comes off as abusive and a slimy lecher. But by the standards of his own age, everything he's done is perfectly acceptable. In traditional Chinese philosophy, the teacher is like a father, and a father and a teacher can do whatever they want to their child / pupil. Even in modern China, teachers have been known to get away with beating their pupils. In the UK (where I'm from), it wasn't so long ago that teachers could cane their students and no one blinked an eye about parents beating their kids. Slavery, child marriage, selling your wife or daughter into prostitution, all of that was totally legal in ancient China.

I always thought it was strange that OG LBH fixated so much on SQQ that he tortured him so horribly, but there's no mention of him doing the same to everyone else who ever wronged him, no matter how small. I think being pushed into the Abyss the last straw but I also think the reason he so hard-wired to think of his Shizun as this unfeeling man and tortured him limbless is because He got rejected so many women like him but the one man he chased relentlessly for years for his eyes to even graze him he look the other way which is why I think his eye got taken out ?

After the loss of his mother, lbh expected to find a new family in qjp and a new parental figure in sj. The greater the expectation the greater the disappointment. obv jiumei is not in the right condition to play mother hen to anybody. | ಠ ∧ ಠ | but lil bingbing didn't know that and arguably maybe he understood his foster mother was treated bad bc she was a servant but he couldn't understand why sqq, an immortal cultivator, is so hellbent on bullying some unknown kid.

Also, why does it bug Binghe that much? Why was it brought up against SJ during his trial in Proud Immortal Demon Way? Maybe it's just critical research failure on Airplane's part, but in ancient China, visiting prostitutes was completely normal. Men could have multiples wives and concubines and sleep with their servants and go around to the local brothel. Visiting a prostitute was just a leisure activity.Like, t says something about Binghe's obsession with SQQ in PIDW that he's fixated on SQQ's alleged bedroom habits?

Of course we modern people and Luo Binghe have a right to be mad, but justice in ancient xianxia China is... putting it lightly, biased... This is a world that shrugs off almost any crime if your position is high enough.

100% LBH is right to be upset, but the problems run much deeper than SQQ, their whole world is rotten. Him being mad about SQQ yeeting him is kind of confusing, he's legit to be hurt about it but any Cultivator would have killed LBH on sight when he was revealed to be a demon, and a heavenly one at that.

Which is why i'm forgiving with Shen Jiu because why judge him from a lens from the modern viewpoint because on top of the shitty things that happened to his life him being an abusive teacher isn't really so damning when the entire Cultivation worls is corrupt??? In a way the original PIDW was a hypocritical abuse apologism story with the mentality that any abuse against the protag was unjust and wrong and any abuse he committed whether disproportionate or targeted at people who never did anything to him was righteous or deserved was a criticism of the stallion protags and that it was never equal to begin with Shen jiu never deserved such torture they were never on equal footings to begin with. Yeah, he was vicious but it hypocritical. I never took Shen Yuan being with Binghe as a reward but a punishment for being such a troll and idol-obsessed that he ended up with Bingmei dude. Sorry if ending up with a mentally ill man and one who sa him and only cared for his own needs during the act with no regard for their partner and i'm breaking yall illusion with this toxic ship.

Considering what went down with LQG and SJ when they where disciples it does seem like there is a lot of bullying. If PIDW is like other Xianxia novels, or even historical dramas then there is probably a lot of underhanded sabotage by students against one another. Many cultivation novels with sects have kids fight over food and resources and if you can't cut it then you leave or you languish. A peak like SQQs may well have such things as part of their education because it's a strategist and scholarly peak, any student who couldn't figure out how to sabotage rivals, curry favor with the right people, manipulate, info gather, and navigate dangerous political situations on top of doing well in normal studies wouldn't fair well in such a place. - I doubt this to be the case in canon as SQQ is supposed to be a scum villain but its fascinating to speculate.

In a way Binghe is weird he thinks more in terms of a modern person I guess in a meta way? Because... He isn't special .It always strikes me as funny that LBH apparently like, idk, despite also being native to the culture is upset by it? as if he wanted more from specifically from SQQ? bc he wanted SQQ to find him special? meta hand-of-god type stuff where LBH accidentally has a more modern attitude bc of the way he was written?

Hell, his 300 wives scream self-enforced heterosexuality. like some DEEP repression and distraction.Ur telling me this guy fought more powerful sect masters, demon lords, survived assassinations but the mean teacher deserved prolonged torment.

If only Shen jiu played up the role as a mother things wouldn't have escalated lol. Freud should study Binghe though cause damn his mother issues run deep. His father though he doesnt give a damn and is detached from him but when it comes about the jade pendant youre basically finished. feeling the hots for ssq was part of the mommy issues lbh had lmao

.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

-Ode to Grief #3-

The concubine and the musician passed each other outside the king's bedchamber. It was past midnight. The musician was on his way in, and the concubine was on her way out. Both were carted around in a litter, although for very different reasons. 

Gao Jianli could not see her, but he knew a woman was there. He could smell her perfume and hear the creak of the sandalwood chair bouncing in time to the eunuchs’ footsteps. Her chair had only four pallbearers. Gao Jianli's had eight. That probably meant something, although he did not want to dwell on it. 

He wished desperately that he could see her face, to know what she might be thinking. How he wished to see a face. Anyone's face. 

The King of Qin amused himself liberally with the women, but they were never permitted to stay the night. He slept alone and kept a sword by his side. Gao Jianli knew this because the king had swung the sword at his face the first time he entered his bedchamber--to check that he was really blind. And he was, of course, so he hadn't flinched or even understood what was happening until a lock of his hair had fallen at his feet. 

The king had relaxed after that, and thus began their present arrangement. Gao Jianli would arrive every night, kneel at the foot of the king’s bed and play for hours and hours on end, not leaving until dawn crept in, the crickets fell silent, and the birds picked up their chorus.

It was not wholly accurate to say that the king slept with no one. He slept with Gao Jianli—and the musician suspected that he could not sleep without Gao Jianli. 

The king was drafting bills at his desk when Gao Jianli was announced and ushered inside. He could hear the rattling of the bamboo and the whisper of the brush. The faint smell of perfume still lingered in the room. 

"Ah, good evening, Court Composer! No, no, please don’t ke tou. I’ve told you, it makes me feel stupid when people do that while I’m in my underwear.” The servants led Gao Jianli to his designated mat. Another handed him the zhu--which had been locked away and inspected every night--and he clung to it like a drowning man finding flotsam. The bamboo drumstick and taunt silk strings had become the only things that felt real in this terrifying new world of shades and vertigo. He only felt whole when his instruments were safely in his hands.

“How do you like your new clothes?" said the king. 

"I’m sure they’re splendid, Your Highness, but I’m afraid their beauty is lost on me.”

The king laughed, “I mean, how do they feel? Are they comfortable? Easy to move in? I hope you don’t mind, but I had my tailor hem the coat a little higher than is proper so you wouldn’t trip over.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Your Highness,” Gao Jianli ran his hands over the zhu's wooden belly, checking it for any dents and scratches. 

“The colour is very becoming. You look like a proper Sage of Music now.” 

“His Highness does me too much honour,” No, no, no! Someone had tuned it wrong! The fourth string was painfully over-drawn, and Gao Jianli quickly eased it back, letting out a sigh of relief as the instrument was returned to its proper state. 

“I say! It’s drafty in here, isn’t it?” The king rose and bustled about the room. Moments later, something soft and heavy was draped over Gao Jianli’s shoulders—one of the duvets from the bed. The smell of perfume was stronger now. A large wooden table was dragged over to his left side, plates rattling. “Would you like a snack? Let’s see, there’s beef, lamb, swan, wild boar, abalone, shark-fin…Please stop and rest as often as you wish—good health isn’t something gold can buy, you know!” 

“I don’t want to eat.” 

“Some tea, then,” the king poured him a cup and blew on it gently, “careful, it’s still quite hot.”  

------------------------ [small pov shift! I'm going to try write this part with QSH's voice. lets see if all that roleplaying helped!] 

The king settled back down at the desk and picked up his brush, although he was far too eager to resume his work. He watched Gao Jianli tune his instrument from the corner of his eye and played a little game with himself; what would the Sage of Music entertain him with tonight? The Kingdom of Yan, for all its sickening frivolity and excess, produced extraordinary artists. The fact that he had acquired their best and brightest star was just further proof of heaven's favour. 

The musician shunned the stand, preferring to balance the zhu on his knees. One of his little idiosyncrasies. It muffled the sound somewhat, softening each note into something indescribably sweet and inviting. 

Gao Jianli bowed his head, was still for a long moment, and did something he’d never done before. He opened his mouth and began to sing. 

The king was rather taken aback. Unlike his legendary skills with the zhu, Gao Jianli’s voice was not a thing of breathless beauty or a technical marvel. It was reedy and feeble, fluttering like a moth in the vast, high-walled bedroom. He had obviously been crying—again--and his nose was stuffy. And yet, the sound was still utterly bewitching. The king sat forwards, his hands upon the desk, struggling to catch the words. 

Wait. This was his song! Gao Jianli was singing Without Clothes, the Qin battle anthem. It was a simple, stout chant signifying the people’s willingness to go to war. The king had heard it sung by soldiers, a hundred thousand voices raised as one unified roar, fit to shake the heavens. He had never heard it sung like this, had never heard anything like this. This fervent, tearful whisper. The low, agonised keening of an injured beast. Gao Jianli touched the strings as if he was afraid they might break. The zhu in his lap wailed and wailed like a lost child. He played like a man in his death throes, gutted and slowly bleeding out. 

“How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my coat with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll prepare my axe and spear to fight with you.”

How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my shirt with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll prepare my spear and halberd to stand with you.

How can you say you have no clothes?  I’ll share my skirt with you. The king calls us to arms, I’ll don my armour and weapons to march with you. 

And just like that, the song was over, and the last note petered into silence. 

King Ying Zheng sat frozen in place, trembling from head to foot, unable to understand what he was feeling. His eyes stung, his throat ached as if it had been slit open, and his chest felt vice-tight. The closest he had ever felt like this was when that dagger-wielding madman chased him around the throne room, except this was much, much worse. It felt like someone had hacked off one of his limbs. Like a raw, jagged hole had been carved into his chest, leaving him hollow and so desperately empty. 

Ying Zheng’s first instinct was to have Gao Jianli dragged out and executed. No. That wasn’t enough. He needed to cut off the hands of every musician in the country and throw their instruments onto a flaming pyre. He was a fool to think he would be safe by taking Gao Jianli’s eyes. He should have torn out his tongue and locked that wretched thing away inside a box of salt, right next to Gao Jianli’s treacherous heart. 

“Play it again,” Ying Zheng said hoarsely. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“It can’t be done.”

The king’s voice was dangerously soft, “can’t be done, or you won’t do it?” 

“Both, I suppose.” 

Ying Zheng was on his feet, scattering the bamboo books and brushes with a clatter. Hearing the commotion, the guards rushed into the room. The king held them off. 

“I have been more than lenient with you, Court Composer,” he hissed. “I have spared your life and given you the honour of serving me. I shower you with gifts and treat you with every courtesy, yet you have shown me nothing but contempt. First, you sing this seditious song and now you dare to defy me. You will play it again. Your King commands it.” 

Gao Jianli sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, leaving a shiny trail of snot on the silk Ying Zheng had personally picked out for him. He was still weeping softly.

“Command the oceans to empty,” he said, “command the sun to run backwards in the sky. Command the dead to rise from their graves and bid them to speak. Once you have done all that, I will play this song again.” 

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

Notes: the emperor's shadow has reached into my brain and rearranged ALL my neurones. here is the song gao jianli is singing. As you can see, I've changed the words slightly because my focus is on flow rather than accuracy. the biggest change is "the king calls us to arms" I've done it to give the song more immediacy and also to reflect the intent of the original "the king is summoning eager warriors."

[dangermousie]

I love how straightforward he is with the fiancee but it's not going to help.

This is my favorite bit - she seems so outraged and shocked. Like - do tell why he can't fall for someone else? Does she really think she's so amazing that if she's around he can't see anyone else?

He tells her she will keep all her status and he will take all the blame on himself, even publicly, but of course that does not work for her. Also crazy granny wtf!!! I will never understand people who side with outsiders against their own supposed beloved family member but it happens often enough. Her great compromise of marrying Yiying as primary wife and woman Jing loves as a concubine (or co-wife at best) is nutso - yes she may not know that the woman he loves is of such status that she cannot be cowife, let alone a concubine, but she knows her grandson, does he seem like the person to agree to this? And also, didn't see see the tragedy that happened when Jing's daddy had more than one woman? Clearly she's learned nothing.

What's wrong? He doesn't fucking want it, that's what! And it would make all the women miserable too, you old bat! I do love that he is utterly ungiving in this but also, once again, this is such a female coded storyline and I love it.

Her setting out to make him jealous is so petty and delish...

But it's not just acting out, is it? A part of her is madly drawn to Vamp Boy. Maybe if she had a different childhood, she'd have been willing to risk it all for being with him but she can't and won't. The thing is, if he were willing to take her up, she'd probably run off with him but he can't and won't because out of everyone in this narrative, he is the most uncompromising idealist of a lost cause, he is driven by his mission and it does not matter how much he longs for her, he will never ever put her above it.

She is not willing to risk her heart; even someone as patient and devoted as Jing barely got into her heart, she will never be reckless enough to open herself to the world of hurt that would be being with Vamp Boy. But the interesting thing is that he may not be the one she loves (she won't let herself) but he is the most her mirror. I do love the intercut between her dancing at a party and his in yet another slaughter. They went through the same trauma as children, but because of their past before and events after, she heals and he kills...

[trickstarbrave]

i wrote more concubine au stuff.

this is part 2, you can find part 1 here

i dont know why this has such a vice grip on my brain

once again content warnings for abuse being discussed, sexual assaulted mentioned, slavery, drugs mentioned. that will prob be for the whole concubine au even tho its mostly horny shenanigans of acting like they are concubine and master

--

Voryn waited anxiously for Nerevar to wake up, looking over the report the healers gave him. 

After being stripped, Nerevar had far more injuries on him. A few burn marks. Whip marks that healed and scarred poorly. Heavy bruising both internal and external on his stomach from being kicked repeatedly. Showing some signs of malnutrition. His body also showed signs that he was developing a dependance on skooma and was also taking, as the healer noted, “some hack-job birth control potion no one should be drinking, let alone so often”. 

It made Voryn feel sick to his stomach. His bright, shining guard and closest friend had suffered so much--and for what? His heritage that he had no control over? Because some smug bastard saw his pretty face and wanted him all to himself? Had Voryn known this would happen, he wouldn’t have let Nerevar out of his sight. He would have sent Gilvoth away from the stronghold and kept Nerevar close. 

Of course, such feelings of anxiety, hatred, and a desire violence that had been stewing in him the past 24 hours were not just due to seeing his friend suffer. 

Gods, Voryn was heartbroken that the man he had been so painfully in love with had been hurt so severely. Voryn would have done anything to switch places--to bear that suffering in his stead. But then he felt selfish for feeling such a way. Was he truly angry that Nerevar suffered? Or was he subconsciously angry it meant he had even less of a chance to truly tell Nerevar how he felt and have a relationship with him? That only compounded his guilt and made him more miserable. Did he have a right to be so upset over what Nerevar went through? Was he overstepping boundaries? Being upset for all the wrong reasons? Voryn didn’t know. Perhaps he never would. 

“Lord Dagoth,” A healer came, giving a short bow. “Nerevar has awoken.” Those three words spurred him into action and terrified him all at once. Did Voryn have any clue what he was going to say to Nerevar? Not one. He had no idea how to approach this, what to say, or how to comfort him. Yet he found himself drawn to the room, unable to stop the hurried steps, anxiously and desperately wanting to be close to him again. 

The room was quiet as he entered. Nerevar laid there, eyes closed, but the position he was in and the faster rise and fall of his chest gave away that he wasn’t asleep. 

“Nerevar…” Voryn breathed, moving to kneel beside his bed before taking Nerevar’s hand carefully. In response, Nerevar gave a firm squeeze back, his eyes cracking open to look at Voryn. 

“... Hey.” Nerevar croaked, giving a half hearted grin. Voryn gave a soft smile back, his heart swelling. Gods, despite everything Nerevar was still the same, wasn’t he? Trying to grin and act strong and cunning, just as he always did. 

“How are you feeling?” Voryn asked, unsure of how to start the conversation. 

“... Like shit.” Nerevar sighed, closing his eyes again. “Nothing new with me lately though… I usually feel like shit when I wake up.” Nerevar smiled softly again, his thumb stroking against Voryn’s hand. “The healers gave me something for the pain so… Hopefully I’ll be feeling better soon.” 

“Gods do I hope so…” Voryn breathed, gingerly stroking some of the hair from his face. “Even with the healers you will need time to recover, so just for now… Focus on resting, alright?” Voryn would even join the healers if needed, making a variety of potions to help heal Nerevar’s body. But the most important thing he needed right now was rest—lots and lots of rest.

Nerevar shifted slightly with a soft groan. Voryn hushed him gently, helping him move to a more comfortable position. He was thankful he had them keep the lighting low, the curtains drawn shut and very few else. No doubt his head was throbbing after being so intoxicated.

“Did you… Kill the bastard?” Nerevar asked, his voice quiet.

“The Morag Tong took care of it.” Voryn answered. “Perfectly legal and above board. Though I doubt House Dres will kick a fuss about him being dead.”

Nerevar gave a heavy sigh, though Voryn could tell it wasn’t in relief. His face was still twisted in the way it always was when he was thinking over a difficult problem.

“If it were that easy I would have just murdered him and run away.” Voryn raised an eyebrow. He had assumed the man was careful around Nerevar, keeping him bound in chains until he was physically too weak to put up a fight. If Nerevar had the chance to kill him and run, he thought Nerevar would have taken it. “Legally though, I am a slave.” He sounded disgusted saying such a thing. 

“What happened exactly?” Voryn asked, now eager to hear the full story. If there was a problem with their situation, full context would help him sort it out rather than leaving Nerevar to stew on it.

“I went to the mainland looking for work. Ran into my uncle who was working as a scribe or something for some nobles. He seemed to feel rather guilty about just up and leaving me in Kogoruhn, so he offered a bed for a few days while I looked for work…” Nerevar sighed.

“Had he been lying?”

“No—no, he was being honest. I stayed. Had some food. We discussed my mother a bit but to be honest I didn’t want to find out all that much about her or anything.” Nerevar’s mother was a sore spot for him. All he knew was she just left to go hunting one day and never came back without giving him so much as a goodbye. He didn’t have many fond memories of her because of this, and didn’t enjoy talking about her. “But it seems my stay managed to piss off the Ra’athim noble he worked for. He ended up getting stabbed—non lethally at least—for hiding me. I ended up in chains the second I woke up in my shitty little apartment I rented.”

“And they shipped you off to House Dres.”

“Exactly.” Nerevar groaned. “That bastard Anaryl was the first noble to look at me. He thought he might be able to just send me to the saltrice plantations or even force me to work as a guard, but during my… ‘Physical’,” Nerevar nearly gagged just saying that word. Voryn didn’t need to be told the details—they likely had him stripped down in front of the noble without even a thread to cover him. “He took a… Special interest in me we’ll say and decided to take me home.”

He no doubt saw Nerevar as some kind of fetish and conquest, something that made Voryn’s blood boil. But he tried to remain calm, letting Nerevar continue.

“After that I tried nearly everything to get away. Tried sneaking out. Tried bribing guards with sex. Bribing city guards—fucking anything…” Nerevar put his arm over his eyes, looking ashamed and defeated. “They didn’t help me out, not out of fear of Anaryl--they refused because they knew the other House Dres nobles would come after them if they did. Anaryl could die a thousand deaths or even be murdered by some skooma addict in broad daylight and they wouldn’t give a shit. But they did care about keeping me in chains.”

“Why you in particular…?”

“The Ra’athim clan took a pretty big offense to me going free, I guess.” Nerevar sighed. “Or at least that noble had a major stick up his ass… He paid them good money and told them if I’m seen walking free there would be hell to pay. Said it was disgraceful I was allowed to serve as a free guard for a great house and got tutored alongside their young lord.” Voryn’s eyebrow twitched, more rage bubbling away inside him. They were using the fact he cared for Nerevar against him, trying to punish him further all because Voryn didn’t see him as lesser. 

Perhaps if Voryn hadn’t been so attached and affectionate, this wouldn’t have happened. But Voryn refused to dwell on that thought, shoving it aside. He refused to blame himself for this. How was it his fault he wanted to be with his friend? That he had a crush on the white haired chimer with such a mischievous little smile and even more sly personality? It wasn’t. It was the stupid, bitter Ra’athim clan who clung onto blood purity like the foolish Altmer in the isles their people left long ago. They saw Nerevar—a gorgeous, intelligent, powerful mer—and decided his existence disproved their warped ideology, so they wanted to bring him low.

“And after my constant attempts at breaking out, I made more than a few enemies among the Dres nobles…Not to mention some others in the house are starting to speak up against slavery, which is threatening their profits.” Nerevar made a disgusted look. “You killing Anaryl they’ll have no problems with, especially with the guild. They expected him to die sooner or later. What they will have a problem with is you stealing a high value, expensive slave of theirs and trying to set him free. They’ll take it personally, and march up here ready to drag me back.”

“They—“ Voryn opened his mouth to snap that they would take Nerevar over his dead body, but he knew this was more serious than that. If this had been the Telvanni they would have let it go. Voryn killed a man and took what he was owed. If they found traces linking Voryn back to the ‘theft’ he could offer a trade to have them look the other way: spell scrolls, ancient tomes, some dirt on enemies, Dwemer metal, or even just gold depending. But House Dres were stubborn and would appeal to the courts rather than sort it out themselves. And Voryn knew legally they would win that case, regardless of what he wanted. Voryn would be let go with nothing more than a slap on his wrist given his status, but they would drag Nerevar back and punish him even more.

“… What do you suggest?” Voryn asked, his voice low once more, now hollow. He thought he had done everything right: he found Nerevar, killed the man holding him, and brought him to safety. He couldn’t bear having Nerevar ripped from his arms again.

“… I had a few plans in mind.” Nerevar began, removing his arm. “Very specific plans I was never able to put into motion, but now with some freedoms… They may work, though they’re less ideal.”

Of course. Clever, clever Neht would have been thinking ways out of this.

“What plan do you think would be the best?” Voryn asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll make sure it happens.”

Nerevar gave another long, drawn out sigh, closing his eyes.

“House Dres won’t stand to let me go free.” He began. “And they didn’t think highly of Anaryl, not trusting his judgment.” No doubt if Dres Anaryl hadn’t been the first person to lay eyes on Nerevar, the rest of the nobles wouldn’t have let Nerevar fall into his hands. “But we can use that against them.”

“How so?” Voryn raised an eyebrow.

“You can forge documents that make it look like he sold you to me.” Voryn blinked. “They’d have less of a legal case against you. The only problem will be they’d doubt it, and want to see it in person.” Voryn had to pause his thinking, letting the sentence sink in. Just as it was dawning on him what Nerevar was suggesting, Nerevar continued. “They might try to claim it’s fake at first and catch you out on it, but if they see you treating me like a slave and concubine, they’ll have even less in court.”

It was true. Even if they tried to take it to court, any judge would roll their eyes and send them out. Voryn would have the slave paperwork in order, no witnesses to the ‘deal’ being made, and treated Nerevar as a slave. As far as the court would be concerned, they’d have no proof of actual theft. Dres Anaryl was sometimes quite foolish, making poor deals or losing coin gambling. They can dislike it all they want, but as far as a judge would be concerned they would just be making a fuss over a shitty deal Anaryl made himself, throwing around accusations to try and double cross Voryn.

“Not to mention, since I’m disliked by several of them,” Nerevar continued, “They’d probably get a sick thrill knowing my ‘former friend’ bought me and was using me. To the point they’d laugh it off and go home, regardless of if you ‘stole’ me or not.” Another valid point, using their own sadism against them would be beneficial. There was only one problem with the plan that had Voryn so tense:

It meant treating Nerevar as a concubine. Flirting with him, touching him, kissing and groping at him… Probably more, to make it seem convincing. 

What torture it would be to have to touch and hold the man he loved dearly, but have to act like he didn’t mean it in private. Would he be able to stay sane? Would the mask slip? 

No. Voryn couldn’t afford to worry about that now. He could unpack it later, deal with it on his own time. Right now this was their safest bet to keep Nerevar safe. Once they left, Nerevar could enjoy a few years of peace in Kogoruhn before they figured out a new act to allow Nerevar freedom.

“… If you think it would be for the best,” 

“Voryn,” Nerevar reached over, taking his hand once again and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If you don’t want to, I can think of something else.”

“No no,” Voryn shook his head, “Your plan is sound. If anything I’m just… Afraid I’ll hurt you more in our act. That’s all.” He could give a little white lie. Say he was only concerned for Nerevar’s sake alone.

Nerevar gave another soft smile, warmth dancing in his eyes. “We can take some precautions.” Nerevar reassured him. “Lay down some ground rules of what’s completely off the table. Get a safe word or two. Not to mention practice before they come knocking at our door.”

Ah, already the word ‘our’ was making Voryn’s heart flutter. But he shoved that feeling down; he could savor that tender affection for later, in the privacy of his own room.

“Well, I’m certainly thankful I was trained in seduction and torture then.” Voryn joked, earning a snort from Nerevar. “I suppose those skills will finally be of use.”

“I guess they will.” Nerevar gave a lopsided grin back, before reaching out to affectionately stroke Voryn’s cheek. “… I also trust you more than anyone.” Nerevar’s voice was soft and tender now, vulnerable. “I know you’ll take care of me and protect me.”

“I will.” Voryn swore, holding Nerevar’s hand to his cheek. “I’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll figure out our roles and how we’ll act once you’ve healed up and I’ve sorted out the paperwork.” Voryn could have kissed Nerevar from how beautiful he looked with that expression, but he held himself back. Instead he savored the feeling of Nerevar’s hand against his face, resolving himself to do everything to keep Neht here, right where he belonged.

[morethanaloveinterest]

A Delighted Look at the Costumes in Mulan (1998)

Let's talk about all of Mulan's costumes in the 1998 Disney movie and how they reflect the story.

This is what Mulan is wearing the first time we see her - presumably, they are her pajamas. The light color is youthful and makes for a good introduction to a character who is going to grow up through the events of the film.

Female Representation: 10/10 Nightwear is often an excuse to sexualize women, but fortunately that doesn't happen here (it is Disney, after all).

Practicality: 10/10 It looks very comfortable for sleeping! Basically what I wear, to be honest.

Here we see her in her full bride outfit. Since her getting dressed is part of a montage, I really like seeing the effort that went into designing all of the layers. I also like that her sleeves are too long, a problem the other ladies do not seem to have (indicating how she does not fit in here).

Female Representation: 10/10 I'm mainly comparing this to Jasmine or Pocahontas, honestly, and this is much better. This makes for a great costume for little girls and is not sexualized at all (despite Asian women often being sexualized in western filmmaking).

Practicality: 8/10 Obviously the intention is to look ornamental more than do anything practical. And, as I mentioned, her sleeves are a problem even as the scene progresses. So it's gorgeous but not the most practical overall.

This is her armor - well, her father's armor, presumably. I can't speak to the historical accuracy or whatever, but I think it's nice that she and the three main soldiers we meet have different colors to their outfits so we can keep track of them easily. I like that it has a similar design to her bride outfit without the same silhouette.

Female Representation: 10/10 To quote an iconic tweet, "it's armor. it's on a woman. It doesn't have to look feminine." So yeah it's great, definitely not an excuse to gaze at her, you know?

Practicality: 10/10 It looks like great armor, certainly of equal quality to everyone else's.

Here is what Mulan is wearing during training - it seems to be what she wears under her armor, but it's not clear. The color also changes a bit when we see her, with it sometimes looking almost white or even dark gray (she could have more than one, of course). Again the style is similar to her more feminine attire, but with more masculine touches.

Female Representation: 10/10 As with above, it could certainly be that a lady wearing man's clothes is male-gaze-y. It's not here, which is great.

Practicality: 10/10 This seems to be very practical for training and she wears it during a lot of the climax, which makes sense. It's lightweight compared to her armor but also allows for horseback riding and things.

Finally, she wears this costume when impersonating a concubine to infiltrate the palace. It looks a great deal like her bride outfit, but with some obvious changes to make it fancier (such as the belt or the shoulders). More importantly, it reads as a bit more masculine than her bride costume, which matches how she's found balance between the two in her own life.

Female Representation: 10/10 Given that this is something a concubine is apparently wearing, it's really fantastic. Not sexualized at all!

Practicality: 9/10 The sleeves are less of a problem and she does all kinds of running around in it. I assume the previous outfit she wore while training would be better, but only barely.

Mulan video out now!

For more of my thoughts about female characters, find me on Youtube 

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

Iron Widow, Chapters 1-5

Wu Zetian is a vicious woman and I love it. I adore it.

I can appreciate a main character that's a little bit feral. It's hardly like she's wrong to be so, either. She lives in an extremely misogynist society, her feet have been broken and bound into "lotus feet", and her sister was killed. Used as energy to power a giant mech that fights alien bugs. I think, though, that while these all might be reasons for her attitude, I don't think they're the end-all be-all, as though she were a perfectly docile women enriched in feminine manner before. No, I think her internal drive, her anger, all of it are intrinsically herself.

Important because these are nominally masculine traits that I haven't often seen depicted in a female lead. Usually I tend to see the modern-typical example of fantasy womanhood, that of competence, coolness, a collected attitude over a mental storm. It's anecdotal, I totally admit, but my experience so far with our heroine has been so refreshing for my personal reading life that I can't help but bring it up. I wonder, a bit idly, if Author Zhao's editor often argued with them about Zetian's character. If whomever was overseeing was worried that Zetian would come off as "bitchy" or "unlikable". Something I've seen a time or seven when a lady character expresses herself in any way that is less than perfectly "reasonable".

In a book so steeped in gender and its roles, it's hard not to talk about its parallels in the real world. I expect I'll have much to say about it down the line, as well.

For the rest, the substance of the story, I want to say that I appreciate the kind of earnestness Author Zhao presents their world with. It's a bombastic, vibrant, up-front world. The last thing I would expect from a book is a type chart that shows the five elements' strengths and weaknesses on the front page. The mechs transform in response to spiritual energy, and their forms are shown int he first pages. Ah! It tickles me how unapologetically fucking radical it is. So far there have been no long sermons on why having animal mechs that become bipeds are tactically the best choice for humanity's defense, and I hope there never is. I'm with you, I am along for this ride, my disbelief is liberated from my body by sheer force of my love for giant robots.

For the meat of what's happened, as I've said, Zetian's sister has been killed. Her spiritual energy was used up by Yang Guang to pilot the Nine-Tailed Fox. This is seen as business-as-usual by everyone in society, even Zetian's own family. And it is frustratingly heartbreaking that it's so, everyone seems to be on the page that this was the best possible thing she could have done with her life. To be fuel. Because isn't it? Isn't it better to give up a life to the Prince-class Pilot than let the Hundun threat breach the wall?

No. No, not in the slightest. Not even a little bit. Because the truth is that she never gave her life willingly, the society around her told her, her entire life, that it was all she was worth. That's not a choice, nor a noble sacrifice. It's a tragedy that these women are all doing this, clinging to the faintest hope they'll be a Balanced Match when they're given over as Concubine to a pilot.

Yizhi, ah you sweet boy. He wants nothing more than to save Zetian's life. There's no way she'll ever assassinate Yang Guang and come out alive. But the fact of the matter is that Zetian doesn't want to live under this system anymore, doesn't want to deal with the inevitable pile of bullshit that would fall on her and him. She's poised, hairpin in hand, to strike at everything shes grown to hate. Yizhi can do nothing about it at this point, even if they could have had a quiet life. But of course they can't, and not just because of Zetian's decision, or because Yizhi didn't "fight hard enough" for her. Their entire society set this split into motion, and it's all the more sad for it.

And all the more gross when we meet with the selection process for a new Concubine Pilot. It's exactly what you expect. They're all told to, in essence, be emotionally responsible for Yang Guang. To comfort him, to give him anything he wants, even their bodies. Even their minds. Seeing as how piloting is a melding of minds, after a fashion. Be meek and submit, they all say. I find it no surprise that the very picture of this "ideal submissive woman" was Zetian's biggest obstacle to getting picked. Xiao is everything Zetian isn't, all her fierceness is in guarding the system built to use her, and she folds to the words of authority in moments. It's why Zetian is ultimately picked, she'll be interesting for awhile and then, like all the rest, she'll be gone. Sooner the less fun prettyboy Yang has, I presume.

It might be the very battle that starts now.

[spikewriter]

I am continuing my journey through Empress of China. It is not great TV. The costumes are certain worth the viewing because they are outrageously over the top, but 45 episodes in, it's pretty obvious that's where most of the money went. The script is pedestrian, often resembling the type of plots one would see on Dynasty back in the day. (There are cultural and trope differences but mean girls are mean girls, no matter where they are.)

Wu Mei Niang, who becomes Wu Zetian, the only empress regnant in China's history, has amazing plot armor, often doing incredibly stupid things that have no real consequences to her (or only temporary ones), or throwing herself into situations where it doesn't make sense for her to be there. In the episodes I'm currently watching, she's managed to go join Emperor Taizong on campaign. In armor. Really nice armor.

The Emperor's isn't bad, but for something she just happened to fit into, it's pretty spiff.

Of course, the series was designed as a vehicle for Fan BingBing, who was riding high as a star in China, and folks were tuning in to watch the costumes and the overwrought drama. (Seriously, how many ways are there to make a rival concubine miscarry?)

But I'm also sensing a pacing issue. The series has 82 episodes (originally 96, but that version is not available). Which means, at episode 46, I'm over halfway through and Emperor Taizong is still around. Wu Mei Niang still needs to go to a monastery following his death, return to court, become Emperor Gaozang's chief wife (after getting the existing empress deposed), start to handle things for him, and then take over from her son, Emperor Zhongzong, and reign on her own for 15 years.

She was part of Taizong's harem for 11 years (having entered the palace in 638 at about 14 and Taizong died in 649), and was with Gaozang for 32 years, then held power for another 22 years until her final illness and removal from power. But at 46 episodes, we're not through that original 11 years yet, so how much time will we have for the other 54, or will they simply stop as she becomes Wu Zeitan? Also, the series is pushing Taizong as the big love of her life, when there's very little evidence she slept with him maybe more than once. In fact, there is more evidence she had an affair with Crown Prince Li Zhi during the last years of Taizong's life. Which is why Li Zhi had her brought back to court from the Buddhist monastery where she and other concubines who hadn't borne children were sent after Taizong's death. So it's pretty obvious her actual rise to power is going to get short shrift in the remaining 36 episodes. But, if you're watch for the amazing costumes and Mean Girls drama, I suppose the politics of being the only woman to run the country in your own name isn't as exciting.

[suna-reversed]

𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

toji fushiguro x reader

You could have anyone you want

Why would you want to be with me?

I’m nothing special

WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!

my fic for the “great conjunction collab”

Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)

𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙

It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.

And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.

He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked. 

𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness. 

The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-

“Ah!” 

You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked. 

Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own. 

You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.

You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face. 

𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

“Toji”

He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.

“Toji-”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.  

He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife. 

He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner. 

“Look-”

Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to. 

He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain. 

You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you. 

Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.

He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked, 

“You ever visited the countryside princess?” 

--

You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body. 

You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else. 

The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.

You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight. 

Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.  

You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be. 

You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place. 

He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.

As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled. 

𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed. 

Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours. 

This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface. 

You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone. 

You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees. 

He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead. 

He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.

Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were. 

The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head. 

You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds. 

“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”

You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside. 

“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.

“You can take it- fuck just let me-”

He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.

The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.

You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.

“Call me selfish-”  

A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,

 “... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.

You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess. 

The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state- 

“Oh-”

Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined. 

“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?” 

How could he have not smiled right back at you. 

𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚

Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.

 Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.

Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.

He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.

He sighs. 

You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life. 

He had thrown his head back and laughed. 

“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”

You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks. 

He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled. 

“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”

He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.

He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.

The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,

while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,

this is not a joke, love me, love me.

𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.

You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in. 

There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.

You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head. 

You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else. 

Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited-  for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.

Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.

----

The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most. 

The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery. 

You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last. 

𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩

Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged. 

He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-

Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.

No-

He must be hallucinating- 

But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state- 

And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-

“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.” 

A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside. 

—

How do you kill a god? 

You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven. 

How do you kill a god?

It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.

How do you kill a god? 

Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.

𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.

Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips, 

How do you become a god?

The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.

All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.

All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you. 

How do you become a god?

There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.

How do you become a god?

You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne. 

—

He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.

Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here. 

Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth. 

But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through. 

Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.

He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this. 

The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body, 

“I need to pee.” 

You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business. 

The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days, 

“I hate you.”

You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact. 

“I know.”

—

It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.

He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.

Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip. 

Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him. 

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.

You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.

You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.

You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this? 

It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.

He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff. 

His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him. 

You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow. 

The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights. 

Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life. 

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.

The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m tired of being a god.” 

He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.

“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.” 

And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste. 

“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”

Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth. 

The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply. 

He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier. 

You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest. 

This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection. 

“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.” 

His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.

His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine. 

-

The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked. 

You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?

This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.

Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why. 

“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.” 

It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him. 

“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.” 

That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind. 

--

It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun. 

You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.  

She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now. 

Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair. 

After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.

© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.

credit- prompt list

taglist-@captainmads2092 @mahitochan @nakachuchu @bakugohoex @jotazinha @osmosly @avasparks @p-each-y-day @lilshortcakess @saturnmoon @deary-darling @menaintshit23 @tobidabio @sukuna5slut @instantnuma @kuroshitsujjiii @half-baked-biscuit @duskamethyst @sukumen @radishfern

[rueluxprince]

Different taboo topics between English and Chinese fandoms

Because of course there is, different cultural context, different things people find abhorrent, and so one must take extra care not to go all “if you don’t also find the things I find disgusting, then you are being disgusting” when one is entering into a fandom that was not of your culture. *nudge* *nudge*

Case in point: Chinese fandom, does not really care if you ship incest, or underage. They really don’t give a shit. Yeah the shippers wouldn’t do it in real life, but if someone does an incest side-pairing in a fantasy webnovel the readers wouldn’t bat an eye. Like, Thor/Loki is still one of the biggest ships in Chinese pop culture today, while Thor is Patron God of Lesbians in the West with no prominent ship of his own. MCU!Peter Parker/Tony Stark is also pretty huge there, while in the West those two are kept strictly familial. And that’s not counting the literal thousands of Chinese webnovels with the specific trope of “old and wise master raises poor but cute disciple, disciple grows to want to top his master.”

Even when Jin Guangyao’s various crimes were revealed, the fact he accidentally married his biological half-sister had the smallest splash. His stans didn’t really care and proceeded to make a lot “Qin Su: I am his First and Proper Wife until my death! And you! Lan Xichen! Will forver remain his side piece!” crack fanfics. His antis mostly focused on his murders. No one really dragged him for that? It won him a lot of pity points actually? Whereas here there were a lot of Horrifed Gasping when that plot was revealed.

(Sidenote: incest ships depends also depends on the chemistry of the characters, like you would with any other ship. Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian is decently big in China, in the West not so much. But no one anywhere really pairs Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian together, or her and Jiang Cheng. The latter two ships is way too familial and filial to even be conceivably turned romantic.)

On the other hand, Chinese fandom does not take to polyamory or polygamy or even “I had previous relationships before I entered this one where the plot things started happening.” They do not like it. The ship must be exclusive and monogamous. One of them can have some previous relationships but the audience will hold that as a black mark against their soul forever onwards. Seriously. To the point where a character who had several previous romances is often used as a narrative shorthand to show how horrible a person they are.

Again: platonic 3zun, decently popular in China. Romantic polyamorous 3zun, does not exist, a blasphemy to even suggest it. You are either a Nieyao or a Xiyao or a Nielan. You are either Stony or Stucky or WinterIron, you pick a lane and you stick to it. No Chinese fan will ever suggest “just do a threesome.” Absolutely not. Inconceivable. They will send you puking emojis and “I’ll book a psychologist appointment for you” gifsets.

(Sidenote: legit. I watched this C-Drama called Love is Sweet in October and the love triangle follows this phenomenon almost exactly. There were solid foundations for the main girl to go with either the male lead or the second male lead or for the two men to come together. Good basis for a poly ship right? Well. I’ve found exactly one fanfiction that had those three be in a poly romance, and it’s on Ao3 and in English. Everywhere in Chinese? Three different monogamous ships producing their own fan edits and fanfictions, ignoring the other two completely. Seeing this unfold in real life is extremely trippy tbh.)

And I honestly have no idea how to dissect this. The closest explanation (read: bullshiting) I have is that fanworks and fandom activities and shipping are largely driven by women, and whom, unconsciously or otherwise, chose to back away from the deeply ingrained cultural harm their fandom taboos has historically wrought upon them.

Historically, in the West, it was socially acceptable or even encouraged for close cousins to marry (hello Hapsburg family, honestly all the European nobility. Also Darwin, he did that too). While in Ancient China it was never socially or even legally acceptable (you can’t marry your cousin if they are related to you in three generations. So if you share the same great-grandparent, no can do. And they would know. One does not mess with Ancient Chinese record keeping.)

Whereas in the West, Europe and North America, monogamy was largely the norm for marriage. The nuclear family is the staple. Husband and wife and not legally recognized mistress on the side if the husband is a bit of an asshole. In China, polygamy was the norm. Men could have as many concubines as they could afford, Qianlong Emperor had close to forty. There are also inheritance laws and ceremonial regulations and all manner of legal rules giving them legal status. And the wife would have to tough it out and bear it and be nice to them, or else they are labeled as “jealous” and “not a good wife” and that is enough grounds for a divorce.

And as the modern fandom is often a place where anti-culture scenarios and relationships are imagined and interrogated, it can be argued that fandoms from different cultures have different taboos because they grew as backlash to different historically oppressive cultural practices.

[angry-geese]

Sukuna requests. S/o makes fun of him all the time, calls him weak, etc. What nobody knows at the beginning is that s/o is significantly stronger than sukuna

The Definition of Human - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: some swearing but its pretty tame. mention of death, and violence. Sukuna kind of needs his own warning. sfw. gn!reader.

a/n: as much as i love the idea of sukuna being soft for his human s/o i also love the thought of them being much stronger than him and him having no clue what do to with that

Word Count: 2.1k

You were just a sorcerer when he first met you, barely an adult, cast out by your village.

Someone so powerful hadn't been born for centuries. A sorcerer like you could turn the world of Jujutsu on its head. And that was the last thing they wanted to happen. The older you grew, the more unpredictable you became. You were far too strong for the village elders to handle. While you could have been a powerful ally, you would have been an even worse foe. The very people that had raised you, who taught you how to use your powers had begun to fear you.

Though you weren't trussed up like a sacrifice, you were sat by one of his altars like one.

It was only by chance you stumbled across such a thing. The surrounding woods were vast, and winding. No matter what path you took, you always seemed to wind back up by them. Perhaps it was a work of sorcery, meant to keep you lost in the woods forever. No trail seemed to lead back home. The village elders never expected you to last long on your own against the elements, let alone the King of Curses. But growing exhausted, and hungry, you had little choice but to stop and rest. The altar had offerings in the form of food, and a place to rest. Far more than Sukuna needed. You figured he wouldn't notice if you took a few things.

At the base of an altar sat a much smaller form. A human, one from the local village. Your shoulders were slumped, your arms curled around a bag. You didn't look sad, so much as you looked furious. You were talking to yourself, listing out all the ways you’d flatten each and every structure, how you’d salt the very earth they stood on, how you’d turn the once rich, fertile soil uninhabitable.

For having Sukuna’s interest in mind, he was certainly ready to burn it to the ground. Your village did little to appease the King of Curses. The humans in it were conniving, and rather quick to betray him. The relationship between the two was strained at best. In exchange for offerings in the form of crops, alcohol, and whoever decided to get on the village elders’ bad side, he wouldn't burn your home to the ground.

In a way, you were their last sacrifice to him, and by far his favorite.

As a child your parents had warned you, telling you never to go into the woods alone. A four armed man wandered out there, and he had a habit of making travelers disappear. Now that very same forest you once feared was your only sliver of comfort.

It took you a moment to realize he was standing there. And when you finally noticed him, you didn't look at him with the fear most humans did. There was a curious glint in your eyes. You sized him up, studied him in a way he wasn't used to.

In your hands you held an apple—an old offering—paring it with a knife. You were carving around the bruises. The texture of bruised apples always bothered you.

“It's dangerous to be out here alone, little one,” he said, eyeing you up like prey, “you should know that by now.”

“You’re the least of my worries, old man,” you said, popping a chunk of apple into your mouth.

You were still human. Strong, but human. You needed sleep, and food. If exposed to the elements too long you would freeze, or succumb to heatstroke or thirst.

“Old man?!” He said, clearly offended.

“What? You don't think I’ve heard the stories?” You asked. “You don’t scare me.”

And you were right. Even as he looked you in the eyes, you didn't back down once. You, unlike every other human from your village, weren't scared of him. He found you curious, and interesting. From the very moment your eyes locked with his, he was infatuated.

“I should frighten you,” he warned.

“You don't,” you said, “in fact, I think I could kick your ass!”

Expecting it to be an easy fight, he took your offer.

What resulted was a fight that would last days. Sukuna had never met anyone who could last so long against him. Let alone a human. Your strength was only rivaled by your unwavering rage. You were determined in a way he’d never seen before. Your village, along with half of the surrounding forest would be razed in the battle.

They had to have seen this coming. The child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel it's warmth.

And it's warmth you felt.

You couldn't imagine yourself being sad. You were too filled with anger and betrayal. There was no room left in your heart for sadness.

He remembers the look of the fires, and how they glinted in your eyes. He thinks that's when you began to turn into a curse.

After the third day, he had grown not only bored, but tired. It was clear neither of you were capable of destroying the other. He figured you were too tough to eat; you wouldn't make good meat. Uraume couldn't do a whole lot with you. And you were too combative to be a concubine. You would not go with him willingly. He's not one to give up, nor is he one to admit defeat, but he knows when he's not going to win. The two of you would mutually destroy the world before you would destroy each other. There was no end in sight. Sukuna simply wanted to leave.

So he simply headed for home.

That enraged you. After days of fighting, there was no climatic end to the battle. You wanted something more.

"Hey asshole!" You said. "You can't just walk away!"

"I know when I've met my match." He said. "Do you?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this world will burn before we destroy each other."

The two of you were quite literally a match made in hell. You would be a powerful ally and an even worse foe. There was no point in fighting you.

He did nothing to stop you when you followed him.

You were more of a nuisance than anything else. He often found himself comparing you to a cockroach. No matter how many times he tried to squash, poison, or starve out you always came back. If he couldn't kill you, then he had to have you on his side. You weren't something to be deceived, betrayed, injured, or killed. You were stronger than that. You were sharp, too, with a tongue to match. Whether harsh words he threw your way, you returned in double. It was rare he found a human with quite a tongue on them. He often remarked about having it nailed to his door. You simply pointed at his servants and dared them to try it.

They never did. Anyone who dared harm you often met a gruesome fate, either at his hands, or yours.

He didn't consider himself capable of falling in love. And he isn't. To some extent. But love is what he felt. You were the closest to an equal the King of Curses had ever met. In many ways you surpassed him, but those who admitted it often met a swift death.

He moved onto the next village. So did you. Word had not yet spread of what happened. People knew of the fires, but not of the deaths, and your connection to them. You settled down, taking up work with the local shamans. Though you were a newcomer, your help was gladly accepted when Sukuna first showed up, demanding offerings.

In the beginning you tried to warn them. That didn't help. They never listened. It always ended the same way; with a razed village and a bunch of needless deaths.

Sukuna would visit. Often in the late hours of the night as you were trying to get some sleep. He did little more than steal your food, and make himself far too comfortable. Of course that's how most of your meetings went.

He's not sure when he fell for you. But it was something that happened all at once. After years of a back and forth between you two, something gave. You took a place right by his side. He found himself no longer taking concubines, no longer indulging in the sacrifices presented to him. He found himself consumed with the thought of you. He had to have you.

“I can't believe you’re all out of sake,” he said, one night while visiting.

“I wonder who’s fault that is,” you said.

He cast you a glare from across the room. You'd have to buy more in the morning anyway. But all the good stuff has been put up as an offering, and the only sake left in the market is watered down, and worth nothing to you. You don't drink the stuff all that much anyway, you just used it for cooking.

“I question why I keep you alive,” he said.

“I think if you could even kill me,” you said, “you would have by now. Someone as weak as you doesn't stand a chance.”

He didn't like this, and hauled you into his arms, carrying you away from your cooking.

“No!” You squealed, too busy giggling to put up much of a fight. “The rice is going to overcook!”

Sukuna couldn't care less about the rice. He tossed you rather carelessly onto your shared bed, caging you in his arms. The kiss he pulled you into was fleeting, and soft, like he was almost afraid to touch you.

When the village elders first discovered these meetings, it didn't take them long to exile you. The very people that had welcomed you had ignored your warnings and betrayed you. You had gone from respected, and even loved, to feared in an instant.

At some point you stopped trying to warn them. If you really wanted to, you could stop him. Delay him at best. Give people time to run. At least someone would survive. But after a while, you began to think some of them deserved it. The sacrifices they provided were never enough when Sukuna grew tired of toying with them. It was just you and him. Two constant presences in each other's life. You grew used to his company. Enjoyed it, even. You’d never tell him that. Mostly because you didn't want to inflate his ego even more. You were as much his as he was yours.

At some point you became more curse than human.

You could breathe, your lungs would fill with air, but the action provided no relief. You no longer felt the need to eat, and often found yourself forgetting to do so. Food turned to ash in your mouth. The enjoyment of eating was long since lost to you. You're alive, but you're not. Your heart beats but the blood that courses through your veins is not quite right. Your memories of yourself when you were younger fade. But the anger. That fear, that anger, cast into the past, is the only humanity left in you.

You found yourself falling asleep next to him, and in turn waking up next to him. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes on the other side of the bed. He found himself opening his arms for you to climb into. You would do so, albeit reluctantly.

You were his partner. You were a nuisance, but you were his partner.

"Am I dead?" You asked, one morning in the fall. You think it was fall. You remember the leaves turning yellow and orange, but it wasn't cold enough to be winter.

"I haven't killed you yet, so no." He said. "Why?"

"Because I woke up and saw your face, and thought I had finally gone to hell." You said.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. An offended sounding huff left him. He rolled over onto you, pinning you to the sheets. His knees planted on either side of your body, his hands found your wrists. It’d take no effort from you to throw him off. But you didn't. You never did.

“You’re not in hell yet,” he said.

“I'd beg to differ,”

“Then beg,”

“Make me!”

He attacked your neck with wet, open mouth kisses, sending you into a giggling fit. Your skin was warm under his lips. You were always so warm. You were flushed from your chest to your forehead, blush dusting the tips of your ears and your nose. Your arms wrapped around your neck, pulling him flush to your chest. Your heartbeat was audible, racing as he pressed his ear to your chest.

“Stay in bed a little longer,” he said. He was pleading more than he was asking. And you weren't able to find it in you to refuse.

It wasn't entirely awful having someone stronger than him.

[wri0thesley]

I'd love to request more Naoya smut with him and a now pregnant!reader from that breeding fic because him busting a nut thinking about how good they'll look knocked up really made me feel some type of way!!! maybe reader-chan will even finally get a smooch from this HORRIBLE man. If you are not into doing continuations on requests no worries tho and thank you for your incredible writing as always, Nat!

reader can have a little smooch. as a treat. don’t let naoya hear you say he’s not a good husband <3

Expecting - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.3k)

Both of you got what you wanted. Naoya got more than he bargained for. sequel to covet.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni! afab reader, fem pronouns. pregnancy sex, light lactation, misogyny, power imbalance, breeding kink, mentions of alcohol, naoya perhaps having some Feelings???.

[comments/reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

Naoya catches you every so often for the next month and you easily roll onto your back for him, helpless under the brush of his fingers and the snap of his hips. He smirks at you when he passes you in the corridor, but you have nothing to show for all of the times you’ve warmed his bed – yet.

When you do, though – when a month and a half passes, and you are beginning to feel sick in a morning, and your monthly bleed has still not made itself known – you go to Naoya with deference in your eye. Once a servant, always a servant – and you are not stupid. You know that what you carry inside you is a bargaining chip.

Naoya wants someone who will submit, and you want an end to the life of drudgery and roughened hands and back-breaking work, of being ignored or reviled or mocked for having the misfortune to not be born with Zenin as a surname. Naoya takes you to a private, discreet physician with an iron grip on your arm and his light eyes sharp.

It’s amazing, how quickly a man like Naoya Zenin can set things in motion – when it’s not simply confirmed that you’re carrying his child, but that you’re carrying his son. His heir.

It’s so easy for him.

Suddenly you are no longer a maid, but Naoya’s betrothed – and though the other members of the household look at you in disgust, knowing that you spread your legs for the title, none of them dare risk Naoya’s ire by being outright rude to you. He and his family spin it like silk; not that Naoya took advantage of a servant, but that you have been part of some grand, beautiful Cinderella story – that Naoya is in love with you.

(It’s probably for the better that the Zenins prefer servants who can see cursed spirits, at the very least – if you had not had any kind of talent for jujutsu, who knows what would have happened to you? Naoya would not have risked his son being born utterly ordinary).

And then you are Naoya’s wife. It wouldn’t do, of course, for the future head of the family to have his heir and son born out of wedlock, even if society have progressed enough that you falling pregnant with said son was before the betrothal. The latter is a disgrace; the former is a laugh over a cup of sake in the dark, a toast to Naoya’s virility, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge at how lucky Naoya is to have found someone who gives themselves up so utterly and completely and easily, including their virtue--

You know that Naoya is not in love with you. You are fairly certain that the only thing Naoya loves is his name, and the power imbued therein. Still. You share a bed with him, and you’re given silken kimonos and pretty hair ornaments and anything that you ask for, and you are . . .

Respected is not quite the right word. Not for a woman who is Naoya’s. Certainly, he does not respect you.

But you are not reviled, not ignored, not beholden to the demands of your betters. Now, you are one of the betters, and if your fellow servants are frustrated that they have to bow to you in deference, they do not dare show it knowing that if you asked Naoya, he would have them punished for the transgression.

You had perhaps thought that once you were bearing his child, Naoya would lose interest in you. You know as well as anyone that nobody would bat an eyelid at Naoya seeking his pleasure somewhere else; it’s almost expected of him to have a mistress, a concubine, to go and sow his wild oats just in case the one he has placed inside of you does not yield the crop expected--

But he doesn’t.

Naoya hates you out of his sight. He is always touching you; hands sliding over your hips, cupping where your bump has become soft and round and pronounced, snapping servants to attention if he thinks you look tired or wan or pale. You accompany him almost everywhere. He looks up from speaking to his father to seek you out, as if to reassure himself that you are still there – and some tension in his shoulders seems to drain away.

He is still Naoya, of course.

You are still swiftly reprimanded by him if you speak out of turn, he still gets servants to do anything for you so he doesn’t have to do it himself, you still walk three steps behind him with your head bowed unless he bids you to do something else – but as time goes on, and your hips widen and your stomach grows and you feel the baby kick, something in him softens.

And something else hardens.

His desire on your flesh, on your form, does not wane. You grow used to the feeling of tangled silken bedsheets below you, of Naoya’s handsome face above you, of the groan and the whine as he spills himself inside of you for the third time that night. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

That initial thrill, of being wanted by someone like Naoya, doesn’t fade at all, even though you too are now bowed to in the corridors and the people below you have to jump at your command. And Naoya is not cruel for no reason. Despite the arrogance in his tone, the condescension that drips off of his slow, drawling words, the particular way he has of raising one eyebrow and letting his gaze crawl over you – you have come to enjoy being his.

You did not want equality, after all. You knew your place.

You just wanted better – and Naoya has provided you that in spades.

He’s got his arms spread out over the pillows, his shoulders strong, his eyes hungry as he watches you strip off the kimono you have been wearing today. Your wardrobe now is the height of luxury; all beautiful embroidery, delicate colours, fabrics that cost more than your former monthly salary. Kimono are not made to cling to your body; though people can tell that you are pregnant, it does not over-emphasise your hips or the newly swollen, heavy breast, or the curve of your stomach. Those are things that Naoya never tires of seeing, as the fabric pools around your ankles and the hadajuban is discarded and so are your underwear, and you stand before him utterly bare and unmistakably carrying his child.

“Stay there,” he says, “let me look at you.”

You are a good, well-trained, obedient thing. You stand there as Naoya’s gaze roves over you, straying over and over again to where your hips have filled out even more, where your stomach is curved – where your breasts have begun to droop a little from how heavy and swollen with milk they are. He sighs as he looks you over, and it is the sigh of a man who is indeed very pleased with his work.

“You can move,” he says. He moves the covers off of him, and you are not surprised to see that he is bare; that his cock is already stirring, heavy and thick between his thighs. “Come.” He crooks a finger at you, and you are grateful to be able to move, to take the weight off your ankles as you’re permitted to sit on the bed beside him. His arms wrap around you – they are strong, and certain, and he holds you like you are his property.

Which you suppose you are. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder and he makes a soft huff of amusement, but doesn’t say anything about how brazen you are. You are permitted some special favours, now that you are Naoya’s, and now that you are fulfilling your purpose so beautifully.

Naoya’s lips brush your ear, his tongue lapping at the curve of your neck, the joint between throat and shoulder. You sigh prettily, the warmth of his mouth on you making you shiver. One of his hands curls around your breast, enjoying the heavy weight of you in his hand. Thumb and forefinger gently pinch your nipple.

He was rough with you the first time, but now he treats you like porcelain – and the idea that you are precious to Naoya Zenin sets your stomach aflame, makes your breath stick in your throat. He tugs at it softly, coaxing you to sigh, a drop of liquid leaking from the sensitive nub as you squirm backwards into his lap. His tone is lightly warning as he says;

“Come on, be good. It’s a good sign, sweetheart.”

He calls you sweetheart in front of other people and the ones who have bought this rags-to-riches Cinderella story exchange looks that say ‘isn’t she lucky?’. You hear the light edge in it, the smirk, the loftiness – but it always seems to break into something that’s almost fond, when he’s inside you and touching you and his teeth bite into your neck.

“Just that your body is doing what it’s supposed to do,” your other nipple is subjected to the same treatment, and you feel Naoya’s breath hitch, his cock stir behind you and dig into the small of your back. “I think the moment he’s in his nursery I’m going to fuck another son into you, dearest.”

“Mm?” You say, a little breathless as his hand goes lower. He sweeps his palm over the curve of your stomach, pausing where the skin is tight and swollen. His cock twitches once more at the reminder of how utterly his you are, and how wonderfully you are doing your purpose. How lucky he is, to have found someone submissive and well-trained and obedient and sweet, who looks so luscious full of him.

You drive him to distraction even when you don’t realise he’s looking at you.

“Thighs apart,” he grunts, into your ear, and you comply with the docile nature of someone raised to serve. He loves that about you. Loves, too, when he dips his fingers between your legs and your slick coats his digits, a soft whine catching in the back of your throat as he circles your clit and little shocks spark all through you, making you almost clamp your thighs back around his hand.

You do not, though. You are well-behaved. And you and Naoya have played this game enough times that you know that this is leading to relief for both of you.

One of his long fingers slides inside of you and you widen your thighs more, your soft whimper breaking and pitching – it’s such a servile, sweet little noise that Naoya cannot help but crook his finger, let it rub against the textured spot on your inner walls that has you clenching and gasping.

Since your pregnancy, you have become so sensitive. Naoya is the kind of man who hates working to pleasure a woman – who considers your orgasm a choice, and his a foregone conclusion. But with you swollen and full with his seed, he is slow and indulgent – and it is so easy, now that a brush of his palm makes you shiver and a tug of his teeth on your earlobe makes you gasp.

The finger is pulled out of you, and Naoya raises it to your lips, hooking his finger inside so you open your mouth and let him press your own slick onto your tongue.

Your tongue gently suckling at his finger reminds him of the insistent pounding of need inside of him; the stiff cock, leaking pre-come. He’d gotten so distracted touching you and enjoying you he’d almost forgotten about his own pleasure, and he sighs as he props himself up on pillows and reaches for you.

“Get comfortable,” he tells you.

His preference is to have you beneath him; that, he thinks, is his wife’s proper place. But it has begun to be difficult, with your stomach so distended – and he is nothing, he thinks to himself with more than a touch of smugness, if not an indulgent provider. A good husband.

(That’s what he thinks, anyway. You are not hurt. You get pretty things, and him in your bed, and the estate’s servants at your beck and call, an expensive wedding ring on your finger and the honour of his name affixed to yours, and his seed taking root inside of you. What else could you ask of him?)

So you are permitted to spread your knees, to climb on top of him – to gently sink your tight, wet, heat about his cock and seat yourself comfortably on the muscle of his thighs and the flat planes of his stomach.

“If you had my view,” he says, teasingly. “Mm, you were really made as breeding stock, weren’t you?” The words make heat rush to your face as he cups your hips in his hand again, squeezing the new covering of plush flesh that you’ve acquired since your pregnancy. “My wife.”

The words send a quiet thrill through you. You sigh as he bottoms out, as your body meets his entirely; your hands splaying on his shoulders. He is not flat against the bed – that position is too weak, not fitting for a man of his stature. But he is propped up with pillows behind him, so that he can admire how you look as your teeth bite into your plump bottom lip and you lift yourself just a little off his straining cock, before letting yourself fall back down.

He lets you set the pace. If you are to be permitted to ride him, he thinks, you may as well be the one doing all of the work. Part of him, too, is afraid of touching you too much – of hurting you, when you have something so precious inside of you. He would not admit that to himself – that’s not a thought process befitting of someone of his stature. But . . . it nibbles at the corners of his consciousness.

He cares about you. He does not want to hurt you. He does not want you to be uncomfortable – not when you are doing such a good job, when you are so lovely for him, when he is so grateful to have found you--

It’s no more than I deserve, he reminds himself.

And to brush back thoughts that are not proper for his elevation station in life, he lets himself watch the bounce of your breasts. Lets his fingers dig into the even softer, rounder thighs. Enjoys the sight of your mound bouncing on his cock, the feel of your slick walls clinging to his cock.

You are so beautiful, swollen with his child.

It is the first time he has ever looked at a woman and saw power in them. There is, he thinks, a power in what you have – in the glow about your skin, the brightness of your eyes, the curves and roundness and soft, supple flesh. The thought almost frightens him – but then, you push up again and your eyes meet his own for just a moment and he remembers that you are swollen with his child and have the power of him inside of you, and it becomes comforting.

Without him, you’d be nothing.

So he watches you with hungry eyes as you move your hips on his cock; as his length sinks inside of you, as you angle yourself just so – so that every stroke of your hips makes his cock rub against the place inside you that earlier had you seeing stars. Your breath is getting faster and faster, your fingers on his shoulders flexing as the tight string of your release is wound inexorably closer and closer.

Naoya allows himself a groan; a light thrust of his hips, in time with your own. The chase of your warm, tight walls as you try and pull away. He lets his gaze wander to how his cock is coated in your slick, all wet and shining in the light of the bedroom – and he is once more reassured. This is his. You are his. This wetness, this need – this is all for him. The way your body has changed is because of him.

His own release is creeping up on him.

Today, though, he decides he will be merciful – he reaches forward , curving his fingers just so, so that he can toy with your clit as you continue to fuck him. He rolls the bud with the pad of his fingers (soft; he wields just one weapon, and most people do not get to see it. Most of his harder work is done with his technique, and you have seen him apply expensive hand cream to keep himself handsome), knowing your body as well as he knows his own.

He prides himself on that, and you have spent enough nights in his bed that it is second nature to him. Women are predictable, he thinks, smirk on his face as your channel clenches around his hard cock and you come, whimpering out his name--

(In bed, he prefers Naoya-sama, and you are a good wife. Your tone is servile, soft, obedient – and in return, Naoya is almost sweet to you.)

He thrusts his hips roughly up into you, chasing his own release as your body spasms and trembles about him. You are still so tight; so hot and taut where the aftershocks are making you tremble. It’s the sight of your body, quivering under your release, that does it in the end.

Your hips and stomach and breasts and thighs, all rounded with the miracle of bearing life. All softened and plump; meek and pliant, a perfect little wife. His perfect little wife.

As he feels the tension inside of him snap, one of his hands winds about the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Naoya’s grunt of pleasure is lost in the kiss, his mouth against yours hard and hungry. He is not willing to give up his dominance even here – but . . .

He has not kissed you so intimately before.

He has always avoided your mouth, preferring his lips on your chest or neck – turning your face away if it had seemed you might go for his mouth (later on, he had not bothered – he knows you well enough now to know that you would not dare.)

He tastes like wine. Like fancy, expensive sweets; the kind that you could have never afforded before you were his, but he has had at his disposal for his whole life. Like a cross between freedom and a prison--

He groans as he fills you up; his cock twitching, shooting out thick ropes of his come to land thick and heavy in your insides. Your whimper at the sensation is lost in his mouth, but Naoya fails to miss it – the fingers around the nape of your neck stroke through your hair, almost comforting, as he pulls back from you.

His lips are shiny, full and pretty. The grin that he gives you is crooked – and though you know it should not, though you know you should hate him for being arrogant and cruel and considering you lesser than him, the grin sends a rush of affection all through you.

If you were sentimental, you would say that the affection is mirrored in his own pale eyes.

(Naoya is glad you are not; you cannot see, beneath the triumph that you are claimed and carrying his heir and the hunger for your body and the pleasure that you are exactly the kind of wife that he wanted, that perhaps he does care about you.)

“My little wife,” he says, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek, hot with the rush of blood. “You’re so good for me.”

And you’ll carry on being so.

You’re so lovely when you’re expecting.

[chimchimsauce]

Fairest

Is beauty a blessing or a curse? All of her life, princess YN was told that her beauty was the greatest gift her late mother ever gave her. But when her looks attract a man cruel and bloodthirsty, YN begins to think that her greatest asset is the beginning of her demise.

“Checkmate.”

YN cannot help the grin that spreads across her face as she utters the word, watching as her older brother groans with disdain.

“You always win!” he complains, acting very much like a child.

“That’s because you always get too caught up in the current move, dear brother. The future decisions are the most important ones.”

YN’s older brother, first in line to the throne of their small country Ameris, huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Chess is like war. You get too focused on winning battles that cause you to lose the war. I certainly hope that won’t be the case for our kingdom . . .”

YN is only jesting. Her elder brother is an excellent leader and will make a wonderful king. He’s just really impatient with games. 

“I’m sure I can beat you next round!” her brother says playfully.

They both know it’s unlikely, but YN clears the board and begins to set up another game. As she’s placing the last pawn, a knock comes at the door. One of her handmaidens opens it, revealing one of their father’s special guards. 

YN’s breath catches ever so slightly before she schools her expression back into one of unbothered royalty. It’s always so hard to ignore her secret lover when other people are around, but she knows she must. A relationship between her and her father’s most trusted guard would cause a scandal that would undoubtedly get Wonho’s position revoked. He’s worked his entire life to get good enough for a spot on the King’s royal guard and there’s no way YN would do anything to sabotage that.

“His majesty has requested your presence,” Wonho says, not even looking YN in the eyes.

He’s much better at keeping his emotions in check.

YN’s brother stands, tapping his finger on the chessboard.

“Lucky thing I’m being summoned, or else I would have absolutely destroyed you in this game.”

YN laughs, maybe a little more politely than she would if Wonho wasn’t standing at the door.

“I’m sure of it,” she says, “Feel free to come back anytime to play again.”

YN’s brother nods and leaves her quarters, following after Wonho. Being the heir to the throne means that YN rarely gets to see her brother. He’ll be gone for weeks, sometimes months at a time as he tours the neighboring countries to learn everything he possibly can, as well as maintain a positive relationship with their allies. Ameris may be a small country, but it is located in the perfect spot for transcontinental trade and filled to the brim with valuable resources. One could dig in a mine for just a few moments and emerge with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg.

Thankfully, Ameris has not had any problems with its neighboring countries in hundreds of years. The last war was ended by YN’s great great great grandfather and peace has blanketed the region since then.

Well, for the most part. In the last several years, the Eastern kingdom of Moonbyss has been steadily expanding and taking over small, unclaimed villages. They have not breached any borders or broken any treaties, however, so there is no cause to worry quite yet.

YN sighs as her thoughts shift back to Wonho. Their secret love affair has been going on since they were teenagers. At first, Wonho was just an attractive boy who was willing to indulge her wanton fantasies, but soon enough an affection bloomed between them. It’s so hard to pretend not to be in love with him, especially when he grows more handsome by the day.

“Thinking about him, my lady?” YN’s lady in waiting, Irene, asks her.

Irene is YN’s closest confidant and friend. She knows almost everything about the princess. Ever since she arrived in the castle from abroad two years ago, they have been inseparable. 

“Of course,” YN says, standing and walking over to the window that overlooks her private gardens. 

She opens the glass door and steps outside, her skin warmed by the sunshine. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, cloudless and blue. Birds chirp sweetly and the scent of flowers wafts on the breeze. The princess stops at the fountain in the middle of the garden, sitting on the bench and looking into the bubbling water. YN often made wishes in this fountain when she was younger, tossing in coins that reflected the sunlight back at her. More recently, though, she’s only wished for one thing - to be with Wonho. Her father, although he loves her, would never allow a union between them. Her older brother, however, has promised to allow YN to marry whoever she desires once he takes the throne on his thirtieth birthday.

He does not know that someone already has her affections, but no matter. YN is not worried about being married off. While her brother is the only prince in the kingdom, the king was blessed with twelve daughters and YN is the youngest. Every available man of power in the kingdom and the surrounding countries have already been wedded. 

YN has Irene bring her a book to read and she settles in, getting comfortable in her garden. The hours pass by quickly as she is sucked into the tale, but soon enough a shadow blocks her reading light. 

The princess looks up and is shocked to see Wonho standing in front of her. Alarm flares up inside of her. The two of them have agreed to never be seen together in daylight.

“Won-”

“Your Majesty,” Wonho says stiffly, “The King requests an audience. I have been asked to escort you to the throne room.”

YN hesitates a moment. She can tell that something is wrong by the strain in his voice. Something must really be bothering him for the guard to allow it to leak into his words. She wants to ask him what’s wrong, but she never knows who is watching so she simply stands, handing her book off to Irene who stands beside her.

“Very well,” YN says, trailing after him and back into the castle.

He walks three paces in front of her, leaving her to stare at his back. So much about him has changed in the last few years. He’s gained an immense amount of muscle, something that YN has really grown to appreciate during their midnight endeavors. It’s a shame that everything is covered up by his uniform, but she must admit he looks dashing in it.

As they walk, YN notices that Wonho isn’t the only one acting strangely. The various maids and butlers who usually flit around and chatter pleasantly amongst themselves are dead silent, walking with perfectly straight backs and zipped mouths. The princess notices a few pitying looks tossed her way and something cold settles in her stomach.

What’s going on?

Wonho knocks on the throne room’s closed doors. They are ever so carefully opened a few moments later and Wonho leads YN into the grand room.

Her father sits on the throne, a smaller one empty next to him. It always makes YN sad to see her father by himself. The Queen passed away only a year ago and was her father’s closest friend. The late Queen was kind to everyone, even YN’s mother - a poor girl her father discovered in one of his hunting trips. Apparently, YN’s father was so taken with her mother that he simply had to add her to his harem and rarely visited any of his other concubines afterward. But it didn’t last long - YN’s mother died shortly after her birth. Everyone says that she left YN her ethereal beauty, a fact that led YN to being hidden away in the castle for the majority of her life.

“You’re the most valuable diamond in all of Ameris,” her father told her once, “It’s important that few people know of your existence.”

It had saddened YN when she was younger that she could not attend the lavish parties and balls like her elder sisters and brother, but she came not to mind once Wonho came into her life. It mattered not if other people thought she was beautiful - as long as Wonho desired her, that was more than enough.

Standing to her father’s side is YN’s brother. The jolly air that had surrounded him mere hours ago is gone completely now. He looks furious, an expression YN has rarely seen on his face. He’s looking at a man who stands before the throne, a crown placed perfectly on his head.

Visiting nobility? 

The man turns as the click of YN’s heels sounds out against the marble flooring. YN’s step falters as a large, nearly terrifying grin spreads across his face. He is incredibly handsome, but the smile on his face does nothing but creepy the princess out.

“There she is,” he says, quickly extending his hand towards her.

YN, uncertain, looks at her father who gives her a stiff nod. Hesitantly, YN places her hand in the stranger’s grasp, making sure to school her expression as he places a cold kiss that lingers too long against her gloved hand. The princess has never been more glad to be wearing gloves.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” YN asks, careful to watch her throne. 

“King Seokjin Moonbyss, your highness. I must say, the rumors of your beauty do you no justice. You’re much more radiant in person.”

YN’s blood freezes in her veins. This cannot mean anything good.

“Thank you,” YN says, a slight tremble in her voice.

The man has still not released her hand.

“YN,” her father says, giving her an excuse to look away from this man - no, this monster - beside her, “King Seokjin has asked for your hand.”

YN barely squashes the shout of protest that so desperately wants to escape her throat. There’s no way this can be happening! No way! Her eldest brother is just three years shy of taking the throne, three years more of having to tiptoe around with Wonho. No way she can get married, especially to someone from so far away.

“Excuse me,” Wonho says, speaking up from his place behind YN, “I thought King Seokjin was already married.”

Relief flows through YN. If Seokjin is already married, then surely this is an error.

“She failed to provide me with a male heir, so I had her disposed of,” King Seokjin says simply, glaring at Wonho, “Do not question me again.”

There is not a trace of remorse in his voice at all, nothing but anger.

YN begins to tremble.

“Father -” she begins.

“King Seokjin has made us an offer I cannot refuse,” he says, cutting her off, “And besides, YN, you’ll be able to be Queen. You never would have had that opportunity here.”

YN’s father would normally never make this sort of decision, especially not for the daughter he tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Of course, sweet YN,” King Seokjin says, “You are free to reject my offer if you so desire. I would, however, be forced to declare war on Ameris. After all, this country is the most resource rich of all the lands. It’s a shame. It would have been so much nicer to make a positive connection with this beautiful country. I wonder how much of its splendor will be left once my troops march through it.”

The threat is crystal clear. YN has to marry this King or her country will suffer for it. YN glances at her father and brother, seeing the fear that’s in their eyes. Ameris is much too small to fight Moonbyss and win, especially since the eastern country has been gaining a lot of territory very rapidly. YN swallows. In a matter of hours, her perfect daydream has been shattered.

“I would be honored to marry you, King Seokjin,” YN says, trying her hardest not to cry.

She can release her tears once she’s in the safety of her own chambers. She cannot show any weakness in front of this man.

“Beautiful and smart,” King Seokjin says, “It will be my honor to have you as my bride. After all, the most handsome man in all the world deserves the most beautiful bride of them all.”

YN never really thought much of her beauty. She’s always heard it was a blessing, the only one her mother ever left her, but right now it feels like a curse. 

“I pray that you’ll join me for dinner this evening, my betrothed,” King Seokjin says.

“I would love to,” YN says even though the thought of having to spend even a single moment more in this man’s presence makes her want to hurl.

“You best retire to your quarters, my love. Your father and I have much to discuss before this evening. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready.”

The dismissal is clear. YN turns swiftly and leaves the room, Wonho following closely behind her. She walks much too fast to be considered ladylike, but she does not give a damn, wanting to be as far away from the throne room as possible. 

“YN, wait!” Wonho calls out to her.

He grasps her wrist, uncaring of who will see, and pulls her to his chest. As soon as the warmth of him touches her, YN loses all composure, breaking down and sobbing into his pristine uniform.

“Wonho,” she cries out, grasping him as close as she can, her fingers creasing the silk he wears, “I don’t want to be Queen! I want to marry you!”

YN feels something wet fall against her head. Based on the way his shoulders shake, Wonho is also crying. She hasn’t seen him shed a tear since one of his best friends was murdered on a mission.

“What are we going to do?” YN asks into his chest, her voice muffled, “I don’t think I can bear being apart from you, especially with someone as cruel as the King!”

“We’ll figure something out, YN, I promise,” Wonho says, pulling away just enough to give YN a salty kiss.

“At least once more,” YN says once their lips part, “I must have you at least once more.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” Wonho says, pulling her along to her chambers.

The two fall into the sheets, both knowing that this is the last time despite desperately wanting to spend eternity together.

On the other side of the castle, Irene makes her way through the hallways, stopping at a grand door and knocking three times. No one answers, so she swings it open, prepared to wait for as long as it takes. 

Maybe half an hour later, King Seokjin opens the door, looking quite pleased with himself. He doesn’t greet Irene, instead instantly walking over to her and pinning her against the wall, his lips meeting hers passionately. Irene barely has any time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t mind at all, too enamored with this man she knows is only using her.

When he was only a prince, Seokjin was infamous for being a womanizer. All too often, he lured servants and noble girls alike into his chambers, whispering promises and pressing kisses against their skin only to leave them abandoned like trash when he grew bored of them. Irene was one of those servant girls, but Seokjin has kept her around for longer than most. A part of Irene is convinced it’s because she’s special to him, but she knows it’s really not true.

Seokjin has been obsessed with YN, the secret twelfth princess of Ameris for five years now. Ever since he spotted her while visiting Ameris with his late father, he wanted her - needed her. After all, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, trying as he might to find another. His late wife was incredibly beautiful as well, but she didn’t compare to YN. No one else was worthy of her but him. It was YN that drove him to murder his own father and take the throne before he was supposed to. After all, Seokjin has never been a patient man.

Seokjin pulls away from Irene, looking unbothered as ever.

“No good,” he says, “Simply imagining that you’re YN does nothing. I’m tired of waiting.”

His words sting Irene’s heart. She tries not to be bitter, but jealousy is a powerful emotion, one that overshadows the genuine affection she feels for princess YN.

“Well,” the King asks her, “Who is it? The one YN claims to be in love with.”

The King rolls his eyes, gripping his fists tightly. How dare YN love another when he’s already claimed her.

“It’s Wonho,” Irene says, pushing down her feelings, “the guard that accompanied her today.”

“A guard huh? How dare he think he deserves someone as beautiful as YN!” he says, furious.

Seokjin is terrifying when he’s angry. Irene tenses, preparing for the worst. Instead of gripping her hair and tossing her to the floor like he usually does, Seokjin grabs a decorative vase and tosses it against the ground, watching as it shatters into a million pieces.

“You didn’t strike me,” Irene says, shocked.

“I have been practicing,” the King says, “After all, it would be a shame to make a single mark on YN’s perfect body.”

Much too soon, Irene is knocking on YN’s private chamber door.

“Your majesty,” she calls out softly, “Your betrothed has requested your presence.”

YN rolls over to Wonho, tears in her eyes. He blinks them away, wanting to remember this moment clearly.

“One moment,” YN calls out, listening as Irene walks away.

“Run away with me,” YN pleads, her voice desperate.

“You know we can’t,” Wonho says, his eyes sad.

“Yes we can!” YN insists, “You know this country better than anyone. We can get up right now and flee and -”

“YN,” Wonho says, “What about the country? You know we’ll be forced to go to war if you disappear.”

YN sniffles.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” YN confessed, “And if I can, I don’t want to find out.”

Wonho is silent for a moment before he sits up, an idea in his mind.

“What? What is it?” YN asks him.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

“What if you didn’t have to live without me? I’ve heard rumors amongst the staff of a poison you can take that will put you in a deep slumber for a fortnight. If some was mixed into your dinner tonight, it can seem that you’ve been poisoned and passed away. Then when you awake, you and I can disappear together.”

YN brightens. Even though being unconscious for a fortnight doesn’t sound pleasant, anything will be better than having to marry KIng Seokjin. Besides, she trusts Wonho with her life.

“Okay,” YN says, agreeing right away.

“Are you sure, YN?” Wonho asks her, “You will end up getting rather sick for a few days before the slumber.”

YN nods eagerly.

“Yes, anything,” she says.

“Very well.”

Wonho hops out of bed, pulling on his clothes as quickly as he possibly can.

“I’ll get everything ready. YN, go to dinner with the king, alright? I won’t be able to see you after this so as not to arouse suspicion. I love you, princess.”

He leans down to kiss her.

“I love you more,” YN says, watching as Wonho slips out of a glass door and into the gardens.

Unbeknownst to the lovers, King Seokjin is outside the door, his ear pressed against it to hear everything. He had come to escort his beloved like a sweet fiance would, only to hear his to be wife scheming to get away from him.

He’s never been so angry, but he suppressed it, not wanting to let YN know that he’s been here. He grabs Irene by the arm roughly and leads her out into the hallway, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Make sure to add enough of the poison to YN’s food to keep her under for longer than a fortnight. Put as much of it in as you can without bringing her to the brink of death.”

“Are you sure your -”

Irene’s question is cut off when he backhands her, one of his elegant rings drawing blood.

“Do NOT question me!” he says, “Do as I order!”

Irene rushes off to do as the King says, tears brimming in her eyes. She’s never regretted being Seokjin’s spy until now, too blinded by love. She should have warned YN, should have helped her disappear with Wonho - someone Irene knows truly loves the princess. King Seokjin is just obsessed with her beauty and determined to own her like she’s some sort of object to be bought and sold.

Peeking around the corner, Irene sees Wonho pouring a liquid into the soup bowl meant for the princess. When he leaves and when the coast is clear, Irene snatches the vial from the counter and empties the rest of it into other dishes reserved for the princess before refilling the vial with water and placing it back where Wonho left it.

“YN, I’m so sorry,” she whispers to herself before fleeing into the night, never to be heard from again.

At dinner, YN pretends not to notice the odd taste in her food. It’s obviously been tampered with, but YN doesn’t let it show at all, eating properly and conversing with King Seokjin as much as she can bear. YN misses the look of glee in his eye as he drinks from his goblet, still believing that everything is going to plan.

YN starts feeling ill once the final course comes around. She quickly asks to be excused and King Seokjin offers to walk her back to her room. YN accepts, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own with the  way the room begins to spin.

For the next three days and nights, YN is in and out of consciousness, the world swirling around her in a nauseating mix of bright colors and fuzzy shapes. When she closes her eyes at midnight of the third day, her thoughts are on Wonho and the fact that the next time she opens them, she’ll be free to be with him.

But YN does not wake up. Not for a fortnight, not ever. Seokjin, furious, intends to find Irene and hang her for murdering his beloved before realizing that she’s nowhere to be found. It’s easy enough to frame Wonho for her murder and a matter of hours after YN dies, Wonho follows her from the gallows.

At his request, YN is preserved and dressed in a wonderful white wedding gown, still looking very much alive. He marries her anyway and has her crowned, determined to have her even in death. She’s too beautiful to be buried underground, so he commissions a glass coffin to display her in, putting her corpse in his bedroom where no one else can see her. King Seokjin finds that he does not mind YN being dead. She’s much less bothersome in passing, much easier to fall to his will.

King Seokjin stands before her, placing his hand flat against the cool glass of her coffin. Even in death, YN is the fairest of them all.

[midnightlee25]

Winter prince  ( Yandere Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu x reader Royal AU)

In just a few minutes your life was going to change forever and all you could do was watch the snowflakes fall outside to the window. You thought about picking the lock to the window going through then finally getting to the gate. But seeing what the silver-haired female that was watching you from across the room had done before meant that it was impossible. The door to the room opened, a servant poked their head inside the room. 

  “five more minutes.” and just as soon as they appeared they were gone again not even trying to look you in the eyes. 

  The poor farmer's child... They would say… and to be married off to such a cold prince… always full of pity. 

  You did miss your old life back home with your family and the animals. You missed it all and for all just because of a chance meeting. 

  It was just a year ago you were sent to the city to sell crops from your family's farm. It just so happens that on that day the prince was riding around in his carriage bored as hell when he spotted you walking along the street only stopping to watch the dazzling carriage ride by just like most others. But you were the only clear face in the crowd. After that day you never left his mind, making him wondering all types of things about you. 

  Finally, he sent out some of his most skilled soldiers to find you. It didn't take long before the price was riding up to your home. Offering for you to come work at the castle at first you refused not wanting to leave the only place you know however you soon found out that he wasn't asking, afield that harm would be upon your home and family you decided it would be for the best if you went with him. 

  Yet when you had gotten to the castle there was hardly ever any work given to you. For the most part you were told to just stay by the prince.  After a while you thought that maybe he wanted you to be some type of concubine. Although he had never tried anything of that nature it was still known that many kings and queens took concubine. even so you did start to notice that he did treat you differently than other staff almost as if you both were in a relationship. 

  He would often give you flowers or treats, having every meal with him, he would try to get to know you and have the staff do things for you. As months passed your room changed to one that was closer to his, your clothes become more royal like. It all came to a head when at dinner he started talking of wedding plans that were set by the end of the year. Of course, you told him how unreasonable that was since you both were not ever in a relationship.  

  He froze when you said this, making you think that you were going to be thrown in the dungeon. After feeling as though you were being crushed by the silence, he only restated that there was to be a wedding by the end of the year.  He sounded like he was trying not to blow his top but you did hear it later on when he was in his room throwing things and screaming about how ungrateful you were for all that he had done for you. From then on you went along with it only to make sure that his rage wouldn't fall upon you like the items that were in his room.  

  And now here you are walking down the aisle towards the man that would soon be your husband and king and of course that would mean you would rule by his side even if you had no power but only looked it. Then later that night the marriage would be consummated and that would be that. You would belong to him as long as you both shall live. 

  There would be many people in the kingdom that would call you lucky from going to a farm to a castle just because you win the heart of the prince but you know it's really not all that it's cracked up to be.  For you didn’t trade shackles for freedom but forced into a cage that was painted gold.